“Are you ready?” Elurra asked as she hung from the prison door.
“Get on with it! I can’t feel my toes!” Kai grumbled.
He was not in a good mood. Damond had unlocked the door and was standing back and watching with unveiled amusement. Aleah was positioned below Kai, ready to help him down gently. She secured both of her arms under his armpits and lifted him up to relieve some pressure. Since it was no longer holding his full body weight, Elurra twisted his foot enough to shove it through the small, oblong, metal opening that had claimed it during his excursion. Kai yelped and plummeted to the ground, but Aleah didn’t let him crash. She hadn’t suspected how heavy he was either, so he knocked her over on his descent. His forehead cracked against hers. She moaned and clutched her skull. Kai, on the other hand, was so cold that the minute he realized how warm she was, he hugged her. He was shaking like a leaf, and her body heat was defrosting his frozen limbs. Her chest rose and fell gently as she breathed, which lulled him into a trance. His head spun like a tornado, sending his thoughts spinning in a whirlpool as the blood rushed from his head back into the rest of his body.
“Well, someone looks as if he’s enjoying himself,” Damond chuckled, bringing Kai back to reality.
He opened his eyes and took in Aleah’s shocked, bright red face staring back at him. He quickly let go of her and apologized profusely as he stumbled back.
Aleah picked herself up off the ground and brushed off, her face still red with embarrassment.
“Here is a thicker shirt for you, Your Highness,” Elurra said, throwing him a wool shirt.
He pulled it over his head and shifted uncomfortably. “This…itches!”
Elurra laughed, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Put your other shirt on first, then pull that over it. That should help with the itchiness. It will be uncomfortable, but it will keep you warm. We have a long way to go, and we do not have room to carry much clothing. I am afraid, Your Highness, you will have to deal with the cold or suffer the sweater.”
He quickly took off the ugly sweater and slipped his tattered shirt, before donning the wool again. It did still itch, but he bit his tongue.
“Time to go. Before the guard shift switches,” Damond warned.
Something was bothering Kai. Princess Elurra’s posture was stiff and unnatural, like she was pretending to be in control. It suddenly occurred to Kai what the problem was.
“Where is Terrin?”
Both girls froze mid-step. Elurra’s shoulders stiffened, and she took in a sharp breath. Aleah’s head snapped toward him, her eyes blazing with anger. Kai regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. Elurra stifled a sob and quickly exited the cave, ignoring Damond’s look of pity. Aleah looked after her, sorrow in her eyes.
“Terrin is gone. Nitiri gave him to the slave traders this morning,” she said tightly.
She followed Elurra without giving Kai another glance, leaving Damond and Kai to exchange curious looks.
°◌°○●○°♣°○●○°◌°
Terrin's lips were cracked and bleeding. The sun beat down on him tirelessly, and the boat rocked back and forth endlessly. He wanted to vomit, but he had already retched up all the saltwater he took in the night before, and he hadn’t eaten anything in days. The agony crisscrossing his back only exacerbated the situation. His escape attempt the night of the storm had earned him a beating, and each mark burned like a thousand bee stings. His clothes had dried quickly in the blazing heat, making them stiff as dried wood, and the sea’s salt stuck to his skin like dusty white sand.
Honestly, I can’t think of any other way to make me miserable, he thought pessimistically as his sweat mingled with the blood-clotted fabric on his back, causing the lashes to burn even more.
The handcuffs chafed his wrists, and bloody circlets marked his raw flesh. He had finally given up any hope of escape. It was impossible. He knew absolutely nothing about sailing—Amora was a landlocked kingdom. Even if he could get away, he wouldn’t know where to go.
“Here ya go, laddie. If you wanna live to see tha mines, then you’re gonna need viddles,” the captain said, setting a plate before him.
To Terrin’s amazement, there was meat on the plate. The bulky man gave him a grin and leaned closer. Terrin tried not to choke on his stench.
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“Yer a brave one, aren’t ya? I must say I wasn’t expectin’ much outta ya, but an escape attempt? That’s purdy good.”
Terrin put his misery notch one level higher as he struggled to not gag on the smell of whiskey and rotting flesh.
“Um, sir? My hands are chained," Terrin managed to point out. The guy laughed and leaned even closer then said, “Well, let’s make a deal then, shall we? How’s ‘bout ya tell me what ya did ta piss off tha witch, and I’ll unlock yer hands.”
Terrin nodded weakly. The man unlocked one of Terrin’s handcuffs then backed away. Terrin gagged and gasped for clean air. He didn’t feel like eating anymore.
“I’m the son of a wealthy turnip farmer, and one day I was working when she visited our home. She demanded my father sell his fields to her for a bargain price. Obviously, my father refused. In her wrath, she turned everyone on the farm into pigs. Being the smart lad I am, I hid under a wheelbarrow, and she missed turning me into a lob of pork. Unfortunately, she spotted my foot as she was leaving. So here I am, the son of a pig.”
He smiled inwardly as the big man choked on his whiskey. He bent over and burst out in hearty laughs and gags. Terrin grinned and took a large bite of meat.
“Well Mr. Turnip farmer, you amuse me greatly. I do wish I could keep ya around, assumin’ you wouldn’t bolt on me, but we need all the slaves we can get. Right now, yer gettin’ special treatment, but when we pick up the rest of me men and the new captives around Reagn and Tipet, we’ll be burstin’ at the seams with slaves.”
Terrin polished off the meat and reached for the bread, suddenly famished.
“When is that?” he asked the captain.
“Well, if tha wind likes us, three days. If not, a week at least. Ya know what happens if there ain’t no wind, Mr. Turnip?” Terrin finished the rest of his bread and shook his head. “You’re gonna have ta row.”
Terrin groaned inwardly. The lashes on his back burned at the thought. Someone in the loft screamed jargon Terrin didn’t understand, and the captain turned to look over the side of the ship. He found whatever he was looking for, and a deep frown morphed his expression. Sailors started to descend into the bulk of the ship, and a flurry of activity broke out on the main deck. Terrin tried to decipher what they were doing, but he didn’t understand most of their colloquialisms. Everyone ignored him as they rushed past. He heard phrases like “dark mist,” “Devil’s Breath,” and “gray death” muttered between the sailors. The deck cleared as everyone retreated below. Anxiety clawed at Terrin’s stomach, threatening to return what little nutrition he had taken in. The last to depart was the captain.
“What is going on?” Terrin called out fearfully.
The captain’s bulky head peeped out for a moment, and his black eyes glittered in the sunlight.
“The dark mist is here,” he hissed. All the jovial traits were gone from his expression.
“Take me with you!” Terrin demanded. His voice squeaked anxiously, but the bulky captain simply gave him a nervous grin.
“Nah, laddie; that I can’t do. Somebody hasta give a warnin’ if the Devil’s Breath is about, and yer screams will do tha trick.”
“What do you mean my screams? Are you using me as bait?”
“Don’t fret, Turnip. If it is ghostweed, it’ll be a swifter end than tha mines will be, and if it’s just fog, you’ll be fine. Ship rule says we gotta have a lookout, tho, and ya be it.”
Terrin felt a shiver go down his burning spine as the hatch closed, and he was left alone. An eerie calm settled over the boards of the deck. The only sound was the gentle waves lapping against the side of the ship. Terrin took in a sharp breath and repositioned himself to ease his anguish. One of his hands was still free, but they had secured his handcuffs with a lock to make sure he couldn't escape. Without warning, the sky above him darkened. He looked up to see misty gray clouds rolling in overhead.
If Terrin had known anything about the sea, he would have realized the slavers were hiding from a phenomenon called “Devil’s Breath.” It often appeared over patches of a deep-water bone-white seaweed colloquially known as “ghostweed.” Occasionally, on hot days, ghostweed released huge clouds of gas that would bubble up from below and create dark swaths of mist over the water. This cloud was pitch dark and hard to maneuver around because the seaweed covered huge areas of the ocean floor. It was also toxic. Devil’s Breath was famous for wiping out entire crews, and legend had it the ghostweed trapped its victims’ souls and dragged them down into the icy depths to feed on. As such, the best course of action was for the crew to hide below deck, stuff all the cracks in the doors, and breathe through wet cloths until the mist dissipated or the ship passed through it.
Of course, Terrin didn’t know any of this, so he watched in morbid fascination as the dark tendrils curled around the bow of the ship. The temperature dropped ten degrees around him, but Terrin wasn’t sure if it was real or if his body was playing tricks on him. He shivered more out of fear than cold and pressed as close to the railing as he could without causing himself too much agony.
He lifted his left arm and examined the silver bracelet dangling around his bloody, chafed wrist, just above the handcuff. The center of the snowflake charm gleamed in the dim light. He closed his eyes and said a quick, desperate prayer for safety and protection. When he opened his eyes again, he was amazed to find the sky was gone. In its place were wispy gray clouds growing denser by the second. He turned to look for where the ship had come from, but there was no trace of the ocean behind him. The darkness closed in on Terrin until his sight was limited to a few meters in any direction. He realized he couldn’t even see the front of the boat. The air was moist, and it consumed all the heat assaulting him moments before. He felt like the clouds were eating him.
The air was flat and dead; no breeze penetrated the mist. The darkness squeezed the oxygen from his lungs. He tried to take a deep breath but gagged on the thick air. His chest started rising and falling rapidly, and his throat felt like it was constricting. His could see only a few feet in front of him. He felt claustrophobic and struggled to pull himself off the side of the ship. His efforts grated against his damaged skin, and the irritated flesh split open. Fresh blood bubbled out and trickled down his arm. Panic welled inside him. He felt like he was stuck in a damp blanket, running out of air.
Then things got worse.