The next morning, the two betrothed did not see each other at all. Queen Asarda spent the day with her daughter dealing with the first matters of the wedding, while the prince was required to attend the finalization of Dusughbarah’s defensive plan against Kendelen.

  Prince Kelen arrived exactly on time. The stairs in the tower made it clear, however, that today he would not have the upper hand. His injured ankle began to protest after so many steps, and he was relieved when he finally reached the top.

  He paused briefly before the door, wiped the sweat from his brow, steadied his breathing, and went in.

  The small circular room was already occupied. In the center stood a low, round table with a map of the Kelnaj Islands spread across it, weighted down on all sides, as if it too were trying to curl up and escape before war descended on the land.

  A much larger map of the entire continent hung on the wall. Kelen gave it only a passing glance and was once again reminded of an unpleasant truth. Kendelen lay uncomfortably close to Terres. All it had to do was cross the Tohingala River, and it would be on Terresian soil.

  No one moved. No one offered a spoken greeting. Only brief looks and barely noticeable nods.

  Kelen understood that he had arrived just a few seconds too late—past the point where courtesies were expected.

  “Let’s begin,” Velen said as he registered the prince’s arrival. Everyone gathered around the round table, the detailed map of the entire land laid out before them.

  “Admiral, General—you were tasked with preparing a defensive plan. What have you come up with?”

  Old, white-haired Sharad cleared his throat. “We have fought Kendelen at sea twice, and twice we thought it would be enough. It wasn’t.”

  He placed his fingers on the map along the coastline. “Now we have no choice. We must hold them at sea and finish them on land.”

  The general took over and explained the plan in more detail, though still plainly. “The moment the enemy arrives, we must be waiting with as many ships as possible. We don’t need to launch a full assault. It’s enough to harass them like a swarm of hornets and make every step toward the shore miserable. And when they begin to land, the infantry must already be waiting, covered by archers. Before they can form ranks, they are at their most vulnerable.”

  “But for that, our fortresses need to be in proper condition,” added one of the men, the governor of the largest fortress on the island of Ushkara. “What we have now is laughable. One way or another, blood was spilled at sea in the past. Next time, it will be spilled on the shore.”

  “I’ve seen so much blood,” Sharad said quietly, with sorrow in his voice. “The older I get, the more I hate my profession.”

  “And perhaps that’s exactly why you’re so good at it, my friend,” the king said, resting a hand on his shoulder. His gaze drifted to the yellow bandage wrapped around Sharad’s bicep, the unofficial mark of his admiral’s rank.

  Sharad brushed the back of his hand across his right eye, as if to wipe away a tear that had formed there. “I have only two wishes that I would like life to grant me…”

  “And what are they?” Kelen asked, curious.

  “I no longer wish to fight for the rest of my days,” the first wish came quietly. Then he revealed the second. “And I want to die at a blessed age.”

  “If both of those truly came true,” Kelen said, “it would mean Dusughbarah won’t be at war in the years ahead.”

  “Unfortunately, they are only wishes,” the king said, pulling the dreamy old man back to reality. “I would like to indulge in the same optimism, but it won’t defend us against Kendelen. That’s why we must prepare our defense properly—and Prince Kelen will help us with that.”

  “Then tell me plainly what you need from me for the defense to hold,” Kelen said.

  “First and foremost—ships,” the admiral replied.

  Kelen thought for a brief moment. “I will release fifteen of our Tereska-class ships.”

  A murmur rippled through the room as the officers exchanged questioning looks.

  Velen had just stepped over to the window and was looking outside. Without turning back, he asked the prince, “Does your realm really have so few ships?”

  “The Crown owns thirty,” Kelen answered. “The rest belong to nobles and merchants.”

  “Send at least twenty-five,” the king said simply. “If the Crown comes up short, you’ll borrow the rest. The more ships we have here, the faster we’ll chase the Kendelenians off like stray dogs.”

  “I understand the strategic argument,” Kelen said evenly, “but I can’t leave my own land undefended.”

  Velen leaned over the map, his voice growing heavier. “If you insist on fifteen, you might as well send none at all. It won’t have the necessary effect. Our defense must be strong.”

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  “Fifteen will have to suffice,” Kelen snapped. Beneath the table, his fingers clenched into a tight fist. His future father-in-law was pressing him like an iron vise, but he had no intention of being crushed. “Last time, practically none of your ships made it back. I won’t take part in that kind of mass destruction with every vessel the Crown owns.”

  The admiral let out a pained sigh at the memory of the return from that battle. Only three ships had come back, and the flagship, theQueen of Agility, had barely made it to port.

  “Interesting,” Velen said calmly. “Just a few days ago, you had no qualms about rudely interfering in another realm’s authority. Yet today I sense a great deal of reluctance from you,” he added sharply.

  “Fine,” the prince said at last. The word lingered on his tongue for a moment before he spoke it aloud. “I will provide twenty ships. Half will sail as soon as possible and wait here, ready for immediate defense. The other half will depart the moment your message about the attack arrives. And if I feel like it, I’ll send another five. The rest I will keep, no matter what.”

  Velen nodded. His calm, cold expression allowed not even a hint of a smile. “That’s how I like it. Ten will be waiting here. Once we send word, fifteen will sail from Terres. Consider it the first installment of your debt.”

  The king’s inaccuracy in the number of ships was no mistake. It was a calculated move—a final attempt to see whether the prince would yield in the negotiations.

  Kelen stiffened, his fists clenched. His future father-in-law watched him closely.

  The room fell into absolute silence. The others studied the prince’s face intently. After a brief moment of thought, he finally nodded once.

  The tension broke at once, and several men let out audible sighs of relief. Even though the defensive plan relied on fortresses, ships were absolutely essential.

  The prince knew that the extra five ships were retaliation for Meradan’s hasty execution. He could feel the decision he had made a few days earlier hanging over him like a noose. It was clear that Velen would not hesitate to tighten it whenever he wanted to squeeze something more out of him. Kelen resolved firmly that he had to avoid mistakes like that in the future.

  “Bear in mind, though, that the ships you’re calling sulhanas aren’t really yours,” he said. “They’re tereskas.”

  “We’re aware of that, Prince,” the admiral assured him. “Sulhanas are better suited for the open sea, tereskas more for rivers. But the two types don’t differ dramatically. Tereskas have more oars; sulhanas rely mainly on sails.”

  “What else do you need to be able to defend yourselves?” Kelen asked, inwardly relieved to be done with negotiating over ships. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of a loop tightening around his neck, with the king holding the loose end.

  “Without crews, ships are nothing but floating graves,” the first officer said.

  “And without strong fortresses, the coast will become a graveyard for everyone who marches out from them,” the general added.

  “Every ship will have an experienced crew and carry soldiers at full capacity,” Kelen promised without much hesitation. He knew he didn’t have to fight tooth and nail here. Sailors and soldiers could be replaced far more easily than vessels. This was where he could afford to give ground. He didn’t know what else they would demand of him, but he hoped that by yielding more easily now, he could press back later—so they wouldn’t pluck him like a goose.

  “Excellent. At least in something I don’t have to squeeze you like juice from grapes,” the king said with a satisfied smile. The corner of Kelen’s mouth twitched, an inappropriate remark rising to his tongue. He caught himself in time and swallowed it.

  “Then our naval defense is settled,” Admiral Sharad declared.

  “But our plan also relies on strong fortresses,” the general said.

  “And what exactly do you need there?” Kelen sighed wearily. He could already see the blow this would deal to the Terresian economy. Still, it was all part of the price for marrying the princess. If this weren’t about Belaria, he might have begun reconsidering the wedding altogether.

  “We’ll secure the stone for rebuilding ourselves. What we need is wood—lots of wood.”

  “We have that,” the prince waved it off casually. His land was covered in dense forests. “I’ll buy up all the seasoned timber that can be bought and send that first. In the meantime, we’ll start cutting more trees. The wood won’t be as good if you use it immediately—it will warp.”

  “We can handle that,” one of the fortress stewards spoke up. “What we really need are laborers and craftsmen. Rebuilding so many fortresses will take a great deal of sweat and hard work.”

  “I won’t give you craftsmen,” Kelen said flatly, his jaw tightening. He had no intention of yielding an inch. “I might as well move all of Terres here if I did. But I will give you even more young, strong laborers. I’ll pay for their time out of my own pocket.” A man wants to get married, he thought bitterly, but first he has to sell off his own country piece by piece.

  “How many will you send, then?” Velen asked.

  “Two thousand young men.”

  “Send unmarried girls as well,” the king said. “That many workers will need efficient support if they’re to work at full capacity. We’ll need cooks above all.”

  “I’ll give them to you,” Kelen agreed, “but on one condition. All of them return home. I don’t want them settling here and starting families. They are my subjects.”

  “Fine—”

  “I want it in writing,” the prince cut in, sensing that here, at least, he could win something from the king.

  “You’ll have it,” the king promised.

  “What else do you need? Or is that everything?”

  “Oh, please,” Velen sneered condescendingly. “We’ll also need ropes, pitch, meat, vegetables, fruit, tools, at least rough canvas… and medicines. Jagum above all. We’ll secure Tishilka ourselves.”

  “I’ll send three ships loaded with food and two ships full of tools and similar supplies.”

  “And how much jagum?” the king asked, lifting his head expectantly.

  “I’ll send thirty vials, packed in a wooden crate lined with hay to prevent damage.”

  “Send fifty,” Velen said in a matter-of-fact tone, as if ordering a servant to refill his wine cup.

  “I’ll send thirty,” Kelen stood his ground. His fists and jaw clenched again, almost unconsciously. “It’s expensive to make and costly to produce. You speak as if you weren’t aware of that,” the prince allowed himself a pointed remark.

  “I am aware of it,” the king replied calmly, “but I also know that Terres produces more of it than any other kingdom.”

  “That doesn’t mean we have so much that we can just give it away,” the prince raised his voice. After the long negotiations, his self-control was wearing thin. He had to restrain himself from saying something he might regret again.

  “You’re not giving it away,” the king assured him. “You’re buying my daughter’s hand—and paying off a debt.”

  Kelen froze and stared at his future father-in-law for a moment. He forced himself to swallow his pride. He thought something ugly about him—something involving a leech and a greedy pig. Then, in a politely measured voice, with suppressed anger burning inside, he said, “I will supply fifty vials of jagum.”

  “Wonderful!” the king exclaimed with enthusiasm. “That’s everything. Now we’re truly able to defend ourselves.” He clapped Kelen on the back. “You’ll make an excellent son-in-law.”