In Love and War

Chapter 7 - Seastrath

Arya was kidnapped. Or at least, to the world, she was.

She left her window open and her blinds drawn, fluttering in the breeze. She overturned chairs softly and smashed vases wrapped in her sheets, sprinkling the shards across her room. And she ripped the dress she had been wearing, snagging a piece from the end onto the corner of her table. Then she destroyed the dress. And then, with one last look back, a black shadow slipped from the queen's rooms.

Altysian law dictated that unless the ruler in power was dead, the throne and power would stay with them. However, if a throne was deserted without the correct legal precautions for a long enough time, to leave for say, an unsanctioned, sudden trip across oceans to retrieve immortal allies for a war, the lords in her court could come to together to vote her off the throne. And replace her with her blood heir, which Arya did not have. Without an heir, the nobles could vote one of themselves onto the throne. And she knew who would likely be the new king then. Lord Foley.

She would not let that happen.

Arya knew the legal way for her to go to Sheridan would take too long. However... she had one card to play. There was no law if the ruler were to be forcibly taken from the castle. Like if she were kidnapped, for example. And without a body to prove that she was dead, and without the legal means to vote her off the throne... Arya smiled grimly. They would be at an impasse until she returned. And they would hopefully have been too busy searching for her to notice that she had tied their hands.

She wished she could see Lord Foley's face when he learned of it.

Arya shook the thought out of her head. She had to focus.

It took her an hour to get to find a cart to stow away in, and four more after that before they reached the docks. By the time Arya slipped out from under the tarp and into the shadows, she reeked of hay and shit and was in a piss poor mood to match.

It didn't smell much better outside of the wagon. The smell of dead fish and drying seaweed permeated the air, and Arya decided she really didn't want to check whether that really was a fish head in the gutter across the road.

A shout pulled her attention to the docks. Men hurried to and fro--bulky, muscled men from months on ships and manual labor-- and Arya pulled deeper into the shadows. Seastrath was Altrys's largest port, and even so early in the morning as it was, it was busy. Arya slipped through the narrow street she'd been left in, overhung with clotheslines and rickety extensions to houses, and cast over with a yellow hue by torches. At the end of the street, she turned her attention to the docks themselves.

Seastrath was the most famous port in Altrys, and it was easy to see why. It was quite literally built on a huge cliff. The port was at the bottom, but the city was on the top, overlooking the sea. But to get from one to the other... the people had been ingenious. Ropes slung from poles jammed into the rocks, and Arya watched as men swung themselves across them like they would rigging on a ship, moving with complete ease. But she also saw women, with baskets full of clothes and food, descending into dark passages that cut into the rock. The passageways opened into little clearings various lengths down the cliff, and women rested there, talking and laughing.

Head down, Arya followed them. The walls were wet, and the occasional drip-drip broke the silence.

A quiet shout had Arya tensing out of habit. She slipped forward on silent feet and emerged in the shadows of one of the clearings where the passageways emerged the the rocky cliff. A salty wind rustled her cloak, and she drew back into the shadows to watch.

A woman was cornered by two bulky men, a dagger angled at her stomach. She smirked up at them, but it was edged with steel and fear.

"Tell us what you did with our gold, thief," the man with the dagger growled.

She laughed. "Oh, that is rich." She had a slight accent that Arya couldn't place.

The man snarled, and pressed the knife closer to her belly.

"I did not take your gold, you ignorant brute." She rolled her eyes. "It is the High Queen's gold."

"Yeah, well now it's mine." The other man spoke up.

The woman grinned. "And now, it is mine."

The man with the knife stepped forward until his face was in hers. "Tell me where my gods damned gold is, bitch, or I'll gut you right here."

She lifted her chin, eyes flashing. Arrogant. "Your gold is over the fire from which it was forged, brute."

Arya blinked. Gold was forged in the earth's molten core. Had she really told the men that it was on the earth?

"What does that mean?" the man hissed. The other man moved, as through to pace, his fists clenching. Dangerous. Careful.

The woman quirked an eyebrow. "If you are too stupid to figure that one out, I suppose you--"

The second man grabbed her by the hair and threw her across the room. The other man converged on her, grabbing her ankles and dragging her towards them. He yanked her legs apart. And Arya moved before she even realized what she was doing.

She slammed her dagger hilt into the back of his head, and he dropped like a stone. The other man turned, eyes wide, and ducked under her dagger.

"Who are you?" he grunted, stumbling backwards. She stalked toward him.

Arya snorted. "The High Queen of Altrys," she snarled, "And as it turns out, I don't like thieves."

Then her hilt slammed into his temple, and he crumpled to the ground.

The woman stumbled to her feet, swaying as she eyed Arya. She spat blood onto the floor and eyed Arya. "What do you want?"

Arya slipped her dagger into her cloak again. "I want you to get out of here before these men wake up."

The woman stared at her, and Arya stared right back, knowing that she was unrecognizable under her black hood and nondescript clothes.

The woman was dark skinned, and Arya finally remembered where she'd heard that accent before. The Southern Islands. Ruled by many, endlessly feuding kings, full of dangerous creatures and hot, deadly forests. Her hair was twisted into hundreds of thin strands, and she was shorter than Arya. Her dark eyes glinted with something akin to brilliance, or perhaps madness. She was beautiful in a wild, crafty way, like a poisonous snake.

Then she dipped her head. "Thank you," she said. "I do not forget my debts."

Then she stepped around Arya and walked up to that men on the floor. Pressing her finger into the blood running down her arm, she left a fingerprint on each of their foreheads.

At the edge of the platform, she looked back at Arya, who was looking at the crimson marring the men's pale skin.

She gave a savage, sweet grin. "It marks their soul. So when I meet them again, I do not forget to make them pay."

Then she disappeared into the darkness.

* * * * *

To be perfectly honest I had no intention of writing this chapter at all, but it just sort of happened. Whoops? 

Vote! Yay! Also comment! What do you think of this dashing, mysterious new character? (Name coming soon to computers near you)

Next chapter comes next Friday!

Have a sterling weekend! ( <--- Confession: I used a thesaurus for that, because I could not think of another word for 'great' for the life of me)