Chapter 27 Zoric
TWENTY-SEVEN
ZORIC
Dawn breaks bleak and cold.
We stand at the harbor quay, watching the longboat approach from Gyla’s flagship.
Aviora is beside me, my hand resting on her hip in casual possession that speaks louder than any weapon I could carry.
Behind us, the remaining guards have assembled—a show of force that looks more impressive than it has any right to, given our actual numbers.
The longboat reaches the quay. Gyla’s guards clamber out first, securing the vessel with professional efficiency. Then the merchant queen herself rises, her silk dress immaculate despite the sea spray, her pale eyes assessing us with the cold calculation of someone counting assets.
“You’ve decided to be reasonable.” Not a question. She can see our packed bags, our prepared expressions. She knows she’s won.
“We’ll show you the Fortune.” Aviora steps forward, my hand falling away from her hip as she moves. “I suggest your fleet sails with us. All of it.”
“Why would I risk my entire fleet on an unverified claim?”
“We’ve seen the hoard. You can’t carry it all on one ship with such full crews.
” Aviora meets her gaze directly. “If the treasure isn’t there, you’ll kill us.
You’ve made that clear. So either we’re telling the truth and you get ninety-five thousand gold, or we’re lying, and you get your revenge. Either way, you win.”
Gyla considers. I can see the calculations running behind her eyes—risk versus reward, caution versus greed. The same mathematics that built her empire, now working for or against us, depending on which way the scales tip.
“The full fleet.” Her voice carries an edge. “That’s a significant commitment based on nothing but your word.”
Aviora takes another step toward her. “We found the Fortune. We dove her decks, saw the gold with our own eyes. It’s there, Gyla. More treasure than you can spend in a lifetime. All you have to do is claim it.”
The quiet stretches. In the harbor, her ships wait at anchor. Behind me, Dreadhaven’s walls loom dark against the sky. Everything hangs on the next few seconds—on whether greed outweighs caution, whether the promise of wealth eclipses the fear of traps.
Gyla smiles.
“Very well.” She gestures to her guards. “Bind them. If they’re lying, I want them alive long enough to regret it.”
Rough hands seize Aviora’s arms, wrenching them behind her back. I can’t help but snarl but don’t resist as my own wrists are bound. We’re hauled toward the longboat, away from Dreadhaven’s walls, away from everything that might have become home.
But as the oars bite into the water and the quay recedes behind us, I allow myself one small, secret smile.
She took the bait.
Now we just have to live long enough to spring the trap.