Queen of Atlantis - Rewritten Entirely

Chapter 8

Annabeth had sometimes thought about what it would be like to sail across the sea. She'd lived close enough to the port that she often heard the sailors telling their stories and as a child, she'd been mesmerised. Although she had never gotten the chance to sail or even step foot on a ship before, she always imagined she would enjoy it.

It took only one full day of being locked away in the belly of Luke's ship for Annabeth to decide she did not, in fact, enjoy it. By the second day, she was beginning to feel sick. It was by sheer luck that she managed to keep down the meagre dinner she was given. Day three, she didn't.

"Hope you don't think you'll be gettin' more," the man with the eye patch sneered. "Not even royal prisoners get special treatment."

"There's nothing special about it," Annabeth snapped, wiping the foul taste of vomit from her lips. "It's poorly cooked and practically still swimming."

"Don't worry, doll." His lips twitched in amusement. "We'll be landin' soon enough and you'll 'ave wished you'd eaten more."

The thought of land was both welcome and nauseating.

On the one hand, Annabeth's cramped prison cell was damp and musky, making her feel sicker as the days wore on. With the constant rocking of the ship and no window or peephole to look through, she was beginning to lose her sense of direction.

On the other hand, however, land surely meant a Tartarian base camp. While she had never met a Tartarian, she had read about the kingdom well before ever going to Atlantis. They were not known for their hospitality and Annabeth had never been tempted to seek them out. Soon, she wouldn't have a choice.

She was left alone after that. True to his word, no one provided her more food but she doubted it would do her any good. She'd never been a big fan of fish and the swaying of the boat didn't help.

Unsurprisingly, it was the man with the eye patch that brought her out from below the deck when they finally docked. His hands were rough and he'd tied her wrists with raw leather, but the sun was blinding and Annabeth was certain she would have tripped if he hadn't been pulling her along.

At one point, he passed her off to Luke, but she was too focused on the painful pounding of her head from lack of water and the too-bright sun to care. There was little else he could do to make her situation worse.

By the time Annabeth felt like she could stand without swaying and open her eyes without going blind, they were standing on the shoreline.

Her wrists were still bound with the raw leather and they were beginning to chafe from being pulled around, but when she tried to shift, someone grabbed her.

"I'm not trying to escape," she huffed. "The leather is chafing my wrists."

"Tough."

Luke didn't speak another word to her.

Although disgruntled and uncomfortable in the heat, Annabeth didn't say anything further as Luke pushed her towards the tree line. With sand in her sandals and her hair sticking to her face, Annabeth trudged up the hill and was relieved when they finally came under the shade of the trees. They weren't done walking, though.

Luke led the small parade down a broken trail. Behind her, the man with the eye patch waited eagerly for her to either trip or try to escape. Annabeth wasn't sure which, but she was determined to not give him the satisfaction of either.

Despite the low hem of her skirt and the brush along the trail, Annabeth successful made it to the camp without falling. She had swayed and stumbled a handful of times, but never enough for someone to grab her.

At first, those that were stationed in the camp just stared. They made it past several tents before the jeering started as word began to spread about who Luke had returned with.

"You're famous, doll," the man behind her whispered loudly.

Annabeth scowled but didn't turn to him. Around them, the jeering got louder.

The walk across the camp was almost miserable enough that Annabeth wished she were back on the ship. While none of the onlookers approached their small parade, Annabeth was worried someone would jump her before they arrived at their destination. Whoever had discovered she was the one to uncover Kronos's plan had not hesitated to share the news. And the soldiers in the camp were furious.

Just as the jeers and taunts became deafening, Luke pushed her through a tent door and the sounds were muffled.

Before she could try and figure out where Luke had brought her, her feet were kicked out from underneath her and a strong hand pressed roughly on her shoulder. She fell to the ground with a painful pop of her ankle and knew immediately her knees would bruise from the impact.

Beside her, Luke dropped smoothly to his own knees and Annabeth's blood went cold.

"I will admit, Luke, I did not think you had it in you to bring me your old friend."

Despite never seeing Kronos, in person or in drawing, Annabeth had no doubt that was who stood in front of her. Dressed in armour far superior to what the other soldiers in the camp had been wearing, he towered over her with a sneer painted across his face. Even in the dull light of the tent, Annabeth could see the tell-tale flickers of gold in his eyes that were rumoured to belong to every Tartarian royal.

"You requested it, my lord." Luke's head was still bowed. "Your wish is my command."

Kronos nodded once then turned her gaze to Annabeth. If she had been breathing before, she certainly wasn't now.

"Child," he hissed coldly, "you have made a fatal error."

Believe it or not, Annabeth was beginning to believe that. While she did not regret making her choice, she did regret falling into the trap Kronos had set for her after.

"I am willing to forgive it, however," Kronos offered, "should you agree to one simple thing."

"No." The authority with which she spoke surprised her. Not only did her voice not waver, but she was not tempted to so much as hear what he would offer her.

Unfortunately, speaking so rashly was going to cost her. At some point after her eyes had focused solely on Kronos, Luke must have stood up because suddenly, he had a fist full of her hair and was pulling it painfully. She hissed and squirmed, but did not apologise when Luke ordered her to.

"He is your lord," Luke snarled above her.

"He is no lord of mine," Annabeth snarled back, twisting her neck just enough to catch a glimpse of Luke. "He is lord of traitors and cowards and I am neither."

The hit to ribs came from her left, much to Annabeth's surprise. She had forgotten about the man with an eye patch, but as pain flashed across her sternum and her lungs screamed, it was impossible to forget he had come into the tent with them.

Luke's hold on her hair loosened as Annabeth keeled forward when she was struck again. She gasped both out of pain and a need to refill her lungs after the breath had been knocked out of her.

"Don't break her, Nakamura," Luke hissed above her. "We need her."

"She'll be just as useful with some bruises."

"We're her friends," Kronos cooed, dropping down in front of Annabeth as she coughed. "We don't hurt our friends."

"Your answer is no," Annabeth repeated, staying as upright as she could manage. "Whatever you offer, no."

With a glint in his eye that matched the glimmer of the scythe on his belt, Kronos said, "Then your stay here won't be long."