Across the Long Sea by Sarah Remy

Joseph nodded. “He was a man for the sea, always.” Cook slid a second bowl of stew beneath the Masterhealer’s elbow. He nodded absent thanks.
    â€œMy brothers in Wilhaiim send word that the Worm is not easing its poisonous grip,” Joseph said. “I admit I’m concerned, my lord. Surely you’re better off at the king’s side?”
    Cook’s stew was spicy. Mal scraped the bowl clean, in no hurry. He took several swallows of sweet wine from the mug provided, then propped his elbows on the boards.
    â€œWilhaiim’s gates are closed. No messengers are riding out.”
    Joseph met Mal’s stare, expression inscrutable.
    â€œNevertheless,” the priest said, “I understand things are not improving. Children are dying in the streets, an entire generation at risk.”
    Mal crossed himself. Brother’s Joseph’s stern face relaxed. Mal schooled his own expression to sympathy.
    â€œYour brothers would have told you His Majesty has taken every opportunity to contain the illness. It is a spring plague, albeit an especially cruel strain. The city defends itself as best it can, as the city has done every spring since long before your father’s father left the desert sands.”
    Brother Joseph dipped his spoon into his bowl.
    â€œYou’re positive it’s nothing more? Nothing . . . sinister?” he asked his stew. “Even here on the coast, we’ve heard rumors of the barrowmen and war.”
    â€œAye,” Mal said simply. “It’s a natural affliction, not more.”
    Brother Joseph nodded. He ate in silence, staring at Mal. Mal gazed back, unfazed, while Cook sang a mournful song of pirates wed at sea. When his bowl was empty, the priest pushed back his bench and stood, old bones audibly creaking.
    â€œBest you return to Wilhaiim soon, then, aye?” he said. “The throne will be missing you; you shouldna have come at all.”
    This time, Mal didn’t rise. He smiled, polite and distant.
    â€œA son’s duty is always first to his mother. Lady Selkirk was in need, and His Majesty insisted.”
    â€œYou’ve a way with platitudes, I grant you that,” Brother Joseph replied. “I misdoubt you were thinking of Lady Selkirk when you forced Lord Rowan into your rightful place upon the sea.”
    â€œIs that how it is, then?” Mal tapped his fingers on the board, yellow gem sparking. “I appreciate your honesty.”
    â€œWe’re an honest folk, here, and loyal to the dead lord,” Brother Joseph said. “You’ll find no welcome amongst us. Lord Vocent.”
    â€œMasterhealer.”
    Brother Joseph paced calmly from the kitchens. Mal watched him go, thinking. Cook, bent over a cauldron of boiling shellfish, continued to sing.
    T HE S E LKIRK ROSES were open to the cool morning, their perfume mingling pleasantly with the salt air. Liam met Mal at the west gate, a garland crown of roses on his head.
    â€œThere’s a lass in the pantry made it for me.” The boy grinned, all cheek. “She says she don’t mind my scars, and I got a kiss in turn for the wearing of it.”
    â€œDoesn’t,” Mal corrected, hiding a smile. “And stick to kisses, Liam. I’m not of a mind to explain to Avani how you got a babe on a maid your first time out.”
    â€œOf course, my lord.” Liam bent the knee, then straightened his crooked flower crown, unembarrassed. “I’ll leave it, if you don’t mind, my lord. Else she’s as like to kick as smile, and she promised me seed cakes this evening.”
    â€œAh, and there’s the truth of it. Not the kisses, but the cakes.”
    â€œAye, my lord.” Liam dismissed the subject and turned toward the gate. “Are we to visit the tall ships, my lord? I’ve been watching them from the battlements, my lord, and they’re big as houses. Floating houses.”
    â€œThey need to be, to