She knew they’d drifted into Arrowbrook when an old chain began to rattle near the prow of the ship. Amael untangled the rusted links, twisting them around a wooden spool as if the chain were nothing more than colorful yarn twined around a bobbin. His muscles strained as he lifted the anchor, hefting it over his shoulder and tossing it over the ship’s rail. It splashed into the water below, hitting the seafloor with a dull thud that yanked the ship to a jarring halt in the harbor.
Toppling against the mizzenmast, Sol threaded her fingers through Draven’s fur and used the direwolf to steady herself. So many days since the Refuge had last stood still. Sol could hardly gather her bearings without the ocean’s current dragging at her heels.
As if the shore were a summons, Fynn emerged from his cabin with a warm gust of wind that ruffled the Princess’ hair. He was grinning, his cheeks less pallid now that he’d gotten to rest. Riel slipped through the threshold behind him, her arms stretched above her head as she sauntered towards the quarterdeck. Gracia bounced on her toes and grinned down at her.
Diverting her attention to the planks, Sol managed to avoid the Captain’s eye as he prowled over the deck and spoke quietly with the members of his crew. He appeared to be in much higher spirits as he laughed with his friends, Amael going so far as to wrap Fynn in his arms and shout, “Thank you!” to him and the Gods.
Sol did not realize that Fynn was crossing the deck, that he’d spotted her near the mizzenmast and was stalking towards her with a look of regret etched into the lines of his face. The Captain nudged her with his foot, and as Sol tipped back her head and squinted against the sunlight that veiled him, Fynn smiled at her. “Are you coming or not?”
She frowned. “Into the port?”
“To Hell.” His smile broadened to a toothy beam that set Sol’s stomach at ease. If he harbored any further ill-will, the Captain did not show it. “Yes, into the port. We’ll be docking here for the next three nights, and I need someone to accompany me to the nearby inn while I book the rooms for our stay.”
The Princess raised an eyebrow. “You can’t do that on your own?”
“Of course I can,” Fynn said. “But I need someone with sense to keep me away from the market.”
She could not stop herself as she giggled. “You like to shop, I take it.”
“For fancy rocks and dragon scales.”
Sol gripped his hand when he offered it to her. His palm was rough against her fingers, her thumb tracing over what felt like a thin, slashing scar as the Captain pulled her to her feet. “Won’t you need the market for Luca’s supplies?”
“Gracia will be gathering what he needs.” Fynn tucked his hands into his pockets. “She may not be a healer, but she knows what herbs and medicines Luca prefers to work with. I’m afraid I’ll bring back the wrong thing.”
“I see.” Sol ruffled Draven’s fur as he pressed himself against her knees. “Is it safe to bring Draven into the port?”
Fynn glanced at the direwolf and grimaced. “It’s best if he stays here.”
Draven ducked his head and snarled at him, his ears pressing flat against his skull.
“Just for now,” Fynn amended quickly. “Direwolves are worth their weight in gold, and in case you weren’t aware or haven’t looked in a mirror recently, you’re a beast. It’s best to wait until nightfall when we can smuggle you into the inn unseen. They have a ‘no pet’ policy.”
Sol chuckled as the Captain addressed her companion with flailing arms and eyes wider than the shore. “You do realize he can’t speak to you, right?”
“Yes.” Fynn crossed his arms over his chest in absolution. “But he understands me.”
“Oh, he certainly does.” Sol idly scratched behind his ear. “I won’t be long, Draven. I can manage on my own without you.” Draven huffed through his nose and stamped his paws, his claws clicking against the planks. “Don’t you give me your theatrics.”
Fynn placed a tentative hand on Draven’s head, and the massive creature whipped himself around to glare at him, his silver eyes glowing bright. Fynn winced. “I’ll keep her safe,” he promised. “And I’ll return her to the ship in one piece. You can eat me for dinner if I don’t.”
Draven snarled half-heartedly, his lip curling back over pearly white teeth as if to say: you’re more of a treat than dinner.
Sol tapped him on the head in warning.
“He’ll be fine—I’ll look after him.”
Amael was wiping the sweat from his brow as he joined them near the mast, his dark eyes squinting against the sunlight. He did not pay Sol any mind as he slung his arm over the Captain’s shoulders. “Unlike you, I happen to like mythical creatures. Draven will be fine until you return.”
“Thank you,” Sol told him earnestly. “He shouldn’t be too much trouble.”
The boatswain regarded her warily, narrowing his eyes against more than just the sun as he looked at her. His gaze stripped Sol bare, like the Princess had exposed all her secrets and Amael was the Irican God of Truth. But even Meritas would not have looked at her so skeptically; his judgement upon her death would have allowed her into the afterlife. But Amael’s…
He’d send Sol to Hell and watch her burn amongst the flames.
She shuffled closer to Fynn, ducking beneath Amael’s stare until the Captain was positioned between them. “Can we go?”
Fynn motioned to the gangplank. “After you.”
As the Princess rushed for solid ground, Sol did not miss Amael’s quiet grunt of pain as Fynn slammed his elbow between his ribs. “Watch the godsdamned animal, you ass. I ought to make you sleep on the ship tonight.”
If Amael bothered to respond, Sol was halfway across the deck and did not hear him.
Arrowbrook was not unlike Valestorm with its markets and dozens of trading posts, but it did not reek of death and decay. The cobblestone streets were polished and swept clean, and the merchant stands were built of exquisitely carved stones Sol was certain could withstand Thymis’ wrath.
The Princess was escorted through Arrowbrook on Fynn’s arm, her own looped through the curve of his elbow. His amber eyes had scoured every stall in the market, roving over their goods and brightening with mirth as he beheld the treasures that awaited him. Sol did not doubt that Fynn would spend time at every stand, his pockets jangling with a generous amount of gold that confirmed he certainly liked to shop.
Though perhaps his coins were for the inn, a beautifully constructed building that was carved into the base of a mountain. Sol gasped as they approached what she’d initially mistaken for a naturally built formation in the bedrock; only the ornate wooden doors and wide open windows had given away what it truly was.
“The inn is built inside a mountain?”
Fynn nodded. “People travel from all over the world just to stay here. There’s an indoor hot spring that is absolutely marvelous.”
“They must have tunneled far beneath the mountain if the spring inside is heated.”
The Captain shook his head in disagreement. “The mountain is an active volcano. They didn’t need to tunnel down at all.”
Sol was certain her cheeks must have paled. “And this is where you’re choosing for us to stay?”