‘In her way.’ He chuckled. ‘But I think she has her eye on a friend of mine. Come, I’ll introduce you to her.’

As Dion and Isobel continued toward the shipyards, he tried to think of something to say. He’d never struggled to find words with Chloe, and for some reason he’d thought it would be the same with Isobel, but already the silence was becoming uncomfortable; he could see that Isobel was pretending to examine every vessel they passed with interest while she waited for him to speak.

‘I saw the dolphin on your necklace. Shouldn’t a dolphin be on a silver necklace, for Silex?’

‘I prefer gold, but I asked Father’s jeweler to make me a necklace with a dolphin for this visit.’ She paused for a moment as she lifted up the solid gold dolphin to show it to him. Despite himself, he found his eyes drifting to the pale skin below. ‘I like the sea,’ she finished.

‘Can you sail?’

‘No.’ She laughed. ‘I’m a woman! Men do the sailing. But I like being on boats.’

‘What about horses?’

‘I prefer not to ride. It’s more comfortable aboard a ship. Whenever I ride I get sore.’ She patted the curve of her hip and behind, just below her slim waist.

They now approached another trireme, this one obviously still under construction. The huge vessel rested in a deep, tiered depression, and there were hundreds of small wooden supports holding it in place, along with a sturdy timber frame.

‘Ah, there she is. Roxana!’

Roxana glanced at them, but her attention immediately went back to the ship under construction. She was watching intently as workers on the top deck maneuvered an immense cut and polished log into place, tilting it up as ropes fastened to its end came tight, hauled by groups of workers at ground level.

‘Sire,’ Roxana said. ‘I’m a bit busy here.’

Isobel looked shocked, but Dion laughed. ‘Carry on.’ He kept clear of the proceedings, pointing things out to Isobel. ‘She’s fitting the mast. It’s an important stage and she needs to concentrate.’

‘Keep it up or I’ll use your skins for sails!’ Roxana roared. The mast began to approach the vertical, but then started to tip. ‘Kalaphos!’ she shouted. ‘Get your crew over there to help!’

A bunch of workers rushed to help the men hauling on the ropes. Some were Xanthians, but others were from Fort Liberty, people who’d made new lives in Xanthos. A dark-haired woman, dressed in sailor’s clothing more commonly seen on a man, bumped into Isobel as she dashed past, muttering an apology but never looking back.

‘Sorry,’ Dion said. ‘We shouldn’t bother them. If it went wrong, we’d lose months of hard work.’

‘It’s fine.’ Isobel gave him a smile. She nodded toward a grassy bank above the shipyards. ‘Perhaps we could sit on the grass and watch?’

‘Good idea.’