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Annette’s lungs burned with her need for air, but no matter how much she gulped it down she couldn’t stop. Her boots hammered against the paving stones, echoing throughout the dark alley, until she emerged onto the wharf.
She gave herself a moment to stop and lean against a wall. She gasped for breath, not even minding the salty, fish scent of the seaside breeze, and leaned over clutching at the stitch in her side. She couldn’t remember the last time she ran like that - if she ever did - and her legs wouldn’t thank her for it in the morning.
If she lived through the night.
She unwrapped the heavy paper bundle in her hands, revealing the gleaming glass face of a compass. In the dark the glare of moonlight hid the needle, but Annette knew without looking that it didn’t point north.
“I can’t believe it’s real,” Annette mumbled. A simple artifact on sight, but far heavier than it looked and with enough magic imbued that holding it made the hair on her arms stand on end. Her breath caught with awe, and she ran her thumb over the surface and recited, “Let the compass lead you to your heart’s desire.”
Hope filled her, and for a heartbeat she allowed herself to bask in this achievement. Almost a year of searching, almost a year of worrying that she chased only a myth, and she found…something. An important something, to be sure, but still just a step on a longer journey.
“—saw her run over here!”
Annette gasped and stood upright, her whole body tensing at the familiar shout of the guard. Maybe under normal circumstances she’d feel remorse for stealing a holy artifact right out of a cathedral - the the Eastern Church’s headquarters at that - but she was desperate.
Footsteps thundered down the alley from which she came, and Annette fled.
She ran along the wharf, level with the coast. The muted crashing of waves nearly overpowered the sound of her own footsteps, but they couldn’t rival her heartbeat in her ears. What was she to do, fleeing Church guards? And where could she hide along the wharf to evade their torches?
Ahead a lit torch at the end of a dock caught her eye. Annette forced her legs to spur her faster, ignoring how they felt like jelly and how her energy faded though her fear lingered. Go, go, go, she urged her body. She couldn’t get caught, she couldn’t—
Her foot caught on a rope pulled taut. Annette fell forward, arms windmilling and heart jumping as a cry of surprise tore from her throat. She braced herself to fall to the ground - or perhaps into the harbor; who knew how close she strayed to the water? - only for something to catch her.
Or someone. Someone warm and steady and whose narrowed eyes stared down at her.
“Who—”
“I’m so—”
The man’s torch fell with a gentle splash in the harbor, light snuffed out. Only the faint white light of a gibbous moon silhouetted the sharp edges of his face.
Until the light of the Church's guards approached, casting deeper shadows.
Annette clutched the man’s arms, firm and strong under his sleeves, and said, “Help me.”
He didn’t protest. He barely even spared her a glance before he shoved her behind a stack of crates and barrels ready for shipment. She landed hard against her shoulder, the shock traveling up her body as a gasp escaped her. She glared at his back, hoping he felt the heat of her gaze burning into him, but held her tongue as the guards and their torches finally drew level with them.
“Ho, sailor!” one of them called. He held the torch close to the man’s face as if to inspect it.
He recoiled from the bright light, hand raised to shield his eyes. “Is that really necessary?” he grumbled.
“Ah, apologies, milord,” said the guard. “Force of habit.”
Milord? Annette leaned closer, curious despite the tension coiled within her.
“Whatever,” said the man. “Just state what you want and be on your way.”
“Ah, well, perhaps you can tell us if you saw a young woman pass by here?” The guard held his hand up. “She’s about this tall and she’s carrying a small parcel.”
“I haven’t seen much tonight,” Annette’s rescuer informed the guard, crossing his arms. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s quite dark.”
Annette clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a snort, but she must’ve not done a very good job since the man shot a glance over his shoulder.
The guards, at least, took no notice.
“Uh, indeed it is, milord,” the guard offered lamely while his comrades tittered behind him. “If you saw nothing, then did you hear something?”
The man’s hand fell to the hilt of a sword at his side. He seemed to give the guard’s question some consideration as he tilted his head back to stare up at the night sky. Annette held her breath, her fingers tightening around the paper-wrapped compass in her hands. Could she really trust a perfect stranger to keep her presence to himself? Or perhaps it was some ploy to give her the chance to sneak away?
Oh, yes, that could be it! Annette slid backwards, away from her rescuer and her pursuers, until the man admitted, “Actually, I did hear something.”
Ice clawed its way down her spine and anger gripped at her heart. “Villain,” Annette mouthed, as if he faced her to read her lips.
“I heard a splash a little ways down there before you showed up,” the man explained. He nodded further down the wharf, away from here. “Perhaps your fugitive tripped and fell into the harbor.”
“Perhaps…” the guard conceded, though doubt dripped from the single word.
“Maybe you should go see if you can fish her out,” the man added. “And stop bothering me with your Church business.”
“O-oh, of course,” the guard said. He raised his lance and beckoned his men, “Let’s go!” He jogged away, his comrades following.
Annette released her breath as their footsteps and the light of their torches receded further down the wharf. She crawled out of her hiding place and stood, rubbing at her undoubtedly bruised shoulder and cradling the artifact against her chest. “Thank you for that,” she told the man, “uh, my lord?”
He spun around to face her, his eyes narrowed as they fell on the parcel. “What did you steal?”
She clutched it a little closer, as if tightening her hold on it would hide it from his prying view, and frowned. “It’s just a Church artifact,” she said. “Nothing they’ll truly miss since they kept it behind a glass case.”
“Sure,” he said, and Annette didn’t miss the skepticism in his tone. “Just make sure you keep whatever it is far away from me. I’m not looking for trouble with the Church.”
“Then why did you help me, my lord?” she demanded. She leaned closer to him, as if to inspect his shadowed face for answers he might deny her, but he leaned away from her.
“Why would I help them?” he retorted, as if that would satisfy her.
Annette crossed her arms and hissed, “Because they’re the Church!”
He shrugged and turned away from her. “So what? It’s their problem, not mine.”
“And this is my problem, not yours!” Annette shot back. Frustration filled her, and she wondered how a man she’d just met - whose name she didn’t know and who threw the guards pursuing her off her scent for no apparent reason - could do it so well.
“Then I suppose I would be well within my rights to leave you here for them to find when they return?” the man asked. He stepped away from her, standing at the end of the dock before nodding along the wharf, further towards Derdriu proper. When Annette only stared at him, he threw back his head and sighed. “I have better things to do than linger here.”
He walked away, but Annette gave chase. Her heart raced as she grabbed his arm. He froze and turned his head towards her, but when he didn’t shake her off she said, “If you’re so intent on not giving me a straight answer, then at least tell me your name, uh, my lord.”
Moonlight caught on the whites of his eyes as he rolled them to the heavens, but at last he indulged her.
“Felix Hugo Fraldarius. Now will you let me go?” He blinked at her, looking more exasperated than annoyed. “And stop looking at me like I grew a second head; it’s unnerving.”