— 43 —

Nalia had seen very little of Korin since he’d learned of her pregnancy. He did not come to her bed at all any longer—a welcome respite—and spent each day planning and organizing for his war.

Nalia watched the activity in the encampments and the constant coming and goings in the fortress yards below from her balcony. The air was filled with the steady din of armorers and farriers, and the rumble of carts.

She was not forgotten, however. Korin sent her little gifts each day, and Tomara went to visit him each morning with word of Nalia’s health. In those rare moments that he did come to her, he was kind and attentive. For the first time, Nalia actually looked forward to the sound of his step on the stairs.

Korin was not thinking of Nalia as he and his men rode down the switchback road to the harbor. Before he’d come to Cirna, it had been nothing but a tiny fishing village. Over the course of the summer it had been transformed. Rows of makeshift houses, crude taverns, and long barracks houses had sprung up on the steep slope that stretched between the cliffs and the shoreline.

A brisk sea breeze stirred through Korin’s black curls, drying the sweat on his brow. Summer was waning day by day, but the skies were still clear. Duke Morus’ ships rode at anchor in the deep harbor, joined now by more than a dozen others. There were thirty-three in all. Some were little more than large coasting vessels or fishing boats, but he had twenty fine strong carracks, capable of carrying a hundred men each.

As Korin reached the stone jetty, the stink of hot tar and fish mingled with the salt tang in the air. “I wish we could sail with them,” he said over his shoulder to Alben and Urmanis. “They’ll be in Ero in a few days’ time while we’re still plodding along on the road.”

“Yes, but you’ll command the larger force,” Alben replied.

He and Urmanis were the last of Korin’s original Companions, and the last of his friends. He’d also raised Moriel to Companion. As Niryn pointed out, the Toad had proven his worth these past months, and though Niryn had been loath to release him from his own service, he’d had to agree that there were few enough properly trained young men left to fill out the ranks. Alben had always spoken well of him, and Korin found himself wondering why he hadn’t taken him on sooner.

Morus greeted him heartily. “Good morning, Majesty. How is your lady today?”

“She’s very well, my lord,” Korin replied, clasping hands with the man. “How is my navy?”

“We’ll load up and set sail as soon as you pour the libation. With a good following wind, we should make harbor above Ero in three days’ time and be ready to close the vise on Atyion as soon as you arrive.”

Moriel smiled at that. “You’ll catch Prince Tobin like a nut between two stones.”

“Yes.” Korin’s heart felt like a lump of ice in his breast every time his cousin was mentioned. He’d never hated anyone the way he hated Tobin. He haunted Korin’s dreams, a pale and taunting figure, twisted to a dark-eyed specter. Only last night Korin had dreamed of wrestling with him, each one trying to take the crown the other wore.

Tobin had fooled half the country with his mad claims and even had a few victories to impress them. Those galled Korin, and jealousy ate at his heart. Now the little upstart had even stolen Caliel away. He would never forgive any of them.

Niryn spoke darkly of the wizards who were gathering to Tobin’s court. Few had come to Cirna, and the handful of Harriers who’d come north were a worthless lot, as far as Korin was concerned, good for little more than burning their own kind and scaring the soldiers. If the rumors were to be believed, Tobin’s had greater powers. By the Flame, how he hated that brat!

“Korin, are you unwell?” Urmanis whispered close to his ear.

Korin blinked and found Morus and the others staring at him. Alben had him by the elbow and Urmanis stood close on the other side, alarmed.

“What are you all staring at?” Korin covered his momentary lapse with a glare. In truth, he felt a bit dizzy, and his clenched hands ached to strike out at something. “Come, summon your men, Morus.”

Morus gave the signal to one of his captains. The man raised a horn to his lips and blew the assembly call. Within moments other signalmen on the ships and up the hillside were echoing the call. Korin sat on a mooring post to wait, watching as rank upon rank of men poured out of the barracks and marched to the jetties. Longboats skimmed in over the smooth face of the harbor to meet them.

“Are you better?” Alben murmured, staying close to him and shielding him from the sight of the others.

“Yes, of course!” Korin snapped, then, with a sigh, “Was it a long one, this time?”

“Only a moment, but you looked ready to kill someone.”

Korin rubbed at his eyes, trying to fend off the headache that was building behind them. “I’ll be fine once we’re on the march.”

This time he would not show weakness or make mistakes. This time he would be his father’s son.