Ash Princess(Ash Princess Trilogy #1)(23)

He passes the rigging to a member of his crew and comes to the edge of the boat, hopping down easily onto the dock and landing a few feet in front of us. Before he can even straighten up, Crescentia and I are both in deep curtsies.

“Thora, Lady Crescentia,” he says when we rise again. “What brings you to the docks today?”

“I was craving some sea air, Your—” I break off when he gives me a look, reminding me of our agreement last night. “S?ren.” But at the sound of his given name, Crescentia gives me a sharp, suspicious look. It seems I can’t win, so I hastily shift focus. “We didn’t realize it would be such an event. What are all the boats for?”

His expression wavers slightly. “Nothing of importance. Dragonsbane is just causing a little trouble along the trade route. Sank a few of our trade ships last week. We’re going to bring him and his allies in,” he says.

I can’t bring myself to believe him. Not completely, at least. Not with this much artillery. The Theyn keeps hand-drawn maps hanging on the walls of his sitting room, and though they were never of much practical interest to Cress and me, we used to marvel at the beauty of them and note the differences between the artists’ depictions, how a narrow stream in one was painted as a wide river in another. But I do remember that in no version was the trade route wide enough to hold a boat the size of the one off the coast. In each map, the route was like a piece of string winding through the Haptain Mountains.

“I’m sorry we interrupted your plans,” S?ren continues. “I can’t imagine much fresh sea air makes it past this lot unsoured.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s an honor to see so many Kalovaxian men working so hard for the country,” I tell him.

I may be laying it on a tad thick. Even Crescentia shoots me a bemused look.

“And you’ll be leading them?” she asks, turning her attention back to S?ren.

He nods. “My first time leading a crew of my own,” he admits, his voice thick with pride. “We leave in a week’s time. These are just the finishing touches. The crew goes through them personally, as a way of aligning ourselves with the ship. It’s an old Kalovaxian custom,” he explains to me.

“Well, the old Kalovaxian custom is for the crew to build the boat itself,” Crescentia adds with a dimpled smile. “But it was amended when the boats kept falling to pieces. Warriors don’t make the best shipsmiths.”

S?ren’s eyes spark with a laugh that doesn’t quite make it out of him, but she looks pleased with herself. Her dimples deepen.

“That they don’t,” he agrees. “But we can be trusted with the rigging and finishing. Barely. Would you like a tour?” he asks.

Crescentia opens her mouth to politely decline, but I get there first.

“Yes, please,” I say. “That sounds fascinating.”

She pinches the inside of my arm but tries to hide her irritation from the Prinz. Inspecting boats is not how she wanted this day to go, and even I have to admit that boats and fascinating do not belong in the same sentence. But this is a chance to get information.

S?ren leads us to the rickety ladder fitted against the hull and helps hand Crescentia up first. Over her shoulder, she shoots me an annoyed look that I try to match with an encouraging one. She has a tendency toward seasickness, and among Kalovaxians, this is seen as a matter of great shame. I’ll have to give her an explanation later to quell her irritation. If she wants a crown so badly, I’ll say, she’ll need to put up with some discomfort.

When S?ren hands me up next, I let my fingers linger on the bare skin of his arm a few seconds longer than necessary, the way I’ve seen Dagm?r do at parties. It’s a brief touch, barely noteworthy, but the grip of his other hand at my waist tightens. I feel his eyes on me, but I can’t look at him. My cheeks warm as I pull myself onto the ship and then straighten my dress. Cress fidgets next to me, smoothing her hair and adjusting the neckline of her dress, her cheeks bright pink.

Seconds later, S?ren is with us, gesturing around at the ship.

“Drakkars can hold a hundred people a ship,” he explains, confirming my estimation. “Every drakkar is fitted with twenty oars and twelve cannons,” he adds as he offers each of us an arm.

We start toward the prow, the ship rocking gently beneath us. I’ve been on Kalovaxian ships only a handful of times over the years, and I can’t help but admire how they’re built—sleek, simple vessels designed for speed, powered by a complicated set of sails and riggings and oars. They’re very different from the Astrean sailboats I remember from my childhood trips around the country with my mother. Those were toys. These are weapons.

His sailors stop their work as we approach, and bow deeply.

“Men, we have the honor of a visit from Lady Thora and Lady Crescentia, the Theyn’s daughter,” he tells them.

There’s a murmuring of polite words, though they all seem to be directed at Crescentia, which isn’t surprising. These men revere her father as a living god.

“And this, ladies, is the finest crew in the world,” S?ren says with a grin.

One of the crew, a young man a little older than S?ren with surprisingly dark hair and gold skin, rolls his eyes. “He always says that.”

“As I should, Erik,” S?ren answers, grinning back. “I assembled all of you myself, didn’t I? Why would I want anyone but the best for my crew?”