“My great grandfather was a druid elder and a vine caller. He was good at making things grow and flourish. So, I guess I must’ve gotten lucky with an affinity for learning healing magic.” Brenn’s voice was unwavering. “Or unlucky.”
Caramyn was silent, thinking of what to say next. Brenn certainly hadn’t retained any regal Lightborn features besides the magic. He was handsome in a hardened, rugged sort of way, with a slight crook in the bridge of his nose and a stern jaw covered by brown unkempt stubble.
She was still itching for a direct answer about her whereabouts, and disgruntled that he hadn’t given it. She took in the sight around her once more, focusing on the women bound in here with her. They were mostly near her age, a few a bit older, and two that looked far too young to face whatever horrors awaited them. One girl met Caramyn’s gaze—a girl with big brown eyes and hair like night. An icy feeling snaked its way across Caramyn’s chest as a chilling realization found its way to her.
“Black market,” she repeated. “And what is the cargo?”
Brenn was silent. For a moment, Caramyn thought he looked like a young boy ashamed for having told a lie, but too afraid to admit it. But he finally spoke. “The Silvereans pay a high price for brides. There is a shortage of women on the mountain.”
“Brides?” A pit formed in Caramyn’s stomach. “Who brought me here? Tell me!”
“I—I don’t know. I make my living on the docks. I board whatever vessel hires me. I’m just here to do a job.”
Caramyn pierced him with a gaze of iron.
“I swear it when I say I didn’t see who brought you here. The ship was already loaded when Captain Tharvold paid me for hire. I’m supposed to be here mostly for the crew, not you. But when I saw the shape you were in, I knew I couldn’t let them bring you into the Spires like that.”
“The Silverean Spires? As in…at the edge of the Silver Spine?” Caramyn practically choked on the name as her blood ran cold. The Silver Spine Mountains were a massive mountain range that made up the backbone of the realm, cutting across from east to west. Most of them were passable with preparation and common sense. But the Spires were a frozen shelf of mountains that jutted out far past the fjords and kissed the sea. Unreachable and inaccessible by outsiders and those not conditioned to traverse them. The Silverean mountain clans rejected the rule ofcourts and kings, and there was little any king could do about it. Caramyn remembered this from the many maps she had studied, but she never thought she’d have need to be familiar with this forsaken part of Evylere. “I wasn’t brought here of my will.”
“I know you weren’t. Very few are. I’m sorry.” Brenn hung his head.
“I don’t believe you’re sorry at all.” Caramyn turned up her nose at him. “You’re just as bad as the rest of the disgusting bastards above rowing us there.”
Only then did she notice how cracked her lips were from the blistering cold, and it felt like swallowing sand to talk. She closed her eyes, thinking back to the most recent memory she could manage to summon. She remembered approaching the door of the West Wing. The sound of chains. She remembered saying Wryan’s name. He was there. Had he done this to her? Had hesoldher?
“Healer,” Caramyn snapped, her voice hoarse. “Where and when did this ship leave port?”
“Please call me Brenn. And Magoth. We left from Magoth. In the dead middle of the night. We’ve been sailing all day.”
Caramyn steadied herself. Though she had expected the answer, the impact still hit like a rogue wave. Magoth was a small port on the river, and the nearest to Asterious’ Forbidden Court, likely only a few hours’ ride. Wryan had certainly brought her here.
If they’d been on the water for the whole morning, that meant there was at least another day or two still ahead of them. By now, they had almost certainly sailed past the river’s mouth, the last thin vein that could have carried her back to Evylere. They’d be past the fjords now, at the edge of the sea, making escape impossible. Whatever waited for her lay only forward.
“Why are you still talking to the cargo, healer?” The captain’s steel voice cut through the air and made Caramyn jump. “You’ve fixed her, so now go find somewhere else to be until you’re needed. You want to talk to her? You can put in your bid against the Silvereans like every other man.”
Brenn scrambled to his feet and retreated back up to the deck, keeping his eyes on Caramyn until he could no longer manage. She wouldn’t easily forget that strange, broken look in his eye.
As the ship swayed beneath her, she thought of Asterious and wondered if he knew what happened...or worse—if he’d planned it. Perhaps that was why it was so easy Nocthar to get the key. She wrapped herself in the blanket and shuddered from both the cold and the way the dire realization settled within her.
The prince would’ve surely been glad she was no longer an issue. Now he could go back to fretting about his sister and taking back his throne without her in the way to complicate things or uncover his secrets. He was probably praising Wryan right now for a job well done at getting rid of her.
But where did that leave her? To face the icy throws of the Spires. Alone. If surviving in a frozen mountain fortress wasn’t enough, she’d have to survive the people—cold-blooded, iron-strong clan warriors as harsh and unforgiving as the snowbound peaks they called home. No one could breach those mountains on foot. Not even the king’s soldiers. But perhaps an undead army could…
Seawater leaked down through cracks in the ship’s deck, leaving behind its cold, salty mist to sting Caramyn’s frost-chapped skin. She licked her dehydrated lips, soothing the cracked skin for only a moment before the frigid air sapped them again. She wished she had asked Brenn for a drink of water.
She curled up on the floor as night came, thinking of Asterious and thinking of lofty, impossible ways to escape. But she had never been at sea before. There was no way out. She didn’t evenknow what had become of Nocthar. If he had tried to follow her, he might not have survived for long in these conditions on the water. She yearned for her raven, for now she was truly, hopelessly alone. Alone and betrayed in a new way that stung more than ever before. At least those who’d hurt her before had always made their intentions clear from the beginning. There was no luring and pretending to care about her, only to turn on her like this.
Let him hate me. Let him assume the worst. And let him choke on it…Let it torture him more than if I had driven my knife into his heart...
Because he might as well have driven one into hers, the way it ached in a way she’d never felt before. And the pain was like a poison that lingered in a way she’d do anything to be rid of. A way that disgusted her.
Silence fell during the night. Even the women’s weeping had died down. A couple of them had been willing to speak to her. Most of them were sold by families who owed a debt…and one was sold by a soldier who’d kidnapped her after raiding her village. Caramyn wondered how many more there would be next time.
The moon above shone through the open hatch in the deck, casting rays through white clouds and icy haze. The crew did not row much during the night, and they seemed to be moving far more slowly. Caramyn refused to close her eyes, for she was too keenly aware of the way the hungry eyes of the crewmates ogled the captives down here. She wouldn’t sleep while such dogs occupied the same space as her.
Suddenly footsteps called her attention. They were quiet, but she heard them from behind. She braced herself, waiting to be touched, groped, or harassed in some way, and quickly intended to meet their face with the back of her elbow. But instead, a handlowered down beside her shoulder with a canteen of dripping water.
“Drink.” It was Brenn’s voice. “I managed to get this for you since you weren’t awake earlier when the rations were given out. I know you must be parched.”
