The ship left at the morning tide.
A trading vessel — Ampelos had chosen it carefully. Not Troy's flag, a Carian commercial mark. The cargo was real: the first shipment from the second Carian timber contact, legitimate goods moving through a legitimate route. Paris traveled as a factor for the Carian trading house, with documentation that would withstand inspection by anyone who had not been told specifically what to look for.
Lysander was at the harbor at the second hour.
Paris was already there.
He was standing at the dock with one traveling case — not the kind a prince traveled with, the kind a merchant traveled with, worn at the corners from use, the specific props of a role he had been building since before the framework existed. He was watching the crew load the timber samples onto the ship.
He looked up when Lysander came.
"The documentation," Paris said.
"Ampelos gave it to you yesterday."
"Yes. I read it three times."
"The check-in word."
