Chapter 123 I Have Questions About This Boat
Bella
I had hoped Gilfred and I could talk about his behaviour in the trees before we were whisked away into the next part of our story. Alas, the pages keep turning. It's upsetting, really, because it’s the first time in a long while I’ve had something solid to grill him on instead of the other way around, and I suspect he knows it. He’s perched on my shoulder now, tail flicking with suspicious innocence, eyes fixed straight ahead like a creature who has already decided this conversation never existed. We’re given a window to meet the boat. Two hours, maybe less. That’s what the former Sanctum guard tells us, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He's clearly trying his best, but at the same time, it's very obvious that he feels like the first frostborn might unfreeze and come back to smite him for sharing her secrets. Still, he gives us what we need. The boat arrives, it unloads, and then it leaves. It simply comes, and then it goes. Like it knows when its job is done.
Everyone moves quickly after that, but not hurriedly. There’s a difference, and Damien enforces it without raising his voice even once. People bank fires, wrap food, and divide supplies into manageable bundles. Soldiers take the heavier loads without comment or complaint. The rest of us focus on people. We carefully lift sleepy children and settle them against shoulders and chests and dragon-warm scales. We support elders on either side, and their pace matches their bodies' capabilities, not the demands of the situation. I watch Damien move through it all with quiet efficiency, offering a hand here, a word there, checking straps, redistributing weight when someone insists they’re fine and very clearly aren’t. This is the part of leadership that never gets written into books. The part where you walk slowly on purpose. We set off once the camp is cleared, following the Sanctum guard down winding paths that thread through trees thick with snow and shadow. The air carries the scent of damp earth and pine, clean and sharp. Moonlight filters through branches, silvering the ground in uneven patches. It’s beautiful in a way. If you're into dark and creepy things. The children sleep through most of it. Heads tucked under chins, breath warm against coats. One boy snores softly, face pressed into Damien's shoulder, utterly unbothered by the fact that he’s using a legendary creature as a pillow. Damien watches him with an expression that borders on reverent, and my ovaries scream for attention. I'll also be talking with them later about that. We take the turns carefully and slowly. At a pace that keeps joints intact and hearts steady. The guard leads with confidence that fades only slightly when the path forks in ways he clearly hasn’t memorised. He gets us turned around twice. To be fair, he’s only ever travelled this route from the top of the mountain, straight down one clear path, and then straight back up again. I bite back commentary, even when my feet start sending pointed complaints up my legs. Tonight isn’t about being right. It’s about getting everyone where they need to go in one piece. Eventually, the trees thin. Thank the freaking gods. The sound reaches us first. The glorious sound of water, moving in a way that feels purposeful rather than restless. Then the clearing opens, and the river stretches out before us, wide and calm, its surface a deep blue that catches the moonlight and throws it back in soft, shifting patterns. There’s something unusual about it, though. The colour runs deeper than reflection alone, faintly luminous, like the water is full of magic even when no one is touching it. I would assess further, but my feet are tired, and I'm really keen to sit down and get some rest as we travel leisurely down the stream home. Alas, that was apparently not in my story for today either. People slow down as they see it. Conversations taper off. Someone exhales a quiet sound of wonder. There's definitely a boat.
It sits at the edge of the water, sleek and dark, rocking gently as if it’s been waiting patiently this whole time. The hull is narrow and elegant. It looks… modest. Like something designed for efficiency, not mass transport. It's... politely as I can say, small as fuck. I turn slowly to the guard.
“I thought you said it was big enough to feed a city,” I say, squinting at it. “This barely looks big enough to feed Damien breakfast.”
Damien snorts beside me. “Not even a snack.”
A few nearby soldiers chuckle under their breath, and the tension loosens just a touch. The guard, to his credit, doesn’t look offended. He smiles instead, small and knowing, and walks toward the boat with the confidence of someone who has seen this trick before.
“I did say it was enchanted,” he replies.
The water shifts just enough to draw the eye as he gets close enough to place one hand on the wood. The hull hums softly, a low vibration that resonates through the ground beneath our boots. Lines etched along the boat’s side begin to glow, faint at first, then brighter, spreading like veins beneath the surface. The wood flexes and expands. Panels slide and unfold with smooth precision, lengthening, widening, and deepening the vessel in slow, deliberate movements. The deck stretches outward. The interior opens, revealing tiered seating, wide walkways, space upon space upon space that absolutely did not exist a moment ago.
Damien lets out a low whistle.
“Well,” he says. “I stand corrected.”
Gilfred clicks approvingly, as if he’s just seen his throne. People edge closer, cautious yet curious, eyes tracking the transformation. The boat settles into its new shape with a final, satisfied hum, vast and ready, reflected perfectly in the glowing water beneath it. I grin, warmth bubbling up despite the hour, despite the exhaustion, despite the long road still ahead of us.
“Alright then,” I murmur, glancing at Damien. “Let’s steal a city-sized boat.”