The crew was hesitant to let them on at first, but her smiles and his vibrant disposition persuaded them. Emigration laws in Adarlan—and immigration laws in other countries—were strict, but the couple was able to bypass all of them because they were young and beautiful and they seemed to have enough gold spilling from their pockets into the bar tabs of just the right people.
When asked why they hoped to move to Ankura, the man replied with ease, "I wish to establish a business, and my wife here wants a change of scenery."
"Welcome aboard, Mr. and Mrs. de Haven," the captain greeted them personally.
He showed them to their rooms, not hesitating to brush his hands all over the two. No doubt to gain pleasure from doing so and to assess how much coin they carried. How much they could afford to pay. The woman—a girl, really—smiled wickedly at the captain, knowing precisely what he was doing and knowing that he'd have better luck finding gold if he grabbed a pickaxe and started tearing up the streets of Rifthold. She didn't like how he touched her at all, but she liked how he was nearly squirming under her murderous gaze.
Only when the captain opened the door to the small, but personal cabin they had rented for the journey; notified them when dinner was; unsuccessfully attempted to assist them with their luggage again; reminded them once more that dinner was at eight o'clock sharp in his own quarters; and after they had affirmed his reminder; and after he finally closed the door to let them attend their own business, did they exhale deep breaths.
"I swear I'm going to kill him," Sam Cortland said.
"Not before I do," Celaena Sardothien retorted, dumping her bags on the floor before unbuttoning her pea coat angrily. The ship was so damned stuffy. She huffed as she threw the velvet coat onto the miniscule bed. She suddenly, desperately, wished for her baby blue frock which would be more comfortable to wear in this sauna than her current outfit. Then she remembered that her pretty clothes had gone to the brig along with all of her books. Sam had gently reminded her that they had to share the ship, and she could not, in fact, keep all of her belongings in their room. No, instead she could only bring two small bags with tunics and leggings, and only one evening dress. Even worse, the only pair of shoes she had were the ones on her feet. But the worst thing of all was that her jewelry—all of it—was sewn into small pockets of the gown she was wearing currently, so they could sell it once they reached the southern continent.
The southern continent. She smiled at the thought. Of course, she would miss Rifthold—the theaters, the Keep, the shops—but not by much. She was leaving behind more bad memories than good ones. She was running towards a better life.
With Sam.
Sam. The boy in question was throwing their bags into the small closet, slamming the door shut after them. Naturally, it slowly creaked back open. He sighed and let it be, taking the three small steps he needed to to sit next to her on the bed. The only other furniture in the room was a small desk with an attached bench. There was a porthole as well, but it was so covered in grime that Celaena had initially thought it had been a mold spot. Until she realized that it was letting in the little amount of light that was present in the otherwise dim, grim cabin.
She suddenly regretted boarding the first ship out of Adarlan. Surely in a few weeks, there would be a nicer one on its way south. Then she remembered why they were in such a hurry to leave, and she sighed. It was only for a few weeks, anyway. And she, the most wanted assassin in pretty much all of Erilea, had faced much, much worse.
Sam stroked the silk lining of her pea coat, eventually stretching out his hand, asking wordlessly for Celaena's, which she gave to him almost instinctively.
"Well, Mr. Isaac de Haven," Celaena said.
"Well, Mrs. Maria de Haven," Sam said.
"Well."
"Well."
Gods, it was boiling in this useless excuse for a kingdom, Celaena thought as she stepped out onto the deck as they landed, one month later, in Ankura. The crew was busy, taking down sails, untying and retying knots, hustling passengers down the plank onto the pier, throwing luggage in a chain of men from the brig to the dock. She could nearly swear that she saw some passengers—mostly women and children—kissing the wooden boards of the first land they could touch since their brief landing in Banjali twenty-two days prior.
Sam was chatting up with the captain, prying as much information he could out of him of the city; their new home.
Celaena fanned herself with a piece of folded up parchment, her head thankfully protected by a scarf from the bulk of the sun's rays, but it worked to no avail to blow away the humidity. She wasn't quite sure whether the dampness on her skin was water droplets from the air or her own sweat—and she wasn't quite sure which prospect was worse either.
Occasionally, boys stumbled in front of her view of the city—the mud and brick and wooden buildings with the rain forest in the distance—attempting to flirt with her. Normally, she would love the attention, but it was just so hot.
"Sam!" she snapped finally.
He looked up at her, then back down at the captain. They said their goodbyes, shook their hands, and he and then he was strolling along the way towards her—unfairly, seemingly unaffected by the atrocious climate.
"What do you think?" he grinned.
She brushed one of her sweaty hands along his cheek in answer.
They walked for several blocks until they reached The Typhoon, a fairly decent inn which the captain had told them would surely be accommodating to the two, but wouldn't rob them of all their purse if they couldn't find a more permanent residence within a few months.
Celaena let Sam negotiate with the manager, choosing to wander into the bar. She walked up to a large table with men—traders, no doubt, from both Erilea and this continent, based on their looks—playing Adarlanian-style poker. "What are you boys up to?" she drawled, purposefully chopping up the main southern dialect, Madhavi.
They grinned at her ferociously. She nearly rolled her eyes at that, but she managed to restrain herself from slitting their throats, and accepted their invitation to sit down with them. Celaena did her best to feign innocence at their lewd comments and after one of them purposefully explained the rules to her poorly, and unsuccessfully attempt to pull her onto his lap, she accepted their invitation to play.
"Bitch is hot."
"Bets on who can get her into bed first?"
She ignored their comments coolly, used to them as well as trying to keep up her false image. While she refused to let herself lose outright, the cards she played were not winning ones. More often than not, she folded perfectly useful hands.
That is until Sam walked up from behind her and encircled his arms around her waist. She stretched her neck out, purring at the kisses he placed there. They suffered more wildly scandalous comments from the men.
The next round, she pushed all of her gold into the middle of the table. The men grinned at her again, showing off rotten teeth and mischievous eyes. None of them folded.
The best hand from any of them was a full house. "This was fun," she said, using the correct order of words for the first time in perfect Madhavi, topped off with an impeccable accent, as she laid down her cards: a two, a three, a four, a five, and a six of diamonds.
She giggled, collected her winnings, and was out of the room in seconds, with Sam in tow. He twisted his way out of her loose grip and stomped his way up two flights of stairs, pulling her with him.
"Tell me: are they going to try and kill us in our sleep tonight?" he yelled at her the moment he slammed the door of their roomy room. Celaena took the sight in in appreciation. The furniture was a bit worn, but still of quality. And it didn't smell too bad. It was almost clean. Perhaps she didn't mind the less than perfect quality condition of the room because she had, after all, just spent the last month of her life on a rotting ship.
"It's not like we couldn't take them," she said.
"This is supposed to be our new start, Celaena, for the gods' sakes! This is supposed to be our start to a real life!"
There was a knock on the door. When Sam pulled it open angrily, with his hand creeping towards a hidden dagger Celaena noted, a young-looking man smiled at them. "Your luggage, Sir and Madam," he said with a strong Ankuran accent.
"Thank you," Celaena smiled, when Sam didn't say anything. Half a dozen men filed into the room, bringing in two suitcases and one hatbox each. She'd sold most of her assets in Rifthold before boarding the ship, but there were some things she couldn't quite let go of. When they left, politely wishing the couple a good day and closing the door with no more than a creak and a click, Sam started to shout again.
"Relax," she whispered, moving to wrap her arms around him. She rocked the two of them from side to side, as if he were a baby in a cradle. "Their ship leaves at the next high tide."
He calmed, his chest deflating and his muscles relaxing. "What am I going to do with you?" he laughed moments later.
"That's a comfortable looking bed," she suggested.
