Chapter 4
The Serpent
Screams of anguish—of true agony—produced a twisted delight deep in my bones.
The kind that heated the blood, raced the heart, drew me back for more, again and again. No mistake, the sounds seemed to be the only way I could feel that euphoria, the thing folk called joy, anymore.
There was power that came when a village careened into a frenzy at the mere sight of black bone hulls, sharp spikes like the spines on a sea serpent, and bloody sails. The heady taste of panic and fear and pleading had become my purpose.
Tonight went differently, and it was damn aggravating.
Flames danced across the walls of the neatly aligned wood and wattle cottages. Heat burst out the windows, and smoke and ash soaked the alleyways of the dwellings all the way to the hills.
A winding cobbled road curved around the steepest hillside, where the lord of the Rusa township built his manor and all its sharp peaks.
I looked forward to watching it burn.
By now, the melodic tune of screams and terror ought to be shattering the silence of the night. There were a few sobs, a wail or two, but the folk of Rusa, when the black hull of the ship sliced through the sea surface, submitted as though they’d anticipated the attack.
From my position on the deck, I could make out the main square of the village, an open place made of dark polished stone like night trapped in glass.
Countless villagers huddled with their pitiful families.
Dressed in nightclothes, littles sniffled and clung to their mothers.
Fathers had chins lifted, no doubt waiting for the knife to the throat when the threat hadn’t even been made yet.
My grip on the rail tightened until each knuckle ached. I didn’t know if I was more irritated that they did what I would’ve commanded before I commanded it, or that each man seemed so resigned, so at peace, with his fate.
There was nothing delightful about cutting a man down when he was already on his damn knees. The chase, the fight, the knowledge that you overpowered a foe was half the excitement.
On deck, two of my crew held a half-naked man between them. I dragged two fingers across the brim of the tricorn hat atop my head and pulled it off, revealing the black scarf that always covered my skull when I stood aboard the ship.
The scar cutting through my lip went taut when I curved one side of my mouth. “Lord Murdo.”
Both points of the man’s ears had been sliced. The slight blue-cream shade to his skin was darkened in blood. He lifted his head with effort and met my eyes. “My K-king.”
I curled one hand under his bearded chin. “Your king? Is that what I am?”
“Yes,” he said, breathless.
“Hmm.” With care to hide the bite of pain in my left leg, I lowered to one knee until we were nose to nose.
There it was. Gods, the fear flashed vibrantly in the dull gold of his eyes.
Without care for the gashes on his scalp, I slammed the tricorn onto his head.
“What I think is you wanted this for yourself.”
Murdo’s forehead wrinkled. “No, My Lord.”
“Oh, I think you did. Why else would you be so foolish as to steal from your king?”
“I swear to you, I did no such thing.”
From the back quarters of the ship, Larsson, my second mate, stepped onto the deck. He always seemed ready to laugh through the violence. This moment was no exception. A wry grin played on his mouth, and the slight glow of gold in his dark eyes was bright with excitement.
Beside Larsson stood a stoic man, hair like fire, and ears pierced in blue stones from lobe to the sharp tip. For a moment I reveled in Murdo’s twisted glare from the betrayal.
“I don’t believe you, since your bastard sold you out.” I leaned forward, lips against his ear, and whispered, “Pity your son hates you.”
“Athol, you traitorous—”
A closed fist slammed into Murdo’s jaw, silencing him.
I glared over the man’s head at a masked face, hidden beneath a hood. Celine gave me a one-shouldered shrug in return. She was dressed in a thick tunic, topped with a woolen coat that hit her thighs. No one at first glance would know a woman was beneath it all. She preferred it that way.
Folk of the Ever always underestimated females. Her twisted delight came in revealing herself before she drew her blade. To end a man with the look of stun still on his face kept Celine grinning for weeks.
“Athol has brains, unlike you, Murdo.” I clenched my teeth as I stood, careful not to show the fire of pain in the bones of my weak leg.
A glimpse of weakness, and I’d be dealing with nothing but assassins come to slaughter their pitiful king.
“You took what did not belong to you, and it truly makes me dream of what my blade would look like sticking out of your eye socket.”
Murdo blanched. “The witch…she needed a cherished possession of…”
“Of what?” I folded my arms over my chest. “Don’t stop there, keep talking. Whose possession did you need?”
“The king’s.”
“That’s right. The king.” I gripped his hair and wrenched his head back until he met my gaze. “You were duped by a half-wit spell caster. You think the Lady of the House of Mists has not used her fiercest witches to heal this land? You think you will be the one to do it?”
“What choice do we have, My King? You might control the Ever Seas, but you don’t know how to heal it either. Like you, we’re all trapped in this dying land. Forgive me for not being willing to give up just yet.”
I didn’t need to look to know the rot was there. Deadened forests covered half the Rusa isles. Charred foliage, fruit trees, and crops were brittle and worthless. Even some of the springs and coves in the distant isles had darkened, spilling out decaying fish and eels unfit to eat.
Rusa was not the first to be claimed by the poison.
I wanted Murdo’s tongue, but only because he spoke the truth. Turns after earth fae sealed off the Chasm, something had shifted in the Ever Kingdom. An imbalance grew between worlds, and a poison took root.
I’d hunted for answers, pillaged and thieved for lore and artifacts. The only hope for healing I had left was the power gifted to the former king by the most powerful of sea witches. A gift that strengthened the Ever King, and what I needed now was more damn power.
The lost mantle of my father was a talisman with power unmatched, meant to be used by the true Ever King.
The trouble was I could not reach it. A price was placed upon such a gift. Should it be lost, the mantle could not be taken back for ten turns. A punishment for being foolish enough to lose the gift of a sea witch, I suppose. The earth fae had now owned my father’s power for twenty.
Ten turns ago, the opportunity to challenge had been there, and I let it slide through my fingers by making a different choice. A choice that now led to the destruction of my own kingdom.
Another tenth turn was about to fade away, and I still had no way to open the damn Chasm.
My people knew my father’s mantle had been conquered by the earth bender king. It wouldn’t take much to count the turns and realize the chance to take it back was ending. I wasn’t surprised they’d gone to such lengths to find a way to heal what was dying.
Unsurprised, but it didn’t mean I needed to be merciful at the betrayal.
Murdo spit blood at my feet. “When our king leaves us to destruction, the desperate will do anything. Perhaps a new king might finally return the Ever to its former glory.”
“You could be right, Murdo. But we’ll never know.
” I’d learned quickly how to fight with a weak limb and have a weapon in hand before an enemy even noticed.
My knife rammed between two of his ribs.
There were the screams I craved. Hand on the hilt of the bone knife, I leaned close.
“We’ll never know, for you cannot take what is mine by right, by blood, and by destiny. ”
I yanked the knife out of his ribs. The old lord spluttered and gasped. Close to his face, I dragged my tongue along the blade, letting the tang of his blood drip from my lips down my chin.
With the point of one slightly elongated canine, I pricked my finger until a bead of blood surfaced. Murdo’s skin paled.
“Swear your fealty, Murdo, and you won’t greet the Otherworld today.”
The lord sucked in a sharp breath and nodded. He clutched his side and maneuvered to his knees again. A gasp of pain scraped from his throat when he bent forward and pressed a kiss to the toe of my boot.
I chuckled, low and harsh, then kicked my foot up, knocking two of his teeth out. Blood slicked the top of my finger now. I crouched, failing to hide my own grimace, and hovered my palm near Murdo’s wound.
“I accept your vow.” Through the hole in his side, I jabbed my bloody finger. The bastard roared in pain when I twisted and scraped more than was needed. Convinced enough of my blood had tangled with his, I stood.
Murdo let out a few gasps, head on the deck.
When silence surrounded us, a groove gathered between his brows. “M-my King?” He stammered the words like a question, waiting. Already the veins of crimson snaked from his wound, coiling around his belly, up his rib cage, aimed at his heart. He convulsed. “King Erik…p-p-please.”
“Did you expect me to sing?” I tilted his head. “I wonder why. I don’t save traitors.”
Spittle and blood foamed at Murdo’s mouth. His eyes grew wet and glassy as his body twitched from the poison of my blood. I’d earned the name Bloodsinger at a tiny four turns when my father tested the magic of his heir.
In the worst of ways, I’d discovered exactly what my blood could do.
A simple song from me would save Murdo. But with silence, my blood would fester and destroy his insides until his heart gave out.
I didn’t utter a sound and returned my fallen tricorn to my head, adjusting it low on my brow.
Like it was an insignificant piece of the deck, I stepped over Murdo’s body and strode for the gangplank leading to the shore.
“You going on land?” Celine’s twittery voice was muffled beneath her mask.