Since Nikolas’s death and the peace accord with Ilea, Dion had slowly become accustomed to his new role. With his uncle’s help, he’d found homes for many of the Free Men in Xanthos, and he’d built a new settlement at the isle of Fort Liberty, even larger than the one before it, for those who wanted to live free from the governance of kings. Once home to feared pirates, Fort Liberty now had a charter as a semi-autonomous trading outpost, and with light taxes and loose rules, wealth poured in. With the Maltherean Sea at peace, Dion had decided to venture to a new sea: the Aleuthean.

He lifted his gaze to inspect the largest of the Lost Souls: a tall island with a sharp precipice plummeting to the sea, the remnant of some mountain the ancient Aleutheans would have looked up at as they went about their daily business. Despite trusting Cob implicitly, he couldn’t help glancing back at the helm.

‘Don’t worry,’ Cob said, his eyes always on the sea. ‘Roxana will skin me alive if I harm her pride and joy.’

‘From what I hear, you’ve got nothing to fear from her.’ Dion smiled. ‘Don’t think you can hide from me where those honey cakes you’ve been eating all voyage came from.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe she cooked for you.’

Cob reddened. ‘She was returning a favor—’

‘A favor, or a gift? I’ve seen the hand-carved sailboat she keeps in her workroom. It’s fine indeed; you should be proud.’

Cob’s face turned even redder, and with a grin Dion left the old man behind, walking along the rail and staring down into the sea, smooth and shining like a polished gemstone. The water was becoming paler, a lighter shade of blue as the depth became shallower. A boulder, covered in a fur of ocean growth, took form far below before the ship left it behind. More dark shapes became clear in ones and twos, contrasting with the lighter color of the sea floor. Soon there were more darker patches than anything else.

Spurred into action, Dion glanced at the sail, nodding to himself when he saw it was already lowered. He strode to the hatchway leading to the lower rowing decks.

‘On my mark,’ he called down to the oarsmen. He checked that they were well clear of the peaked islands before bellowing, ‘Now!’

The oars suddenly went still, the three tiers of rowers all stopping as one. Leaving the hatchway to scan both flanks of the vessel, Dion nodded to himself, pleased with their precision: the sailors of Xanthos had learned their skills, and were now good enough to rival any Ilean crew.

And, he reminded himself, the Ileans didn’t have triremes, which made this ship the most powerful vessel on the water.