John shouted in fear as the crazy boat I had created bucked and began to capsize.

  "Em, ease the stay sheet!" I yelled, bracing as the mast groaned.

  "It's jammed!" she shrieked back, her voice cracking between terror and exhilaration. Her hands were white-knuckled on the rope, trying to yank it free.

  The boat heeled harder. For one heart-stopping second the world tilted—a wall of cold green water rushing toward my face. I swore and dumped the main. The boom snapped loose, and the sail cracked violently, flapping like a massive, angry wing.

  The pressure vanished. The Cove Cutter snapped upright so fast the mast shivered. Something else went flying, namely Barry, our chief shipbuilder.

  He pinwheeled over the opposite side with a startled squawk, splashing into the bay with all the grace of a sack of flour.

  Emily burst into laughter, breathless and wild. "Oh my gosh, that was… that was awesome!"

  Wind whipped her hair around her face, and the cold spray dotted her cheeks. I couldn't help the grin pulling at my mouth. "Indeed it was," I said, leaning over her shoulder to help free the rope. The pulley was wedged at an ugly angle, biting into the line. Definitely a design flaw. "Well… it worked better in the workshop."

  "You both are insane," John said flatly behind us.

  I shot him a look over my shoulder. "I thought you enjoyed sailing."

  "I enjoy sailing, Amos. As in—moving forward. Not capsizing. Big difference."

  "Are you kidding?" I gestured at the water, at the spray, at the sloop carving over the chop. "This ship works like a dream."

  Barry’s sons, making up the rest of the crew, were doubled over with laughter, calling out congratulations to Barry as though he were some hero after a noble dive. The wind snapped across the deck, carrying the tang of salt and seaweed.

  John shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched. He wasn't nearly as upset as he wanted us to believe. It wouldn’t be the last time we nearly flipped one. Em and I had capsized the Cove Dancer twice, trying to test her limits.

  "Alright," I said, wiping spray from my face, "let’s go rescue Barry before he runs out of expletives."

  "Not likely," Em snorted.

  We tacked around, the boat slicing upwind with ease. Barry bobbed indignantly in the waves, still sputtering curses that sounded older than the kingdom itself. We tossed him a rope and hauled him up the side. He clambered aboard dripping, wheezing, and glaring daggers at me.

  "I have already tested the life jacket, my lord," he huffed. "There was no need to drop me into the water again."

  "It’s not my fault you haven’t developed sea legs yet," I said with a perfect nobleman’s smirk.

  "I had sea legs before you were—" He stopped himself midsentence when he realized exactly where that was heading. His face went tight with horror. "Forgive my rudeness, my lord."

  "All is forgiven…" I paused just long enough to make him squirm, then added with a mischievous grin, "…as soon as you clean the latrine."

  Barry’s expression went blank. I was fairly certain he was trying to decide whether I was joking or not.

  The shoreline grew clearer as we approached, the smell of fresh tar and gutted fish drifting across the breeze. A growing crowd waited on the pier, word traveled fast. Our yet-to-be-named sloop bumped gently alongside, and we tossed out ropes to the eager hands reaching to secure us.

  A cheer went up the moment we stepped off the plank. Fishermen and sailors swarmed Barry and his sons, pelting them with questions, laughter echoing across the docks.

  John, Emily, and I slipped through the crowd and headed up the path toward my home, John’s home now, too.

  John exhaled in amazement. "I can say one thing for certain: I have never traveled that fast on a ship in my life." He gave the boat an admiring look. "So… how much for that one?"

  I grinned. "Sorry, John. That one’s not for sale."

  He looked like he was about to object when I cut him off. "I cannot let this get out to others right now. This is the test for my new ships that will become the backbone of our trading empire. Imagine this ship three times larger with two masts and many more sails. We will be able to travel faster than any ship out on the seas. That means we can outrun any ship trying to catch us. We will need fewer crew and can haul more."

  If this were a cartoon, John would have dollar signs in his eyes. "Alright, you’ve convinced me. I’ll keep this a secret. But now I think we should sell the Rabiss ship and use the money to build these bigger ships. Building them yourself in North Cove, you might be able to make two for the price I can get you for the Rabiss ship."

  As we walked into the home, I noticed a small cloth-wrapped package sitting on the table. A note sat beside it. Opening the note, I could immediately tell it was from Mathew.

  Lord Amos Bicman,

  I know this is not the lens you were looking for, but in trying to make the lens of obsidian, I ended up with this. I thought it was neat and created a unique mirror I wrapped in copper wire to protect the edges. I wanted to ask for your permission to make more. I think putting them in a compact mirror would work well. We could make them out of polished wood or various metals. I will continue to try to make the dark lens you require.

  Your faithful vassal,

  Mathew the Smith

  I had asked him to create a thin lens of obsidian for a sextant. Apparently, whatever was in the package was an accidental discovery.

  Emily gasped, and I turned to find that she had already opened the package. I was about to make a remark about how she should not open things that don't belong to her, but after seeing what she was holding, and the excitement in her eyes, I knew I wouldn't be getting it back anyway.

  "May I see it?" I asked.

  Emily reluctantly pulled her eyes away from the obsidian mirror and handed it to me.

  The polished obsidian sat in a frame of copper with wire wrapped around it to protect the person holding it from the knapped edge. The image it reflected was startlingly clear and sharp, yet drank in some of the light, giving the reflection a shadowed depth. It gave a mysterious look to the person staring at it. I now understood why Jarum told me the Turabe used it for divination rituals and to communicate with spirits.

  The fact that Mathew wanted to put it in a compact mirror was genius.

  "That is a decent mirror. Where did you get it?" John said. He was not nearly as excited as Emily and I were. Apparently, obsidian mirrors were nothing new to him.

  "There is probably some obsidian under our feet. The cove used to be a volcano that sank into the ocean. There are patches of soil here where small bits of obsidian have made their way to the surface. We are finding more as the marsh drains."

  This immediately caught John's attention. "So it was made here. That changes things. This will be a good export, obsidian mirrors of this size usually sell for around one to two gold. Of course, the craftsmanship of this one is poor, and that would bring the price down to about five silver crowns."

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  "This is just a quick example of what Mathew wants to create. Emily, do you have your compact mirror?" I asked.

  Emily’s eyes lit up with excitement. "That would look amazing. I get the first one. Just a moment—it’s in my satchel!"

  She dashed off into the other room.

  "I agree, though," I said, leaning back against the table, "I need a jeweler to train the young man who created this. If you can find one in Carok willing to come here, I would be very appreciative. I would pay him well."

  John rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I could do that. Probably not a master,but at least someone who has been under one for ten or so years."

  Just then, Emily came running back into the room and presented the bronze compact mirror to me with both hands, practically vibrating with excitement.

  I showed John how it opened and closed. A slow grin spread across his face as he turned it over, examining the hinge, imagining possibilities. His eyes lit up as brightly as Emily’s.

  "Amos," he said, awestruck, "have I told you how much I love having you as a cousin? We are going to make a fortune from these. Four gold minimum just for this—and if you set obsidian in it, five."

  Emily shouted her new favorite phrase. "I want to invest!"

  I sighed. I never should have taught her that word.

  Peter Vaspar

  Peter was in the middle of dressing for the evening's festivities when a firm knock rattled the door. He let out a frustrated growl, sharp enough to make the maids flinch backward from the delicate work of adjusting his latest outfit.

  Could he not be left alone for even an hour? he thought bitterly.

  This was not at all what his father had prepared him for. Most of his time as count had been spent dodging people who constantly demanded something from him—money, favors, appointments, judgments. The weight of office was proving far more irritating than impressive.

  "Come in," he snapped, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

  Casper entered with a grim expression. "My lord, an army is assembling on the border of North Cove."

  Fury ignited in Peter’s chest. "What is that fool up to?"

  "He is demanding that you remove the bandits on the North Road, or he will do it himself."

  "And this army?" Peter asked, tension in his jaw.

  "Reports say they are a ragtag group of peasants, those left over from the six hundred who marched to Hitub."

  Peter scoffed. "Is he trying to mock me? Send a thousand men to the border. Show him what a real army looks like."

  Casper’s voice remained calm. "My lord, this is provocation. I advise sending only a small delegation to inform them the issue is being handled."

  "The issue is not resolved! Nor will it be until I have my land back. Send the men now."

  "It will take a few days to gather the soldiers and supplies. Perhaps we should send a forerunner—"

  "You are trying my patience, Casper. Do as I say. If they cross the border in the meantime, it will give us the excuse we need to reclaim my land."

  Casper bowed slightly. "As you wish, my lord." He turned and left.

  *****

  A few days later, Peter sat in his study poring over the ledgers for dock income. He scowled at the numbers, searching for any sign that the harbor master was skimming funds.

  Not that he’d ever cared before. But the last party had gone poorly. There were even rumors that Sir Glab’s event—a mere knight’s party!—had been better than his. The embarrassment still burned.

  He was determined to squeeze every last coin from his holdings to ensure the next party would outshine them all. Casper was the real problem, constantly complaining whenever Peter spent a single gold. Now Peter was reduced to checking the scribes’ work because they were apparently too incompetent to catch any discrepancies.

  It would probably be easier to get rid of Casper, he mused darkly.

  Shouting erupted outside the room. Peter stood to investigate just as his younger brother, Fredrick, burst through the door.

  Peter curled his lip. "Well, well—the traitor returns."

  Fredrick's voice was steel. "Traitor? That title belongs to you. You killed Father."

  Peter snorted. "The whore killed Father. And what would I gain? The county was going to be mine anyway."

  "Father was going to send you to Hitub," Fredrick said, drawing his sword.

  Peter responded in kind. Though he knew Fredrick was the better fighter, he would not go down without a fight. Behind Fredrick, several armed men slipped into the room—his men.

  "You are a fool, brother," Peter spat. "Blinded by grief. But I understand, nothing I say will convince you once your mind is set. It is your way."

  Before blades met, Casper pushed his way inside the room.

  "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, stepping between them.

  "I have come for vengeance," Fredrick said confidently.

  For a moment, Peter thought Casper would intervene, but the steward only looked between them—measuring—and then stepped aside. His face became a cold, unreadable mask. "I shall witness the dispute."

  Peter knew he had to strike first if he wanted any chance at survival. He lunged.

  But Fredrick’s loose, relaxed stance had been a feint. With lightning speed, he parried Peter’s thrust. Before Peter could dodge, Fredrick’s fist smashed into his nose. Pain exploded across Peter’s face as his eyes filled with tears.

  He didn’t even see the finishing strike. The blade pierced his chest with a cold, sinking pressure.

  As he collapsed, he heard Fredrick’s final words—foolish to the last:

  "At least when I kill, I do it with honor."

  Peter wanted to laugh. But only blood bubbled at his lips.

  Fredrick Vaspar

  Fredrick gave no outward sign of his true feelings. His expression remained as calm and controlled as carved stone. To those around him, he gave no indication that the murder of his brother disturbed him in the slightest. But inside, he was in turmoil. The rage that had consumed him—fueled by betrayal, grief, and Julie’s accusations—had fled the moment his sword slid home. What remained was an empty void.

  He was pulled from his spiraling thoughts by Casper’s voice. “Everyone out. I must speak with our new Lord. Bring a body bag. And we will need to destroy this rug.”

  The men moved without hesitation, dragging away Peter’s corpse. Within moments, the room was empty save for the steward and the new Count of Vaspar.

  Casper waited until the door clicked shut before speaking. “Your brother had nothing to do with the murder of your father.”

  The words struck like a splash of icy water. Fredrick turned sharply. “That is impossible. I have evidence proving his involvement.”

  Casper met his gaze steadily. “I completed my own investigation. Do you not think I would have turned anything over to the King—or to you—if I had found evidence against your brother? I am loyal to this family above all else.”

  “And what of the evidence Julie gave me?” Fredrick countered.

  “She is playing her own game,” Casper said simply. “You had already decided your brother was guilty. She told you what you wanted to hear in order to achieve what she desired.”

  Fredrick stared down at Peter’s lifeless body, anger flaring anew. He pointed his sword at Casper. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

  Casper did not flinch. “One of you was going to die this day,” he said, voice flat. “If I had stopped the fight and you had surrendered, Peter would have seen you executed. Just because he did not kill your father does not mean he would not eliminate you. He could never trust you again. He would have charged you with treason, and he would have chosen death over exile. If he had killed you, nothing would have changed.”

  “You say you are loyal,” Fredrick growled, “and yet you allowed your count to die. How can I trust you?”

  Casper’s face did not so much as twitch. “I swore to assist Peter, and I did so faithfully. But I told you the truth: I am loyal to the House of Vaspar above any individual within it. Peter was destroying this house. His spending was uncontrollable. His policies crippled the economy. People were ready to rebel.”

  “That was Julie’s doing,” Fredrick argued. “She admitted it.”

  Casper shook his head. “She only blew on the fire that was starting to grow. It was all I could do to keep the pot that was sitting on it from boiling over.”

  Fredrick exhaled hard, forcing down the sting of betrayal. “I must bring in Julie. I need her to confess.”

  “I fear you will not find her in Vaspar,” Casper said calmly. “And her flight will be her admission of guilt.”

  “What do you mean I won’t find her? She was just outside with me.”

  “And by now she is in hiding,” Casper replied without hesitation. “She knows you will eventually uncover her manipulation.”

  Fredrick’s jaw clenched. “Why did she do it? What did she hope to gain?”

  “Like me,” Casper said, “she loves this city. She saw what Peter was doing and believed you were Vaspar’s only hope. Peter would have drowned this county in debt until he was nothing more than a puppet for the nobles he owed. She knew that you would never act against your brother if you knew he was innocent.”

  Fredrick thought about it. Julie had not been the one to tell him that Peter was the traitor. He had told her, and she had played him like a pipe. The betrayal cut deeper than the blade he had used moments before. Fredrick paced the room. “I killed my brother without just cause. I will be called to account. The county will be seized.”

  “That depends on whether you love this county enough to make a difficult choice,” Casper replied. “Julie’s evidence was crafted to be convincing. We can take it,along with your testimony, and present it to the king and the duke.”

  Fredrick stilled. “But somebody knows the truth. Whoever it is will blackmail us.”

  Casper nodded. “True. But I also know the truth. I will contact the one who would blackmail you and inform them that we possess the evidence necessary to prove their guilt. Then we will be at a stand-off. The matter will be swept under the rug.”

  “You would let them get away with this?”

  Casper’s gaze hardened. “Not me—you. It is your decision. Expose them, and Vaspar will fall, and you will die with it.”

  Silence settled between them. Long enough that Peter’s cold body was removed, and the blood-soaked rug cut apart and dragged out. A maid quietly scrubbed the stone beneath, then hurried away.

  Only then did Fredrick speak. “I am a warrior… not fit to rule a county. I acted out of revenge.”

  “Then be a warrior,” Casper said. “You were planning to go to Hitub and lead your father’s men. Many counts lead their banners on the field. Your father did the same. Remove your brother’s sycophants, rebuild competent leadership, and trust them to govern when you are away. You have learned much these past months, restraint, caution, and that trust must be earned. You will not be so easily manipulated again.”

  Fredrick breathed in slowly and nodded. “I will strive to do better.”

  For the first time that day, Casper’s stern expression softened into a faint smile. “That is all your people can ask of you, my lord.”