The Esterian Ocean was flat as far as the eye could see in every direction. Overhead the sun glared at its apex in a windless, cloudless sky.

"Can I jump in the water again, Parmo?" Makarria asked, standing up at the bow of the skiff to stretch and wipe the sweat from her face.

"Not now," her grandfather said, not bothering to look back from where he sat at the oars. "I saw the dorsal fin of a shark a few minutes ago, so you best stay out."

Makarria's eyes widened at the mention of sharks, but she said nothing and sat back down at her bench. It had only been two days since the storm passed, but it had been the most difficult two days of her life. They had lost most of their sail in the heavy winds when one of Makarria's knots came loose where it was battened down to the yard arm; all that was left was a tattered strip less than a yard wide. Their food stores had been ruined too, when the skiff had been washed over by wave after wave and the briny water soaked through the wool blankets and oilskin covering the salted goat meat. That left them with nothing to eat but fish, which there were plenty of, but they had no way of cooking their catch, and Makarria could only eat so much raw fish before gagging on the spongy texture.

The two of them had been taking turns at the oars, but to Makarria it seemed as if they were standing still. With no land mass or even clouds as a point of reference, it was impossible to tell they were moving at all. Makarria was hot and tired and hungry, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up on her sleeping mat back home. Parmo had insisted she wrap the remnant of the sail around her like a shawl to keep from getting sunburned, but the canvas was coarse and itchy—nothing like her soft sleeping furs. Makarria realized quite suddenly that she missed her mother, and the memory of Prisca tucking her into bed every night nearly brought her to tears. She sniffled them back though. She'd not yet cried in front of her grandfather on this voyage and she didn't mean to start now.

Facing away from Makarria at the stern, Parmo paddled on, his muscles sore and the novelty of having a young body forgotten for the time being. He knew Makarria was miserable too, but there was nothing for it. He'd gotten them into this mess with his rash decision to cross the ocean, and he now needed to focus his whole attention on getting them out of it. Prisca would flay me alive if she knew what I've done, he chastised himself. Just because I'm living on borrowed time now, it doesn't give me the right to drag Makarria into more danger than she was already in.

He had set their initial course from Spearpoint Rock due east, intent on sailing through the northwesterly trade current then veering southeast to the East Islands. Now that they were without a sail though, he had reversed course. He knew they wouldn't make it to the East Islands paddling, so instead he meant to catch the trade current and head north beyond the Kal Pyrthin Bay along the coast to Tyrna. Makarria would be happier with land in sight, and once they reached Tyrna they could find work on one of the fishing trawlers that worked the northern waters. There were only another two months of fishing before icebergs began forming in the waters off the Barrier Mountains, and then all the trawler captains would take their ships and crews south to fish the warmer waters near the East Islands or Valaróz. It would be hard, dangerous work, but the Emperor would never think to look for Makarria on a fishing boat, and in three months time they would be safe and warm on the East Islands. Makarria would have to cut her hair short in the meantime and pretend to be a boy, but Parmo decided he'd break that news to her when the time came. Let's keep it to one piece of bad news at a time, he told himself.

~~~

The news Taera had told him weighed heavily on King Casstian. There was nothing he could do to help his son Caile, but he would not sit idly by and let his daughter be taken away from him by Wulfram and that damned houndkeeper Natarios, he decided. Casstian's men had spied Natarios taking the scent-hound out of his tower and loading her onto a covered wagon. Clearly Natarios was narrowing down his search and Casstian didn't dare keep Taera around a day longer and risk her having another vision. She'd seen a ship in her visions two nights before, so he meant to send her away on one.

At the mouth of the River Kylep in Kal Pyrthin Bay sat Pyrthin's Flame, the new flagship for Pyrthinia's navy. In truth, she was still under construction—the bunks in the main hold had yet to be installed, and the captain's quarters and guest cabins were only partly furnished—but the master shipbuilder assured Casstian Pyrthin's Flame was seaworthy, and so Casstian had moved the launching ceremony forward by two weeks time.

Taera observed the ceremony at her father's side. He had yet to tell her she was leaving, but she knew what was happening as soon as she saw the ship. She paid little heed to the crew members introduced to her and to the blessing her father gave the ship in the name of Tel Mathir. It was as if she had lived the entire experience before in a dream, and she followed her father around wordlessly. It wasn't until the captain took them on a tour of the ship and Taera found herself standing face to face with a half-naked young woman in the royal guest cabin that it all became real.

"I'm sending you away, Taera," Casstian said. "It's not safe here for you anymore."

"I know."

"Kiss me then and dress this girl in your gown. She will stay here in Kal Pyrthin and pretend to be you for a while at least so no one knows you've left."

Taera kissed her father on his thin cheeks and hugged him, then he spun away and left the room along with the captain. Taera turned to regard the young woman waiting before her. She was younger than Taera by a few years, but she had the same blond hair and a similar build. She stood nervously, wearing only her undergarments.

"What's your name?" Taera asked.

The girl blushed and lowered her eyes. "Nessa, Your Highness."

"And you live here in Kal Pyrthin?"

"Yes. I am a lady at The Olive House."

Taera sighed inwardly. The Olive House was a brothel. How is it that fate made me a princess and yet made this girl—who could be my sister by her looks—a whore?

"Well from now on you're a princess, Nessa," Taera said, smiling for the girl. "Unlace my gown and I'll help you into it."

The girl did as Taera said, and half an hour later Nessa was adorned as the Princess of Pyrthinia.

"Once you get onto the deck of the ship, put up your parasol to keep your face in the shade and hidden as much as possible," Taera told her. "Keep it up until you get into the royal coach, and try not to speak to anyone. I've been in a dour mood all day, so no one will think anything of you ignoring them."

The girl nodded wordlessly, and Taera ushered her out the door with a reassuring smile. Alone and now half-naked herself, Taera went to the wardrobe mounted to the wall beside the bed. Inside she found several simple dresses. She chose one, dressed, then sat on the narrow bed. Within the hour, the captain began yelling orders up on deck, and the moorings holding Pyrthin's Flame were released.

So the voyage begins, Taera mused, knowing she would soon meet the girl from her visions but wishing she knew so much more.