The city appeared from the mist, like a mountain top piercing the clouds. From where Isla stood in the crow's nest, it looked as if the city was covered in snow, the white buildings barely distinguished from the swirling gray fog.

As the capital stretched back, it butted up against the jagged mountains, the buildings climbing into the crooks of the ridges and snuggling into the massive summit's arms. The peaks were capped with white like haggard faced old men staring off to sea.

A sharp wind cut around Isla, flicking up the ends up her coat. Even in the heart of the summer season, Talvin was chilly. Her long coat was tailored to her slender frame as was the rest of her clothing. Her father's coat hung in her cabin, waiting for her return. It drowned her when she tried to wear it. Where she was going she could not appear as a child playing pretend. Vulnerability was a weapon against her.

Roland leaned against the narrow railing that ringed the small platform, a bow and quiver hung across his back. This was his domain, Isla was simply a guest. With only the whistle of the wind to fill the silence, they watched as the city took on distinctive shapes. A blanket of gray had been thrown over the sky, dulling the setting sun's colors. When the edge of the port took form, Roland looked at Isla. Amber eyes watched her, questions floating behind.

"The man below," he said. His voice was light and faint as if spending so many years high up the wind had stolen away the strength of his speech.

A coil of frustration tightened in Isla's chest but as she met his gaze, she found patience and calm understanding staring back at her.

"Is the only option we have left."

Roland nodded, needing no more than that.

The roll of the ship was more prominent where they were, the ocean feeling as if it had doubled in strength. Shouts from the docks were lifted on the breeze, reaching the two quiet companions. From above, the motion below looked like tornados of mist as sailors cut through the dense fog. A whistle brought Isla's attention back to the deck. Hawk was looking up at her.

It was time.

As she grabbed the rope tied to the railing, she locked eyes with Roland. He gave a single nod, more words than he would ever say held in that single gesture. Climbing over, Isla held tight to the line and jumped. The deck rushed to meet her, her leather-gloved palm hot with the friction, stomach beating her to the deck. The thump of her sudden presence caused no notice, the men in the throes of docking the ship. No commands were needed, the motions second nature to the men born from the sea.

Isla stepped to the edge and stared out on the bustling port. The Talvish men with their pale skin and light hair seemed to disappear in the fading light and the swirling white. Hawk joined her, his arms crossed, face blank, his lips a thin line. Though he would never say it, Isla knew the pain he felt coming here. It was the same pain she felt, that all the men on the ship felt. Within this city was an anchor that dragged them down. An anchor she was determined to cut away.

The walkway was extended and thudded against the dock. As Isla stepped toward it, the men formed up before her, waiting for orders.

"Normal rotation. We leave at first light."

A lightness came to the crew, their burdens lessened for a brief moment as they thought of the piece of freedom before them. Even if real freedom were not in their hands, they would hold on to a part of it that was.

"Do you have it?" Isla asked Hawk.

He responded in the affirmative. With one final look to the crew, she walked down the gangway. The ports were a storm, men hauling luggage and cargo crisscrossing in front of Isla. The smell of salt, fish, and sweat filled her nose. The damp air clung to her hair and chilled her face. Bass voices echoed around her, the harsh burr of their words cutting through the fog. Pounding boots and the banging of heavy boxes were amplified as if the mist caught the sound and repeated it.

Men carrying lanterns looked liked ghosts, the golden light casting strange shadows on their white skin. Isla and Hawk were among the few that stood out among the chaos of Talvish men. Though a frequented port, it rarely had foreigners who stayed, the climate hard to adjust to.

As they left the docks, the city sprouted up around them. Buildings were honed from white rock as if the entire place had been carved from the mountains. Mist and periodic downpours kept the city clean of grime. The walls were jagged, collecting water droplets. In the fading light, the structures appeared to shimmer.

From open doorways, laughter fell out, like staggering, drunk men. The warmth of the interiors beckoned to weary sailors. Twisting through the noise and the call for more drinks was the high pitched sounds of a fiddle intertwined with a flute. The music was a shout of joy that laughed at the worries of men.

It was into one of these taverns that Isla entered, Hawk always at her shoulder, a spear to wandering eyes. The din was barely tolerable, the old rafts unable to absorb more sounds, instead sending back into the room, doubling the noise.

Isla stopped at the bar, waiting to get the bartender's attention. The man's face was a patchwork of scars. He was someone who had seen the tougher sides of life and walked out the other end smiling.

"What can I do you for?" Tek asked, speaking Lorian with an accent that spoke of his advanced knowledge on the language.

"We need two horses," Isla said, in Talvish.

He brightened at the concession to talk in his mother tongue and recognition.

"Of course." He looked out into the crowded room, eyes searching. He gave a sharp nod and a boy just over eighteen walked over. "Flick, two horses."

The stable boy nodded and dashed out the door.

"You want something to drink while he saddles them?" the bartender asked, his hands always working, wiping glasses or the counter.

"No," Isla said, though she felt her nerves asking for one. "Usual price?"

He gave a curt nod. The second the money was on the bar, he swept it out of sight as if to keep the glint of gold out of tempting eyes. A man bellowed for the barkeep and he was swept away as easily as the money. A few hazy eyes nearby were wandering to Isla, the stench of ale hot on their breath. She strode to the door, not wanting to cause a scene.

As they stepped back into the cool night air, Flick trotted up, two horses on either side. Isla took the reins of a black stallion, tossing the boy a coin. He bowed in gratitude.

"You be needin' anything more?" he asked, with the common slang of a dockside sailor.

"No, they will be returned within two hours' time."

Isla swung herself into the saddle, as Hawk did the same. Nudging the horse forward, they left the tavern and the boy behind. The clatter of hooves echoed around them. Riding down the white streets and twisting mist it looked as if they were riding through the clouds, the dim light adding to the effect. They traveled through the city, lanterns hanging over doorways and the glow of fires overhead guiding them.

As usual, they didn't speak. There was nothing to say. Where they were headed was a place they couldn't avoid despite their want to do so.

The city fell away and they crossed a wide, arching bridge. The stone had been made smooth by the striking blows of the water. Below a river crashed down from a mountain's falls. The force of it sent showers of cold water up into the air. The roar was like a pounding bass that drowned out every other sound. Isla could feel the damp on her coat, like the heart of the falls was trying to instill dread into her soul.

On the other side lay a manor that was rigid and imposing. A high wall circled it, guard towers positioned throughout and the bobbing of yellow light speaking of the guards that patrolled it. At the black iron gates, Isla and Hawk were halted it. A man with a sharp face and cutting eyes stepped forward.

"Purpose?" he asked, his tone saying there was no room for falsities.

"Delivery," Isla said.

The man raised his lantern a bit higher, brightening Isla's features. Recognition appeared in his gray eyes. He gave a nod and the gates swung open. They entered, the clang of metal ringing out behind them, trapping them inside.

On either side of the lane - leading to the manor - the landscape was as the rest of the city was, colorless. It was a forest of white trees with spindly arms bearing pale blue leaves. Surrounding their bases was evenly cut light gray grass, like ash from a fire. The grounds looked like all the color had been drained from it. Despite this, it was beautiful in its simplicity and design.

As they entered the courtyard before the manor, Isla was aware that they were not the only guest his Lordship was receiving. Carriages with gilded tops and velvet curtains curved around the front. The manor's windows were burning with light.

As they trotted forward, two stablehands raced forward. At Isla and Hawk's appearance, they were puzzled but made no comment, it wasn't their place. Isla jumped down and gave the reins to waiting hands.

With Hawk a strong presence beside her, she climbed the steps and walked into the lavish foyer. Voices seemed to come from every side, as guests floated from room to room, finding new forms of amusement. The scent of wine was wrapped around them like the rich attire they wore.

The two new arrivals were like two smears of soot on snow. Even absorbed in their frivolous worlds as they were, they noticed the two intruders. Some voices stopped mid-sentence and began again in low whispers. Before too long, a curt looking man moved towards them.

"Isla," the man said. "You have a delivery I believe."

"Yes."

The steward nodded and gave a wave of his hand for the two of them to follow. He guided them through the clusters of bright colors and into a secluded wing. Leaving them in a study with the order to wait, he left them. The room around them held all the richness of the rest of the place. Books embossed with gold lettering lined bookshelves. Leather chairs ringed polished tables. Crystal glasses sat atop a table with decanters holding amber liquid. Every inch of the room reminded the visitor of the wealth the owner had. Isla would never have expected anything less from a Lord.

A clock ticked in the corner, wearing away on Isla's patience. When she felt about ready to break one of the glasses against the wall, the door opened. A man in his late fifties strode in, walking with an air of thoughtless command. He had a hard face and white hair as if he had been honed from rock the same as the city in which he lived.

Reigning in her emotions, Isla bowed her head.

"Lord Sutherland," she said.

Hawk dipped his head as well, his face giving away none of his opinions towards the man. Sutherland moved to the table holding the glasses and uncapped one of the decanters. Acting as if he had all the time in the world, he poured himself a glass and lifted the cup. He took a sip and focused back on Isla.

"Hawk," she said.

In response, he pulled from his inside pocket a small package. He placed it on the desk beside him.

"Baron Vin was not pleased to part with these," Isla said, "nonetheless you have what you want."

Sutherland took another drink, savoring the taste in his mouth before swallowing.

"And do you have what I requested?" he asked. His voice was like a calm dark lake, smooth and haunting.

The question galled Isla like the man was taunting her without even thinking about it. She let none of what she felt show, this man would not know the effect he had on her.

"I recently acquired a source of information that will lead me to the Serpent's Eye." The image of the man in her brig drifted into her mind. Something stirred in her, but she shoved the feeling of hope away. She would not fall prey to the feeling.  "You will have your emerald as promised, your Lordship." 

Sutherland hummed in response to this information as if what he had sent Isla to find for the last four months was not of great importance to him. As if the cost of her freedom was of no big concern. He swallowed the rest of his drink before saying anything.

"As you do not have it yet," he said, the glass clicking as he replaced it on the silver tray, "then I have another job for you."

Isla fought the urge to snatch the glass from the man's hand and smash it against his head. Isla's father had borrowed money from this man to buy Isla a ship. A ship that now lay at the bottom of the ocean along with her father, leaving her with the debt to repay.

Instead of letting Isla focus on retrieving the emerald to pay off the debt, Lord Sutherland sent her on retrieval jobs. Jobs the crew and her weren't being paid for. Jobs that stole away their time and resources. All because they were in his debt and he held control.

Isla held herself in check but only barely, her anger towards this man straining against her hold.

"What is it, your lordship?"

Sutherland walked to the window and peered out. "Earl Kesler of Helix owes me money. The last messenger I sent failed." He turned and looked at Isla with calculating pale green eyes. "I trust you will not do the same."

"No, your lordship," she said.

"Good. My steward will give you the details of what he owes."

Isla heard the dismissal for what it was. She bowed her head and left, Hawk right beside her. Outside, the man who had escorted them was waiting. As he led them back to the entrance he conveyed all the information Isla would need. With a final inquiry as to whether they needed to know more and receiving confirmation they didn't, he returned to his duties.

Isla took a deep breathe as they passed into the chilly atmosphere of the courtyard. When she let it out, her resolve was strengthened and her emotions tucked away. Hawk watched her, his eyes understanding all she felt.

"What is your plan?" he asked, breaking into her thoughts.

"For this to be the last job I ever do for him."

**********************************************************************

Anchors away!

Alright! We got to meet out main guy-that-we-hate-because-he's-literally-the-worst! What do we think? 🗯💬💭

And before you ask (though you probably weren't going to) yes, I did steal the name Sutherland from the actor Kiefer Sutherland. I hate coming up with names. If I can't think of something I usually look at my bookshelf and check out the last names of authors.

Okay! Diverting away from the story to question of the chapter: What is your definition of attractive? I mean hair, eye, skin color? Build? All that good stuff!

Along with the question I'm curious to know if you're attracted to people in your own culture or others? Or if it's a mix of both?

Vote for all of man kind, comment on the origin of dreams, follow the rainbows end!

Gosh! I feel like none of those had anything in common! I've clearly lost my marbles, as well as my brains.

I see him as Hawk! Do you?