g nothing but a nobility full of those seeking his throne in its stead.  After that was done, she would see to it that he lost his crown.
	It was so ironic.  She had fled from Wikuna, had orchestrated one of the most elaborate and convoluted plots ever conceived, just to get away from the responsibilty of the crown.  But now, the only way to ensure that nobody came after her after she was finished was if she was sitting on the throne.  No matter who took the throne, they would see her as a threat, and try to kill her, or kill them as a way of getting at her.  And she wasn't going to be bringing a pack of assassins back to her brother and sister.  No, when she went back, there would be no spectre of Wikuna hanging over her.  The only way to assure that was if she was the one doing the commanding.  The throne would be the only safe place for her, the only place where she could protect her family.
	All those years of planning to avoid the throne, and now she was coming back to take it.
	The nobility would not like that.  Her past plans were now salt in her wounds, and they would make it more difficult to hold the throne, especially if she wasn't there to babysit them and keep them out of trouble.  They hated her, mainly because she had went out of her way to make things that way.  No, she would have to do something about them too.  But not until after she dealt with her father.  Their threat looming over him would be central to her own plans to strip him of his crown.
	The throne was the key.  Sitting on that throne, she could drive the last stakes into her father's heart.  She would be the matriarch of the Eram house, ruler of it, and she could have him and her sisters stripped of their titles, disowned, and cast out without a penny to their names.  They would always be royalty, however, and would always be there to challenge her for the crown.  But there were ways to persuade them that such lofty aspirations could be hazardous to their health.
	Killing her father wasn't enough.  When she was done, he was going to wish he had never ignored her warning to leave her alone.
	She felt the presence of someone very large behind her.  The fact that she didn't hear the clattering of claws told her it was Azakar.  She glanced behind her and saw him.  He was wearing a simple brown doublet and some rugged leather leggings, a heavy wool cloak over his shoulder to ward off the rain, but he had that wickedly huge broadsword belted at his waist.  To anyone else, it would be a two-handed sword, but he whipped that thing around in one hand like it was a twig.  She often forgot how awesome Azakar was, since he himself was dwarfed by her Vendari bodyguards.  "Binter sent me up here to get you," Azakar said quietly to her.  "You've stood out in the rain long enough."
	"You don't have to look out for me, Zak," she said quietly, looking back out over the ocean again.
	"I'm a Knight," he said bluntly.  "One of my jobs is to protect Sorcerers.  You happen to be the only one around, so that makes you my responsibility.  Now come in out of the rain, or I'll carry you back down to your cabin."
	"You're exaggerating, Zak," she said wistfully.  "I'll be down in a few more minutes.  I need time to think, that's all, and I do it better up here."
	"Then I'll wait for you," he announced.
	She looked at him, looked at the resolute look on his face, then snorted.  "Oh, alright!" she snapped.  "Let's go, already!"
	She returned to her large suite in a foul humor.  Sailor's Pride wasn't a warship, it was a personal conveyance ship.  Its only job was to carry the rulers of the Eram house from one place to another, and because of that, the ship was much different from a standard clipper.  It had a very tiny hold, and that space had been converted into rooms and barracks for the crew, the soldiers accompanying the rulers, and the rulers and their guests.  Keritanima's cabin, or suite of three rooms, took up the entire stern of the clipper.  Two rooms wasn't much on land, but on a ship, where space was a precious commodity, it was an immense chunk of floorplan.  The rooms were large and extravagantly decorated, with gilded gold furniture, tapestries from all over the world, Eastern carpets, and Tellurian lamps and lanterns for light.  The bedroom she slept in, with its marvelous stained glass windows looking out in the stern, was large enough for ten people, the bed itself large enough for four, and it spanned the entire width of the stern.  There were chests and armoires, even a privy and a closet, all of them filled with expensive clothes and jewelry bought for her when they put into Dayis for supplies.  Clothes she wouldn't touch.  She still wore the same dress she'd had on when they captured her, and she had no intention of wearing their clothes.  Miranda was in the middle of making her some dresses from material she managed to get in Dayis.  She was there, in her favorite chair, her fingers moving with their amazing speed and precision as her needle and thread joined together two pieces of dark satin that were her dress.  Binter and Sisska sat nearby, engaged in another game of chess, and Azakar took her wet cloak and hung it by the door before removing his own.  Her friends, her only friends, on the entire ship.
	"Highness," Miranda said calmly without looking up.  "I'll have this dress finished in about an hour."
	"Thank you, Miranda," Keritanima said with a huff of breath.  "Binter, Sisska," she called.
	The two Vendari looked at her in unison, two sets of dead black eyes that sent chills through the opponents they faced in combat.  Keritanima absently touched the Weave, weaving together that weave of Air and Divine power that formed the wall of silence, the Ward that protected their conversations from being overheard.  Wards and Illusions were the only weaves a Sorcerer could create that didn't dissipate when they stopped concentrating on them, but even those weren't permanent.  She then wove together the complicated weave of Air, Fire, Mind, and Divine power that formed an Illusion.  She wove it so it would appear as a wall of impenetrable blackness and laid it against the walls of the cabin, then adjusted it so it could only be seen from the other side looking in.   To everyone in the cabin, it was invisible, but to someone standing on the outside looking in, they would see nothing but pure black.  "Which of you has more rank in Vendari society?"
	"I do, your Highness," Sisska answered immediately.
	"How much?"
	"I am kithas," she answered, a little uncertainly.
	A kithas?  Impressive.  That meant she was blood-related to the sashka, or Great Chief, of the Vendari, a monarch that was subject to the Wikuni throne.  "What I'm about to say won't be repeated again, alright?" she asked, and everyone nodded.  "When we get back to Wikuna, I want you to go back to Vendaka, Sisska.  I want you to go back there and organize something for me."
	"What do you wish arranged?"
	"I'd like a large complement of Vendari warriors to come to the Palace," she answered.  "Vendari that will be there to protect the crown.  At least ten thousand."
	"This I can do, but it will look strange to the sashka that this comes from the Princess, and not the King."
	"Then don't tell him who gave the order," she said.  "Tell him the truth.  That the house of Eram is calling up Vendari warriors, as is its right under the compact between Wikuna and Vendaka.  And Sisska, I don't want you to repeat that to anyone but the sashka.  I want it kept quiet."
	Miranda gave Keritanima a searching look, and then she began to laugh.  "I knew it!" she proclaimed.
	"Knew what?" Azakar asked curiously.
	"Kerri isn't going to go back and just play around!" she laughed, pounding her feet on the floor.  "She's going to overthrow her father!"
	Azakar gave Keritanima a shocked look, and even the Vendari looked a little taken aback.
	"Is this true?" Binter asked bluntly.
	Keritanima gave Binter a direct stare, her expression serene but determined.  "He's gone too far, Binter," she said plainly.  "And I mean more than just what he's done to me.  The throne has lost its honor."
	Binter and Sisska nodded sagely.  "This is true," Binter agreed.  "The throne of Wikuna has lost much honor.  But to take it just to avenge yourself against your father brings even more shame to it."
	"Who would you prefer on the throne, then?  Him, or me?"
	The simple question caused the massive Vendari to blink.  Then he gave a toothy grin.  "My personal preference would be you," he replied honestly.  A Vendari couldn't answer any way other than honestly.  "Your time with Tarrin and Allia has taught you humility, compassion, and respect.  You would be a worthy and honorable Queen."
	"Then I can count on your silence?"
	"We are at your command, Highness," Sisska told her.  "Command it, and it will be so."
	"I'd prefer your blessing," she said earnestly.
	"Our blessings are irrelevant."
	"Not to me," she said.  "I know that guarding me has been something of a chore for you, but I see you as more than just the people that keep me whole.  You're my friends, and I won't do this unless you agree to it."
	Binter and Sisska looked at each other, then they stood.  Sisska answered for them.  "Then you have our blessings, Highness," she announced.  "We will help as much as our Code permits."
	"All you have to do is get those Vendari warriors to Wikuna in three months," she replied.  "That's all I ask of you."
	"They will be there," Sisska said with an eloquent nod.
	"What about me?" Azakar asked.
	"With Sisska going home, I'll need you to take her place," Keritanima told the young Knight evenly.  "Sisska oftens accompanies Miranda.  That'll be your job when we get back.  You just go with her and keep someone from sticking things in her, or shooting her.  Until then, Zak, I need you to be silent.  What we're about to start could get all of us killed if word leaks out."
	"I can keep quiet, Highness," Azakar assured her.  "On my honor as a Knight, I'll not betray your trust, by word or by deed."  Binter and Sisska gave the young Knight approving looks at that, and Keritanima knew that he had only improved his standing with them that much more.  Honor was life to the Vendari.
	"I take it you want me to help you with the plan?" Miranda asked.
	Keritanima nodded.  "I've already got the framework thought out," she answered.  "I just need some help with the particulars."
	"I do hope you're not going to just kill him when we arrive."
	"Oh, no," she suddenly seethed, holding out a hand with her short, sharp claws exaggerated.  "He's going to pay for what he's done to me.  I'm not going to kill him, Miranda.  I want him to be alive to taste defeat.  When I'm done, he'll wish he was dead."
	"At least Tarrin and Allia didn't spoil you that way," Miranda said with a teasing smile.  "Let me finish this dress, and we'll talk about it."

	Life aboard a ship on the open sea was a tedium of monotony.  Every day, the same view awaited them, and often the same meals were served.  The people they saw were the same people day after day, and the sounds and smells aboard a ship rarely changed from the norm of daily business.  But for the crew and the Marines aboard Sailor's Pride, the norm became abject terror.
	It came from many sources, but the prime source of it was Princess Keritanima-Chan Eram.  All she did all day was sit on a stool near the bow with a writing slate in her lap.  She would sit there for hours on end, ignoring food, ignoring the weather, only leaving when darkness forced her below decks.  She would sit there with a blank piece of parchment, a Tellurian pen, and a frightful look of seething hatred burned across her features.  To the collective knowledge of the entire crew and Marine complement on board the ship, she did not once put pen to paper and write out even one word for nearly ten days.  The men had no idea what she meant to write, but many of them quietly speculated that it was going to be a list of the people she was going to kill when they returned to Wikuna.  Others thought it was going to be a will, but most of them believed that she intended to take her father with her when she died.  That she was furious enough to kill anyone who irritated her was plainly known aboard ship, and anyone with even half a brain avoided the bow like the plague.  It got so bad that the ship's captain, a bandy old bull Wikuni called Longshanks, ordered the foremast's sails furled and the spinnaker drawn in.  He couldn't get sailors to go tend them, and he wasn't about to have them flapping in the breeze like a harlot's petticoats hanging on a line.
	But then the fury left her face, and she began to write.  Nobody could get close enough to see what she was writing.  Nobody was that crazy.  The girl seemed to have an almost supernatural ability to know when people were watching her, and whenever she sensed it, she stopped writing and covered her work with a leather portfolio cover.  Many sailors refused to even speculate, for they believed it was a list of soon to be deceased individuals, and they didn't want their names added to the bottom of it.  They did get just a bit curious when she just wrote, and wrote, and wrote.  For days, she wrote, at a pace that seemed desperate at times, penning page after page after page of some unknown, mysterious literature.  She kept those penned pages with her at all times in a small satchel that never left her sight, and the contents of that satchel became the object of intense curiosity as the time passed, and the sailors and men got more accustommed to their rather unusual passenger.
	But she wasn't the only thing to worry about.  Never more than two feet away from her were those Vendari monsters.  Bigger than anyone on ship, even a bear Wikuni, those two nine-foot tall walking destroyers kept everyone away from the dainty Princess, threatening a gruesome end to any foolish enough to look at her strangely.  Even stripped of their weapons, not a single man would think of trying to cross them, unless he had a cannon hidden in his pants.  A single Vendari in a Wikuni army formation was usually enough to turn the tide of battle in their favor.  Two of them, on a ship with only so much deck space and only so many places to hide, was enough to make even the most grizzled Marine wet himself at the thought of getting either of them upset, or doing something that would make the Princess sic them on him.
	The only one of the unusual passengers the Wikuni would even come close to harassing, annoying, or otherwise irritating was the human.  But this was no ordinary human, so it made the game a great deal more dangerous than normal, and much less fun.  A seven and a half foot tall hulk of a human, as big as some bear Wikuni, and stonger than two Wikuni combined.  The fact that the two Vendari seemed to like him, would train him on the open spaces of the deck during daylight, said a great deal as to where his loyalties lay.  And he was strong.  The first man to step over the line and say one thing too many had found that out.  The human had belted him a good one, picked him up, then tossed him over the rail, forcing one of the trailing ships to fish the dazed Wikuni out of the sea.  He spent most of his time sheparding around the Princess' cute little maid.  She was the only available female on the ship, and would have had a howling pack of suitors if it wasn't for that monstrous human defending her like she was his little sister.  And he was very protective of her, more than apt to smack down any Wikuni that got too adventurerous with the little mink's anatomy.  Knowing that she was safely shielded from any kind of retaliation, the maid would mercilessly tease, taunt, torture, and harangue the sailors and Marines, driving them wild with her cheeky grin and her willingness to show more fur than was entirely appropriate, and always retreating behind the safety of her human protector when her victims saw just a little too much for their own good.
	The five of them were quite the unusual passengers, but even their tremendous importance and status dulled as the days dragged out.  The sailors got used to the Princess sitting with her slate and pen, writing out what seemed to be an entire book full of pages whose contents were a jealously guarded mystery.  They worked around the Vendari and the human, and learned that the little maid was twice as nasty as any sailor ever was, and was more than willing to drive one to the edge of madness, only to let her human bodyguard put an end to any advances the sailor may make on her.  They learned to leave her alone, more than one learning the hard way.  The last one had been buried at sea after the little mink sank a foot of steel poinard into his gut when he decided not to take no for an answer.  The fact that he was found in her room said everything that needed to be said about what he was doing.
	To a man, the entire complement of sailors and Marines tried feverishly to figure out just where she was hiding that pigsticker.  Her dresses weren't daringly low-cut, but they were rather form-hugging, leaving no really good place to hide a long dagger like a poinard.
	There were some things to break up the monotony.  There were a few deaths, either caused by the Vendari, the human, or by the little maid herself as some Wikuni got a bit too adventurous.  The ship's priest mysteriously vanished some twenty days into the voyage, coming up missing one morning.  Nobody saw him all night, nobody heard any splash that would hint that he jumped overboard, and there was no sign of struggle in his room.  Indeed, there was no sign that he'd even slept in his bed.  He had simply vanished like smoke.  Of course, the Princess and her complement were immediately suspected, but they were all closely watched.  None of them had left their rooms at all during the entire night, nor had anyone spoken to them or delivered any messages to them.  It was a mystery, one that Captain Longshanks did not like at all.
	It only deepened when the replacement priest, borrowed from one of the other ships, also disappeared without a trace some six days after the first.  Again, there was no sign of struggle, no evidence of foul play, and nobody saw the Wikuni at all during the night of his disappearance.  Again, there was no possible way that any of the passengers could have perpetrated or arranged the disappearance, so there was little that they could do.  It did, however, ensure that no priest on any of the remaining ships would set foot on Sailor's Pride.  For the first time in its entire history, the flagship sailed without a priest of Kikkali aboard.
	It was the monotony of any other day, at least until their convoy was met by a single Wikuni frigate.  It tied up with Sailor's Pride in the open sea, and a strange little Wikuni transferred aboard.  He was short and frumpy, a rabbit Wikuni with wide bucked teeth and a ridiculous pair of large, floppy ears.  He wore a waistcoat and breeches of sober gray, and the gold chain of a pocketwatch hung from the pocket of the vest he wore beneath his coat.  A couple of men identified the Wikuni as Jervis, the King's lead spy and head of his intelligence organization.  He boarded with his own small retinue, some five Wikuni, including two who wore the robe and cassock of priests.
	This Wikuni's appearance was a clear sign that things were not as they appeared.  He had brought his own priests, and they didn't seem to be afraid.  Everyone on the ship suspected that the Princess had something to do with the disappearances of the other two priests, but nobody could prove anything.  They all thought that Jervis was there to find out.
	Some of the sailors were on hand to listen to the initial exchange between Jervis and the Princess.  They hung nearby from the rigging or performed tasks as close as they could get when the frumpy rabbit Wikuni approached the Princess, who was seated in her customary place near the bow with her slate, pen, and parchment, writing whatever it was she was writing.  She stopped before the rabbit could get withing twenty feet of her, placing the parchment in the satchel at her feet, capping her pen, and giving the spy a cool look as he approached her.
	"Keritanima, I presume," he said in a lilting voice, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips.  "The real Keritanima, anyway."
	"I was never fake, Jervis," she replied in a calm voice.  "The Brat was as much a part of me as this is."
	"And who am I addressing now?"
	"Me."
	"Ah.  I see you're going to be difficult."
	"Did you expect anything less?"
	Jervis chuckled.  "Not really.  I must say, I was quite impressed by your letter.  Have I been playing against you all these years, or against Miranda?"
	"Me at first.  Once Miranda got comfortable, you were facing both of us."
	"No doubt that's why I never quite seemed to be able to win," he chuckled.  "Miranda is bad enough by herself."
	"She's been a good friend, and a good partner," Keritanima said with quiet respect, setting the slate down against the bulwark.  "Did my father send for you to watch me?"
	"It would be silly for me to deny it, your Highness," he replied easily.  "The, ah, misplacement of the priests on board has disrupted the flow of messages reaching him about you."
	"I rather guess that it would," she said with a strange little challenge in her voice.  "I only have two words of advice for you, Jervis.  Stay out of my way, and respect my privacy.  I'm in no mood to play with anyone right now.  If you annoy me too much, I may forget my cultured upbringing and do something unpleasant to you."
	"I'm sure her Highness means it, but I have orders from someone higher up the ladder than you," he told her.
	"It's your decision," she shrugged.  She looked at him and picked up her slate, then reached at him with one hand in a strange gesture.  Jervis squeaked in shock when his feet rose off the deck, and he hung suspended in midair.  "Where would you like to land?" she asked conversationally.
	"Setting me down where I was would be most appreciated, Highness," he said with just a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
	She pulled her hand back, and Jervis dropped to the deck, let go by whatever invisible hand had grabbed him.  "There won't be another reprieve, Jervis," she said bluntly.  "I am in no mood for your games.  Cross me, and I will be the last person you cross.  Stay out of my way, and there's no reason why we can't be civil to one another."
	"Your Highness has made her point," Jervis said with a slightly quivering voice.
	"Good.  I'm also in no mood to repeat myself."
	"This is very unlike you, your Highness."
	"You never knew me from the start, Jervis," she retorted.  "How do you really know what is unlike me?"
	"The girl I played against in Wikuna told me much of you, Highness," he said easily.  "Cold-blooded murder wasn't your style."
	"I learned all sorts of new things from the Tower, and from my brother and sister," she told him with a penetrating stare.  "I think I'm done talking to you, Jervis.  Go away."
	"As you wish, Highness," he said with a bow.
	"And Jervis."
	"Yes, Highness?"
	"Tell my father that I haven't forgotten what I wrote in that letter.  And he'd better not either."
	Jervis blanched.  "As you command, your Highness," he replied, bowing again.
	That sent the rumors flying among the sailors.  A couple of the more adventurous ones managed to find out which cabin was Jervis', and that he had a magical mirror that allowed him to speak directly to the King. Those same sailors managed to arrange themselves so they could hear what Jervis reported back to the King.
	It had taken place later that same night.  The Princess and her retinue had retired for the evening to their rooms, and Jervis had quartered his own staff and the priests, making sure the priests had one Marine guard to watch them and make sure they didn't disappear during the night.  It was after he took his evening meal that he contacted King Damon Eram, ruler of Wikuna.  The two sailors doing the eavesdropping stood behind the door as Jervis' voice greeted the monarch, a monarch whose strong voice was irritated and a bit unstable.
	"What is it now, Jervis?" Damon Eram demanded.  "Are you there yet?"
	"I have arrived, Majesty," Jervis replied mildly.  "I spoke to your daughter, as you requested."
	"Well?"
	"She intends to kill you, Majesty," he said bluntly.  "I think it would be wise to have the captain turn this ship around and put her back on Sennadar."
	That made the two sailors gape at each other, hands over muzzles to prevent blurting out anything that would give them away.
	"I can handle her, Jervis," he said bluntly.
	"You could handle her, but I doubt you can handle her power, Majesty," Jervis stated.  "She is a Sorceress, and from what I gathered at the Tower, she is a Sorceress of exceptional power and ability.  I have little doubt she is behind the disappearances of the priests aboard ship.  She wouldn't have to leave her cabin to kill them with her magic.  She could kill you from a hundred yards, Majesty.  In the interest of the Royal person, I highly suggest you do not bring her back to Wikuna.  You'll be signing your own death warrant."
	"No," he seethed.  "She's coming back to answer for what she did to me!  And she's coming back because this is where she belongs!"
	"As you command, but I want it known that I protest the decision."
	"Protest all you want, Jervis, you're not changing it," he snorted.  "She's your problem until she gets here.  Handle her."
	"Your Majesty is too kind," Jervis drawled, then he blew out his breath and cleared his throat.  The two sailors, thinking that the audience was at an end, scrambled away quickly and quietly and reported their gossip to the other sailors.
	That gossip floated around, going from sailor to Marine and Marine to sailor, until it finally had managed to drift to the ears of Miranda.  The mink, hearing it while playing a game of kiss and tell with a rather handsome leopard Wikuni Marine, relayed the content of the message back to Keritanima as they sat eating breakfast the next morning.  Keritanima gave her maid a calm look after learning what transpired between Jervis and her father, then she smiled.  "Good," she announced.  "That's exactly what I wanted him to hear."
	"Explain why losing the trump card of getting him with Sorcery is a good thing," Miranda asked curiously.
	"Because I'm not going to kill him, Miranda," she answered sedately.  "But if thinks I mean to, he'll waste precious time and resources protecting himself against it.  Those are resources we don't have to outmaneuver when the time comes to do things for real."
	"Ah.  Personally, I think broadcasting what you can do is a bit excessive."
	"It's something Jervis already knows.  He would tell everyone eventually.  Best to get it in the open now."
	"Clever."
	"Thank you," she smiled.  "Pass the biscuits, will you?"
	Rumor spread to the other ships as they travelled west, and those rumors ended up in messages sent by priests back to the homeland.  The rumors spread in the streets of Wikuna, the kingdom's capital, and as rumors tended to do, they got wildly exaggerated and out of control.  But the rumors served their own purpose in Keritanima's plan, when they reached the ears of the heads of the twenty-nine Great Houses of the Wikuni nobility.  Twenty-eight of those men and women heard the rumors, realized that they had some basis in truth, and then began thinking of ways they could benefit from the fateful final meeting of father and daughter.  More than one dreamed of wresting the Sun Throne away from the house of Eram.  And they began to make plans of their own.

	Time aboard a ship, even a ship with such dangerous individuals, tends to blur as days pass to weeks that pass into months.  For over a month, the convoy of Wikuni ships sailed west, due west, with very little change happening aboard ship.  The spy Jervis did seem to back off from the Princess, giving her all the space she seemed to want to continue with her endless writing.  The satchel at her feet expanded in volume with each passing day, and still its contents remained a complete mystery.  Some sailors managed to discover that Jervis had made several attempts to procure the satchel, but each ended in disaster.  It also caused the deaths of the three non-priest Wikuni that had boarded with him, as they were killed in the act of trying to get their hands on the satchel or read their contents.  After losing his three colleagues, Jervis seemed to lose all interest in making yet another attempt.  The way he looked at the Princess changed over the days, days of terse comments between them, as the rabbit tried to get the Princess to open up and talk to him, and she threatened him with physical or magical violence every time he got on her nerves.  Because she most certainly had the power to kill him instantly any time she wished, the rabbit Wikuni was wise in backing off whenever the Princess' hackles started to rise.
	Aside from the fatalities among the spy's group, there was little more to make the voyage exceptional.  The convoy, too large to be challenged by pirates, Zakkites, or singular trading ships that they encountered, continued west under nearly full sail, racing for a date with destiny.  The presence of her Highness, her retinue, and Jervis became routine to the sailors and Marines guarding them, a routine of fear of the groups and a tense feeling that the entire ship could explode into chaos at any moment.  The sailors that managed to eavesdrop on Jervis' communications with the King were disappointed that his report rarely changed from day to day.  Each report said little more than the Princess was continuing with her writing, he had no way to find out what she was writing, and then he would report how many times that day the Princess had threatened to execute him.  Damon Eram was highly unhappy each time he received the report, demanding to Jervis he find out, but was at a loss when the rabbit calmly asked who would take his place when Keritanima killed him.  The daily report seemed to take its toll on the frumpy, buck-toothed rabbit Wikuni, his fur shedding at a frightful rate and his eyes sinking into his head as the days passed.  His spotless waistcoats and trousers became wrinkled and slightly unkempt, and his face showed the strain of being trapped between the demanding monarch and his dangerous daughter.
	For everyone on the ship, the first sighting of land, of Wikuna, was an eve