“Why are they all still at work?” I asked Fagren as we hurried through the streets toward the docks. An array of Illiadorian warships and Brandorian merchant galleons lined the port. Smaller Andrysian fishing boats bobbed about in the restless sea between them.
“Morgana is depleting the resources of all the conquered kingdoms to equip and clothe her soldiers,” Fagren replied. “Your people are starving, Aurora. Everything we make, even the produce that grows in the farms all around Illiador and farther north, goes to feed Morgana’s growing army.”
I shuddered at the thought of what Morgana had done to my kingdom as we turned into a small dark street leading to the docks. Wooden warehouses ran the length of the rickety quay, and sailors, merchants, and traders were busy loading ships to supply the army.
According to Fagren, floggings and hangings were an everyday occurrence here. Morgana’s black-uniformed soldiers roamed the streets like dark shadows, instilling fear in the residents and watching for any miscreants. Anyone even hinting at supporting the resistance was immediately taken into custody. Most of the people were too scared to do anything else but surrender to Morgana’s rule. As long as they swore allegiance to her, she allowed the town of Royn and its citizens to continue their work and trade.
We reached the quay and boarded a sleek-looking Andrysian sailing vessel.
“Here we are,” said Fagren. “Captain Jarvik’s ship.” He scrunched his nose as he scanned the old boat. “If you could even call it that.”
It wasn’t as big and grand as the pirate prince’s galleon, the Starfire, but it looked fast. I just hoped Captain Jarvik had some idea where to find the druids.
The crew recognized Fagren immediately and ushered us across the wooden deck to the captain’s cabin. It was a small space with a bunk along one wall and a big wooden table along the other, covered with ledgers and charts and whatever else captains used for navigation of the seas.
The captain was sitting at his desk, scribbling away on a piece of parchment. When he saw Fagren, he jumped up. The wooden cup he had been holding crashed to the ground, its contents flying all over our feet. The room smelled of stale sweat and alcohol.
He backed away, his small eyes wide and a bit glazed. “Your men already collected my debts, Fagren.” He straightened his worn leather tunic and smoothed his messy gray hair, shot with silver. “I don’t owe anything till I get back from my next haul.”
Fagren grinned, showing his rotting teeth, some of which had been recently replaced with silver, I noticed. “It’s your lucky day, Jarvik. I haven’t come to collect.”
Rafe raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been keeping busy, I see, Fagren.”
“A man has to make a living.” The leader of the Eldorean underworld shrugged, his hands in his pockets. “I offer protection from Morgana’s guards. For a fee, of course,” he added.
“Rafael, my boy,” said Captain Jarvik, smiling once he realized who Fagren had brought with him. “Or should I say King Rafael.” He gave a short bow, nearly falling over.
“Rafe will do, Jarvik,” said the King of Eldoren, an amused look on his face.
The number of people Rafe knew never failed to amaze me. During his time as the Black Wolf helping the resistance, he had traveled all over Avalonia. But I was not convinced this drunken captain was going to be any help to us.
Jarvik’s eyes trailed over Tristan, Ashara, Kalen, and Penelope, slowly widening and finally settling on me. “The Dawnstar,” he said in awe and started to bow again.
I smiled faintly and looked down.
Rafe cleared his throat. “We need some information, Jarvik.”
His eyes immediately lit up, and he ushered Penelope, Kalen, and me into chairs. Fagren lounged on the bunk, while Tristan and Ashara stood guard at the door. “How can I help?”
Rafe leaned against the desk in front of Jarvik as he scanned the maps on them. “You once told me you had met the druids.”
“Aye,” said Jarvik solemnly.
“Is that what this is about?” Fagren laughed, interrupting. “I could have saved you time if you had told me earlier what you were after. The druids are long gone. There aren’t any left.”
Jarvik shook his head stubbornly. “There is still one monastery left on an island in the Sea of Pearls.”
“Those islands are uninhabited, Jarvik,” Fagren insisted. “The waters around there are treacherous and many a ship has been lost trying to get to them. I have heard reports of ships simply disappearing, never heard from again.”
Rafe gave Jarvik a half smile and crossed his arms. “I have heard of the mysterious mists that surround those islands, Jarvik. And Fagren is right: no sailor in his right mind would take his ship close to those islands. Everyone knows to navigate the Sea of Pearls only along the coastline.”
“Can you create a witchstone to the islands?” Penelope asked Ashara. “There is some kind of magic that protects those islands. Fae portals don’t work there; they never have. Many have tried, but no one has ever succeeded.”
Ashara shook her head. “That would not work. I have never been there before, so it is impossible. But I may be able to make one to get us out of there if needed.”
Penelope turned her azure gaze on Captain Jarvik. “How can you be so sure the druids are there?”
Captain Jarvik’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve been there before. I’ve seen the druids myself.”
Fagren rolled his eyes as he got up from the bunk. “Well, good luck to you then.” He shrugged. “Your confidence is commendable, Jarvik. But no one has seen a druid in over twenty years. And no ship has ever made it to those islands and come back.”
Rafe smiled, the charming princely smile he saved for when he was trying to convince
