Of Plots and Mischief

Chapter 9: Apologies and Errands

The morning called with the cries of sea birds and the mummer of waves. Phyllon was bemused to find the prince sitting silently on the stern, watching the sun rise. There was something unsettling about him, the void of emotion making him feel unsure, despite the lack of anything externally untoward. It was one of the moments his gift could discombobulate him, having gotten used to relying on it when navigating human interaction.

Phyllon perched on the side of the boat, studying him. "Karriv?"

Prince Karriv silently watched a bird dip into the sea, snatching a fish that was swimming too close to the surface. The soft crinkle of paper drew Phyllon's attention to the piece of paper in his hand before Phyllon looked back and saw his blank expression. Phyllon eyed the paper warily, thinking back on the troublesome notes of the recent past, but felt he recognised its official nature.

Karriv wordlessly passed it to Phyllon, who raised his eyebrow as he took it and gave it a glance. "Oh." He grew subdued as he read it once more. This was terrible news. Phyllon tried to think of the implications this would have for the Sahorna and the court, given the current turbulations.

"His Majesty has given you his full approval." There was a spike of emotion at that, gone too fast for Phyllon to catch. Uncertainty, pride, and hope? Phyllon was not certain, but he found he did not like temerity in the Prince. "Has the ambassador..." Karriv gave a wordless nod. Phyllon took his hand and gently squeezed it. He exchanged a glance with one of the sailors who nodded before returning with two hot mugs of tea. Phyllon thanked the sailor before offering it to the prince. The prince stared wordlessly at him, but he felt the spike of recognition and gratitude as Karriv gradually took it and sipped. Phyllon wondered whether the prince often went nonverbal when he was overwhelmed like his cousin, and he felt a surge of sympathy for the vulnerable young man.

Asmir appeared, apparently called by the sailors, and Phyllon turned to the prince. "Is it alright if I share?" The prince gestured his lack of opinion, curiousity surging in his emotions. Pbyllon relaxed as the prince's emotions became less muted, realising that he was recovering from the shock. He passed the paper to Asmir, who glanced at it before looking up sharply.

"My condolences, Your Highness. May your bride have a swift recovery." Asmir made a gesture of respect.

"Thank you, " Prince Karriv whispered, his voice rough with emotion and disuse.

Phyllon felt the surge of sympathy from the sailors and felt relief. At least the prince would not have any trouble with his sailors.

Phyllon watched him as he stared at the now empty teacup. "Would you like some more?"
The prince shook his head. "Thanks," he mumbled, looking down before looking up to meet Phyllon's eyes. "Will you..."

"You want to sail with us?"

Phyllon felt the prince's hesitation as he gave a small nod. Phyllon sighed before taking the mug from his hands. "For my part, I am open to allowing you to sail with us. But, there are some things we need to do before then. The sooner, the better."

Prince Karriv started as he slowly came to his feet. "What do you mean?"

"We need to get some travel documents before we leave the port. Both for you and for the ship."
Phyllon felt a surge of anxiety at that, and he impulsively reached out and squeezed his hand.

"She'll hold on. I'm sure she'll hold on till you can get back. There is nothing you can do here. It is still not the end."

"But what if I am too late? What if I don't find the cure?"

"I'll help you."

They walked to the galley in silence as he gradually put himself together. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Right." He nodded to himself. "What do I need to do next?"