28. The Son of Luck
The Son of Luck
LEILANI
The initial crack of steel on steel sent a sharp hum of vibration through my sword and into my arms, the ringing symphony of incoming chaos.
Bones numbed by its repetition, I became one with my weapon.
Driven by death and grace, I danced alongside Alastair to the rhythm of annihilation, the two of us working in tandem to slay those who had stormed the outskirts of Hollowmere—the royal fleet.
Which meant one thing. Caspian Vayne had arrived.
Metal clashed with metal once more as a still-standing guard swung at me.
I ducked, my honed focus settling on his exposed side, and I took advantage of the lethal misstep guided by brute strength.
Pommel still in my right hand, I freed the dagger nestled on my left hip and drove its tip just below his twelfth rib before slashing down toward his belly button.
He cried out in tandem with the spew of his lineage, its scarlet hue speckling against dark stone.
Skin, tissue, and muscle peeled apart as he shifted, his innards quick to follow.
The familiar glossy pinkish-red color of his intestines brought forth memories of all the other pitiful bastards I’d gutted and, as they slid free from the gaping opening in his flesh, I couldn’t help but grin, satisfied with the gruesome sight.
“Switch!” Ace called from behind me, his back meeting mine.
With my blade already angled for demise, our quick swap painted my steel in yet another coat of viscous crimson.
Widened eyes met mine, their vibrancy fading as I tossed the weapon I’d dragged along the man’s waistline into the air.
Grip settling overhand, I wasted no time slashing through his throat.
Blood splattered across my face, adorning my cheeks in a thick layer of fatal freckles.
Driven by my craving for carnage, my tongue darted out to lap at the life force that had fallen a little too close to my mouth.
Savoring its potent iron tang, the splitting of flesh caressed my ears as Alastair laid two more of our opponents to rest.
The dull thud of their useless frames meeting cobblestone echoed off the mountainous terrain.
Devouring their souls alongside the fifteen others we’d slain, the bowled eerie embrace of Hollowmere muffled the last of their gurgled breaths.
It was as if the land itself craved desolation to a near-personified extent, a restless soul slithering beneath the waters responsible for battering its harbor.
The familiar sound of Alastair returning his preferred blade to its scabbard followed the eradication of life.
Back still pressed against mine, his fingertips traced along my thigh.
The action was a search for confirmation, a caress to ensure I hadn’t been harmed, and that my presence wasn’t a figment of his imagination.
“I’m okay,” I stated, sheathing my dagger to squeeze his hand. “Are you—”
Tissue squelched, my stomach twisting as every worst-case scenario assaulted my mind. Pivoting on my heel, I spun toward my other half—my flame—expecting to find steel burrowed in his throat or chest, somewhere even Parran couldn’t reverse.
But that wasn’t the sight that greeted me.
Instead, pools of deep elderberry, near abyssal, held my stare over the shoulder of a guard who had nearly struck Alastair with a fatal blow.
A newfound intensity rolled off Parran, their brows narrowed with exemplified wrath.
The light they usually embodied had been replaced by something malicious, something darker than any of us had ever witnessed, and it wasn’t until I glanced down that the implications of their actions became clear.
Taloned fingers jutted out from the attacker’s chest, and crushed beneath them was a still-beating heart.
With one final clench, the muscular organ burst, blood splattering up Parran’s forearm to clash with their periwinkle skin.
Unbothered by its stickiness, they simply rotated their wrist to release the pulp remaining in their palm.
It greeted the street with a wet splat, and as soon as the collision registered, Parran pulled their arm back, leaving a gaping hole in its wake.
Frame swaying, the man’s body collided with the ground seconds after.
Blinking, Parran mirrored me, the darkness that had consumed their eyes dissipating until the familiar cornflower hue returned.
“Apologies.” They cleared their throat, flicking their hand to the side to shed some of the spilled lineage as they looked at Alastair. “Had I not intervened promptly, you would be in his place.”
Stunned, neither Ace nor I was able to form a reply, but thankfully, a sharp whistle filled the lull in our responsiveness.
Smirking, Ignis peered between us, his attention settling on Parran for far longer.
“I wondered if they had seen what we Fae are capable of, and it seems, by their silence, they have not.”
“I…” Alastair glanced over at me as if checking that I had just witnessed the same. “Fucking hell, Parran.”
They offered him a shy smile, shoulders shrugging with a hint of indifference. “I did what I had to do to ensure your safety.”
My lips parted to extend gratitude to the healer who had saved the man I loved, but it was not my voice that came.
“What in the actual fuck happened?” Syoran called out, his jog slowing as the gap separating us closed. Gaze darting between the pile of corpses and the four of us, he jutted a finger at the massacre as if we were wholly unaware of what we’d done. “No desire to spare any of them a quick death?”
The latter question seemed to stir something within Alastair, a chuckle rolling from him. “If you believe my crew is capable of such sympathies, then you are a fool, Kao.”
Coming to stand beside him, Kael merely raised his brows. “I suppose that’s one way to make a statement.”
A female followed suit, her caramel irises sweeping over the disarray.
Brown locks resting just above her shoulders, her bob swayed as she shook her head, taking in the merciless slaughter.
Glancing up at me, I caught the unease in her stare, not because of the relentlessness we had displayed, but because she was… guilty?
“Who is she?” I prompted, challenging her presence.
“Sapphira Maris,” Syoran answered, striations dancing along his cheeks as he uttered the five syllables. “Our quartermaster and navigator.”
Alastair took a step forward, shoulders squaring as he cocked his head in curiosity. “Interesting. Why do you seem so put off by her attendance if she carries such an important role within your crew?”
“Because she—”
“It doesn’t fucking matter,” Kael interjected, the former prince’s timbre spiking with an authority I couldn’t help but admire.
“Listen, I understand the lot of you enjoy circle jerking one another with meaningless taunts and unwavering grudges, but there are far more pertinent things to focus on than tiffs that reside on ships that aren’t even yours. ”
Ignis pressed his lips in a taut line, trying to hold back his laughter in response to Kael’s bluntness. “And you must be Prince Kaelivan.”
Seafoam gaze darkening, Kael shifted to address the Fae from the tavern. “And you are?”
“Ignis,” he replied matter-of-factly.
Turning to Alastair, Kael cleared his throat with an unspoken demand.
Ace chuckled, the irony and humor of the situation undeniable.
“He’s Fae, like Parran. Seems the realm beyond ours, the one you also have ties to, may have birthed the two of them alongside other Shifters.
Their kind have become fixated on the prophecy, and Ignis has proved to be equipped with knowledge that will aid us in uncovering the artifacts of the Damned. ”
“And this knowledge is?” Kael pressed.
“Their locations”—Ignis prowled forward, crossing the minimal distance separating him from the former prince—“which are rather important if you wish to oppose the Others and obtain answers as to why you cannot recall your truth or access the power pulsing beneath your veins.”
With a smug expression, the corners of Kael’s mouth curled. “Who’s to say we are not wholly capable of uncovering the artifacts ourselves?”
“Such a claim would be ludicrous—”
Not allowing Ignis to finish, Kael reached into his pocket and retrieved a gold coin pouch. Briefly dangling it before the Fae’s face, he offered him a mocking smile before tossing it at Alastair.
“Jaskor’s seven coins, all etched with your ship.”
Ignis’ admittance flooded my senses, the implications of Alastair’s ties to the God of Luck fully solidifying.
While there had been a tinge of denial—the plausibility of being linked to a divine being seemed impossible—something within me had stirred at the mention of his connection.
It was as if a portion of me knew what lurked in his essence, a portion of me that I still hadn’t quite come to understand.
It wasn’t unfamiliar knowledge that Alastair had a way with skirting the lines of death, with numerous instances of close calls and should-be downfalls defining his existence.
Good fortune followed him, and any time chance showed up to challenge him, he always won.
By the gods, the scar Caspian had left behind should have resulted in his demise, and somehow, someway, it hadn’t.
Because he was Jaskor’s Son.
The man who worshipped me in ways I never imagined possible, whose love was the purest treasure anyone could ever seek, was divine. Where I should have been bowing before him, he had knelt, extending his devotion to me as if I were worthy of such blessings.
Clutching the pouch in his fist, Alastair ran his tongue over his lips. As he lifted his attention from the artifact Kael had given him, a newfound confidence billowed from him—a confidence I had known he carried and longed to see. “It seems we’ve found three of the five then.”
Syoran nodded. “So it seems.”
“Speaking of the children of the Damned, where is Rohen?” I asked, directing my query to Kael. “She was with the three of you, wasn’t she?”
“Was,” the former prince confirmed.
“Which means what exactly?” Alastair’s tone sharpened, protectiveness flooding his essence.
Finally, electing to speak, Sapphira said, “She caught wind of Caspian’s arrival and went after him.”
“What?” Alastair and I spat at the same time.
“Oh, don’t act so surprised, Seridean.” Syoran folded his arms over his chest. “Whenever that woman is set on doing something, there is nothing that will stop her. Hell, you can certainly try, but your existence would cease just as quickly as it was gifted.” With a shrug, he added, “Need I remind you how unforgiving she was when you did not allow her to go after him the first time?”
“You need to remind me of nothing,” Alastair growled, his hold around the pouch tightening. Anger heightening, the gold of his irises seemed to gleam with far more vibrancy. “Though if you wish to continue—”
A tremor ripped through the cobblestone streets with vengeance, splitting paths in half as a gaping crack snaked toward us.
Shoving Alastair forward, I joined him on one side of the fissure before it widened, splitting the earth as if it were nothing more than modeling clay.
Chest hitching with a rasped breath, my gaze settled on the ever-growing chasm before lifting to find horror painting the expressions of both Syoran and Kael.
Words coming from me with no sense of them ever forming, I offered one warning before a portal filled the shadowed rift. “It’s the Others. Their Realm has claimed Hollowmere.”