17th of Thira

I sat in my lounging nook, watching the wind whip the trees lining the cliffs of the Lodesian coastline. As if to mirror my mood, heavy clouds churned across the sky, dulling the sunlight and muting the bright colors of the residential district stack-houses.

"You're twisting your napkin," Braeton said quietly.

"Sorry." I let go of the crumple of linen and reached for my tea instead.

He gave me a long look. "We're just coming home after a summer abroad. That's all. This is just a routine security stop."

I didn't argue, but we both knew there wasn't anything routine about what was going on at the sea gates. The Coralynne was fifth in line for the entrance to the harbor, close enough to make out the men in black Coalition Army coats swarming along the ramparts of the fortified harbor wall.

Something caught my attention, and the warmth drained from my face. "You'll need to do better than that. They really are boarding civilian vessels," I whispered, gaze glued to the pleasure barge two places ahead of us.

A faint frown drew Braeton's brows together before he looked away. "That was to be expected. The plan stays the same."

My teacup wobbled as I lifted it to my lips and took a sip. My heartbeat throbbed in my throat. I was sitting right there in the open with nothing between me and the Coventry but a bit of costuming rubber and a copper-blonde hair treatment.

I swallowed a large gulp of tea.

A few agonizing minutes later, the Coralynne was next, and the lofty curve of the sea-gate portcullis loomed over us, casting a shadow as we drifted past the knot of Coalition men standing on the recessed platform inside the gate.

There was a gentle thump as the halting boom caught the Coralynne's prow, bringing her to a stop in the water. Captain Deironos came down the steps from the observation deck, waiting by the railing as the Harbor Master and the military search party extended the accordion boarding ramp and crossed from the platform to the ship, their boots thudding on the deck.

Deironos' baritone carried on the breeze: "Welcome aboard. Can I be of assistance?"

The Harbor Master squinted around at the promenade and drew an official looking document from his breast pocket. "These are orders from the Civil Magistrate granting free access to your ship." He didn't look at the Captain as he held the warrant out. "I will need to see your manifests, and all identity papers for passengers and crew."

A wave of his hand sent the boarding party scattering in all directions, quick-timing up the stairs to the observation decks and disappearing down into the hold.

I worried my lower lip. The plan. Just trust the plan...

Braeton shook open his Muirside Business and Investment periodical, holding it up in front of him as if he really was perusing the financial projections of Edonian silver mines.

Fingers shaking, I placed my tea mug back on its plate and picked up the book Braeton had left on the table for this very moment. I split it roughly in the middle and tried to pretend I was engrossed.

It was impossible to keep from looking, though. They won't find him. Not unless they know where to look... Or if he starts making a racket...

The Harbor Master stood there, thumbs hooked in his belt, surveying everything with an impassive expression on his hawkish face while the boarding party began escorting the crew out onto the main deck, lining everyone up by the railing.

Arramy never appeared, and then the last of the boarding party came up from the hold and said something to the Harbor Master. There was no way to tell at that distance what the message had been, but judging from the Harbor Master's unchanging expression, it hadn't been 'We've found a Navy Captain locked up in a secret compartment.'

I shot a quick look at Braeton.

He turned a page and shook his periodical out again.

Nothing to worry about. Right. Everything is absolutely fine. Marin's bribe worked. I took a steadying breath and hid in my book.

One after the other the crew were verified, their names checked. Faruin, Boatswain. Jarrik, Chief Engineer. Tynnes, Cook.

Still no cry of alarm that they had discovered anyone else. Which meant Arramy hadn't given himself away even though Braeton had locked him inside what amounted to a metal box in the bulkhead. A little wave of relief flooded through me and I closed my eyes, only to snap them open again when plodding footsteps approached the lounge.

"Sir, I need to see everyone's documentation," the Harbor Master said, offering a tight smile. "Yours and the lady's too."

Braeton folded his periodical and placed it neatly on the tea table, reached into his jacket and pulled out a filigreed card case. He withdrew his real papers and my new fake ones, handing them over without a fuss. "Is there something going on? An escaped convict, perhaps?"

"Perhaps." The Harbor Master gave Braeton's silvograph a cursory once over, then spent a little more time on mine, his eyes flicking from my card to my face. At last he pursed his lips and gave the documents back to Braeton, then produced another paper. "Have you seen this girl?"

Braeton took the aldprint flyer and unfurled it, lifting an eyebrow when he saw what was on it. He shook his head and passed the print to me.

It was a rather decent front and side sketch of my face rendered in black rollpress print. At the top marched bold letters, 'Fugitive,' with 'Wanted for the Crimes of Treason, Firestarting, and Murder' beneath it. At the bottom was a detailed physical description and contact information for the Magistrate's Bureau.

Braeton cleared his throat. I was taking too long.

"No," I croaked. Then managed a hoarse, "How awful, she looks so nice," as I forced myself to pick the print up and hold it out.

The Harbor Master was watching me, his dark, fathomless eyes narrowed. He took the wanted flyer from me slowly, and for a terrifying heartbeat I thought perhaps the rubber on my nose was peeling off, or the false hairline had gone askew. Maybe he could see the real me sitting right there in front of him —

The Harbor Master didn't say anything. He simply folded the aldprint back into his pocket, turned, and sauntered off down the deck.

There was a rustle of paper. "Breathe," Braeton hissed from the protection of his quarterly.

I reached for my book, lifted it in front of my face, and exhaled.

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