#baz.undefined

shackles   rest   against   his   skin,   cold   and   solid.   his   hands   ache   from   unmoving,   skin   raw   and   red   where   he’s   pulled   at   the   iron   grips.   baz   tries   to   pull   free   again,   hisses   as   skin   breaks   and   blood   begins   to   pool   in   his   palm.   torchlight   flickers,   casting   dancing   shadows   on   the   wall   opposite   his   cell.   suddenly,   a   door   opens   at   the   end   of   the   hall.   

voices—angry   and   foreign—echo   off   the   walls.   it   sounds   elvish,   but   baz   never   was   good   at   differentiating   the   soft,   silken   elven   language   from   others.   suddenly,   a   woman   is   thrown   into   the   cell   next   to   him.   she’s   small,   skin   pale   as   moonlight.   the   man   who   brought   her   in   sneers,   spits   on   the   ground   at   their   feet   and   leaves.

❛   okay   over   there?   ❜   he   ventures,   though   the   woman   has   yet   to   acknowledge   him   in   any   way.   ❛   i   think   i   can   get   out   of   these   with   some   help.   i'll   protect   you.   ❜      she   turns,   her   white   hair   accentuating   the   sharp   movement,   swinging   over   her   shoulder.      she   meets   his   gaze   for   the   first   time,   though   she   seems   to   stare   through   him.   

❛   perhaps   you   are   mistaken   in   this   moment   as   to   which   of   the   two   of   us   is   in   need   of   protection.   ❜   

baz’s   nerves   were   alight;   he   felt   each   sway   of   the   boat,   heard   each   creak   as   if   it   were   his   own   bones.   there’d   been   murmurs   among   the   crew   of   trouble   at   home,   on   the   island.   baz’d   never   been.   he   was   too   new,   too   recently   recruited   to   have   been   to   the   island,   but   he’d   heard   stories.   the   bars,   bright   throughout   the   night   with   candles   and   song,   the   markets   that   smelled   of   mulled   wines   and   fresh   fruits.   a   pirate   haven.   and   the   queen.   she   was   lovely,   he’d   heard.   a   sight   for   sore   eyes,   and   clever,   too.   ❛   she’s   a   force   to   be   reckoned   with,   ❜   the   quartermaster   warns,   arms   tense   as   he   pulls   the   oars   toward   himself   ❛   but   follow   the   rules,   and   you’ll   do   just   fine   ❜   he   follows   with   a   toothy   grin.

the   boat   lurches   beneath   him   as   the   hull   hits   the   soft,   sandy   floor;   lurches   again   as   each   man   stands,   jumps   into   the   shallow   water.   baz   follows   suit,   grabs   the   hull   and   drags   until   the   rowboat   is   secure   on   shore.   and   then,   he   drinks   it   in.   the   island   is   surreal   in   its   beauty.   the   shore   leads   to   rolling   hills,   over   which   he   can   see   streets,   bustling   with   carriages   and   folks   of   all   sorts.   one   of   the   crew,   a   woman   older   than   him,   smiles   and   pats   his   shoulder.   ❛      welcome   home,   kid   ❜      she   smiles.   baz   nods,   unable   to   find   words.   his   chest   feels   heavy,   but   he   can’t   quite   place   why.   something   about   this   place   feels   right.