The sea wind blew crisp up the hillside and into the large open windows of the Inn the captain had suggested. Large gauzy curtains billowed on the cool breeze carrying in the clean odor of the ocean and and hint of the filth of the harbor. The sky had closed up in the late hours, and it looked now to be storming to the north.
Lorcan stared out at the sea and the city spilling out below and about them. Long shadows stretched before the retreating sun, but the city was a thing alive. People were coming out now that the heat had abated, and the sounds of a night market beckoned.
A night market! A real one. Not one from a book or a story, not something he'd only imagined, but a real place and thing to experience…
Lorcan poured a measure of wine from a nearby ewer, emptying it. A tastefully dressed and quite pretty girl slipped up beside him and replaced the container, retreating with the empty. He followed her retreat with an admiring gaze, then blushed and turned away, feeling the heat in his cheeks. Failend's charm hung heavy about his neck.
"And I say we should press forward," persisted Earl Rúairc. "I grow tired of this argument, we are going in circles."
"I agree," muttered the Lord Chancellor. "Your persistence is remarkable."
"My persistence? Say what you mean, Niall."
"If you insist. Your bull headed arrogance, then-"
"My lords," Lorcan snapped. Both stopped and glared at him. That was too angry. He needed to be calmer. At least neither snapped back. He stepped to their table in the apartment's foyer where both sat on long lounge chairs in the Roman style. "You have both been at this for at least the last turn of the glass. Is it not time for us to reach some form of conclusion?"
Sir Iacob had given his input, seen the fight, and beat a hasty retreat to his room. Finn was lurking in the cool shadows in the back of the room.
"Your highness-" Lord Niall began. Lorcan raised his hand to interrupt.
"No. We don't know how long the rest of the ships will take. You heard the Captain's predictions on the weather, and those clouds-" He gestured out the window, "-look like they may have some effect."
"You speak a great deal of sense, your highness." Earl Rúairc smiled, lips compressed into a thin line. "Now, as I was saying-"
"As I am saying," interrupted the prince. His blood felt hot in his ears and he fought to keep the sneer out of his voice. He restrained himself from reminding the earl of his social station. "As I am saying, my lord Earl, we will leave on the day after tomorrow. A few hired porters can manage our luggage and the Kingsmen should be sufficient protection."
The earl's frown pinched tighter and an unfriendly fire burned in his eyes, but he made no overt challenge. Instead, he nodded in one brisk motion, giving a clipped "As you wish." He stood and bowed. "If you will excuse me, your highness, I shall retire for the evening."
Lorcan dismissed him and half-turned back toward the window, but didn't let his attention on the man fade until the door closed with a hollow thud. The tension left him in a rush. His vision swam for a moment.
"Are you well, Lorcan?" ask Lord Niall. He stood close, in confidence.
Heavy boots clumped up out of the shadows. "The prince is tired, your lordship. Perhaps in the morning?" Niall frowned at Finn. After years under the man's tutelage Lorcan felt himself a good interpreter of those frowns. This one said the Chancellor thought his opinion important, but good sense and propriety kept him from smacking down an underling.
Niall sighed, bowed just enough to be correct, and issued his farewells and left the room.
"I thought one of 'em might draw blood," Finn muttered after closing the door.
