“Hmm. Well, we have a lot to discuss.” Perrault opened the galley door and pointed at a table along the wall. “Sit there and wait for me.”

Dumbly, I watched his retreating back, then shuffled inside the galley.

A few lamps swung from the low ceiling, illuminating a room divided by a counter. To one side sat the crew, eating and talking over one another; to the other, a stocky brunet boy rushed around cooking, clanging pots on the stove, clattering loaf pans against oven racks.

I wasn’t sure how many sailors crewed the Beholder. But as the door banged shut behind us, it felt like a hundred eyes darted my way.

The sturdy, square-faced brunet boy stopped hurrying around the kitchen and hauled an enamel pot out to a sideboard as I approached. “Good evening, Seneschal-elect,” he said with a nervous dip of his head. “Will Grimm. I’m the steward. I cook and manage our stores.” He gestured behind him, at a tanned girl in black leaning against the galley counter and stabbing at her soup bowl as if it annoyed her. “And that’s my sister, Cobie. She’s the ship’s rigger.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” I said, trying to smile.

Cobie didn’t look pleased to meet me. She didn’t look anything.

I took a bowl of soup from the counter, conscious of being watched. Anxiety simmered in my stomach as I glanced around, trying to take everyone in at once: a thin, jumpy old man with graying tawny hair sat between Lang and a boy in his early teens with a cap pulled low on his brow. Skop and an East Asian man of about sixty with silver hair and a round face sat across from them; he and Cobie had been working on deck this morning when I’d come to the harbor. Skop and the old man both smiled at me in greeting.

I sat quietly to eat, grateful when Perrault bustled in and attention shifted to him. He placed a folder on the table. “Your appointments,” he said crisply. I reached for the first sheet inside, but Perrault rapped my hand with his pencil. “You can peruse the profiles at greater length later. I need to talk you through our journey now, and I don’t want to waste time while you dawdle over your suitors’ portraits.” I blushed. At the sailors’ table, Skop rolled his eyes at Perrault.

I crossed my arms, forcing my embarrassment into irritation. “Waste time?” I frowned, leaning forward to whisper at him. “Sir Perrault, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but we’re on a ship. On the Atlantic. You have no meetings to attend. No nobles to look after. It’s just the—” I glanced around, trying to count.