“How many ships?”
Captain Maras stood in the office, smiling. “Four, sir. Flying the standard of House Valakono, spears, sun, moon.”
Lerran finished off his rum with a bold swig and slammed the empty mug down on his desk. “Excellent,” he whispered. He brushed around the corner of his desk and strode across the red carpet toward the door.
His breath still exhaled unevenly as he made his way down to the edge of the harbour and watched servants in dark purple robes carry heavy chests down on metal poles. The ambassador from Noress-That-Was was a tall man with cornfield hair and the tattoo of a woman covered by vines on his forearm. His muscles and suntan spoke of his experience on ships, but it was his quiet words that put the rise and fall of Lerran’s chest back to normal. “Five thousand two hundred and fifty Grey Sea coins in gold bars, as promised, my Prince.”
Lerran bowed respectfully and said, “You may tell your masters that the letter will be delivered as we agreed. Your officers may have accommodations on my estate tonight, if they desire.”
The ambassador tipped his head to Lerran and climbed back up the plank. His servants followed. Lerran turned to his escort of soldiers, servants, and Captain Guards. Isar and Maras were both there, as well as fifteen others, waiting for his orders. There were three chests, and he assigned six of the guards to carrying them. “The rest, form a box around us. Maras, behind. Isar, with me.”
With professional speed, the formation was made, and their uphill march began. Lerran walked inside a square of guards, leading the first half of his treasure trove toward his property. He couldn’t hear his footsteps, but he felt the uneven cobblestones as they left the well-kept harbour and entered the maze of streets. Each stairway—and there were many—slowed their progress as the guards pitched in to heave the chests up the uneven slopes to the next level of the cliff-side city.
As they crossed the Dry Rock Market, Lerran looked at the shopkeepers, though most were looking at the gold. A shirtless man with a broken wooden club in his hand caught Lerran’s eye; the grimy commoner stared at the escort without looking away until they left that crowd behind and entered the next street.
“Where will we take it?” Isar asked. “When we get there?”
“Half in the cell, half in the storeroom,” Lerran said. He didn’t look away from the citizens of his city as he spoke with his chief guard. “You will personally oversee splitting the third chest between the two. I don’t want even a single gold bar to disappear.”
“Sir,” Isar said, with a salute. His gaze indicated a group of beggars, two women in dishevelled clothes and a man with a long robe, stained black. The beggars called at the guards, but Lerran couldn’t make out any words over the hammering of heavy boots and the hubbub of the city.
At last, the vast wooden gates of the Lerran Estate came into view. Those grand doors were painted green, the same as the Emerald Eye and all their brooches. The house itself wasn’t green, rather the colour of the red wood and grey stone that constructed it, but everywhere on the property, their colour filled the eyes of the onlookers. The growing crowds parted for the escort to reach the opening in the tall stone wall.
Captain Uthran, the third and final of Lerran’s military captains, waited in the courtyard with a small platoon of green-badged soldiers. His men cracked the gate open just wide enough for Lerran and his escort to press through, followed closely by their new fortune.
It took Lerran a few paces across the courtyard, just to about the cobblestones where Paksis had fallen at the end of her fight, for Lerran’s breathing to return to normal. They had made it.
The rest of his day was much less intense. He penned a letter ordering Rebel King Borik to obey the orders he would soon receive from Var Nordos. In the correspondence, he made it clear that Borik would no longer be his employee, nor have any connection to the Family, publicly or privately. At the end, he wrote, “It has been a beneficial partnership and I am sad to see it end, but we will both go far because of this. Best wishes to you, Lerran, Prince of Sheld.” He rolled it into a scroll and sealed it with his round sigil.
When he brought it out to Eseveer, she smiled and said, “What a good day. Is there anything else, brother?”
Lerran smiled. She was a busy-body, but the subtle cues beneath her politeness showed she cared. He leaned against her desk for a moment and thought about what else he needed to do. “I want to speak to someone about designing a proper vault here, on the estate. We’ve enough money to warrant one, and more than enough to afford one.”
Eseveer smiled, “I’ll write a couple letters and get back to you.”
“And, I want Gadra to put together a list of candidates. Have her talk to the Guard Captains too. Antha, if Antha is willing,” Lerran said. He folded his arms.
“… for what?” Eseveer asked.
“For Captain of the City Watch,” Lerran said. “Antha is leaving.”
His sister’s jaw dropped. Lerran was surprised the others were in the dark, and suddenly worried he had put Antha in an uncomfortable position. He stood up and turned to face Eseveer. “We’re going to let her go,” he murmured. “She needs this. And I need a new Captain of the Watch that I can trust. Let’s get some candidates together for next week—alright?”
“Yes,” his sister whispered. “I’ll get right to that.”