The King's Blood

And Master Kit, while a vicious flirt, never seemed to follow along as far as a woman’s bed.
    Suddapal was a complex of five coastal cities, the largest of which spread out black and tan against the unreal green of the countryside. Where there should have been farms, sheep, goats, there was a vast swath of wild grassland, untouched and unhunted except at religious festivals. It struck Marcus as a terrible way to assure a steady food supply, but he had to admit it was beautiful to look at and walk through. A dragon’s road led east from its main square, but they’d gone as far east as they were going to go.
    Which meant finding a boat.
    “Are you sailors, then?” the Yemmu man asked.
    “I’ve been known to haul a rope a time or two,” Marcus said.
    “I’ve been known to pray a time or two,” the man said, the words surprisingly clear around the massive bulk of his tusks. “Doesn’t make me a priest.”
    The docks of Suddapal spread out before them, piers running out into the wide blue water like bridges so long that Marcus could imagine walking to Lyoneia. After Timzinae, the most common race in Suddapal were the Yemmu like this man, thick, strong, intimidating to look at, but for the most part nicer than Pyk Usterhall. It was good to be reminded that the woman’s irritating nature was her own and not her people’s.
    “We aren’t expecting difficult waters,” Master Kit said. “I understand that the worst of the storm season is over, and the maps I’ve seen show the current carrying us quite near our destination.”
    “Maps you’ve seen,” the Yemmu said. “So you’ve never been there.”
    “No.”
    The man nodded his massive head.
    “You’re a pair of idiots,” he said.
    “Friendly, though,” Master Kit said. “And I do have a certain amount of gold.”
    “Gold sinks,” the Yemmu said. “I don’t mind taking your coin, but I start feeling guilty when I let idiots die. Here’s what I will do, though. Small finder’s fee. Nothing you can’t afford. I’ll find you a ship and someone that knows how to use it.”
    Marcus looked at Master Kit. The actor frowned.
    “I hesitate to take anyone with us,” Master Kit said. “Our business is sensitive.”
    “You know what else is sensitive? My—”
    “I’m afraid that what we’re doing might be dangerous,” Master Kit said.
    “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
    “Kit,” Marcus said. “Give the man his fee. If we find something that’ll work, we’re not obligated to wait. If we don’t, that’s a fine second best.”
    Kit sighed, counted out seven silver coins, and pushed them across the table. The Yemmu man took them, nodded once, and heaved himself up and away. Marcus watched him lumbering away from them down the docks.
    “You think he’ll really look for someone?” Marcus asked.
    “He will,” Kit said. “I wouldn’t have given him the money otherwise.”
    “Right, you can tell,” Marcus said. “I keep forgetting about that.”
    One of the curiosities of Suddapal was the utter lack of inns and wayhouses. There were travelers, but negotiating shelter was a matter of knocking on doors until someone with a spare room or space in a shed was willing to reach agreement. In good weather, they went to a great common green in the middle of the city and set up camp there just as they would have on the road. Timzinae boys walked the green from dusk until late into the night selling baked fish and goat in bowls made from turtle shells. The horizon was clear and the smell of the sea air so clean and unthreatening that they put their bedrolls out without the bother of the little lean-to tent. The horses, they stabled, though other people had let theirs wander the green, cropping the grass and sleeping in a great and temporary herd.
    Marcus traced the constellations, his fingers laced behind his head. It had been a long time since he’d just looked up at the stars. Beside him, Master Kit sighed.
    “Maybe we should have started by sea,” he said. “We could have gotten a boat in Maccia. Or gone west to Cabral and made up the time by sailing.”
    “I thought the currents wouldn’t have done the right thing.”
    “But if we’re going to end up hiring on help anyway,” Kit said.
    “We couldn’t have known. It was the best guess we had. Not like there’s much else we could go on.”
    “No,” Kit said. “I suppose there’s not.”
    Across the green, someone struck up a tune on a small harp.
    “Are you still