The deck of the cog shifted beneath Ashlynn's feet as the dockworkers cast off the last of the mooring lines, and for a brief, disorienting moment, the world tilted as the current took hold of the hull and drew it away from the stone platform with a low, groaning creak.
She caught herself on the rail with one hand, steadying her balance as the deck settled into the gentle rocking rhythm of the river. It was nothing like the surge and pull of the open sea, nothing like the powerful swells that lifted the prows of her father's dromons and crashed them back down into the spray with enough force to rattle a woman's teeth. This was softer and steadier, like the river was pushing them east with a patient insistence, as if it had all the time in the world and didn't care whether its passengers were ready.
