“My Lord Prince…” Aleksei swept around to the front of his desk and set the ledger down, motioning to the polished leather chair across from him. “What might I do for Palotza Radiskoye.”

“I know you’re busy”-Nikandr’s stomach gave a twinge as he took his seat-“so I won’t keep you long.”

Aleksei sat as well, smiling as pleasantly as he could manage. It was clear from his downward glances that he dearly wished he could look over his ledger. Nikandr knew from experience that this was a man used to doing three things at once, but it was a measure of Nikandr’s stature that he would leave it untouched for fear of giving insult.

“The Kroya,” Nikandr said.

“Ah!” He began to rifle through the documents piled neatly to the left of his desk before Nikandr had even finished speaking. From it he pulled a single sheet of paper and slid it across the desk. “Here it is, at last. I was going to send it with the noon pony.”

It was a report from the master of Rhavanki’s eyrie-a confirmation that the Kroya, one of Khalakovo’s stoutest ships, had left nearly six weeks prior. When they had received word that the ship had not arrived on Khalakovo’s shores, a search effort had been waged, but no remains had yet been found. All efforts would of course be made to find the missing ship, but the attacks of the Maharraht had been growing since the settling of winter, and it was possible that the ship now lay at the bottom of the sea or-worse-in the hands of the enemy. It was not the news Nikandr had been hoping to hear, but neither was it unexpected-he, along with everyone else in the palotza, had already assumed the worst.

“Very well,” Nikandr said as he slipped the paper back onto the desk.

After filing the document back into the sheaf of papers in the same location as before, Aleksei shuffled them neatly together and regarded Nikandr. “If there’s nothing else, My Lord?”