Corane Winsor: The Final Trade

I bit my lip as I gazed down into the icy sea from the forecastle deck, the chilling breeze ruffling my cloak. I leaned over the edge of the ship, gripping the frigid steel rails, and watched the cold desert land of Kalindor fade behind us. In … out … in … out, I echoed to myself. Do it for your people, Corane.

The people in my small village of Seigborough did not have another hope. After the animal-borne disease began to spread, more than half our livestock perished and their nurturers fell ill. But few deaths. Most are alive, if not well.

My breath became shallow and rapid as I attempted to keep myself together. I envisioned the outcome of my quest in the most desirable way, with no downturned faces as I returned to the harbor of my village. A chill ran down my spine, and I’d like to blame a sudden drop in temperature. They only chose me because they know I have nothing to lose. I’m strong enough, but someone they can spare. Someone they have no use for.

“That mindset is not going to help anyone,” I muttered disdainfully to myself. No—they chose me for a reason. I thought back to a week before when I had been chosen for this major role, and I could have sworn it felt as if a millennium had passed since I stepped foot on the deck.

My gaze lingered on the sea for a moment more before I looked up to the blustery sky, the churning clouds unsettling my stomach. I sighed as footsteps echoed on the old wooden floorboards.

“The Duke is awaiting you, Miss,” the quartermaster said. I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath. I turned and nodded, smoothing down my deep brown hair. I kept my eye on the quartermaster as I walked past him, already aware of the direction I was headed. I walked down the side of the amidships (or the middle of the ship, in lesser terms) with my head down, mentally running through everything I was to request for my village—and the price I was willing to pay for it.

By this time next Wednesday, I’ll either be a village hero or a castaway.

The captain’s quarters were nothing less than extravagant, a word that had no place in my life at Seigborough. The dark wooden walls provided a cozy yet confined feel, the windows at the back of the cabin providing most of the light. I hesitated before stepping onto the red velvet rug leading to a mahogany desk, folding my hands neatly in front of me. Swords and daggers of all kinds were arranged on the walls, portraits of great kings situated in the free spaces. A lone candle burned on the Duke of Vergosa’s desk, and the Duke himself stood behind it, gazing out the large windows and into the horizon beyond. His deep green suit clashed terribly with the surroundings, his greying blonde hair too precise in place.

“Corane Winsor of Seigborough, a small village on the coast of the desert land of Kalindor. Approximately seventeen years of age, ancestors unknown and all immediate family members deceased.” His curt tone stood the hairs of my neck on edge, and I suddenly stood a bit taller. He slowly turned to face me, his grey eyes piercing through me. “Is that right, Miss Winsor?”

I nodded slightly before dipping into a curtsy, giving me a moment to assess my bearings. This is going to be even harder than I thought.

“Then I must ask, of all people, why did they choose the likes of you?” His tone wasn’t threatening in the least. If anything, it was prideful.

I stepped closer, lifting my chin the way I should’ve entered the room. “Have you received our list of requests? I wrote the letter myself, along with our priest, and I would be more than willing to go into more depth.”

He shook his head and tutted quietly, placing his hands behind his back. “Disregarding my question, Miss Winsor? That is no way to address a royal one.”

I narrowed my eyes, scanning his erect and attentive frame. The coat of his suit was a bit tight around the shoulders, and the cuffs of his trousers visible from under the desk were just a bit too short. Royal one, yes, but one whose country is invisibly in need. Any other Duke would have a newly tailored suit on every occasion … they are very prime individuals, after all. Maybe the rumors are true.

“I have a feeling you know why they chose me,” I said. “Now, have you looked over the proposal?”

A smirk appeared on his features, and my stomach dropped. “The King has … approved of your proposal. The shipments are being arranged as we speak, and I am under orders to keep our precious trade under constant supervision.” A pair of rough hands gripped my shoulders, and another took my hands and began to bind them.

“Wait.” The Duke waved the men off, who were hesitant to resist their hold on me. “We must check that our specimen remains equipped, should we not?”

He nodded to me—a sick, prideful nod—and I unclenched my fists. Do it for your people, Corane. I bore my green eyes into his grey, twitching my fingers slightly, as the flame of the candle flickered out. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it appear again, its white and green flame growing steadily in heat and intensity. Restraining its size and heat proved more difficult than before; the emotions coursing through me threatened to overtake my senses. I extinguished the flame moments later, my eyes still searching the Duke’s. His smirk never disappeared.

“The King shall be pleased. Take her away.”

Thick metal manacles clasped around my wrists, and my last memory with Father Pollux flashed before my mind’s eye. As we wrote the letter declaring our proposal, we discussed our only valuable trade—and that trade was me. Neither of us shed a tear at my departure, though he was the one who had raised me to harness my powers and was my closest friend. We shared a piece of chocolate cake that night—something almost as rare as fresh beef in Seigborough. Sometimes the little things are what make the largest impact, after all. I smiled slightly at the memory, and as the Duke’s men whisked me into the chilling rain, I didn’t let it fall.