"How did you cross?" asks Sarafiel of Thelesis.

"When I returned from my exile there? He let me pass for the price of a song," she says reminiscently, rich voice resonant. "Once thence, and once back. As best I can tell, he is governed by whim. To what whim did the Cruarch of Alba cater, when he visited our fair land for the purpose of your betrothal?"

"A very good question," says Sarafiel. She looks at Ysandre. "Do you know the answer?"

"They came following a dream," Ysandre says. "A vision, of the King's sister, of a black boar and a silver swan." She smiles, a little. "Drustan told of mermaids who arose from the sea to hear their tale, and grant them passage; I know not how much truth lies in that tale."

"There are mermaids, right enough," Thelesis says. "They are the face of the Master of the Straits as he passes over the waters. If he was intrigued by their vision- that might have done it, truly."

"Mermaids?" inquires Sarafiel.

"Not people, or their like. Their bodies are made entire out of the water, and they drift alongside the ship as a fish might. For the most part they are female, girlish and playful; there was a larger one, with a male form, who spoke to us in thanks as we passed. His voice-" she shivers slightly. "It cannot be described, not truly. But he was the avatar of the Master of the Straits, right enough." She smiles then, fondly. "He came to listen to me sing, he said."

"Interesting," she murmurs. "I wonder how—? I suppose it isn't all that relevant." At a more conversational volume, she adds, "He spoke to you directly? What did he say?"

"The female ones, first. They are his servants, or very like; they asked us our purpose, and accepted my offer of song. And then he appeared, rising from the waters to listen. He said-" she thinks, very briefly, then quotes, "You have a lovely voice, my lady. I thank you for the song. My waters will carry you safely."

"I see," says Sarafiel. "And did they? I would assume so."

"They did," she agrees. "We were carried along on his winds safely to the shores of Alba."

"These tales of yours make him seem... friendlier than rumour would have it," she says. "I wonder why that is. I will make it my business to find out."

"One almost pities the Master of the Straits. I look forward to reading the resulting books," Barquiel says with a dry smile.

"There has been word from Quintilius Rousse," Ysandre continues. "He has begged crossing of the Master of the Straits, and it has been granted. Should our delegation to Alba succeed, they are promised safe return."

"All this for the blue boy?" Barquiel asks, disbelieving. "You really want to wed the blue boy?"

Ysandre's eyes blaze. "I want to wed the rightful Cruarch of Alba, to whom I am betrothed! Yes, Uncle. And it is to that end that we are meeting."

"Drustan mab Necthana does not desire rulership of Terre d'Ange," Ysandre says firmly. "We spoke of it, laughing, in broken tongues; a dream of the two of us grown, ruling our kingdoms in tandem. The idle dreams of romantic youth, yes, but there was truth in it. I am not prepared to abandon this alliance for mere political expediency."

"The House of Aragon-"

"Enough. Lady Fortier. What do you require for your expedition to Alba? My lords, what course do we follow, either with Alban support and without?"

"I require some means by which to inform Admiral Rousse that I travel under your authority, and I have not yet found a translator I judge can be brought along without alerting anyone to my purpose. People fluent in Cruithne are rare, and therefore usually notable."

Ysandre hands her her ring. "I can use my father's," she murmurs. "...or perhaps, soon, my grandfather's," she adds sadly.

"You might inquire of Mierette nó Orchis," Thelesis contributes. "You mentioned an entertainer, did you not? I am sure she could find someone suitable in Orchis or Eglantine."

"And do try not to die," Barquiel adds sardonically. "You're too damned useful to drown."