The evening meal was tense.

  Ship's biscuit, dried meat, and silence thick enough to cut with Stormdrink. Seren sat with Ink pressed against her side, both pointedly ignoring Prattle. The jackdaw perched on a barrel, watching them with those pale, unsettling eyes.

  Prattle hopped closer to Ink. She stared at him, utterly still except for the slow curl of her lip revealing one sharp canine.

  He pecked her tooth.

  Ink didn't move. Just kept staring, she added a low growl to make the warning clear.

  Prattle, deciding he'd pushed far enough, hopped back to Dain's shoulder.

  The silence stretched.

  Merren couldn't stand it.

  "William," he said suddenly, pointing at nothing in particular. "King William. Saved his life once. Well—confused his assassins, which—" He paused, hand still raised, seeming to lose what he was pointing at. "Actually amounts to the same thing, doesn't it? Better, arguably. You save someone's life, they're grateful, fine, lovely, but you confuse the people trying to kill them AND save the life, well that's—" He counted on his fingers, lost count, started over. "Two favors. Possibly three if you count not telling anyone about it. Which I didn't. Except just now. And that time in Vyrden. And—the point is."

  He stopped. Stared at his raised hand like he'd forgotten it was there.

  "The point is?" Kith prompted flatly.

  "WINE!" Merren's hand dropped. "No wait. Assassination. Wine was later. Or earlier? There was definitely wine involved, but not the good kind—well, there WAS good wine, this one vintner near the east gate who—no, that's not the story." He waved this away. "The story is I was in Caladwyth. Beautiful city. Terrible wine. Actually just said the wine was good, didn't I? Both. It was both."

  Seren and Kith both made identical sounds of resignation.

  But Cocky looked up. "You saved King William's life?"

  "Did I? Oh! Yes! Yes I did. So." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "I'm in this tavern—the Copper Kettle. Or the Golden Kettle. Definitely metal of some kind—and there are these two men. Very quiet. Suspiciously quiet. Nobody has quiet conversations in taverns unless they're up to something. Or in love. Or both, I suppose, though that seems complicated."

  He took a bite of biscuit, chewing thoughtfully while everyone waited.

  "Point is, I couldn't hear them, which made me MORE curious, so I moved closer. Ordered another drink. Still terrible. And THAT'S when I heard them." He paused dramatically. "Plotting to poison King William. At his brother's birthday feast. Which seems—I mean, rude? Poisoning someone at a birthday? Terrible form."

  "And you stopped them?" Cocky asked.

  "Well you can't just waltz up to a king and say 'Excuse me, Your Majesty, someone's trying to poison you,' can you? They arrest you on the spot. 'How do you know about the poison?' 'Are YOU the poisoner?' All very awkward questions. So I did something cleverer." He grinned. "I swapped the barrels. The poisoned one with a good one. Same markings—well, similar markings—I might have had to adjust the markings slightly with some paint I borrowed, but—completely different contents. Then I sent a message to William through my contacts. He had the wine tested." Merren snapped his fingers. "Poisoned. Whole plot unraveled beautifully."

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  "Who was trying to kill him?" Cocky asked quietly.

  Merren's manic energy dimmed. Just slightly.

  "His brother. William's own brother. Planning to poison him at his own birthday feast. That's just—I've done some questionable things, morally speaking, but family? At a BIRTHDAY? There are standards."

  "What happened to the brother?" Dain asked.

  "Oh, he's still alive. Under watch. See, here's the thing about royal families—you can't just execute your brother without everyone asking uncomfortable questions. Very messy. So instead, William smiles, the brother smiles, they have awkward family dinners, and everyone pretends it never happened."

  "But William knows," Cocky said slowly.

  "Oh, he KNOWS. Knows exactly what I did. Saved his life. Prevented a succession crisis. Kept the family scandal very quiet." His grin sharpened. "And he owes me. Considerably."

  Kith's ears flicked forward. "Wait. What happened to the poisoned wine?"

  "Hmm?" Merren blinked.

  "The poisoned barrel. You swapped it. Where did it go?"

  "Oh! William kept it."

  Silence.

  "He... kept it," Kith repeated slowly.

  "Well yes. Perfectly good poison, why waste it? Had it tested, confirmed it would absolutely kill someone—quite efficiently, apparently—and then locked it away somewhere very secure."

  "How did he test it?" Seren asked quietly.

  Merren paused mid-reach for another biscuit. "Ah. Well. That's... that's a very good question that I'm not going to answer because I don't actually know and also probably don't want to know. Kings have methods. Let's leave it at that, shall we?"

  "That's horrifying," Dain said.

  "That's kingship," Merren corrected, but his usual cheerfulness had dimmed slightly. "Never throw away a good weapon just because someone tried to use it on you first. Even if—" He cleared his throat. "Even if testing it is... unpleasant."

  Seren said nothing, but her expression had shifted slightly. Still annoyed, but perhaps grudgingly acknowledging that Merren might actually be useful.

  The silence that followed was less oppressive than before. Not comfortable, but functional.

  Progress.

  ***

  The fourth morning dawned clear and bright. Cocky stood at the rail with Kith, both watching the water.

  A crew member called from the rigging: "Sail behind us!"

  Everyone turned. In the distance, white canvas caught the light.

  Merren squinted. "Could be anyone. Merchant vessel, patrol—"

  "Been there since the day before yesterday," Prattle announced from Dain's shoulder.

  Silence.

  "What?" Kith's ears swiveled forward.

  "Ship. Behind us. Three days. Same ship." Prattle sounded completely unconcerned.

  "WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY SOMETHING?!" three voices shouted simultaneously.

  Prattle ruffled his feathers, affronted. "You didn't ask."

  Merren was already moving toward his cabin. "Stay here."

  He returned with a spyglass, extended it, and aimed at the distant sails.

  His expression changed.

  "That's Eustace's ship." His voice had lost all theatrical quality. "The Serpent's Smile."

  Seren was beside him instantly. "You're sure?"

  "I'd know that rigging anywhere." He adjusted the glass, focusing. Then went very still. "And that's Theron on deck."

  The levity drained from the ship like water through a sieve.

  “How long until we reach Eldmere?”

  Merren didn’t answer straight away.

  “Tomorrow,” he said finally. “If the wind holds.”

  “Can he catch us?”

  Merren lowered the spyglass.

  "Eustace is good. Very good. And his ship is shinier, faster—" He caught himself, jaw tightening. "But we should make it to port first. Maybe."

  Dain started pacing, hands gesturing rapidly. "Right, so we're being followed. Properly chased. That's—" He shook his head. "What's the plan? We need a plan, yeah?".

  Cocky looked at the distant sail, still white against the horizon.

  Tomorrow. They'd reach Eldmere tomorrow.

  And Theron would be right behind them.