Arai thought it might still be possible to catch the Cockatrice, but the ship had already set out by the time they returned to the boardwalk. He watched the wind fill its sails for a few moments, and then, sighing, turned away.

And so the three of them made their way back to the inn. Shell was upset; Lillandra was quiet. The silence was awkward.

Arai shouldn't have been surprised at Lillandra's escape attempt -- she was the Night Queen, after all, and his prisoner -- but he was surprised, and oddly disappointed as well. Obviously his relationship with Lillandra was strained, but they had been traveling together for several months now and he had thought they arrived at a kind of understanding. Hadn't she saved his life back in Ada? Hadn't he saved hers back at the Haunt, when Nharlek's monster had taken her prisoner? Weren't they in this together?

It was...disappointing.

She's not your friend, he reminded himself. She's Lillandra, the Queen of the Night. She conquered Velon. She killed your father.

Even he didn't really believe that last part, though. Lord Pierce and his men had killed his father; he was pretty sure now that Lillandra had not been directly involved in that.

Still, it bothered him. And where did they go from here? Would she try to escape again?

He was so preoccupied with these thoughts that he wasn't looking where he was going. Turning a corner, he bumped into a well-dressed young man.

"Pardon me," he mumbled.

"Not at all," the young man said, brushing himself off. The man started to walk off, but stopped when he saw Arai's sword. "Now that's interesting," he said. "I've never seen a design like that. Where did you get it? And might I have a look?"

Arai wasn't in the mood. "It's not for sale," he said.

"I wasn't asking to buy it. I was asking to look at it."

"You are looking at it."

The man studied him, more curious than offended. He was a very handsome youth, with near-perfect features and piercing, ice-blue eyes. He looked to be about the same age as Arai, and the two of them stood about the same height, but where Arai was broad-shouldered and heavily-built, this man was slender. His clothes were perfectly tailored, and like Arai, he had a sword strapped to his hip.

"You're a foreigner," the man observed.

"I don't deny it."

"And yet you have no trace of an accent. Interesting." His gaze then fell on Lillandra, who was just coming up the street. His eyes went wide. He immediately doffed his hat -- he was wearing one of those ridiculous floppy-brimmed things that the Addish were so fond of -- and bowed. "A very good morning to you, my lady," he greeted. He spotted Shell. "And to you, little one."

"Who are you?" Shell asked, rather bluntly.

"Oh, where are my manners?" He replaced his hat and said, "My name is Jerade. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." His eyes were all over Lillandra.

"We're in a hurry," Arai grumbled. "If you'll excuse us--"

"Surely not," Jerade said, stepping into his path. "We've only just met." He spoke to Lillandra: "Perhaps I might treat the young lady to breakfast -- that is, if she hasn't eaten yet."

"The young lady is not interested," Arai said, beginning to grow annoyed with the man's pushiness. "Let's go, Lillandra."

But the man would not be put off; he was obviously the type of person who was used to getting what he wanted. "Lillandra? What a curious name. Tell me, are the two of you husband and wife?"

"No."

"Brother and sister?"

"No."

"Then what is the nature of your relationship, if you don't mind my asking?"

Arai exchanged a glance with Lillandra. "It's complicated," he said. "It's also none of your business. Now, if you'll excuse us--"

"If the young lady is unattached," Jerade said boldly, "she can answer for herself." He flashed her a winning smile. "Would you like to join me for breakfast, Lillandra?"

"She's not joining you for breakfast," Arai growled. "I've tried to be polite, but if you don't get out of our way..." His hand fell on the pommel of his sword.

The man's smile turned predatory. "Are you threatening me?"

He met the man's gaze. "Get out of my way. I won't ask again."

"Arai..." Shell warned.

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Jerade, still wearing that grin, stepped back several paces and slid his sword out of its scabbard. Addish swords tended to be huge and heavy, reminiscent of meat cleavers, but this man's sword was long, straight, and slender, more like a proper Velonese sword.

A small crowd was beginning to gather around them now. Sighing, Arai drew his own sword.

Lillandra grabbed his arm. "We don't need this kind of trouble," she hissed. "Let it go."

"It's too late now," he said. He shook her off and fell into the Rising Tide stance.

Jerade gave Silus an appraising look. "Ah, just as I expected," he said. "A lovely blade. Hand-and-a-half, is it? Gallean, perhaps?" He waggled his own sword at Arai, who remained motionless. "But that's an interesting stance. Waiting for me to make the first move, eh? Well, then, I should be happy to oblige."

He feinted a few times, then lunged. The youth was quick, but he made no effort to disguise the attack, and Arai had no trouble avoiding it. He sidestepped the thrust, knocked the other man's sword up and away, and countered with a slash of his own. He could have easily cut the man's head off in that instant, but as he had no desire to kill this stupid fop, he deliberately missed, allowing the youth to jump back a step. He then settled back into the Rising Tide stance.

Jerade wasn't stupid; he understood that Arai had spared his life. "Impressive," he admitted, a bit of doubt finally beginning to creep into his eyes. "Let's see how you deal with this, then."

He came at Arai again, this time with a whole series of blows. Arai stopped one strike, then another, catching them all within the Rising Tide. Frustrated, the man fought harder, forcing Arai to counter with the Crashing Waves.

It didn't take long for Arai to take the measure of the man. Jerade was a fair swordsman, and had obviously had some training, but he had no idea how to counter Arai's attacks or how to take advantage of an opening.

Arai could have killed him a dozen times over the course of the fight, but he held back, unwilling to kill a man who did not really pose a threat to him. When Jerade came jumping in with yet another sloppy attack, Arai answered it by catching his sword on Silus's crossguard, twisting the blade out of his hand, and pushing him roughly to the ground. He landed on his backside, and his sword clattered to the cobblestones.

He looked up at Arai. There was no anger or frustration in his expression -- if anything, he looked excited, amused, even pleased. "That was wonderful!" he exclaimed. "What a talent!"

Arai was confused. "I'm sorry?"

A pair of city guards, wearing blue uniforms and shining steel helmets, were now pushing their way through the crowd. "What's going on here?" one of the men demanded. When he saw Jerade on the ground, his eyes went wide. "My lord? What's the meaning of this?"

My lord? Arai swore under his breath.

Another man emerged from the crowd -- a dark-eyed man, in his early thirties perhaps, who was also carrying a sword. This man's attire was unusual: he was wearing loose-fitting black robes which wound themselves around his torso, and which left one arm -- his sword arm -- bare. That arm was very muscular, and was covered with scars. "Lord Jerade," the man sighed. "I can't leave you alone for a moment, can I?" He shot a glance at Arai, who was still holding Silus. "If you want to live," the man said, his voice dark and dangerous, "you'll put away your steel."

Arai sheathed his sword.

"Yaqui!" Jerade exclaimed, jumping to his feet and running to the man. "You should have seen it! This man's swordplay is truly exceptional -- I daresay he might even give you a run for your money."

Yaqui looked Arai up and down. "Is that so?"

"He's entirely innocent, of course. I provoked him into a fight." He waved away the city guards. "Everything's all right," he told them. "On your way, then."

The guards -- looking rather confused -- left the scene, and the crowd dispersed, leaving only Arai, Lillandra, Shell, and Jerade and his black-robed companion. "I apologize," Jerade said to Arai. "I only wanted to see your sword. But I got much more than I bargained for, didn't I? Tell me, where did you learn to fight?"

Arai, nonplussed by the man's sudden turnaround, answered reluctantly: "My father taught me."

"Would you be willing to teach me?"

This caught him totally off-guard. "What? What do you mean?"

"There's another tournament coming up in about a month. I've never seen a style like yours; I think it might give me an edge over the competition. What do you say? I can make it worth your while."

Arai frowned at the man. "Who are you?"

He smiled ingratiatingly. "Jerade," he said simply.

"Lord Jerade," Yaqui clarified, with weary resignation. "The son of Lord Eliot, the royal governor of Addisport. And my name," he added, "is Yaqui din Terras. I have the honor of serving as Lord Jerade's bodyguard."

"Yaqui's a swordsman, too," Jerade said, "from Jaquin. One of the four disciples of Aquillian, the Golden Blade."

"It's...nice to meet you," Arai said, though he didn't really think it was.

"Well, what do you say?" Jerade asked eagerly. "Will you agree to teach me? Yaqui's been doing his best, but I don't think Aquillian's teachings are a very good fit for me."

Yaqui scowled at that. "Aquillian's teachings are not to blame," he muttered. "It's your own lack of discipline."

Arai didn't like any of this. He didn't like Jerade, who had provoked him into a fight, and whose personality simply rubbed him the wrong way. The man's attempt to flirt with Lillandra had annoyed him as well, although he couldn't say why, exactly, it had bothered him. On the other hand...

"You'll make it worth my while, you said?"

Jerade's grin reappeared. "Oh, indeed."

"How much?"

"Fifty gold crowns? And I'll give you a set of rooms in the palace as well, if you have no other accommodations; you can stay there until the tournament. The three of you are together, are you not? You're all invited, of course."

Fifty gold? They might make it all the way to the Scarred Lands with that much money. And they did need a place to stay; they couldn't afford a whole month at the inn.

He glanced at his companions. Shell was nodding eagerly; Lillandra appeared diffident.

"It takes years to learn the Three Waves," he told Jerade at last. "I can't teach you everything I know in just a month. The best I can do is give you the basics."

"That's fine," he said. "The other competitors will have never seen a style like yours, even in its most basic form. It might be just enough. Do you accept my offer, then?"

Once again, he glanced at Lillandra. This time, she made a face, as though she wasn't keen on the idea. The more he thought about Jerade's offer, though, the more he liked it. Fifty crowns would pay for their passage across the Bay of Vandals, and then some. They had a month to kill in Addisport anyway, while they waited for the Cockatrice to return. And if Jerade put them up in his palace, which was presumably walled off and guarded, well, that might make it easier for him to keep an eye on Lillandra.

He didn't exactly relish the prospect of trying to teach Jerade, but...

He nodded. "All right. I accept."

The swordsman was pleased. "Excellent! I look forward to working with you." His eyes settled on Lillandra. "And I do look forward to making your acquaintance, my lady," he said, with another one of those exaggerated bows.

But Lillandra merely scowled at him.