Star of the Morning by Lynn Kurland Page B

smiles. “He’ll even feed us.”
    â€œHow long a journey?” Morgan croaked.
    Adhémar frowned. “Haven’t you made the journey before?”
    â€œA very long time ago.” She had, when she’d been ten. It had been with her mercenary guardians and she’d vowed if she survived it that she would never again set foot on another boat.
    She took a deep breath to still her churning stomach.
    It did no good.
    â€œTime to board,” Camid said, his long nose quivering in excitement. “I love boats,” he said enthusiastically. “Not many where I come from, of course, but I’ve never not enjoyed a journey on one. I say we take a boat north while we’re about our business—”
    Morgan continued to breathe. In fact, there came a point where she almost felt better. The sea air was bracing and her stomach was settling quite nicely. She breathed a time or two more and thought that perhaps her fear of boats, or rather what would happen once she set foot on one, was perhaps ungrounded and unreasonable. Had she spent years avoiding something she should have enjoyed?
    â€œLet us be off,” she said cheerfully. She nodded to her companions, glared just on principle at Adhémar, then shouldered her pack more securely and followed her companions onto the ship.
    She was well.
    All was well.
    She stood on the deck of the ship. It began to rock. Her belly began to rock with it.
    She knew, with a sense of finality that wasn’t at all unexpected, that she was in deep trouble.

Five

    Adhémar almost went sprawling from the force of the shove. He turned, his hand on his sword, only to see a blur as Morgan bolted past him. He would have tried to stop her, but he couldn’t catch her. Was she about to fling herself overboard?
    Ah . . . apparently not.
    Adhémar was bumped again as Paien of Allerdale hurried to aid his puking comrade. Unfortunately, he seemed to have an abundance of sympathy because he hardly had time to put his pack on the deck next to him before he was leaning over the railing as well, joining Morgan in her, er, business.
    Adhémar found himself standing next to the dwarf. He looked down. “You too?”
    Camid shook his head slowly. “Never.” He patted his stomach. “Sturdy. Reliable. Unfailing.”
    Adhémar had to admit that he didn’t have much to do with dwarves, as a rule, though Neroche did border their country of Durial on the east—and there was a dwarf on the Council of Kings. He thought he might perhaps have judged them as a group too hastily. Compared with the rather unsettling noises coming from the railing, the solid dependability of the dwarf next to him was rather comforting.
    â€œI’ll see to their gear,” Camid said, then moved off to do just that.
    â€œYour Majesty,” whispered a voice at his ear.
    â€œGlines, cease,” Adhémar growled. “I’m traveling in disguise.”
    Glines made him the slightest of bows. “As you wish.”
    â€œWhat I wish is to have the gold back you pocketed from me not two hours ago.”
    â€œMy cards are always at your service, Your—” He broke off, then smiled. “Perhaps you might suggest what I should call you.”
    â€œ Adhémar will do. Dolt will not.”
    Glines smiled briefly. “Don’t mind Morgan. She doesn’t suffer fools gladly.”
    Adhémar glared at him.
    â€œI mean,” Glines stammered, “she doesn’t suffer anyone gladly. Anyone who isn’t her. Actually, she doesn’t have much respect for anyone who can’t best her in a swordfight and since there isn’t anyone I know who can . . . well, you understand.”
    Adhémar pursed his lips. “I doubt that’s the case, but we’ll leave that be for the moment.” He looked over his shoulder at the young lad who slipped onto the ship and went hastily below. Well, that one bore watching, but