“The manifest,” she said. “Those listed on the manifest are designated to their destination by contract.” Piecing together the magic behind such a pact, Ayla wondered how it applied to individuals who lacked, by societal standards, free-will. Her lack of experience with such arrangements spoke to the true isolation of her last many decades. 

She was born to a property and upon said property she remained. Any collections or procurements that required a greater distance were brought to her rather than her to them. Even when it came to tending the sick, the estate supplied a separate cottage to house the ill on the grounds where she herself lived. She could not remember a time when she had ventured off the land she resided upon. 

“I do not do harm,” she stated with firm resolution. Yet the more she dwelt on the contract, the greater unease she felt at what the specific details were therein involved. Would her false name render her a danger? Was it treasonous to the captain himself to assume a name other than what she had been branded with at birth? That name was no more her own than the one she began using yesterday, so why would the merits of it be greater in society?

She knew why. Because it was Blackthorne given. Again she looked abreast the sea and to the shore. 

“Will we be docking anywhere for additional supplies?” Directing the question in a new direction, she began to formulate alternative plans of escape. She could disappear during a hunt, in a port town, or in some similar manner, assuming they anchored sooner than a missive could reach them.