My heart raced faster than my horse as I broke through the trees, bringing my cove into view. The morning wind slapped against my face, sharp with salt and the briny smell of the sea. The cove winked with sunlight, and at the end of the wooden dock, tied between two posts, sat a ship.

  It wasn’t Rabissian, thankfully. But the vessel was large, nearly as large as the captured Rabiss warships bobbing farther down the shoreline. Big enough to make my pulse tick upward. These days, anyone with a ship could be trouble.

  I nudged my horse to a faster trot. My guards formed up around me as the road widened. The wet mud of the draining marsh muffled her hooves as we climbed the bank to the ridge, each step squelching softly. As I got closer, my nerves eased. The ship had two banks of oars, the long strokes resting against its hull. Not a warship. A trader with sailors bustling along the deck.

  By the time I reached the beach, the crew was still unloading cargo. Men shouted over one another, heaving crates onto the sun-bleached planks.

  Then I spotted a familiar figure on the pier, and a grin spread across my face before I realized it.

  John.

  He must have barely set foot on the pier, he still looked travelworn, coat damp with sea-spray, hair pushed back by the wind, yet he already had one of my North Cove shipbuilders pinned in place. The poor man stood stiff as a spearshaft while John gestured wildly toward our new sloop, his arms waving enthusiastic arcs through the air.

  I couldn’t hear a word from this distance, only the speed of John’s excited interrogation, animated and relentless. The shipbuilder looked like he was praying for rescue or maybe just patience.

  I hopped off my horse. I understood John's excitement. The sloop was unique. It was beautiful. Her hull glowed with fresh varnish, ropes neatly coiled, each board fit together with care. But her masts were bare, tall wooden poles reaching skyward, still waiting for the sails that should have been finished any day now.

  I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted, "John! Why is it that every time I see you, you're trying to steal my stuff? First, you tried to seduce my weavers, and now you're bullying my shipbuilders!"

  John spun around, indignation clear on his face, right up until his eyes focused on me. Recognition hit, and the irritation melted away, replaced by bright, boyish excitement.

  "Amos!" he shouted. "What is THAT? Nobody will talk to me about it!"

  I stopped a few feet away, resting a hand on the warm, sun-baked railing of the pier and deadpanning, "That is a boat, John. Are you feeling well? Maybe you need to lie down."

  The men around us, dockhands, oarsmen, my very nervous shipbuilder, burst into laughter. Even the trader crew cracked grins, though they probably didn’t understand a word.

  John ignored them, eyes glued to the Cove Cutter as if he’d stumbled upon a mythical creature.

  "I’m talking about the masts and all the ropes!" he said, waving a hand at the Cutter’s twin bare masts, the rigging lines hanging neatly like a spiderweb waiting for a breeze. "How does the sail attach? What is that spear up front? Where do the oarsmen sit?"

  He jabbed a finger toward the bowsprit, then toward the empty gunwale where he clearly expected benches.

  I crossed my arms. “Nope. You’ll have to wait and see. To be honest, it’s an experiment, and nobody knows if it will work yet.”

  That was only half a lie. We were pretty sure it wouldn’t capsize or fall apart. I was 90% sure it wouldn't capsize.

  John ran a frustrated hand through his wind-tangled hair. “Then what about the hull? Why is it shaped like that? How is it shaped like that? Why are the boards fitted that way? It’s deep, Amos. You wouldn’t be able to beach a boat like that.”

  Actually, the soft, V-shaped hull with a centerboard could beach, but not everywhere. Certainly not on our pebble beach.

  John was still staring at the sloop like a hawk around fresh prey, firing off questions at a pace that was starting to make my shipbuilder sweat. I decided it was time to save the poor man before he jumped into the water to escape.

  Diverting the conversation, I said, “So, John, what brings you here? Weren’t you supposed to bring your family?” I put just enough disappointment into my tone to redirect his curiosity without sounding like I was scolding him.

  He crossed his arms, giving me a look that said he fully intended to get back to interrogating me later. “Fine, keep your secrets. I brought Abby, but Connor is getting his first experience on a caravan down to Herron. And—” he paused, his chest puffing with both pride and exhaustion,

  “Abigail is pregnant.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I see what’s going on. You got your wife pregnant so you could go gallivanting around the country, but she saddled you with Abbie to keep you out of trouble.”

  The men nearby snorted, trying and failing not to laugh. Dockhands were shameless like that.

  John rolled his eyes to the sky as if appealing to the Endless One for strength. “No. And I also had to bring my sister.”

  I blinked. Sister… sister… and then the memory hit like a hammer. I burst into laughter. “You brought Sherry? Last time you were here, I thought you told me she—”

  “It’s not funny,” he groaned. “I’ve been cooped up on a ship with her and a little girl who gets cranky on long voyages.”

  A gust of wind whipped his hair sideways, making him look even more bedraggled. I grinned. “So where are your daughter and my shrew of a cousin?”

  John stiffened and pointed a finger at me. “I am warning you right now, count or no count, she will fillet you alive if you talk to her like that. And I will never hear the end of it.”

  “Fine,” I said, hands raised in mock surrender.

  Something caught my eye, a young man sprinting along the pier, carrying coils of rope. I waved him over.

  He skidded to a respectful stop, bowed, and said, “How may I assist you, my lord?”

  I handed him a few copper coins. “I need you to find me a helicopter stick. Use this money if you have to, and keep the change.”

  If I remembered correctly, Abby was around five. Helicopters cost a single copper and brought instant joy. Perfect for a little girl who has been cooped up for days on end.

  The boy’s face brightened. “If you need it fast, my lord, I’ve got one at home. It is well made and even painted.”

  “Perfect. If you hurry, I’ll give you another two copper.”

  He dashed off so fast his heels barely touched the boards.

  “Oh, and tell Cookie to start making honey buns!” I shouted after him.

  John’s eyebrows rose. “What is a helicopter?”

  I grinned. “Wait and see. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

  “Uh-huh,” he muttered. "You have way too many secrets, cousin."

  “And you didn’t answer my question. Where are they?”

  “They’re on the ship,” he said, jerking a thumb toward the trader vessel. “When Sherry saw the Rabiss ship in the harbor, she lost it and took Abby below deck. She said she would not come ashore until I confirmed it was safe. Honestly, it’s a huge blessing for me. We were hailed by a similar ship on our way north.”

  He stepped closer, lowering his voice as if trying to gain classified information. “How did you convince the Rabiss to trade with you? And whatever you gave them, do you have any left for me? It would have to be impressive to get them to come all the way here.”

  His expression was eager.

  I stared at him, speechless. "You haven't heard."

  He noticed immediately. His brows knit. “Obviously not. Amos… what happened?”

  I took a breath, glancing toward the Rabiss ship anchored farther out.

  “We were attacked by raiders, and we fought them off,” I said proudly.

  The words hung in the salty air, the laughter from dockhands fading into the background as John’s expression shifted from confusion to dawning alarm.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  He looked at me for a moment as if trying to piece together what I had said. "You cannot be serious. That is not how the Rabiss operate. Do you have some ridiculous amount of treasure here that they would be willing to make a journey all the way up here?"

  "I believe they were paid handsomely to make it look like a raid."

  John’s eyebrows shot up. The breeze tugged at his coat as he stared at me, trying to decide if I was joking.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because,” I said, glancing around the bustling pier before lowering my voice, “I actually may have something worth having.”

  We stepped a few paces away from the shipbuilders, far enough that they wouldn’t overhear. Waves lapped against the pilings below, a steady rhythm beneath the murmur of men unloading crates and birds harassing fishermen for scraps.

  I explained everything.

  The hidden pass through the mountains. The people living beyond it. The raw resources they possessed, gems, rock crystal, and how those usually traveled down the other side and ended up in Baron Bolster’s hands.

  Then I laid out the entire Yarbeth conspiracy:

  How the Count wanted the Rabiss to attack, kill everyone in the cove, and frame it as a raid. How that would make Vaspar or the king look weak. How Yarbeth could swoop in, buy the land cheap, or simply take it, since no one would be left alive to argue. I told him every connection my barons had to Yarbeth’s people.

  When I finished, he exhaled sharply. “That does sound like a noble’s game.”

  “Yep,” I said, spreading my hands in mock triumph. “Curse the nobles and their games. Am I right?”

  “I certainly agree.” Then his tone brightened, shifting topics. “Now, how about you tell me how much you want for that Rabiss ship?”

  I hesitated, glancing down the pier toward where the captured vessel bobbed gently. The Rabiss hadn’t asked for it back, but I was planning to use it for negotiations anyway. I didn’t have enough trained men to run both Rabis ships.

  “Not this one. It is already spoken for, but the other one... I think we can work something out with a trade agreement, books, paintings, and cloth.” I said at last.

  I didn’t mention things I was still working on, like sugar. Or lenses. Or telescopes. The steel, black powder, and crossbows were also off limits. Some surprises were worth keeping under my hat.

  Even without those details, his eyes lit up like a child spotting candy.

  “It is good to have you as a cousin,” he said with a grin. “We are going to be filthy rich.”

  I grimaced. “Unfortunately, most of my current product was sold to Jarum of West Cove.”

  John froze. “Please don't tell me you’re talking about the cousin of Baron Eval.”

  “Have you met him?”

  John gave a humorless little laugh. “The Mitt Trading House isn’t prestigious enough to deal with someone like him. But everyone knows Jarum the Swindler. I can’t believe he got here first and fleeced you before I could.”

  “You’re judging him,” I pointed out, “when you just admitted you were planning to do the same.”

  He waved me off. “That was in the past. Now we are partners. Besides, I wouldn’t have fleeced you as much as he did.”

  “How do you know I got fleeced?”

  John stared at me with the deadest of deadpan looks. “It’s Jarum. The man would have stolen the shirt off your back if he could.”

  I paused… then started laughing.

  John blinked. “What is so funny?”

  “He actually did take the shirt off my back. It was a very nice cotton shirt.”

  John closed his eyes and dragged a hand down his face. “Just, please, tell me you didn’t sign a contract for set quantities.”

  “No. He wanted something long-term, but I told him I couldn’t promise a consistent flow. Not with hostile neighbors.”

  “Well done.” John’s voice warmed. “Whether you meant to or not, you may have just solved your war with your neighbors. Nobody wants to upset Desmond Eval. And if he sent Jarum to you, that means he is very interested in you. He will not take kindly to someone messing with his trade deals.”

  It made sense. If the man who controlled most of the coastal trade got irritated at Vaspar and Yarbeth for interfering with his profits, there could be heavy consequences. Maybe not enough to crush them outright…but enough to make them think twice.

  Politics in this world was still something I was painfully unfamiliar with, even with all Benjamin's tutoring.

  John folded his arms and nodded. “This might actually work to our advantage soon. Once Jarum learns I’m also getting your goods, he’ll know you aren’t dependent on him. And the fact that I’m your cousin protects me from the pressure he’d normally apply. Jarum is not above bullying.”

  “With the competition,” he continued, “he might have to offer you better deals.”

  I frowned. “So… should I give more to you than to him?”

  “Definitely not,” he said, holding up a hand. “Even if you made more coin, political influence outweighs any extra profit. You might get better terms down the road if he values keeping your agreement. Let me handle the balancing act. Besides, this connection will be good for the Mitt Trading House. My father will be pleased.”

  We began walking along the pier toward the trader ship, the planks groaning gently under our combined weight. Dockhands dodged around us, carrying crates, fishing nets, and baskets of herbs, giving us quick bows before continuing their work.

  “I have an idea for you,” I said as we walked. “When we ship books and paintings to Carok, you could set up an art gallery and bookstore.”

  John slowed, blinking. “A… what?”

  I went on to explain the concept—walls hung with framed paintings, carefully arranged displays, scribes or clerks hosting readings with chairs for audiences. I told him about the book readings in Vaspar, and the tiny ones we’d begun holding in North Cove.

  Then I had to explain that the ship he’d seen headed down to Carok was carrying everything Jarum hadn’t cleaned out on credit.

  John groaned. “He beat me to it. And then you send the rest to my father.”

  “True,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder, “but I’ll find something to make your trip worth your while. I promise.”

  Just then, footsteps pattered rapidly along the pier.

  The boy from earlier came dashing toward us, breathing hard but grinning triumphantly, clutching a painted helicopter stick. Its blades were done in bright blue, with little red swirls decorating the handle—far nicer than I expected.

  He bowed and offered it with both hands. “My lord.”

  I took it with genuine delight. “Thank you.” I handed him the extra coin, and his eyes widened before he sprinted back up the pier, eager to brag about this moment for the rest of his life.

  I turned to John, spinning the toy once between my fingers.

  “Okay,” I said, “time for you to introduce me to your sister and daughter.”

  John grimaced like a man marching toward his own execution. “Amos… just remember, she's angry, and has been traveling with someone acting like a toddler for two weeks.”

  I smirked. “Sherry or Abby?”

  “Yes,” he muttered.

  We walked toward the trader ship, boots thudding on the sun-warmed planks. We talked about where we could trade our goods. The fact that everything I had to sell right now was unique luxury goods limited our trade to the cities.

  Unfortunately, Vaspar was off-limits for the moment.

  The thought made my stomach twist. I wondered how Fredrick was doing with his rebellion. He better not die on me. I didn't have enough allies.

  We ascended the gangplank and stepped onto the deck. The wood bowed gently with the ship’s slow rhythm against the tide. John shot me a look that promised he would return to interrogating me about what I had to offer him later, then disappeared below deck to retrieve his daughter and sister.

  A few muffled words drifted up from below, then a shrill voice snapped through the hatch.

  “I swear, John, if this is another one of your tricks, I’m—”

  Sherry’s threat died mid-sentence as she stepped into the sunlight.

  She was tall, nearly John’s height, and thick through the shoulders. Definitely had some Bicman in her; you could spot that solid frame a mile away. Behind her, a little girl peered out, curly black hair bouncing as she tried to squeeze herself behind Sherry’s legs.

  Wide brown eyes stared at me with the same look most children, and a few adults, gave me. I was freakishly large compared to most people. Only a handful of men in Kimton had matched my size, and they were rare exceptions.

  I lowered myself into a crouch, which still made me taller than Abby.

  “Hey, Abby,” I said softly. “Do you want to see something neat?”

  She didn’t answer. Just blinked up at me like I was some monstrous creature that had wandered onto the ship.

  I held out the sky-blue helicopter stick.

  I gave it a gentle spin between my palms. The wooden blades caught the air and whirled upward about a meter before drifting back down.

  Abby’s eyes widened. Hook, line, and sinker.

  I spun it faster—this time sending the little toy soaring several meters into the air. Sunlight gleamed off the painted blades as it climbed.

  A smile crept onto her face.

  “Should we see how high I can get it?” I asked.

  A vigorous nod was my answer.

  I spun it harder, really putting my arms into it, and launched it straight up. The breeze caught it and carried it out over the rail.

  A ripple of gasps spread across the deck as the toy floated over open water.

  Without hesitation, everyone rushed to the ship’s railing, craning to see where it might land. Abby pressed against the rail, tiny fingers gripping the wood, eyes full of dread.

  The copter touched down in the water below.

  Exactly as planned.

  “A silver penny,” I shouted, “to the first person who retrieves the helicopter stick for my little cousin Abby!”

  There was a heartbeat of stunned silence.

  Then half the crew hurled themselves overboard with gleeful shouts, splashing into the waist-deep water in a chaotic race. Men cheered from the deck. Abby broke into fits of giggles, bouncing in place as sailors shoved each other aside and dove toward the drifting toy.

  Everyone was laughing.

  Everyone except Sherry.

  She stood stiff as a board, arms crossed, the sour expression of a woman who had just bitten straight into a lemon. Her glare alone could curdle milk.

  Well. Challenge accepted.

  I approached her with my friendliest smile.

  “My dear cousin Sherry, it is so good to finally meet you. You look absolutely stunning.”

  Not even a twitch. She was carved from stone.

  “Count Bicman,” she said with a polite bow so stiff it could have cut glass. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  She couldn’t have sounded less pleased if she’d tried.

  Fine. New tactic.

  “Really,” I said cheerfully. “I was so surprised by your beautiful appearance that at first I thought you were the mistress John keeps talking about.”

  Her mouth dropped open like someone had cut the string holding her jaw in place. She looked between her brother and me, stunned, furious, and trying to decide who to kill first.

  John’s eyes went wide. He practically leapt between us, arms waving frantically.

  “Sherry! Sherry, calm down, he was only joking! I told you, he’s a bit eccentric.”

  “He called me—!”

  “He was trying to get me in trouble,” John said quickly. “It wasn’t anything against you.”

  I burst out laughing. “John, you should see your face right now. I had no idea you were so afraid of your sister.”

  Her jaw snapped shut, opened, snapped shut again. Then, with a furious huff, she spun on her heel and stormed back below deck, nearly sending the hatch slamming off its hinges.

  John and I watched her vanish.

  Once we were safely sure she was out of earshot, John rounded on me.

  “Really, Amos? Did you have to do that?”

  “I couldn’t help myself,” I said with a shrug. “She just…ugh. And besides, she came looking for a fight.”

  John pinched the bridge of his nose. “I now understand why you aren’t married. Amos, as your older and much wiser cousin, might I suggest you not call women whores when you first meet them?”

  I nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Yes. I see now. Your sage wisdom is a blessing indeed.”

  He glared. “That better not be sarcasm.”

  “That was payback for coming here to fleece me, by the way.”

  “Seriously,” he said with a sigh. “You need to get over that. I’m a merchant; I try to fleece everyone. Besides…” He hesitated, then added, “On the way here, Sherry said, and I quote, ‘Take that noble for all he is worth.’”

  I stared at him.

  “Wow,” I said dryly. “What wonderful relatives I have. And you wanted me to be nice to her?”

  I rubbed my hands together, feeling the spark of mischief warm me from the inside.

  “I think,” I said, “I will make her stay here as memorable as I possibly can.”