“Easy now.” Her father met them at the companionway that led below deck. His signature heartwarming smile put them at ease as he helped Nama and her daughter below. Erinna returned to Ivan, ready to take another bout of luggage off his shoulders.
She heaved another limp sack against her hip. Most likely clothing, based on size and weight. They wasted precious time on nonsense.
Erinna offered her hand to Ivan as he struggled to find balance on the deck of the rocking ship. He was fifteen years her senior, half a foot taller, and well built, but did not have the same seafaring capabilities as she did.
The man leaned against her steady frame; another sway of the vessel nearly sent him to his knees, but Erinna kept him upright. He would manage after a few scrapes and bruises.
“There’s food and water in your bunks. I recommend you all stay put until Kailani.”
Ivan understood the warning. It would be best to stay out of trouble, and that meant staying out of the way. Broman’s men were capable, sure, but their manners were far from ideal. The merchant pinched pennies whenever he could, and it showed in his hires. Erinna would use the word scum if she hadn’t met worse sailors in her life. Out of sight, out of mind. That was the safest.
“Why do you do this?” Ivan asked, sounding almost incredulous. Erinna couldn’t blame his disbelief. This was an extremely risky business venture.
“Someone has to, and who better than Tarth’s premier shipbuilders?” Her attempt at levity fell flat, and her smile was far too toothy for comfort. Fortunately, the awkward grin was masked by night.
Ivan shook his head. “It’s dangerous?—”
“Someone has to.” Erinna’s tone was final. This conversation wasn’t worth what little time they had left. And more importantly, she didn’t need the reminder of their precarious situation.
Ivan paused to search his pockets. Erinna readied another scolding, but the renowned witchstone crafter shoved a palm-sized, smooth stone gracelessly into her hands.
“As thanks.”
Erinna balked at the deep blue gem. The hum against her skin was unmistakable. A pure cut witchstone the size of her palm. She pushed it back towards the craftsman.
“This is too much. We don’t do this for the money.” A number of excuses rushed to her lips, but Ivan pushed it back to her.
“Please. It would be better in your or your father’s hands.” Witchstone itself was expensive, but this piece was perfectly crafted to hold, store, and focus arcanum. If she wanted, she could auction it to academy professors or sell it to the royal treasury for a hefty sum.
Another gong interrupted her thoughts.
Erinna tried again to return the stone, but Ivan had scurried below deck after his wife and daughter.
The sourness of guilt churned in her stomach. She’d been harsh with them. Worried not only for their safety but for the lives of her and her father. They were risky clients to take while the nation anxiously awaited the fate of its Chancellor.
It wouldn’t take long to notice the absence of Nama, esteemed Professor of Transmutation, and Ivan, the best witchstone lapidary west of the Tempest’s Seas.
Resigned, Erinna decided to keep it, promising to return it if they ever crossed paths again. Though deep down she knew she would use it if necessary.
The passengers were finally settled, cargo loaded, and the small vessel ready to sail. Rexin was the last to join. The smell of swind engulfed the remaining three on deck. Erinna coughed and waved the odorous smoke away.
“Calms my nerves,” he defended, once again, against her chilling stare.
Another gong. The Chancellor was closer to death each day.
“You’ll have to be quick tonight. They posted four more surveyors by the western bluffs,” Kenneth warned. He draped a tired arm across Erinna’s shoulders, pulling him closer to his side. Erinna took comfort in the familiar scent of wood and sand.
Rexin ran a hand through his beard in thought. “Figured I’d head through Talon Bay and sweep around Fort Solitude.”
Erinna opened her mouth to protest, but a strong squeeze from her father reminded her that this was Rexin’s decision to make–even if she wanted to beg him otherwise.
The sharp rocks and steep cliffs of the place were a graveyard for many ships whose captains thought they could outrun the Tarthan fleet. No matter the weather, the water was choppy and threatened to throw the largest of vessels against rough and jagged stones.
Even if a boat made it through those perils, the crew had to contend with an eyesore of a structure in the center. Fort Solitude. A place built with dark stone and iron chains to keep old scrolls and grimoires secured from prying eyes. Secrets that went as far back in time as an era where witchcraft was the predominant way to manipulate arcanum.
“Don’t worry, not the first time I’ve made the trip.” He took another long puff before continuing. “Always room for you, too, kid.”
The air grew heavy with more than just smoke. Erinna had considered it before—escaping with the other aberrants. Had lengthy conversations with her father about it, too. But in the end, neither Yarrow could stop. This operation, their role in helping aberrants escape the island, was started by her mother, and neither Yarrow had the heart to stop.
