CHAPTER 70

Vincent

Solitude is all he wishes for, and the one thing he cannot have. As king, Vincent must allay the fears of the Stilleans who wish to sail and fear that the boats cannot be built before a second Pietran attack. The firing of the ships has lent heat to those who would stay and think it a bad omen that one of their own—and the Seer, at that—contributed to their destruction. And yet others push for more aggressive action toward the Pietra, and wish to march on the offensive at the first opportunity. Vincent listens to all, the smoke from Madda’s pyre sticking to his clothes, his own skin still blistered and red.

He sits in the great hall with Dissa and Sallin, Khosa having made an excuse to lie down. Vincent’s mother and advisor give their thoughts as each Stillean leaves, then receive Winlan’s estimations on how quickly their work can resume. A messenger from Sawhen arrives, responding to their invitation to any in the village who wish to sail when the time comes. Many have accepted, and though Vincent knows their lives have been saved by this decision, he fears he cannot accommodate them all. The last to speak to them is Milda, hands twisting in her skirt with nervousness and cheeks aflame when she sees that she will be addressing Dissa as well.

“I will speak to this Stillean alone,” Vincent says, rising to his feet when he sees Milda’s discomfort.

Dissa sends him an odd look but takes her leave alongside Sallin, who tips Vincent a wink as he closes the doors behind him. Vincent turns to Milda, grateful for the burns that hide his own flush of embarrassment.

“I am sorry for the loss of your Seer,” Milda says quickly. “I know you were close, and I . . . I’m sure what passed this morning was not easy for you to endure.”

“Harder for her, I think,” Vincent says. “But I thank you.”

Milda nods, and he leads her to a chair. “Have you had much luck speaking with Stilleans about the ships?”

“Yes,” she says. “More than expected. And no”—anticipating his next question—“I do not think the burning of one will turn the minds of many. Some, perhaps. Those who can see salvation in the sea are not softhearted or thin-skinned. Stille has sat silent for years, many and more. Young blood has been stirred of late, and obstacles only fire it in their veins—oh, I—” She clears her throat. “I apologize for my choice of words.”

Vincent smiles, waving away her apology. In fact he hardly heard it, his eyes lost in searching her face. Motherhood will agree with her, and the prettiness of youth has acquired the gravity of experience. His hand finds hers, and he squeezes it.

“I thank you, Milda. You have saved lives with this work on your king’s behalf, and I will not forget it.”

She returns the smile, squeezing his hand as well. “It is not the king I do it for, but my friend Vincent. I saw in your eyes the depth of your belief in the ships and finding new land, and adopted it as my own.”

Milda rises, releasing his hand as he does as well. “I am pleased your family will be alongside us,” he tells her truly.

She pulls her cloak around her shoulders. “To think that our children may play together, and on the shores of a far land.”

“Perhaps someday,” Vincent agrees.

“Ah.” Milda covers her mouth with her fingers, eyes sparkling over them. “The queen’s handmaidens had said that the early-light illness has taken her to bed of late, and that her shift grows small at the waist. But I of all people should know better than to listen to the idle chatter from the castle.”

“Yes,” Vincent says, forcing the smile on his face to remain there. “Idle chatter is all it is, for the moment.”

He escorts Milda to the door, willing himself not to crush her arm in his grip, or ask what else his wife’s servants have said. A king should know the truth from the mouth of his queen, and Vincent intends to ask for it.