Page 8 of The Isles of the Gods
This is a better place to watch the Queensguard. There are huge bunches of flowers set atop the crates, destined to decorate the rigging of the prince’s fleet, and they make excellent camouflage. I nestle among them and set to waiting.
“What are we looking for?” asks a voice beside me, and I nearly fall off the crate.
The boy’s climbed up too, and now he ducks my hand as it swings around to flail at thin air. He grabs me around the waist, steadying me and pulling me back into the nest of flowers, laughing at my scowl.
“What are you doing up here?” I demand.
“Couldn’t stay away,” he replies with a grin. “Also, I thought you heard me climbing up—sorry about that.”
I’m only seeing now, as he withdraws his hand, that he’s got emerald-green magician’s marks down his forearms and across the backs of his hands, the jewel tone bright against the light brown of his skin. Something in my gut twists at the sight ofthem.
His marks are as intricate as I’ve ever seen, and so complex I can’t even tell which element they signal—no wonder he’s cocky. Though if I’m honest, the looks alone were enough.
I reach out with my own gloved hand to steady myself, resisting the urge to ask him what he’s doing here, because he’ll only ask me the same, and that doesn’t end the way I want.
“That’s Lady Violet Beresford,” my companion says conversationally, and when I glance across to follow his gaze, he’s looking at a girl in a dress the silvery blue color of the seaat dusk. She’s leading the dancing, her head thrown back in laughter.
“Well, I’m glad someone’s having a nice time.”
“You’re not?”
“Have you spent a minute in the city today?” I ask testily, easing forward to peek through the foliage at the two Queensguard, who seem a lot more dedicated to their duty than I’d like. As I watch, a third comes trotting along the dock from the direction of the city to talk to them.
“What about it?”
“Who out there is having fun, apart from nobles on boats? I’m only a few days ashore, but everyone I’ve spoken to is asking about foreign ports, about what they’re saying around the Crescent Sea. About whether Mellacea’s going to start a war with us. Now that I’m looking at this, I’m beginning to understand why they’re so worried.”
He leans forward alongside me to take a closer look at the ships, the warmth of his shoulder close against mine. Lady Violet is still dancing, urging her companions to join her as the music trips merrily over itself. “Why, what do you see?”
I snort. “Youdon’tsee it? His ships are covered inflowers.”
“You have to admit they look— What’s wrong with flowers?”
Below, the Queensguard are now in heated conversation with the newcomer, and he’s waving his arms. Dare I hope he’s going to lure them away?
“I don’t have any strong opinions on flowers,” I say, aware that I sound a lot like I do.
“Just naturally cranky?”
“Listen.” I remind myself it would be wrong to push himoff the crate. “Every trading ship at the docks knows how much trouble we’re in, knows how tense things are at every new port we pull into. Alinor’s in trouble. She’s been taking a lazy nap in the afternoon sun, and over in Mellacea, let me tell you, they’re up before dawn. And what’s the queen doing about it?”
“Well, she’s—”
“She’s put the boy prince on the job. It’s like shewantstofail.”
“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”
I snort. “We’re talking about a boy who went through three different outfit changes at the solstice festival. In one evening!”
“I heard it was four, and he wore a gold-sequined coat for the ages.”
“What part of that sentence do you think makes any of this better?” I splutter.
“I must say, you know a lot about him,” he muses.
“I can’t help it, he’s all anyone talks about.”
“Including you, and you don’t even seem to like him.”
