To Raevyn’s sorrow, the dagger only reminded her of her mission. She thanked Frey and the rest of the crew before dragging herself back to the deck, head hung low. She sunk into a ball beneath the masts, in her special spot, and cried many silent, painful tears. She clutched Thorn, pulling it close. She wanted to return to the first days, when she was the luckiest lady in the kingdoms, to have befriended a princess, and the princess was lucky to have the greatest ally she could ever have. But she allowed those times to slide away, and because of her carelessness, she had put her daughter and son in danger and put herself in debt. She had played a dangerous game, she had lost, and she had to pay the hard price. She must’ve left the crew confused, with her sudden departure from the hold. Frey, or Olaf, would come up soon. She knew them, and they had always been concerned with her well-being. Whether it was because she was their passenger (and a noble one at that) or because they truly cared about her, she didn’t know. Perhaps it’s a bit of both, she thought. Raevyn wiped the tears from her eyes, sheathing Thorn. She looked over, to her right, seeing land and a city. Daemyria was just the way she remembered it, with the huge, beautiful lighthouse, the shining palace on the hill, the magnificent Dragonport, and the dragons had chosen the south as their home, flying above the city, their wings and scales like living stars. If she was correct, house Sommyr still kept a Royal Dragon. Raevyn had forgotten its name, but she was sure to soon find out.