Rolf appears, slapping Isabel’s ass. “Home to Skalor. You will be cut open and bled to death at the mercy of Her Majesty.” He crouches beside Aura and ties her wrists behind her back with a strand of thick, scratchy rope. “And I shall receive the biggest reward of my life.”
“Tell me of this prophecy your Queen thinks I fit. I deserve to know why you intend to murder me.”
Rolf only smirks.
“Calder will destroy you.” Aura hisses.
I know that much. He may have decided to uphold the blacklist of the Princess, but his loyalty to Treland and my parents far outweighs everything else.
Isabel sneers. “Trust me, Lavinia has a plan to deal with him. Even if he flees from his proper title: the Prince of Skalor.”
The Prince of Skalor?
Her nausea over the situation intensifies until she rolls on her side and vomits bile upon the deck.
There is so much she doesn’t understand.
Why did he not tell her of his identity? Or perhaps he thought she would piece together these mysteries?
In her heart, she still believes that Calder will not forsake her, if nothing else, because he owes her father.
“No need to concern yourself with the Jarl of Kaldrgataness. Your life will end soon enough when we reach Skalor.” Rolf adjusts his cloak against the frigid air of the South Sea as he saunters over to the steersman on the starboard side.
As Isabel watches him, Aura cannot help but wonder about her former lover’s involvement in this kidnapping and assassination plot.
What did she gain by killing Aura?
And then a thought strikes her.
“What did the country of Skalor promise the Manchineel Family?” She seethes, finding more hate in her heart for this deepening blood feud between their clans.
Isabel kneels with her head tilted. “My mother and the head patriarch of the Mancineels sent me to Skalor the day my grandfather appeared to me in a dream. He is not the only Draemonium lurking in the shadows.”
“Sir! You'd better take a look at this.” The lookout barks out to Rolf.
Through the darkness, she spots a discarded axe in the bow and scoots toward the blade while eavesdropping on the lookout. None of the resting rowers seem to pay heed to Aura
“A single longship behind us, sir.”
Grumbles and the rocking of the ship signal Isabel and Rolf’s movement as they shove their way to the bow.
“Awake! Awake!” Jarl Rolf commands his slumbering soldiers. “I want everyone in a seat, rowing!”
Aura’s fingers glide over the axe as she delicately pulls the rope along the sharp edge.
“Who is it?” Rolf snarls rummaging for a spyglass.
Aura slices her palm, clenching her teeth to keep from yipping at the sharp pain. This was her one chance to escape.
A few of the men take turns observing their pursuer through the spyglass.
Blood trickles through her fingers from the multiple nicks. Without a notion of how she will flee along the frigid waters, she hopes she can stow away in the approaching ship.
“I can’t see anyone on board, sir.” The steersman throws his hands up in confusion.
“It’s not just an empty bloody ship! Someone is aboard.” Rolf signals to the other two ships to prepare for attack. Some lazily ready their weapons with a yawn, while others arm themselves to the teeth.
The rope around her wrists continues to fray and snap, and the tension in her body only grows. Suddenly, cracking rings through the air. She whips her head around to find that all three of Rolf’s ships have abruptly stopped along the current. Frost creeps over the sides as thick ice sheets grip the hulls in an immovable anchor.
