Ben positioned the lid over the barrel. “Remember—don’t move, don’t make a sound.”
The lid closed, plunging me into darkness.
Time lost meaning in that fetid darkness. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as I sat motionless, half-submerged in filth, my stump throbbing. The smell was so intense I could taste it.
Finally, I heard voices and felt the barrel being jostled. I bit my lip as pain shot through my leg.
“This one’s heavier than usual,” someone complained.
“Just load it, we haven’t got all night.”
The barrel tilted, then began to roll. Nothing could prepare me for the agony as I was tumbled over and over, my body slamming against the sides, waste sloshing over my face.
By the time the barrel was upright again, loaded onto a cart, I was fighting unconsciousness. Every part of me hurt, but I remained silent.
The cart began to move, each bump sending fresh waves of pain through my body. When it finally stopped, I began counting. One… two… three…
At one hundred, I pushed against the lid. It didn’t budge. Panic flared as I pushed harder. Had I been discovered?
With one final desperate shove, the lid gave way. Fresh air rushed in, so sweet I nearly wept. I dragged myself upward, arms shaking as I pulled my filth-covered body over the rim and collapsed onto solid ground.
I lay there gasping, the cool night air a blessing against my skin.
“Sir?” A whisper from nearby.
Torres emerged from the shadows, leading a small cart hitched to a mule. Her nose wrinkled at the smell, but she didn’t hesitate to help me up.
“We need to move quickly,” she said. “Dawn’s only an hour away.”
The cart bed was lined with straw. I collapsed onto it, beyond caring about the filth I brought with me.
“There’s a stream ahead,” Torres said as she urged the mule forward. “You can clean up before we reach the port. We’re heading outside of Embergate, to a smaller dock, a few hours north.”
As we traveled, I thought of the stories that would eventually circulate about my escape. Would they say I fought my way past a dozen guards? The reality—me huddled in waste, trembling with pain—was far less heroic.
“What will you do?” I asked as we reached the stream. “If they question you?”
“I have family in Asteris. Central Gearhart. I’ve got passage already lined up.”
“And Ben?”
“His younger brother is going to give him a black eye. He’ll be foundunconsciouswhen morning comes.”
I nodded, praying they would be alright. I couldn’t bear the thought of them suffering for my freedom.
The cold water was blissful, washing away the filth, if not the memory. To my immense shame, Torres had to help me bathe, then help me into the clothes I’d been wearing in my cell.
“We should go,” she said, glancing at the lightening sky. “The ship won’t wait.”
After another hour of traveling through farmlands, hugging the kingdom’s wall, I spotted the telltale signs of a port perched atop one enlarged section. A wooden lift, operated by rope pulleys, thankfully lifted our cart to the top. Then Torres pointed to a weathered airship with faded blue sails. “That’sThe Siren’s Call. Captain Mercer will take you as far as the Freehold Islands. After that, you’re on your own.”
I clasped her hand. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you—”
“Stay alive,” she interrupted. “And someday, make Cunningham pay for what he did.”
With that promise between us, we parted ways. I hobbled toward the ship, each step a reminder of all I’d lost.
Before boarding, I paused at the edge of the wall. From my pocket, I withdrew my lieutenant commander’s insignia—the last remnant of my former life. Without ceremony, I threw it as hard as I could, my eyes refusing to track its fall. Then, I reached into my pocket again and felt the silver ring. I slipped it onto my finger—no longer a token of love but a reminder of betrayal. Of what happened when you trusted too completely. In that moment, I made a promise: somehow, I would survive. And one day, I would make Eric Cunningham pay.
