Whitelock, as usual, had disappeared and was nowhere to be seen. All for the best, Blackthorn believed, since the crowd had already gathered at the edge of the dock, their temperament reflecting that of the desolate weather, and Blackthorn did not need the scribe inciting them. No blades will be drawn, Blackthorn told himself. Yet there, at the forefront of the crowd, waited a ring of soldiers, Windemere's men, surrounding Blackthorn's own, and leading the soldiers was—Blackthorn squinted. Yes, as expected. Whitelock's sources were good.

"Lord Blackthorn," Lady Windemere called, as Blackthorn strode down the plank to the dock. "Once, long ago, I confronted thy father on the doorstep of thy home. Now I find myself confronting thee at the doorstep of mine. So, I shall say as thy father did: Be gone and with haste, for thou art not welcome here."

The crowd echoed the sentiments of Lady Windemere. She wore black, possibly the same garb she had worn on that night so many years ago, and, indeed, save for a few new lines on her face and the dark streaks of gray through her silver hair, she looked much the same.

Blackthorn spoke calmly when he reached the end of the dock. "This is not thy home, Lady Windemere, nor has it ever been. Thy home is thy family's island fortress, and I suggest that thou dost return to it and leave the matters of New Magincia to its people."

"'Tis the people who have asked me to stand for my son," retorted the Lady. Her followers murmured in support. "And 'tis they who have chosen me to speak for them." Her back straightened, her eyes flashed in the gray dawn like dull ice. "Thou art a tyrant and a usurper, Lord Blackthorn, and the people of New Magincia reject thee as their king. Thou art not welcome upon this island, and shouldst thou wish to step upon our soil, then thou and thy men must pass through us first." As she spoke, the ranks behind her tightened, blocking exit from the dock. "We are unarmed," the Lady proclaimed, "but we will resist."

Blackthorn nearly laughed. He, alone, could probably cut down half these men; they would stand no chance before the armed company waiting for his signal to emerge from the hold of his frigate. And even if New Magincia managed to resist them, he had picked the night of this confrontation to fall under the waning crescent moon for a reason: Another full company was prepared to arrive through New Magincia's moongate.

No blades will be drawn, he reminded himself, and said, "'Tis fortunate, then, that I have no desire to set foot on thy island. I request only that thou dost return what is rightfully Britannia's: The men of the Black Company, and the wounded knight, Shaana, who serves me in the Royal Guard. Do so, and I shall leave peacefully. Not only that, I promise that the Black Company shall no longer maintain a presence here." They had not been expecting this concession—that much was obvious from the Lady's angered expression, and the sudden murmur of discussion from the citizens themselves. Good. Already they were beginning to divide. 'Twas time to widen the gap. "But to fail to recognize me as thy king is to defy the accords of Britannia, those written by the very Council on which thy son served. If thou dost choose not to recognize me, thee and thy followers will be deemed traitors, and action will be taken." He allowed that to settle in. "But it shall not be taken by me."