Adon Santinetta and Crown Prince Lorens make a state visit to Satele.

One // Two

Winter seemed determined to hang on as long as it could. Starday had dawned cold and rainy, and the leaden sky looked solid enough to refuse the sun entry for the rest of a long day. Despite the dismal weather and the early hour, Palisade’s southern docks teemed with activity, with stevedores hauling boxes and crates to and from river-going boats and barges. Some vessels were already pulling away from their moorings and into the flow of the White River.

Into the commotion drove a glossy black carriage with the royal house’s coat of arms—a silver helm over two crossed silver swords on a purple field—affixed to its doors. The two white horses pulling it trotted at parade pace, heads held high as if they knew they were transporting royalty. Marring the effect, however, were three enormous trunks lashed to the carriage’s roof, causing it to look like a luxurious moving wagon. It moved toward the secure quay where the crown’s twin riverboats were moored. Sentries at the gate swung the iron gates wide to allow them entry.

Before the carriage came to a complete stop, Adon opened its door and hastily swung down to the road. A moment later, it became clear why, as the sound of a heated argument could be heard over the ambient noises of the docks. A female voice proclaimed in high dudgeon that since her mother had died, her father and brother always ordered her about as if she were a child, but she was a grown woman and could live her life as she chose. In response, a resonant male voice complained that they only wanted the best for her, but when she failed to act like the princess she was, she forced them to correct her—not to mention that she was bringing three extra trunks. The female voice, now pouty, complained that she had been unable to decide among her newest gowns, so she had brought them all. Adon rolled his eyes and helped the driver with the trunks, while the footman waited patiently for the royals to descend to the street.

Slender and graceful, with her dark-brown curls flowing over her shoulders, Princess Carena Ankara stepped down from the carriage as if she owned every inch of wherever she deigned to cast her haughty gaze. Her green eyes swept the quay, and she wrinkled her refined nose at the sights and smells of the riverside. Appalled, she lifted the hem of her emerald velvet dress with both hands and backed toward the carriage, blocking the door.

“Carena!” Prince Lorens boomed. Around his sister, he often found it difficult to speak in any tone below a shout. “You must move! I need to get out!”

“But it’s so appallingly dirty here!” she complained. Her beautiful face twisted into a mask of revulsion and even a twinge of dismay.

“It’s a dock, for the Shepherd’s sake! Docks are exposed to the elements, filthy cargo, and grimy men! If you would take but ten steps to the riverboat, you will be safe from anything that may stain your precious dress! Now move!”

At his bellow, she released her dress with one hand and took the footman’s arm, whereupon he quickly escorted her to the gangway of the waiting boat, a long, sleek, shallow-keeled vessel, Crane. Years before, King Alfons had commissioned it and her twin, Heron, to ferry dignitaries swiftly downriver, sheltered and comfortable in their long, low, multi-room cabins, which featured three compact, well-appointed staterooms, a cozy salon, and a narrow galley. An experienced captain, two sailors, and a steward crewed the Crane, and once they reached Kingsport, they would oversee her overland return to Palisade on a specially built wagon and trailer.

To Lorens and Adon’s relief, Carena uncomplainingly descended into the cabin, where the steward guided her to the largest stateroom toward the prow. Without a word of thanks, she swept inside and closed the door behind her. He had to raise his voice to let her know he would bring her breakfast soon after they got underway. She did not bother to respond.

The prince boarded, and the boat’s captain welcomed him at the head of the gangplank with a bow. “We are ready to cast off as soon as you are ready, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Captain Nevitt!” Lorens answered cheerfully despite his sister’s aggravating behavior. “We await two final passengers: my father’s Minister of Trade, Lord Petron Bardonnel, and my sister’s maid, a Miss Verona Pagiel. The soldiers I said might accompany us took another vessel on Moonday to prepare for our arrival in Kingsport. Ah, the other carriage approaches! Once they and their luggage are aboard, you may depart at your leisure, captain.”

“As you wish, my lord!” Nevitt said. “The steward, Corvis, will show you to your stateroom. Lord, did you say that your man, Adon Santinetta, will bunk with the crew? It’s highly unusual.”

Lorens grinned. “Not for him! Adon is a longtime sea captain and says he prefers a hammock when he’s on the water. I would not doubt that he will want to assist your crew in any way he can. The man cannot keep still when there’s work to be done!”

“Very good, my lord. I will be happy to have his help. An old sea dog is welcome aboard my boat!”

“Just don’t emphasize the ‘old’ part, captain,” Lorens said, a twinkle in his eye, “and you two will be fast friends before noon!”

“I hope that is the case, lord,” Nevitt said. “Sailors usually have plenty to talk about to pass the time. By the way, at this time of year, our passage should take a little over two days. I anticipate docking in Kingsport late on Skyday, unless river traffic delays us.”

“I expected as much, Captain Nevitt! A safe passage is all we require.”

“We will do our best, my lord.”

The minister and Carena’s lady’s maid—bearing a few more “important” items for her mistress, thus her sharing a coach with Lord Bardonnel—arrived momentarily, boarding Crane without delay. As soon as the guests had been shown their accommodations, the crew released the mooring lines and poled her into the southward flow of the White River.

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For the three nobles, dinner that evening seemed a crowded affair compared to the palace’s spacious dining halls. Unlike the others, Carena had dressed formally for the meal as she would have in the palace, while the others opted to remain in their travel clothes. To the princess’ amazement, Corvis proved a fine cook, serving simple but delicious fare on fine porcelain. His wine selections were especially satisfying, and she ate in silence, ceding the conversation to the men.

As the meal ended, Lorens sat back with a wineglass in hand. “Petron, I know that you have the trade negotiations fully in hand and don’t need our participation to any significant degree, but please give us a picture of the situation. I would not want an inadvertent comment to derail your efforts.”

“Certainly, Your Highness,” the trade minister said, dabbing at his full lips with a napkin. Dressed in a dark-blue suit as fine as the prince’s garments, Petron Bardonnel, a cousin of the current Duke Bardonnel, was a few years older than Adon, tall and lanky with thinning strawberry-blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard. On the pinky fingers of each hand, he wore distinctive jeweled rings, one encrusted with rubies and the other with emeralds, overt reminders that the Bardonnels were fabulously wealthy. Apart from his finery, however, the minister looked like a typical bank clerk.

He cleared his throat before beginning. “It is really quite simple. Due to old King Margonne’s close friendships with various Satelen families—especially the Santinettas—” here, he raised his glass toward Adon, who returned the gesture from across the table, “we have enjoyed excellent relations and trade with Satele for many generations. Generally, taxes and various tariffs and duties have been quite reasonable and acceptable on both sides.

“However, with the political situation in Delphino degrading over the past year or more, duties have risen a tenth across the board, and on some items like fine furniture and cattle, they have risen a quarter. To me and others watching the situation, the duties appear targeted at our chief exports. It seems Satele’s government desires to pay for its increased security expenditures with Margonnian gold.”

“I’ve paid many a duty to the harbor master’s tax collectors in Delphino port,” Adon grumbled. “Nothing gets a trader more riled than increased fees on the wharf! That cuts into the expected profits!”

“Indeed,” Petron agreed, nodding sagely. “The government has every right to raise them, but in the end, it stifles trade. If they rise high enough, merchants will simply take their goods where it is more profitable. I will attempt to convince my counterpart that it is in Satele’s best interest to return the duties to earlier levels.”

“I assume you will propose a handful of deals to sweeten the discussion?” Lorens asked.

“Certainly, lord,” the minister said with a slight smile. “A few inducements never hurt.”

Carena had been following the conversation closely, but over the last exchange, her face had clouded in confusion. She appeared mildly frightened. “What kind of deals would they be?”

“Those should probably remain secret for now,” Lorens said. “We don’t want to tip our hand and lose any advantage at the negotiating table.”

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Carena pouted, about to argue that she could be trusted, when Petron interjected, “The prince is undoubtedly correct, but let me give you a hypothetical proposal as an illustration of the type of deal I might offer.” Carena exchanged her glare in her brother’s direction for a smile at the minister.

“Let me see here,” Petron said as he thought of a suitable example. “Ah, yes, this will do. You heard me say that Satele’s troubles—civil unrest, noblemen vying for more powerful positions under the aging king, certain ones who desire to become the Prince Consort proposing marriage to the heiress to the throne, a few violent but unsuccessful attempts on the king’s life—are the cause of the increased duties. The king’s government needs funds to increase the number of guards in the palace, pay off certain agitators, give out goodies to the populace, and so forth. That’s Satelen politics.”

“That’s why my side of the Santinetta family turned our backs on Satelen politics,” Adon murmured into his glass of wine. “We found trade and intelligence to be cleaner pursuits.”

Lorens laughed. “Margonne’s politics are benign in comparison! Next to Satele, we are remarkably free from infighting and skullduggery.”

“Your family has ruled well and kept most Margonni happy and prosperous,” Petron said. “Even the Leitani realize the Ankaras make better chiefs than their former Red Hawk overlords. Certainly, Chogan ruined their nation with his warmongering and hideous religious practices.”

The princess gave the minister a hard stare. When she spoke, her voice was demanding. “Lord Bardonnel, your example, please.”

“Pardon me, Your Highness,” Petron said, flushing. “We did digress, didn’t we? So, King Mirando needs money, and he cannot take it from his subjects or noblemen without worsening the situation. Margonne can offer him goods, services, or other incentives in return for reduced duties. This example may be somewhat ridiculous and thus unacceptable to him, but we could offer, say, a company of soldiers to supplement his palace guard for six months at our expense.”

He took a sip of wine, swirled what remained as he thought, and continued. “Another might be a reduction in the price of something they need from us in return for a reduced duty. For example, they always need wood for their ships—for constructing new ones and repairing the old ones, new masts, and so forth. If we offer to knock five percent off the price, they might reduce the duty to the old rate. We have to make any offer worth their while, and they will try to get as much as possible from us. The negotiations will attempt to find the sweet spot between our positions.”

“So,” Carena said after taking a moment to digest the trade minister’s words, “you will be negotiating just goods and taxes, right?”

“Quite so,” Petron said, smiling.

“Good!” the princess said, beaming, obviously relieved. “I worried that my hand might be one of your bargaining chips.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Lorens said. Adon stifled a chuckle.

Standing abruptly, Carena threw her napkin at her brother with an inarticulate growl and stomped from the salon.

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A note:

A factor contributing to the longevity of the Ankaran dynasty in Margonne was its unusually decentralized monarchy. From the beginning, the kingdom had been divided into nine duchies, each functioning independently under its ducal family. The monarch interfered as little as possible in the Dukes’ affairs unless they involved disputes with other Dukes or other nations. His court was the highest in the land for resolving such conflicts. The king also took responsibility for the kingdom’s military (except for each duchy’s small defensive force, often neglected) and international trade. Intermarriage among the ducal families and the crown also helped foster a sense of brotherhood throughout the kingdom.

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