The floating palace of the Fisher Queen moved slowly across the Silver Sea, its blue awnings stirring above carved decks, reed-sails, bronze lanterns, and strings of shells that chimed in the lake wind. King and warlord alike had searched for it along the shores, but only those patient enough found her court. When the visiting king was brought aboard, weary from disputes among his own lords, Sarella sat beneath a canopy embroidered with fish and reeds, calm as still water. She watched him bow before her, then raised one jeweled hand for him to approach.

"Rise, king of dry lands. A crown grows heavy when worn alone. Sit, drink, and tell me what trouble has followed you to my waters."