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Eldrion and Beldor joined the group of warriors ready to disembark.
Anthea guessed they were spending the night in the village—she didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to imagine what it would mean for her, being on the ground with her captors.
The ship stopped.
She turned her attention back to Vaelor. He was stepping down from the ship. The soldiers waiting on the docks immediately straightened, their armor clinking as they offered a formal salute. “Prince Vaelor,” one of them said, his voice filled with respect. “It is an honor to welcome you back here.”
“Captain Lorn,” Vaelor responded, “I trust preparations have been made?”
“Indeed, My Prince. The Jeweled Rose is prepared for your stay, as per your instructions. The finest rooms have been set aside for you.”
“Good,” Vaelor said. “We will rest for the night and continue at dawn.”
Crew members disembarked one by one, each being received with a nod or friendly greeting from the soldiers. Beldor traded jokes and hearty laughs with a few of them.
Anthea tugged subtly at the rope binding her wrists, feeling the coarse fibers scratch her skin. The number of people on the ship began to dwindle, the hum of their voices becoming distant echoes. She was being left behind, forgotten like an insignificant piece of cargo. She didn’t know which was worse—going with the elves to the inn, or being left to the ship all alone. She desperately hoped Endreth would find her soon.
The evening light bathed the landscape in hues of gold and lavender, the sun’s descent deepening the shadows over the towering mountains. The chilled breeze from the mountains tugged at her hair and cloak. Anthea tried to wrap the cloak tighter around herself, yearning for its warmth. It smelled faintly of pine. It was an oddly comforting smell. A disheartening screech sounded from the front of the ship. She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.
It was going to be a long night.
The numbing cold seemed to seep deep into her bones, making each moment of waiting feel like an eternity. The vast, starry expanse overhead offered no comfort. The three large moons, and the four smaller ones seemed to mock her. Shouting at her—she was alone, stranded, a stranger. Anthea’s heart raced with every creak of the wood and rustle of the wind. She swore she could hear constant screeching from the front of the ship.
Anthea heard the sound of boots stomping against the planks, and Eldrion emerged from the shadows. The elf was carrying a small bowl, filled with something steaming. She kept her eyes on him as he put the bowl down, and untied her wrists. She stayed silent; he stayed silent. Inviting warmth radiated from him, contrasting the biting cold of the night. As the ropes loosened, she rubbed her wrists, the returning blood flow tingling her skin.
Eldrion took hold of her elbow, grabbed the bowl, and tugged her up. Seeing no other choice, she allowed herself to be led to a small cabin, immediately thankful for the lack of wind as they entered. The room was lit by a single lantern hanging from a hook, casting dancing shadows upon the wooden walls.
Setting the bowl on a wooden table, Eldrion motioned for her to sit. “Eat,” he said softly. She hesitated for a split second before pulling the chair and sitting down, her eyes fixed on the bowl. It appeared to be some kind of soup, the steam carrying with it a rich aroma that tugged at her hunger.
“Why?” She wasn’t sure what exactly she was asking—why give her food; why leave her at the ship; or why take her at all?
“You have half an hour to eat and to freshen up,” he said curtly, ignoring her question. “After that, you’ll return to the post outside.” With that, he turned on his heel and exited the cabin, audibly locking the door behind him.
Anthea stared at the space he had occupied just moments before, his words echoing in her ears. Half an hour. She felt the weight of every ticking second. Getting up, she scanned the cabin. She had to find something, anything, that might aid her escape or at least give her a chance. The room was mostly bare, save for some nautical tools and a few personal belongings.
And then, she spotted it—a dagger. Someone had left a dagger here. Anthea couldn’t believe it. It was too good to be true. She picked it up, thinking of where to hide it. It was too big, too noticeable. If they found the dagger on her—her façade would crumble. She reluctantly put it back and reached for a small metallic instrument resting on a shelf. Some kind of a sextant. Its edges seemed sharp, and it felt heavy in her hand. Anthea tucked it carefully within the folds of her dress, concealing it against her side. Perhaps she could use it to cut through her bindings later, or use it as a weapon, if it came to that.
Then she turned her attention back to the bowl of soup, forcing it down quickly. The warm liquid did little to calm her nerves but provided much-needed sustenance and warmth.
Once done, she took a moment to use the bathroom, washing her face and trying to calm her racing heart. The cold water felt refreshing, grounding her for a moment. Her fingers ran over the hidden sextant, feeling its sharp edges, drawing strength from its presence. Anthea knew she had to be smart, had to wait for the right moment. But she also knew she couldn’t just sit and wait for whatever they planned to do to her. No. She had to at least try to escape before they reached the Halls of Jewels.
Deep breaths, she reminded herself. Deep breaths.
The door’s abrupt creaking broke the silence, revealing the elven warrior once again. She flinched instinctively but willed herself to remain still.
Eldrion paused at the door.
Anthea fought the urge to look up, keeping her head bowed, eyes downcast. Just as would be expected from a slave.
Without a word, he stepped closer, grabbing her elbow and yanking her to her feet. She gasped at the suddenness, her eyes shooting up to meet his.
“Let’s see if you’ve been up to anything.”
Anthea cursed inwardly—it had been a test. And she had failed it.
His hands began a methodical pat-down. Every touch, though impersonal, made her skin crawl. As he reached her waist, she tensed, praying that the sextant would go unnoticed.
Her prayers weren’t answered.
