A New Journal

January 11

I never imagined I would be the type to put my thoughts down on paper. But when something this unexpected happens, it seems a requirement of life. If nothing else, it will give me an outlet for my feelings—which are greatly disturbed.
My name is Forlaith. I am the second youngest daughter of the lord of Danim, or at least I was. I suppose that is not the case anymore.
Today I was out in the woods with my brothers when I was suddenly called back to the house. I rode back quickly, worried my mother had been taken ill again.
It is hard to write about her when I know I will never see her again. I keep smearing my ink with tears. At this rate, I doubt anyone will be able to read what I write.
Of course, she was not ill. I could immediately tell something was very, very wrong, though. My father looked angry and my mother's eyes were red with tears. Three men I did not know stood near the door of our great hall.
I wanted to ask what was going on, but it wasn't my place to speak, especially in front of strange men. They were clearly wealthy—draped in fur and clad in highly polished leather boots that protected their feet and shins from our winter climes.
I curtsied to them as I felt my cheeks warm with a blush. The eldest of the three was looking at me so intently that I grew rather uncomfortable. A fear I could not understand grew inside me, making my stomach turn.
Once the older man acknowledged my bow, I hurried to my mother's side.
“My lord, may I introduce my daughter Forlaith. She is my only unmarried daughter. She I will give you in exchange for my debt?”
“What?!” I shrieked before I could censure myself.
I could not believe my ears. I must have been dreaming! I would still be thinking that if I wasn't currently feeling the waves swell beneath this wooden prison.
My mother took me by my shoulders, forcing me to look at her frail, sunken face. “Forlaith. You must do this for the family!”
I felt my eyes brim with hot tears that leaked down my cheeks faster than I thought possible. I shook out of her grasp and turned to my father, who was staring intently at the rush covered floor, and ran to him. I shook him violently, but he refused to look at me.
“What does she mean?” I cried, all sense of the dignity and decorum taught to me by my mother lost. I didn't care what these men thought of me. I cared about my home and staying there. “Father? Please! Tell me!”
He didn't answer. Evidently the older man was growing impatient because my mother rushed to my side. She pulled me away from my father, brushed my ruffled hair away from damp face and forced me to focus on her own tear streaked face.
“You must be brave! You can save us, save us all. We need you!”
I don't know what it is that I am saving them from. My father had said something about debt. Could his debt be so great as to be worth trading his own daughter? After all, he has four unmarried sons he could have traded. But no. A daughter is always worth less to their father than a son. Then again, the smidgens of rumors I've heard in the few hours while on board the ship suggests my brothers would not have answered the king's needs.
As it turned out, the older man at my father's home was in fact the king of the Island. I was too much in shock at the prospect of leaving my family forever to really grasp who it was standing before me. Now that I have enough mental space to consider it, I cannot bring myself to care. I have already spent most of the day with him and my only real thought is that he scares me, and not because he is king.
There is a darkness in his eyes that disturbs me, as though he has seen the very worst and knows nothing can touch him now. It is not good for a man to be without fear or hope. At least, that is my opinion.
Thankfully I am not alone. There is another girl here. Well, when I say girl I really mean a woman. A rather old one too. Her name is Rownet. Ardythe took her from her family two days ago. I cannot make her out. She is sad, as any woman would be who was about to be married to a good man then suddenly carried away from her home. But there is also a resignation in her features and her tone of voice that seems at odds with our situation.
I realize we must strive to acquiesce ourselves to whatever the king intends to do with us, but I cannot imagine myself capable of resignation in only two days. In two days time I will still be crying over this miserable journal.
Perhaps if they would tell us why we have been taken, I could better achieve the reconciliation that she seems to bear so effortlessly. But all we receive are hints and rumors. What I can gather from what I've heard and what Rownet has told me is that we will be adopted as Ardythe's children being that his only son recently died.
I am unsure why this is necessary.
The worst of it is that I know I can never escape. The first thing Ardythe said to me once upon the enormous ship was that if I try to run away, or displease him in any way, he will kill my entire family. I have no choice, though I consider myself brave enough to run away and make my own way in this world; I cannot make my family pay for my selfishness. Their lives depend on my obedience, and therefore he will have it.
It is as though I am now the king's possession. But if my own father's actions are any example to trust, being the king's child and being the king's possession are much the same thing.
I suppose all I can do is try and sleep in the hammock provided and keep my head down.
Forlaith