The sun hung low over the horizon, painting the deck in hues of amber and gold as Regulus found Cordelia standing at the stern, her gloved hands resting lightly on the railing. The wind played with the edges of her cloak, making the embroidered rose crest shimmer. She didn't turn as he approached, but the slight tension in her shoulders told him she knew he was there.
Regulus leaned against the railing beside her, close enough to speak but far enough to give her the illusion of space. "You know," he mused, "for a guild that didn't exist a few days ago, the Rosewind Mercantile is doing remarkably well."
Cordelia didn't so much as glance at him. "Mmm. Funny how that happens when someone dumps a trove of otherworldly games at your feet and declares them your merchandise."
He grinned. "I'd call it a generous business proposal."
"Generous," she repeated, dry as parchment.
"Alright, maybe not entirely selfless," he admitted. "But you have to admit, it's worked out nicely for you. People are already placing orders. You've got a reputation brewing."
Finally, she turned her head, just enough to meet his gaze. Her eyes were sharp, calculating—not angry, but not amused either. "And what do you want in return, benefactor?"
Regulus tilted his head, considering. "A favor."
Her lips curved, but it wasn't a smile. "Ah. There it is."
"Nothing too dire," he assured her. "Just a little mutual cooperation. You scratch my back, I'll keep scratching yours."
"And if I say no?"
He shrugged. "Then I suppose Nyx and I will have to take our talents elsewhere. Pity—I was looking forward to working with you." He let the words linger, watching her reaction.
Cordelia studied him for a long moment, then exhaled through her nose, a quiet, controlled sound. "You're not as charming as you think you are."
Regulus laughed. "Oh, I'm fully aware. But you're still considering it, so I must be doing something right."
She turned fully now, facing him with the poise of a woman who had spent years negotiating with people far more dangerous than him. "What kind of favor?"
"Information," he said. "Starting with why a disciple of Hephina the Mad is masquerading as a merchant."
Her expression didn't change, but something in her gaze darkened, like a cloud passing over the sun. "That's a dangerous question."
"And yet, here I am, asking it."
The wind picked up, sending a loose strand of chestnut hair across her face. She didn't brush it away. "You're playing a game you don't understand."
"Probably," he agreed. "But I'm learning fast."
For the first time, something flickered in her eyes—not anger, not fear, but something almost like curiosity. Then it was gone, smoothed back into polished neutrality. "We'll talk," she said at last. "But not here. And not with your shadow listening in."
Regulus inclined his head. "Name the time and place."
She turned back to the sea, signaling the end of the conversation. "I'll find you."
He pushed off the railing, leaving her to the sunset and the sound of the waves. As he walked away, he couldn't help but grin like a giddy child.
Not bad for a first attempt.
-----
The ship's mess hall buzzed with raucous laughter and the clatter of wooden bowls on the eve of their arrival in Babelonia. Regulus sat hunched over a steaming bowl of fish stew, his fingers drumming absently against the table as he watched sailors rolling D20 dices in the corner. The scent of salt and spices hung thick in the air, mingling with the ever-present tang of the sea.
A shadow fell across his meal.
"Mind if I join you?"
Cordelia stood before him, her merchant's cloak replaced by a simpler traveling dress, though the rose pin still gleamed at her collar. Without waiting for an answer, she slid onto the bench opposite him, her movements as smooth as the wine she poured into her cup.
Regulus raised an eyebrow. "Changed your mind about talking in private?"
She took a deliberate sip before answering. "The ship docks tomorrow. If we're to have this conversation, it should be before we're surrounded by prying eyes in the city."
Around them, the noise of the mess hall created a perfect veil of privacy—loud enough to drown out quiet words, busy enough that no one would pay them undue attention.
Regulus pushed his bowl aside and leaned forward. "So. Hephina's disciple."
Cordelia's fingers tightened around her cup. "You say her name too freely for someone who clearly knows nothing about her."
"I've survived worse."
Her lips quirked, though the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Have you now." It wasn't a question.
The lanterns above them swayed with the ship's gentle rocking, casting shifting patterns of light across Cordelia's face. For the first time, Regulus noticed the faint scar running along her jawline—thin and precise, like the work of a surgeon's blade.
"Why follow us?" he asked suddenly.
Cordelia blinked. "What?"
"You could have stolen back from us here on this ship. Sabotaged it. Killed us. Instead you played at being a merchant." His voice dropped. "Then when I gave you the means, you actually built the guild. Why?"
For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, with deliberate care, she reached into her sleeve and produced a single ivory game piece—a crowned king from the chess set he'd conjured days before. She set it spinning on the table between them.
"Because my master's greatest weapon was never fire or steel," Cordelia said quietly. "It was making people want things they didn't understand."
The piece wobbled to a stop, its hollow eyes staring up at them. Somewhere in the room, a sailor burst into drunken song.
Regulus met Cordelia's gaze. "And what do you want?"
She pocketed the chess piece and stood, her shadow stretching long across the floorboards. "To see if you're worth betting on. We'll speak again in Babelonia."
As she walked away, Regulus noticed the cook, Borin, watching from the kitchen doorway, his flour-dusted arms crossed over his chest. Their eyes met briefly before the big man turned back to his pots.
Regulus stared down at his half-finished stew, appetite gone.
Tomorrow, they would reach the city.
And the real challenge would begin.