The track steepened as they went on, finally turning into paved streets that wound back and forth across the slope between whitewashed buildings—houses, shops, and—below—obvious warehouses on the same level as the harbor. Finally they came to the Sea-Prince’s palace. Built of white stone, it stood nearer the harbor than the top of the hill, with a colonnaded front and a broad terrace of stones set in an pattern of fish and birds. The King’s Squires knew the way to the entrance and were recognized; they introduced Dorrin as “a close friend of our king’s.”
Dorrin spent that night in a palace guest suite as lavish as any in Vérella but very differently styled—uncluttered, with a small balcony giving a view of the sea. She had eaten dinner with the Sea-Prince and his family—his shy young wife and a small boy. The service was simple: a fish on a platter, some steamed grain, and a deep dish of strange-looking things—strings and bag-like bits and—a moment of horror—eyes.
“What is that?” she asked.
“A treat,” the Sea-Prince said. “Only at this season can we get the small ones. Look—” He picked up something that looked both impossible and disgusting to Dorrin. “Cut it into small pieces, like this, and dip it in the green sauce. Or the yellow.”
Dorrin would rather have kept to the fish and the grain, but he looked at her with such enthusiasm that she accepted the horror on her plate and cut off chunks the size he recommended. Dipped into the sauce, it tasted vaguely charred, but the sauce was delicious.
The child, she was astonished to see, ate another of the things, biting off pieces of the stringy parts with obvious pleasure.
“What do you call it?” Dorrin asked.
“Two-hander,” her host said. “Because we have ten fingers on two hands, and it has ten legs. They aren’t like our legs, but it moves with them.”
After dinner, she asked the Sea-Prince about taking passage on a ship to the Immerhoft ports.
“Which ones?” he asked.
“The western ones,” she said.
The Sea-Prince did not ask why but stared out at the sea for a long moment. “Only a few ships will go this time of year,” he said. “Early autumn is the season of the best winds, yes, but also the season of great storms. You are not experienced with ships?”
“Not at all,” Dorrin said.
“You will need a very good ship and a very good captain. And you have no attendants—that is easier in some ways, but—there are no women sailors on the ship I am thinking of.”
“I have been a mercenary,” Dorrin said. “Being the only woman will not bother me.”
“Well, then. Tomorrow I will introduce you.”
The ship the Sea-Prince took her to—Blessing, a regular on the route between Bannerlíth and the southern ports—was sailing the next day. Dorrin had seen ships like it in the Immer ports: the high front and rear, the bluff bows. Its gray-bearded captain, introduced as Captain Royan, nodded to the Sea-Prince then stared at Dorrin. “Is you dress like that all time?”
“She’s from Tsaia,” the Sea-Prince said, as if that explained everything.
“But is man wears such and a sword.”
“There, some women do.”
The captain shrugged. “May be better. Come aboard. See cabin.” Dorrin walked around things like tree stumps with ropes wrapped around them, past boxes, barrels, clay pots, and a stack of furs, carefully stepping where the captain stepped. The cabin, in the high aft section, was small but had a window. Under the bunk—a plank shelf with a rim—was a chamber pot fitted into a niche and a space big enough for her box, with a removable board across the front. At the head of the bunk was a niche with a jug; it, too, had a wooden slat that held it in place. On the opposite wall were cubbyholes behind a sliding door.
The Sea-Prince asked questions she had not known to ask: the length of the voyage (at least three tendays, maybe more in bad weather), whether she needed to supply her own bedding (yes), and rations (optional, affecting the price of passage). Dorrin agreed to the price and—at the Sea-Prince’s advice—chose to provide her own rations.
Food and bedding were available in a chandler’s across the wide stone dock. Before midday, she had seen her new bedding and stores taken aboard Blessing and gone back to the Sea-Prince’s palace to retrieve her baggage. She ate a leisurely luncheon with the Sea-Prince’s wife and child, as he was meeting with others.
“I wish you fair voyage,” that lady said. “And as this is your first, here is a remedy for seasickness.” She handed Dorrin a small round box. “Dried leaves of a seaside plant, taken in sib, should help. Laran never gets seasick, so I’m certain he didn’t mention it.”