Shirin put her fingers on Sábria’s lips. “Shh. No need to apologize.” Pulling a kerchief from a pocket in her trews, she shook it open one-handed and handed it over. “Here. Let yourself cry, and when you’re ready, I’ll bring Master Berginson in so we can find out what he knows.”

  They sat quietly for a quarter candlemark while Sábria let herself feel the grief welling up inside. She’d always known that one day, she might get word that her pirate-fighting, seafaring friend might not return, but when hit by the reality of her death, she was finding it difficult to pull air into her lungs. There was too much life in the woman for her to be dead, too much joyfulness, high spirits, and unfettered enjoyment of the world around her for the seas to claim Gweyir Wynlafur as their own.

  “Breathe deeply, Sábria. That’s what we tell our Blades when they’re grieving, isn’t it? Breathe in. That’s it. Now out. Long and slow.”

  The familiar exercise helped to quiet her grief, and when she’d gotten control over her emotions, Sábria wiped her face with the cloth Shirin had given her. Pulling in one more deep breath, she sat up and looked at her friend. “Do I look presentable enough to greet Aofric?”

  Shirin took the kerchief and wiped what wetness remained on Sábria’s cheeks. “Your eyes are red and puffy, but, then, so were his. I don’t think he’ll care. Shall I bring him in?”

  “Please. And then could you bring us some drinks. The Omune Chiaretto. I think that’s appropriate, don’t you?”

  “I don’t think Gweyir would accept anything less if you intend to raise a glass in her memory.” Both women stood, and Shirin went to the door to ask the harbormaster to come in.

  When he entered, Sábria put on the Arch Priestess’ face of the comforter and walked to him with outstretched hands.

  Aofric, who hastily tucked his cap under one arm, took them in his overlarge, heavily callused hands, and bent to kiss her ring. “Milady, I’m sorry to bring such news.” He was a giant of a man, even in his mid-seventies. Sailors and sea captains alike feared and respected his heavy-handed ways, but the man turned to soft-buttered toast whenever he was around Sábria.

  “I wouldn’t want to hear news about Gwe from any other man. Now come, sit over here and tell me what you know.” There was very little sign that only a short time earlier, she’d been sitting on this very sofa crying into Shirin’s embrace. Sábria sat and patted the leather cushion beside her. “I know she was dear to you as well, Aofric, and I’m grieving for your loss as well as mine.”

  Lowering his six-foot-five-inch frame onto the sofa wasn’t as easy as it had been the first time Gweyir had brought him to meet the Arch Priestess. He stretched out his long legs and, with a shrug and slight grin, he glanced at Sábria out of the corner of his eye. “Do ya remember th’ first time Gwe brought me t’ meet ya? ‘This be th’ lady what calls ‘erself after me ship, don’t ya know? And she’s well-enough lookin’ that I’ll let ‘er do it, too.’”

  Appreciating his attempt at keeping the meeting from getting maudlin—Gweyir would have demanded that they keep things light—Sábria rolled her eyes and put her forehead onto her fingers. “I remember, all right. The first time she came here, she told me she was worried she’d find another sadistic, useless Arch Priestess like those she’d found in both Dreyutha and Kibrun.”

  She grinned over at the man. “She said I was a pleasant surprise and that she approved of Elyon’s choice.” Mimicking the thick, Trenchian accent perfectly, Sábria sat up straight and raised a finger in the air as though declaring a brilliant truth. “The other Gods and Goddesses need t’ get their eyes checked if they claim those bum lickers fer their Arch Priestesses.”

  Shirin, who was bringing in a tray with the drinks, raised her brows when Aofric put his head back and roared with laughter.

  “And I don’t think ya ken, but I talked her outta havin’ a master shipwright in Dreyutha carve a naked figurehead of ya fer th’ Polperro.” He grinned and refrained from glancing at Sábria’s chest.

  Shirin had no such compunction, though. From behind the man’s back, she took an appreciative look at Sábria’s firm, rounded breasts and laughed. “I can’t believe she even considered it.”

  Sábria and Aofric spoke in unison, “I can.”

  Each took a wineglass, and when Shirin had settled into her chair, Sábria took a sip and sobered. “Can you tell us what you’ve heard, old friend?”

  Aofric, who had about as much culture as a wooden pulley on a ship, downed the entire serving in one gulp. He held up the empty glass. “Now, that’s nice, but I’d prefer t’ be drinkin’ t’ Gwe with th’ stout ale I know ye have down in yer dinin’ hall.”

  Shirin set her glass on the sofa table. “I’ll be right back.” Since the atmosphere was no longer one of grief and quiet, she stuck her head out of the door and called for the Blade guarding the office door. “Prita.” When the woman opened the door and stepped in, Shirin hiked a thumb over her shoulder. “Would you go get Master Berginson two ales from the—”

  “Three!”

  Shirin smiled and amended her instruction. “Please bring three ales from the dining hall.”

  Prita, a newer blade who hadn’t been at the temple for more than a few turns and only knew the harbormaster from seeing him at a distance down at the docks, nodded. “Aye, Commander. Should I have Lexa come upstairs while I’m gone?”

  Lexa was the Blade standing guard outside the entry doors downstairs. Shirin stepped to the young Blade and spoke quietly so Aofric wouldn’t overhear. “No, Master Berginson is an old friend. He’s gruff and rough around the edges, but I’d trust Sábria’s life to him if it ever came to that.”

  A hint of relief washed over Prita’s aristocratic features, and Shirin hid her amusement. She expected the guards outside the Citadel to make the Arch Priestess’ safety their first and only priority, and she imagined Lexa was wondering whether she was up to the task of stopping the big harbormaster if he tried to attack Sábria.

  Laughter rose from the inner office, and as Prita trotted down the stairs to fetch the ale, Shirin called after her, “And ask Mistress Fullman for a combination of fruit pasties.”

  From the inner office, she heard Aofric call out, “And a few of th’ savory ones wouldn’t go amiss neither.”

  Shirin grinned down at the Blade and nodded. “Savory ones, too. Tell her they’re for Master Berginson. She’ll know what to bring.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  As would be expected, Aofric’s appetite was as big as his personality, and when Mistress Fullman knocked on the door with a tray of food and ale, he paused in his reminiscing long enough to pull her into a bear of a hug.

  Blushing, the plump dining hall mistress mock-slapped him on the chest. “Master Berginson. I’m that pleased to see you visiting the Temple. I just happened to have made some savory ham and peas pie this morning, and I know they’re your favorite.” He beamed at her, but despite that, she noticed a sadness behind his eyes. There was a tentative quality to her voice when she asked, “I hope everything’s well with you?” Her gaze strayed to Sábria and then to Shirin.

  It was Shirin who found her voice first. “Master Berginson has brought us the sad news that there are reports that the Polperro went down in a hurricane.”

  With a sharp intake of breath, Fullman covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, Goddess, No!”

  Her reaction nearly brought Sábria to tears again, and realizing this, Shirin rose and gently ushered the matron into the outer office. “It’s horrible news, Jessen, I know.”

  Jessen shook her head. “That lass was so full of life. Would you please express my condolences to both Sábria and the harbormaster?”

  “Of course. And I’ll check in on you later to make sure the news hasn’t upset you too much. I don’t remember you being close to Gweyir…?” The captain of the Polperro was a presence in any room she entered, and Shirin was just now realizing that more than just Sábria might be affected by the news of her passing.

  “Oh, no. I liked her, no question about that, but I’m more concerned for Sábria. I know they’ve been close for many turns.”

  “Well, thank you for your concern, and I’ll pass along your condolences.”

  Jessen’s brows lifted. “I know. I’ll prepare her chicken and spinach crepes with cheese and garlic tonight, especially for her. Do you think that would help?”

  Knowing people tended to offer comfort in the best way they knew how, Shirin smiled and nodded. “I think that would be absolutely perfect. What a kind offer.” She squeezed Jessen’s shoulder and saw the woman to the door. When she returned to the office, Aofric had just popped the last bite of a pasty into his mouth.

  Sábria topped off Shirin’s wine and poured herself a second glass. “Aofric was just preparing to tell us what he knows. Bring a plate over if you like.”

  Shirin’s stomach had complained when she’d seen the pasties and hadn’t taken one. “Thank you. Would you like me to fill one for you?”

  “No, thank you.” Sábria hadn’t eaten much breakfast, but the news had robbed her of an appetite.

  Shirin filled a plate for herself and sat in the wingchair facing the sofa.

  Aofric gulped down half a tankard of ale and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Well, two days ago, the Charbidis docked, and her captain came to chat. He said he heard th’ Polperro had gone down off th’ Kibrunian coast and had I heard aught else about it. Well, I hadn’t, so I kept it t’ meself, never likin’ t’ spread bad rumors about summat like that.” He tipped his mug up and used his sleeve to wipe some ale from his beard after he drank. “It weren’t ‘till th’ captains of th’ Pollux and th’ Jackdaw come in last night wit’ th’ same news I thought I ought t’ come let ya know that’s what’s goin’ round.”

  Not being overly familiar with how news traveled in nautical circles, Sábria tapped the base of her wineglass on her thigh. “How is news like that confirmed?”

  He shrugged, “Mostly through word of mouth. Just like those captains hearin’ it from other captains an’ passin’ th’ news along, like I’m doin’ t’ you.”

  “Do you know whether they found wreckage or survivors?”

  “Findin’ bodies after a blow like that don’t happen unless th’ ship went down near land and th’ bodies climb th’ shore an’ rest on th’ sand. Mostly they get ate by sharks and th’ like.” He shrugged, “Which ain’t such a bad endin’ fer a body what lived their whole life on th’ sea.”

  Shirin saw Sábria’s shoulders stiffen and knew that when Aofric got into his cups, it loosened his tongue and inhibitions. Seeing that he’d finished his meal and most of his third mug of ale, she set her plate down and rose. “Aofric, old friend. I can’t thank you enough for passing along the news. And I know Sábria would like to continue reminiscing with you. Unfortunately, she has a meeting with Emperor Aloric that she needs to prepare for.”

  When they stood, Aofric went to enfold Sábria in a gregarious, sloppy hug, but Shirin deftly stepped between them, put a hand on his shoulder, and quietly said in his ear, “Even though she’s our friend, she’s still the Arch Priestess of the Daughters of Elyon.”

  He blinked several times before collecting himself. Turning to Sábria, he bowed very low, and when he straightened, he looked at her with sad, puppy eyes. “I’m gonna miss her, Milady.” With that, he nodded a polite thanks to Shirin and walked out of the room.

  Sábria walked to her desk and consulted her calendar. When they heard the outer door click shut, she asked, “Do I really have a meeting with Aloric today?”

  Holding out her hands to her sides, Shirin shrugged, “I lied.”

  Lifting one side of her mouth, Sábria looked fondly at her friend. “How appropriate after getting such news. How many times did Gwe lie to us about something and then grin wickedly when we found out she’d been stringing us along the whole time?” Twisting her head around on her shoulders to loosen stiff muscles, she picked up a book she’d been reading and smiled sadly at Shirin. “I’m going to spoil myself and relax for a while. I’ll be in the Sanctum if any emergencies arise.”

  Before she reached the door, she thought of something else she wanted with her in her room. She walked back to her desk and picked up the enameled tin container. The beautiful lid bearing the image of the three-masted schooner on a vibrant green sea lay next to it. Picking it up, she whispered, “Oh, Gweyir.” She sank to her knees and began sobbing into her hands.

  Shirin quickly found the kerchief lying on the sofa and brought it to her. Lowering herself onto the floor, she pulled Sábria into her lap and held her close. She wanted to tell her the sea captain was too tough for a hurricane to take her, but she knew that would be folly. Sábria cared for so many people, but there were only a few who’d won the Priestess’ heart a hundred times over. Even though Shirin wanted to take the pain away, the best she could manage was to hold on as tight as she could until the wrenching pain subsided.

  CHAPTER 14

  Several days later, Killian was just getting back from deadnight shift with her shiv, Emlyn, when a disturbance caught her attention. Shouts of “move aside” and “make way” echoed off the buildings on either side of the avenue running between the castle and the Temple.

  Both she and Emlyn stopped to see what the commotion was about. When the Emperor’s personal guards marched through the castle gates, Killian knew there was only one reason Emperor Aloric left his place of safety with foot guards instead of a mounted contingent. She grabbed Emlyn’s arm. “Run and warn Sábria that she may be getting a surprise visit from Emperor Aloric. Hurry. I’ll try to help the gate guards stall them.”

  Knowing better than to ask questions at a time like this, Emlyn took off at a run.

  Killian, who’d grown up around royals and knew some underhanded ways to deal with their whims and fancies, ran up to Dina, who was standing gate guard. “Aloric is trying to surprise Sábria with one of his unannounced visits. Lower the inner portcullis, and we’ll say we were checking the mechanism. Hurry.”

  Dina had been at the Temple nearly as long as Killian. She nodded decisively and, with the help of a passing Blade, worked the winches on either side of the gate.

  Killian remained in the outer bailey to deal with the Emperor or, more probably, either his Seneschal or lead guard. As cries of “Bow to your Emperor” and “Your Emperor walks before you” were heard along the avenue, Killian hurriedly took Dina’s place to the left of the outer gate.

  As the Emperor’s guards marched down the avenue, Killian ordered, “Block and post.”

  She and the remaining gate guard, Larkin, moved to the center of the outer gate and stood at attention, making sure they’d be in the way when the Emperor and his entourage of twenty soldiers, ten in front of the rotund man and ten behind, arrived.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Killian watched the same merchants and nobles who bowed deeply or curtsied low to Sábria, bow or curtsy just enough to satisfy protocol as the Emperor sauntered by. Knowing Aloric, she knew his intention was to catch Sábria off guard, and although his steps weren’t hurried, they weren’t ambling either.

  The entire procession stopped in front of the gate, and the Seneschal himself came running forward from where the Emperor waited in the middle of the street. “Move aside and let Emperor Aloric pass!”

  Killian came to attention and brought her fist to her chest. “My Lord, if we’d had prior notice, we wouldn’t have scheduled maintenance today on the portcullis. As you can see….” She turned and indicated the metal gate with a wave of her hand. Surprised and pleased to see several Blades going over each metal square with quiet concentration, she turned back and blinked innocently. “As you can see, the Arch Priestess demands that we keep the portcullis rust-free and that we check for any stress fractures in the metal on a regular basis. If you wait here, I’ll have them raise it for His Imperial Majesty.”

  Sniffing his displeasure, the man returned the way he’d come to explain the delay.

  Killian dutifully strode to the portcullis and pointed to a spot on the gate. “You missed that bit of rust there, Prime Geller.”

  Geller, who’d just returned to the Temple after supervising deadnight shift, glared out at her. “I’ll pull yer skinny head through this square and rub th’ rust off with yer fowkin’ hair, ya blasted sweiven Blade.”

  While Killian respected the Prime and, at times, feared the crop she carried during weapons training, she’d known her long enough to see the tiniest spark of amusement in the older woman’s eyes. “Yes, Prime.”

  The gate to the Sanctum’s garden opened, and Sábria and Commander Shirin walked through, followed by Emlyn. Sábria had donned the ceremonial Priestess’ tunic instead of the dress uniform of the warrior aspect of the Goddess Elyon, a subtle reminder to Aloric that he’d do well to remember who rules within the Temple walls.

  The Commander had on the all-black uniform and highly-polished boots worn by all Blades during the course of their duties. The difference between hers and those worn by the Blades hastily assembling in the inner bailey was that it was practically new and never worn for anything other than affairs of state. The tunic, which fit to perfection, had no wrinkles, the silver buttons and buckles were all polished to a lustrous shine, and her sword was housed in a leather sheath that rarely saw the light of day.

  Shirin strode ahead of Sábria and proclaimed her mock irritation in a loud voice. “Why is this gate still down? Can’t you see the Emperor is waiting out on the streets? Prime Geller!”

  Geller turned and brought her fist to her chest. “Commander?”

  “Get that portcullis up immediately.”

  “Aye, Commander.”

  Killian hurried back to her place at the gate, where a red-faced Seneschal met her.

  “His Imperial Majesty is not pleased. Your Arch Priestess will no doubt hear of his displeasure at your performance this morning.”

  “My apologies to His Imperial Majesty and to you as well, Lord Dunham.” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the clanging and creaking of the portcullis as it was raised. “As I said earlier, if we had but known of your visit, we would never have scheduled this maintenance. Please—” The clanging stopped, and Killian realized she was still shouting. Lowering her voice, she repeated, “Please convey our sincerest apologies to Emperor Aloric.”