The ship heaved dangerously to one side, the rain pelting at her decks and slicking the pristine wood with liquefied crystal. They’d lost all track of their destination and had all but given up on directing the sails, drifting dangerously into the unknown under the mercy, or fury, of the gods. Within the hold it was much quieter, but did nothing to instil relief on the prisoners huddled there. They could hear the sailors above grow frantic, the captain barking orders in the brief moments he was able to find his footing, which was precarious at best. It didn’t take a learned man to realize there was little anyone could do, and that regardless of their actions they were going to live or perish at the whims of beings much higher than themselves.

The criminals bellow, though saved from the freezing waters, were fairing little better and often found themselves tumbling with the motions of the ship. Many fought it, dozens of private battles waging as they clung to the bars, standing on shaking legs. There were some, however, that did nothing at all. You could always pick the fighters, the ones who wanted to see the next day, and unfortunately Fynixus was not one of them. She’d joined the people like herself and simply lay on the straw and dirt in her cell that had served as a bed for months past. She didn’t try to hold steady or find a place of safety, instead she slid from side to side as the boat swayed, hitting every side of her cell and the back wall with little care for the discomfort.

Her eyes were locked on the porthole located on the furthest wall as she watched the battle between man and nature, there was little to see but the high waves as they tasted the ship, or the occasional object that fell into the ocean. Yet most eyes were watching, waiting for something. Perhaps, much like herself, the others were considering if this was their judgment. Echis, the goddess of life, had certainly showed her intent and so far they’d seen no leniency, but Fynixus wasn’t sure which group were the wicked, the vermin bellow or the guards and seamen above. Perhaps even both. Or neither, such where the whims of the gods.

The cells flashed with white and the clouds growled in anger, likewise a prisoner in the cage beside her own grumbled distastefully. His arms and legs were weaved through the bars as he attempted to sleep without being tossed around and Fynixus glanced at him disapprovingly. As a rule, no one ever put their limbs into another prisoner’s personal space and she found the thought of stabbing him to be rather amusing, after all that’s how criminals were supposed to think, right? She grew bored quickly as she rolled past him, once, twice and again before on her fourth trip she felt her body hit a snag then was pulled rather forcefully towards the iron. She made no move to lash out but was still surprised when instead of hurting her he simply pinned her arms with his, effectively preventing her from sliding out of his grasp in the next tilt.

After that he merely ignored her, as though her tumbling about prevented him from having a decent nap. She chanced a look at the older man’s face, and though it was too dark to make out any distinctive features she could tell his eyes were closed, hidden behind mid length messy hair. She’d only seen him a few times before, tall, yellow eyes and deep mahogany coloured hair. He liked to pick fights with the guards.

“You seem a little lethargic,” he said loudly but still barely piercing the storm, “They been feeding you right?” She could feel his throaty chuckle as it vibrated through the bars. She didn’t bother answering him and he finally opened his eyes to peer at her intently. “Not much of a talker? I get that.” He grinned. She rolled her eyes and tilted her head away, which only made him more eager to start up a conversation. “We’ll get through this, trust me.”

“Says the man in the cell next to mine.” She finally drawled, her voice soft and delicate. She was surprised he had even heard her.
Hey, if you can’t trust a fellow criminal then who can you trust?” he laughed, positively beaming at her as he lifted his head to rest it against the bars. She raised her brow questioningly.

“And are you?” She asked flatly. He blinked.

“Am… I? The queen? Sir Paul Eldmin? A turtle?”

She glared at him, not too pleased with his attempt at humour. “A criminal.”

His face grew stern, clearly taken off guard as he took several moments to answer. “Well,” He started slowly. “I don’t think I’d be here if I were innocent.” He chuckled again. “And how about you? Are you a criminal?”

She took even longer to answer. Was she a criminal? Had she ever actually committed a crime other than existing when she ought not to have? Her birth had been against the laws of the land; she’d spent her entire life lying to the keepers of the law, to the people who trusted her. But had she ever actually done wrong to them? The answer was no, plain and simple. She was no criminal, not in her mind, and who knew. The laws of her home were not universal, perhaps now, in the oceans far from her homeland, she could be considered innocent.

“Yes.” She finally sighed, but her expression held no guilt. “What did you do, then?”

He tilted his head to give her a sinister look followed by a wink. “Stole from a king. His crown to be exact. And you?”

“Apparently, I murdered one.” She replied, finally smiling slightly. “Unfortunately I forgot the crown, might have been good to have some gold in my pocket when they arrested me.”

“Maybe, didn’t help me though. Righteous bastards.” He laughed, unfazed by her confession and obviously more interested in the fact she lost out on good coin. It was comforting and she joined him in a soft chuckle. He settled down again and after a short time it looked like the man might have fallen asleep, which she admired under the circumstances.

She’d never slept easily, her dreams always plagued by the taboo rituals that formed her heritage.  She’d known from a young age that her existence was not something that should have happened, the union between a Barshraden nobel and a Imote servant should never have come to be. It wasn’t a tale of love, rather of disloyalty, which her adoptive mother was more than eager to inform her of. That wasn’t to say that she wasn’t loved dearly, but it meant that while many other children did as a child does Fynixus was forced to hide away, lest someone see her blue eyes clearly and determine she was not one of them.

In the end the struggles didn’t matter. Her real mother was caught as a worshipper of Deven, the house searched, the disloyalties to the keepers discovered. Her mother was hung and her father would see nothing but iron for the rest of his life. Fynixus, on the other hand, had been exiled. The keepers believed her to be nothing more than a disloyal Imote spy, and had been appalled to know she’d lived among them for some eighteen years. There were many suspicions that it had been her that led the attack on the king but without proof they could not keep her, and so forced her to leave and never return. She didn’t care, to be truthful. It was months past and while at times she did miss her home she’d never truly belonged there.

The ship continued its swaying, tossing people about angrily as the storm insisted it was far from finished. They would be lost by now, having travelled far from their original path.  From the sounds of it most of the crew above had huddled down in the bunkers while the captain and a select few attempted to maintain the ship. There was little yelling now but the situation was beginning to grow heavy, even the prisoners who had little idea of what was going on seemed restless. The storm was showing no signs of letting and the holds were growing colder, damper. The deck was likely flooded now and though the ground wasn’t wet it was certainly not dry, she could feel the discomfort spread quickly. They’d sprung a leak, no doubt.

There were murmurs of worry, well, most likely calls but she couldn’t hear much over the wind and waves. The shipped tilted quickly and Fynixus almost lost her grip as she quickly moved to keep her arms wrapped tightly with the larger man’s. He pulled her closer and looked up, concerned, before another heave of the ship sent them in the opposite direction. The sudden motion snatched her away and she went hurtling into the far wall of the cell, crying out loud as her back struck the wooden panels, effectively winding her. She coughed pitifully and reach out towards the bars closest to her, unsure if she should be grateful to not have hit the iron, or if it would have been preferred.

The mimicking grunts and yells that surrounded her suggested they were not all so lucky, in fact almost everyone opposite her had collided with the bars, their limbs crushing painfully beneath them or falling through the bars until their body wedged itself in unnatural positions. A few objects tumbled into the cells on her side but the ship righted itself quickly, and then some, rolling everyone back the other way. By this point most of the prisoners were begging for the seas to calm.

Admittedly in the brief few second before she hit the bars she felt comforted by the many voices praying to gods she knew, not everyone had come from Barshen and they had made many stops along the way to Muro, she’d heard so many people speak in different languages and worship gods she’d never even read about. It made her feel so much smaller, like an inconspicuous fleck on the world. She hit the iron hard, her leg wedging itself between them. She yelped as she felt it twist painfully, the crashing of the waves outside strangling out her cry. Finally she heard something beside the storm. A singular voice from above.

“We’re going under!”

She felt her skin go cold, her weight crushing her more firmly against the bars as the ship continued to tilt. Until now she’d just expected that tonight would be a long night, but to hear the words that marked your doom, that was very different. The waves crashed down on the deck above them and the wood groaned under the pressure. There were screams from above and below as the ship rocked and tilted and for the first time she attempted to latch onto something, anything. The ground had almost become the wall as the S Marthen  sailed almost horizontally, items in the haul clattering around and again she felt sorry for the prisoners in the cells opposite her who were now being bombarded with things small enough to fit through the bars.

Finally the deck gave in to the pressure, the ship toppled and Fynixus watched as the entire ship began to collapse on itself. Salty water flooded the area and she realized that there would be no morning for her, for any of them. In the end the only thing heard was the accelerated beating of her own heart.