Syra tightened her grip on her star-iron staff, her mind racing through a dozen different diplomatic scenarios.
'Is restraining them actually the correct choice?' she wondered, glancing at Iron-Scale's twitching blade and Gulag's heavy, bone-plated shoulders. 'No matter what logical compromise I propose to Silas, he will reject it. He is not actually negotiating. He is playing a game, and he has absolutely no intention of letting us pass through words alone.'
She let her slitted black eyes wander across the lavish cabin, noting the impossibly massive dimensions of the ghost ship. The sheer scale of the vessel was deeply unsettling. If the Eleventh Continent utilized ships this colossal merely to collect border tolls, how terrifying was their actual naval armada?
