Soft sounds filtered through the residual haze of pain as I slowly regained consciousness. What was once sharp, burning, and all-encompassing was now little more than a light throbbing where the binding rope had bitten into my wrists and ankles. My muscles were tight and sore, my body frail and weak, but I was alive.
Tears sprang to my eyes with the thought.
Pushing down the sudden onslaught of emotion, I focused on what I could hear. Even now, with my sight returned, I found it easiest to rely on the senses that had kept me sane during my months of captivity.
I heard the soft call of gulls, the gentle lapping of waves, and the creaking of wood. I smelled the distinct scent of salt and brine, the tanginess of seaweed.
I’m on a ship.
The realization caused my eyes to spring open, and I sat up abruptly, groaning in pain as lightning bolts shot behind my eyes and through my skull.
Immediately, the door to the room I was in opened with athud,and I jumped in fright.
“Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you. You’re awake!” The overly eager and beyond chipper voice was young, and very much did not belong to the man who rescued me.
Had I imagined him?
“The commander is going to be so pleased when I tell him. We’ve been waiting for you to wake forages!” The eagerness and glee in the little voice had me smiling behind my hands. The little one reminded me distinctly of Faylinn, before I gave her to the couple beyond the Ice Shelf. So curious. So full of life and exuberance.
What was a child doing with the rebellion?
I pulled my hands away from my face and gasped in surprise, both from the proximity of the child and how close the little girl in front of me resembled Faylinn.
She was probably nine or ten, with thick braids and rich bronze skin that glowed in the sunlight. Her gap-toothed smile was mere inches from my face, and her deep-brown eyes shone with excitement.
“You’re the Bondsmith!” she squealed excitedly, and I mustered the strength to give her a weak smile.
“I am.” My voice was cracked and husky from lack of use and water. I hacked a dry cough that struggled to stop once it began.
Worry creased the brow of the little girl as I struggled to rein in my cough. It was like the months spent in the desert had linedmy lungs and throat with impermeable dust that was just now working its way out of my body. My hand came away with pink-tinged spit, and I saw the girl’s eyes widen in fear.
“Itanya,” a familiar man’s voice sounded from outside the cabin, “I told you not to disturb our guest.”
There was admonishment but also love laced in his tone, and a blush covered the girl’s cheeks as she gave a sheepish smile.
“I was just excited, Uncle,” Itanya admitted with a small shrug as the owner of the deep voice came into view.
He was tall, with corded muscle that stretched beneath his cream tunic and navy pants. His skin was kissed by the sun, his deep honey-colored hair windswept. But his eyes were what was most memorable—a writhing combination of deep brown and green with flecks of molten honey that seemed to undulate within his irises. His full lips pulled into a smile as he gazed at his niece.
“Go and find your mother. She’s been looking for you, troublemaker.” His eyes glinted with amusement, and Itanya huffed before turning and flouncing from the room. As she reached the doorway, she stopped and made eye contact with me again.
“I’m happy you’re here, Bondsmith. We need you,” she said with a solemnity that should never grace the words of a child, before nodding once and continuing down the hall and out of sight.
The quiet in her absence was palpable as the man—my rescuer—gazed at a spot on the floor. He scuffed it slightly with the toe of his boot before lifting his head, his eyes boring into my own.
I gasped slightly, the sound catching in my abused throat.
Why does he look so familiar?There was something in his eyes, a soul-deep understanding that transcended age and thepassing of time. The harder I thought, the more the relation seemed to slip away.
“We’re on our way north,” the man finally said in that calming tone of his, and I jolted from my musings.
I nodded my head in response, not trusting my voice again.
He took two confident steps toward a small table I hadn’t noticed earlier and poured me a generous cup of water from a pitcher. As soon as the cup was in my hands, I guzzled half of it in one gulp.
“Careful,” he warned. “We’ve dripped as much down your throat as we could, but consuming too much at once will cause you to be sick.”
I immediately pulled the cup from my mouth, the water finally wetting my cracked lips. I took small, measured sips as I regarded the man across from me.
