Free Prodigal Steelwielder (Seals of the Duelists Book 3) by Jasmine Giacomo Page A

at my office before dawn tomorrow morning. We’ll go over final preparations before I walk you to the caravanserai.” She headed down the street with a lightness to her step.
    Eward smiled . No wonder Philo chose her.
    The tide rose just before sunset, bringing in a flood of ships to Renallen’s vast dock system. Eward spotted Imee’s guard cohort by their vast number, uniformly black hair, and bulging muscles. As his feet trod the broad wooden boardwalk, he tallied eighty-eight men in Imee’s employ. They stood in even ranks, leather breastplates proudly oiled and gleaming with the dyed symbol of Imee’s business, a swirl of red and blue.
    He reached Imee’s cohort and nodded in greeting, then studied the approaching cadre of ships and picked out the Corona vessel. Its design was outlandish, exotic, and brightly colored like the birds he’d seen on the promenade beach. Twin lateen sails, red as blood, winged up and out from the ship’s deck, and a small blue spinnaker marked with a golden crown pulled the ship toward the docks.
    “Have you ever seen a Corona ship before?” Imee asked.
    Eward shook his head. “My father probably did. He was a sailor. I used to live on the eastern shore of Byanneken.”
    The stately vessel eased its way into port, and the sailors tossed mooring lines down to the waiting deckhands, who secured the boat against the dock with a minimum of fuss. An elaborate gangplank, complete with velvet rails and individual stair steps, swung out over the ship’s rail and touched down on the dock. As passengers and supplies began to disembark, sailors used pulleys to swing the bright red sails in a broad half circle until they paralleled the deck at the other end of the ship. Only then did the men begin to take them down and fold them away into their casings.
    Eward caught sight of a skinny man in overly formal garb descending the gangplank. “I think that’s our man.” As he crossed the dock, it became apparent that, though the Corona diplomat wore a tall, pillar-shaped hat, he was shorter than Eward. The man bore a thin, short, blond beard, and his upper lip was bare. Poor fellow. As old as Cavan, but his facial hair never got out of puberty. “A thousand fair greetings, good sir. Welcome to the Waarden Empire. I’m Avatar Duelist Eward Raalgat, sent to greet you by the His Imperial Majesty himself. Was your journey satisfactory?”
    The thin man sucked air through his over-large nostrils and favored Eward with a critical look. “The journey was acceptable. You have prepared accommodation? This wretch of a captain does not know the meaning of the term ‘food.’”
    Eward didn’t answer, being too distracted by the diplomat’s high, artistic voice and affected half-lisp.
    Imee pressed Eward aside and took the diplomat’s hand in both of hers. “I’ll escort you directly. I’m Merchant Imee Magittang, and I will be directly responsible for your care and security as we travel north to the Kheerzaal. If you have any requests, any at all, you may bring them directly to me. How are you styled?”
    The little man seemed both startled and pleased by Imee’s forwardness. “I am Erinando dyly Gonsala. I am the Conecho Uniqo dyl Reyo Ochidala . You, pretty flower, may style me Erinando.”
    Imee glued herself to the diplomat’s side as she escorted him down the dock. “My men will see to your belongings and their security overnight, and they will maintain constant shifts to ensure your privacy and security at all times. I am also in possession of a healer, should you need refreshing after your journey. How many men would you like me to assign to escort you this evening?”
    Erinando mumbled something about whatever Imee thought was best. Eward crossed his arms as she motioned half a dozen men to surround them as a miniature honor guard. She didn’t look back at him even once as she escorted the diplomat away.
    “She does that, you know. Fair warning.”
    Eward turned to see the burly