The Towers of the Sunset - L. E. Modesitt [99]
“Only what is packed on the horses.”
“For regents, you travel light.”
Creslin shrugs. “Most of my belongings either remained in Westwind or found their way into the hands of the White Wizards.”
Megaera smiles brightly but adds nothing.
“The Duke’s cabin is, of course, yours,” Freigr says blandly, his right hand smoothing down his short-cut and thinning sandy hair. “But our fare will be rather simple.”
Creslin grins. “I’m not used to rich food.”
“At Westwind, I’d guess not. And your lady?”
Megaera’s eyes flash and her lips tighten, but she says only, “I rather doubt that I will find it any problem. But . . . I am not exactly his lady, since he is from Westwind and I am from Sarronnyn.”
The captain’s eyebrows lift.
Creslin explains. “She is far more important than I, Captain. The Tyrant of Sarronnyn is her sister, and my sister will be the one to hold Westwind.”
“Ah, I see, I think.” Freigr turns momentarily. “Synder! Put the gray in the port stall. It’s smaller.”
Creslin tries to sense what Megaera is feeling, but she appears walled off behind a shield of gray—a whiteness shot through with black lines—that he can sense but not see.
“Yet the Duke named you co-regents.”
“The Duke is an eastern male ruler.” Megaera’s voice is chill.
Freigr scratches the back of his head.
“Perhaps we could move our bags to the cabin,” suggests Creslin.
“Ah, yes. That might be best.” Freigr starts toward the single raised deck at the stern.
Creslin halts Synder and the gray horse in order to reclaim Megaera’s belongings.
“Go ahead, ser. We’ll bring them down,” suggests Synder.
“Thank you.” Creslin nods and rejoins the captain and Megaera. He has to lower his head as they enter the narrow passageway.
“The Duke’s cabin is on this side, opposite mine. This is the mess room, and the galley’s opposite.”
The captain cannot stand upright, and Creslin’s head touches the bracing beams of the ceiling as the three edge into the low-ceilinged space.
The Duke’s cabin—less than eight cubits square— contains two bunks, one over the other, set against the forward bulkhead. The bunk frames are carved from red oak, and each bears an ornate green-and-gold coverlet. A built-in, shoulder-high chest is on the right-hand side of the bunks, and a narrow wardrobe is crowded between the bunks and the sloop’s hull.
Creslin rubs his nose to stop the itching from the faint mustiness that pervades the cabin. A heavy circular table bolted to the deck and three wooden armchairs upholstered in green and gold fill most of the space. The carving on the chairs matches that on the bunks. An ornate chamber pot rests in one corner.
Two portholes offer the only light, although there is one unlit brass oil lamp hanging from the beam above the table.
“Not exactly the most suitable for a newly wed couple,” apologizes the captain, “what with the separate bunks . . . but a sight better than accommodations on most coasters.”
“It’s very nice,” insists Megaera with an amused smile.
“Appreciate the hospitality,” adds Creslin.
Heavy steps on the planks presage the arrival of two sailors bearing Creslin’s pack and Megaera’s baggage.
“Just set them down,” Megaera says.
“Set them there,” echoes Freigr. The captain waits until the two men depart. “Tide’s not really a problem here, and the wind’s right. We’ve got what we need; been waiting for the Duke’s orders. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to—”
“That’s fine. When do you expect we’ll leave?”
“This afternoon, if I can drag three of the boys out of town. In the meantime, you might enjoy yourselves.” Freigr smiles broadly at Creslin and closes the door.
“Enjoy ourselves! That . . . you . . . men!” Megaera unfastens her travel cloak with deliberation.
“I think he was assuming that we are . . .the usual . . . newly married—” Creslin finds that he is blushing.
“Stop it! It’s bad enough that we had to get married