Page 101 of Lady's Steed

“Back in Seaserpent Bay, I imagine.”

“You left them behind?” she exclaimed.

“I didn’t need the extra mouths to feed. Although, I would have made an exception for your steed. Alas, I had to choose between you and the horse. Congratulations, you won.”

“Why did you take me?”

“Because I like interesting things.”

“I’m a person, not a thing,” she growled, almost losing her balance as the ship tilted. Her stomach lurched.

“Very well, you’re an interesting woman. One who might prove useful.”

“Useful for what?” Her heart stopped before she exclaimed, “You better not be ransoming me to Benoit.”

“I don’t sell people,” he rebuked sharply.

“You just abduct them.”

“I only did what you wanted while avoiding unnecessary arguing. And before you ask why we would have sparred, you would have wanted to bring your friends and your horses. Demanded a cabin fit for your station and a host of other annoying things. By taking you, I’ve established you’re here by my grace, and as such, you will be nice if you wish any amenities on this voyage.”

“Be nice?” she huffed. “I will eviscerate you.”

“No thanks. I’d rather keep my guts in my body.”

The ship rolled and she teetered into the bunk, her throat tightening as bile rose. “You are insufferable.”

“Not according to my crew.”

“You—you—” She might have said more but the nausea that took her didn’t leave her breath for speaking, just vomiting. So much vomiting.

And moaning.

And lying in the bunk surely dying.

Food was brought and left along with jugs of water. Not that she had the appetite to eat. She did try to drink only to heaveit up almost immediately. Blame the storm that wouldn’t stop swaying the vessel. She’d never know a person could be so ill.

Days passed before the seasickness eased. Once it did, she realized her door had been left unlocked. Weak from lack of eating, pale from being ensconced in a room with only a small porthole for light, she tottered above deck. The fresh air did much to revive her, and with her eyes closed, she inhaled deeply. When she felt stronger, she blinked at the bright sunlight magnified by the water all around. Not a speck of land in sight.

Sailors on deck gave her curious glances but none spoke to her. She pivoted to see if she could spot the captain, but no one of his size and annoying nature appeared.

Upon seeing a stocky woman slopping a bucket of dirty water over the side, Avera approached and ventured a soft, “Excuse me, can you tell me where we’re going?”

“To Saarpira.”

The isle of pirates. “How long until we get there?”

“A few days at least. The storm blew us off track.” The woman wandered off with her empty bucket and Avera leaned against the railing.

Despite how she’d gotten aboard, it occurred to her that rather than be mad she should be pleased. If she went to Saarpira then she still had a chance of getting to Verlora.

If she could escape her captor.

As she breathed the salty air, her gaze took in the sails, unfurled canvas that stretched taut as the wind filled them. They were emblazoned with a large emblem. One she recognized, but to be sure, she called out to a grizzled seaman coiling rope. “What symbol is that?”

“That there is a Griffon, just like our captain.”

“Wait, are you saying the captain is called Griffon?”

“Aye, milady. Seems fitting given they’re both mighty beasts.”

The sailor must have thought Avera odd, for she began laughing. Laughing and feeling better than she had in days. After all, she’d found the Griffon.

Perhaps not everything was lost after all.