The Traitor's Heir by Anna Thayer

training stops for your cadets, I imagine we’ll make the city in five. Almost a relaxing voyage,” he smiled.
    Eamon grimaced. He was to spend five days as Aeryn’s jailer.
    â€œWe’ll be leaving just as soon as your cadets are all on board,” Farlewe added.
    â€œI had best not detain you from your work. Thank you, Captain Farlewe.”
    â€œMr Goodman.”
    Aeryn had been stowed in a narrow storage hold among various casks, barrels, and crates which were travelling to the city, and would be kept there for the duration of their journey. Trying to get a sense of his river legs Eamon went down to the hold to check that she had been properly bound and to finish organizing the groups of cadets who would watch her. Parts of the below deck were so low Eamon had to duck, and he found the sound of water moving against the ship’s boards all around him disconcerting. The whole lower deck was dark and cold; he was glad that he would only need to sleep there.
    When he reached the narrow hold he found that Aeryn sat among the ship’s stores and had been clapped hand and foot in irons. Her gaze met his; he was not sure whether disgust, hatred, or ire made up the greatest part of it.
    â€œRest yourself,” he said, gesturing to the sacking provided for her. She remained obstinately upright.
    Sighing inwardly, Eamon turned his attention to the first of the groups of cadets that were to watch her in shifts. “She is to be guarded at all times.”
    A smirk crossed one of the soldier’s faces. Eamon rounded on him.
    â€œDo you have a problem, cadet?”
    The cadet paled. “No, sir,” he began.
    Eamon stared grimly at them. “No liberties will be taken,” he growled. “If so much as one man among you touches her without my leave, two of you will be flogged. Is that understood?”
    The cadets affirmed his order. Eamon saw a strange look pass over Aeryn’s face but shut it from his mind. “In all matters regarding the prisoner, you answer to me. To your posts, gentlemen.”
    It was with a heavy heart that Eamon returned above deck. He heard the crew calling to each other and tacking the sails to make best use of the paltry wind. The ship’s captain was up on the deck, speaking cheerfully with his boatswain.
    Eamon found himself a spot at the stern and listened to the whistles and odd language of the sailors as they worked; he envied them their evident pride. Currents swirled like strange fish about the ship’s frame.
    Soon the mooring ropes were drawn in and Farlewe’s Lark left the docks.
    As Eamon watched Edesfield slipping away he saw a faint black figure on the dockside. Wondering if it was Lord Penrith, he shivered.
    Aeryn had to be delivered to Dunthruik. He could not help her. How could she ever trust him again after what he’d done? She probably hated him – a thought that chilled him.
    As the breeze picked up and filled the sails, he drove his hands into his jacket. His fingers felt the shape of the keys to his prisoner’s chains in his pouch; it did nothing to improve his spirits.
    Later that night he passed below deck to check on his charge. A couple of cadets were there, alert and ready. Aeryn lay curled tightly on the sacking, shivering but asleep. The guards spoke softly among themselves and Eamon watched them for a moment, wondering if any of them asked the questions that he asked. Did they think about the Master, about snakes and wayfarers? Or was it he alone, just as it seemed to be he alone who questioned swearing his service to an eagle?
    One of the cadets came quietly to him.
    â€œTrouble finding your river legs, sir?” he asked.
    It was the young man whom he had met in Belaal’s office earlier that day. Eamon wondered what the boy had done to be labelled an ill-performing cadet, and whether a quick trip down the River and back would really solve the problem.
    Nonetheless, the boy’s concern brought