But not fucking tonight.
What better way to prove herself a true Drengr than by gutting the bitch who challenged her to a Death Match?
Could her father and sister forgive the failed Trial and still instate her as a Drengr?
Good gods of the Endless Shore, I beseech thee. Guide me to Isabel Kilton. Permit me to satiate my vengeance.
Unsure where the Healers placed her armor and underclothes, she eventually ceases her search and stumbles out of the Infirmary in the cream-pigmented nightgown and slippers the Healers dressed her in.
Without her braid, the back of her neck is exposed to the evening air for the first time since she was a little girl.
As she clutches at her bare neck, she feels a delicate silver pendant hanging around her neck. She clutches frantically at the tiny nautilus shell–the Sacred Stone of Treland.
Only two other people were permitted to carry the stone—her sister Thora and her mother, the Keepers of the realm—and she had a feeling which one of them slipped it around her neck while she lay broken.
Thanks, Mum.
Since her parents are halvguds, born of a god, she possesses a unique ability that surpasses even the gods’ control, wielding every ability in the Endless Shore, with one tiny, eensy, weensy caveat.
She must channel herseidrthrough the stone and request permission from the gods to use her powers.
No matter how stubbornly her resolve grows, the Princessbecomes disoriented and winces as she sways away from the Infirmary and redirects toward the city docks in the dark.
Isabel must flee the Salt Province to return to her rat family in Timber.
A thought strikes her.
How did I not see it before?
When was the last time her father permitted anyone from Timber to join the Drengr?
For the love of the Briny God, my family's lives will be at stake if I cannot find Isabel before she finds me.
Aura investigates the docks, anticipating the bitch will attempt to stow aboard the trading vessels bound for the neighboring Province of Timber.
This night, I earn my father’s pride.
She barges onto a fishing vessel overturning crates and nets, searching for those raven locks she will rip from her fucking skull.
“Isabel! Come out, you cunt! You owe me a Trial!” She stomps from ship to ship, searching through every nook and cranny.
At last, she comes upon the final vessel in port: a smaller longship built for speed with a curved bow carved to resemble that of a fearsome wyvern head with jagged teeth and horns like gnarled tree roots.
The Wicked Wyvern of Skalor?
If her father’s ridiculously embellished tales are to be believed, the Wicked Wyvern hides deep in the wilderness of Skalor, waiting to devour the gods and their children.
The appearance of a Skalor vessel does give her pause.
Her father’s Conclave isn’t for another couple of weeks. Why would someone arrive so early?
She teeters only momentarily before recommencing her tirade under the shadow of the Wyvern head.
She searches every pack in the stern. Once she reaches the ship's bow, a sweet, smoky, familiar scent tickles her senses.
Shit,she freezes, clutching a net,is Pops here?
She prepares to peek inside a small barrel when she attunes to her environment and senses someone’s gaze. A smoke ring spins past herface, and she whirls on her heel to find a silhouette of a mountainous man perched along the side. Pipe smoke swirls around his shadowed form.
