greater standing in Turgonian society, as was the case with Nurian honored families. He did know that—
“Starcrest?” Arayevo murmured. “Isn’t that...”
“The Turgonian president’s surname, yes.” Yanko had no idea if there were ten Starcrests in the empire or hundreds. There were White Foxes whom he had never met, so he wouldn’t assume Dak was a close relative of the president. Still, when he remembered how Dak had known the Komitopis family, he wondered.
“Does that mean he’s in charge and we’ll be treated well?” Arayevo asked.
Yanko could only shrug. Whether they were treated well or not, he doubted he would be allowed to keep the lodestone for long. He brushed its lump again and wondered what the Turgonians would do if he hurled it over the railing. That wouldn’t do anything to help Nuria, but if his people couldn’t have that continent, would it be better to keep the enemy from claiming it?
Dak looked over at him and said a few words, perhaps explaining him to the admiral. Yanko lowered his hand. The Turgonians might very well have an underwater boat or two trailing this fleet of ironclads, and they would have the ability to dive down and retrieve the lodestone. As much as he hated the idea, he would just have to wait and see what happened.
“Yanko.” Dak held out his hand, the same way Pey Lu had.
He probably wanted the same thing she had wanted. He glanced at Kei, half tempted to give it to the parrot again and order him to fly away with it.
“Seeds,” Kei announced, and Yanko had the feeling he had just been told that he wouldn’t get any more favors until he fed the bird.
Dak’s eye narrowed slightly.
Yanko clenched his jaw but tossed him the lodestone. Let them look it over. They had no magic. They’d probably think it a paperweight, and no matter where they tucked it on this ship, Yanko could find it again.
Dak caught it and promptly handed it to the admiral. The man looked skeptically at it, and Yanko could guess the words that he spoke.
“It’s a rock.”
Dak shrugged.
Another exchange occurred between the men, this time with much gesturing at Yanko. Dak’s expression grew even sourer than usual.
As he was thinking that he needed to put some effort into learning Turgonian, Arayevo snorted and muttered, “That’ll teach him.”
“Do you understand them?” Yanko whispered.
“Dak did let me practice on him while we were on the underwater boat, but I can only get some of it. Enough to know he just got stuck in a cabin with you, since he’s the only one on the ship who’s had...” She shrugged. “Some kind of training.”
Yanko could guess. Whatever the Turgonians called mage-hunter training, at least the part that involved repelling mental attacks. His bodyguard was about to become his captor. Or maybe his nanny.
“Poor Yanko,” Lakeo said, “never gets to share cabins with beautiful women. Always gets stuck with surly Turgonians instead.”
“I thought you found him appealing from the lips down,” Yanko said reflexively, though he wasn’t in the mood for trading barbs.
“That doesn’t negate his surliness.”
Yanko thought about pointing out that she was as surly as Dak, but the second longboat was being pulled up. Since the pirates had escaped before the Turgonians set anchor, he could only think of one person that the craft might have been sent to collect. Even so, he was surprised when it settled into its berth on the deck and the mage hunter stepped out, her hood down and a white bandana holding her hair back from her face. She ignored him utterly, though she snapped something at one of the soldiers who looked like he wanted to search her for weapons. She shouldn’t have any. Yanko was still puzzled as to when she had recovered the throwing stars.
He looked to Dak, wondering if he understood why she would have been brought aboard—and why she would have voluntarily come with the Turgonians. Even if she and Yanko were enemies, they were both Nurians, both enemies of Turgonia. She couldn’t possibly be working with someone here, could she? Didn’t Turgonians consider assassinations cowardly?
Dak did not look any more enlightened than Yanko felt. He asked the admiral a question and received a headshake and a short answer.
The hunter—Yanko still did not know her name—stood with her arms folded across her chest, glaring defiantly about her. He almost labeled her as surly, too, though he caught a hint of concern in her eyes. Was she a prisoner? She snapped