For now, she and her friends were safe.
Even sitting was too exhausting. Eira lay back, looking at the stars above them, mingling with ash and sparks of flame. The waters calmed the farther away from Warich they went. It took her far too long to realize the orientation of the constellations.
They should be heading downriver…east, southeast. But they were heading west, northwest. Eira sat and something else caught her eye.
In the low light, a small carving was barely visible. It was underneath the railing. Perhaps carved by some bored sailor years ago.
Eira blinked, tilting her head. It didn’t make sense… She reached up and pressed her fingers into the center line that forked into three at one end. A trident.
Adela’s mark.
No, why would that… Eira sat, then stood. In a daze, she stumbled to Ducot at the helm of the vessel. Even though he stood behind the wheel, he wasn’t actually moving it. The boat seemed to be steering itself. Yet, he wasn’t alarmed. He stood with the ease of a man who’d been on ships all his life.
One of the first questions Ducot had ever asked her was if she was truly Adela’s child. It seemed so normal then. But if…
“Should you be standing?” Ducot asked.
“Why are we heading west?”
“Eira, listen, please, I hadn’t intended for this to happen. But it has.” His words were hushed, tone a little frantic. “But please believe me when I say, you’ll all be safe. Ironically, you’ll probably be safest here.”
“What are you talking about?” she whispered. Not wanting to see what was right before her eyes.
“Please, trust me.” He continued to stare ahead. “And try not to fight, too much. I know that’s hard for you but doing so will make it harder on everyone.”
She had been oblivious to so much…and it seemed there was still something she had missed. “Ducot, when you came to this boat that night…who were you meeting?”
He ignored her, instead emphasizing again, “I promise, I’m on your side. Just, give me some time to explain it all.”
“Ducot, tell me you were meeting Rebec.” Though she knew it wasn’t the truth, she desperately wanted it to be.
“Eira…” The world had gone still. Everything was growing silent. Ominously quiet.
A chill ran down her spine, and not from blood loss. Ice was permeating the air. Her breath condensing. Frost, not of her own magical making, crept underneath her feet.
“Ducot, whose vessel is this?” Eira repeated, firmer this time. She was shivering.
“Mine,” a voice as bitter as winter said.
Eira turned to the speaker, and met a pair of eyes that were so,sovery similar to her own.
Eira’s story continues…
