'Love Mab more?'
'You know what I mean,' said Sela. 'We belong here. This is the center of our world, not the den of a lion.'
Silverdun had been in precarious situations before-in fact it often felt as though his life were merely a lengthy series of them-but this was beyond the pale.
It was hard to believe that it was just this morning that the three of them had met in a cafe outside the Chancery Locks in the City Emerald. They'd traveled via lock to Mag Mell, from there to Annwn, and from Annwn to this place. Over the course of the day they'd gone by carriage, by boat, by horse, and probably some other means of transportation that Silverdun had forgotten. Twenty-four hours and three worlds later, they'd finally arrived.
'I don't know about either of you,' said Ironfoot, 'but I'm in the mood to have a nap, not to spirit away a valuable foreign thaumaturge.'
'It was easy enough getting here,' said Sela. 'As long as everything goes to plan, we'll be back home in the morning.'
'It was easy to get here because getting here was the easy part,' said Silverdun. 'If this Timha's been discovered missing already, then security's going to be tight everywhere we go. They'll be suspecting our presence.'
'All the more reason to be as inconspicuous as possible,' said Sela.
Silverdun looked at her. 'Remember, Sela, it's up to you to detect any dangerous suspicions. If you feel we're in imminent danger, make a comment about the camellia blossoms.'
'So easy to work into idle conversation,' she said.
'Do you have a better idea?' asked Silverdun.
'No, it's fine.' She smiled at him. Her smile, as always, both frightened and compelled him. 'But let's change it to laurels; camellias don't bloom until the fall.'
'Might I point out,' said Ironfoot, his fatigue showing, 'that it would have been wise to have worked this out before coming on the mission?'
Silverdun sighed. 'Ah, but where would the fun be in that?'
Sela chuckled. 'We're all going to die,' she said. Silverdun thought she'd meant it as a joke, but if she had, it fell very, very flat.
Their Unseelie passports allowed them to book passage on a transport ship to Preyia without raising any apparent suspicion. The name of the transport was Mates Contempt.
'So,' Silverdun noted, 'it's not only ship owners on the Inland Sea who refuse to give their vessels comforting names.'
'Hush,' said Sela.
When they stepped out of the station onto the main platform, Sela couldn't believe her eyes. The rising sun glinted off a bank of clouds in the distance. Blue-gray mountains rose in the distance, and beyond the platform rocky hills stretched away as far as the eye could see.
But that was nothing compared to the ships. They ranged from tiny skiffs to enormous three-masted leviathans, their billowed sails shining in the morning light. There seemed to be hundreds of them, some at dock on the outer platform, some coming and going. The largest were almost cities themselves, their mainmasts stretching hundreds of feet into the sky, their ruddermasts depending from their hulls to dip into the clouds. In motion they looked like so many giant fish as they plied the skies.
Sela tried to hide her astonishment, noting that none of the travelers hurrying past seemed remotely awed by the spectacle. Silverdun, who had seen such things before, was less affected by them, and led the way, pulling Sela by the shoulder. A glance back at Ironfoot showed that he was also doing his best not to show his amazement.
As they walked, boys approached them offering to carry their bags, arrange them cheap passage on private vessels, sell them sweetmeats and hot buns. Voices of shipmasters and cargomen cut through the buzz of talk that surrounded them.
Silverdun led them through the crowd, waving away the boys as though none of this was in any way new to him. As they approached the outer platform across a wide bridge, a warm breeze blew up from below, lifting up Sela's skirts, and she realized why she'd been instructed by Paet to wear the form-fitting underskirt.
From behind her, she felt Ironfoot's momentary titillation at seeing her calf and smiled. The thread that connected her to Ironfoot was a pleasant thing. He found her pretty and liked her, but that was all. His roving eye found most every other young woman at Blackstone House, but he respected her role as a colleague. At least that's how she interpreted the sensations she took from him. She tried her hardest not to invade his privacy with her talents.
Silverdun, of course, she could not read at all.
Mali's Contempt lay moored directly ahead. It was a long, narrow craft, with a single mast. Sela knew little about ships, but it appeared to have been
