“The people are delighted to see you, Your Majesty,” Ffyn said.
Catherine blinked her tears away and turned her thoughts from Tzsayn as she’d promised to do. “Yes. Incredible, isn’t it? The war front is only a day’s ride north and yet these people carry on with their lives.”
“They have no choice,” replied Ffyn. “Their farms and livelihoods are here. But seeing you gives them hope, Your Majesty.”
Catherine smiled tightly. “I want to give them more than hope. These ships had better be the answer we’re looking for.”
They joined the coast road and made their way south. This was the route Catherine had ridden with Ambrose weeks ago as they’d fled Tornia. How much had changed since then—King Arell had died, Aloysius had invaded the Northern Plateau, and so much more. And Catherine had changed too. She was older and wiser, and—she smiled to think of it—her heart was finally fixed on Tzsayn. And although she wasn’t supposed to think of him, she allowed herself a few happy memories of his smile.
* * *
• • •
It was noon the following day when they arrived at the coastal town of Crossea. The harbor was bustling with sailors, laborers, and tradesmen. A small delegation ran to meet Catherine’s group and guided them to the quay, where Lord Darby and his assistant were waiting. Catherine looked around as she approached, wondering where the ships were. There were many small boats in the harbor and two larger vessels, but no sign of fifteen Calidorian ships. Her heart sank. Had the ships been delayed or sunk by the Brigantines? Had her journey been wasted? Could she have stayed with Tzsayn after all?
But Lord Darby greeted Catherine with a smile. “Good day, Your Majesty. I’m delighted to report that the crossing went well. Your ships are ready, as are their crews, to train your soldiers and sailors.”
He stepped to the side and gestured grandly toward the dozen or so tiny vessels moored in the harbor. “It is a historic moment of cooperation.”
What? That can’t be them!
Catherine felt sick. No, she felt furious. Tears of rage and frustration filled her eyes. The things tied up to the dock were not ships. They were no more than fifteen paces long—they were barely boats. She stared and stared, as if by looking hard enough she might find a real ship hidden among them. It was a historic moment all right—a historic moment of foolishness on her part for ever trusting these Calidorians. She had no words.
General Ffyn, however, did. “Is this some sort of joke?”
Darby looked confused. “Joke? I’m not here to joke.”
General Ffyn stepped closer to the quay, his voice now dangerously level. “You promised us ships. These are . . . well, I don’t know what they are. But they are not ships.”
Darby smirked. “You have the same reaction as many who know little of the sea.”
“I have the same reaction as someone who has been duped!” Catherine exclaimed, finally finding her voice.
“Duped!” Darby’s eyes boggled in outrage. “We’re not here to trick you. We’re working together.”
“Ha! Not once have you offered unconditional support,” Catherine said, her voice rising. “Not once have you offered anything but words, not once have you offered anything real or free. You only agreed to giving us ships after we agreed to buy them, priced over the odds and at high interest rates. Everything has to be pulled from you like rotting teeth, and these boats are the most rotten trick I’ve ever come across.”
“Those are strong words, Your Majesty,” Darby snapped.
“They match my feelings. This is an outrage. We’re at war. We need your help and you send us these . . . toys!”
Ffyn advanced on Darby. “Are you working with Aloysius? Planning on letting us fail—helping us fail? Because that’s what it looks like. I should have you thrown in the local dungeon and left to rot.”
Darby stepped forward to meet him, his bent back straightening. “You will do no such thing. Our ships can beat the Brigantine ships. Your problem is that your men can’t beat the Brigantine men.”
“Sedition! Sedition in front of Her Majesty. I can have you arrested for that!” Ffyn shouted.
Albert, Darby’s aide, stepped forward. “Please, Your Majesty, let us explain. These ships are called scullers. Yes, they are small. But they’re a special design that our navy has perfected over years. They’re lightning-fast, stable in all weathers, and incredibly maneuverable.”
“You forgot to mention that they are extremely expensive as well,” Catherine retorted.