The Secrets of Jane: Reborn (Improper Bastards #2)

Prologue

B L A C K W E L L

Back when Soren visited Blackwell and felt something menacing in the room…

D ON’T LOOK AT THE CORNER.

It’s fucking hard pretending like there isn’t a god of misery in my room, penetrating his gaze right at Soren and me. His existence to everyone else is thinner than smoke, while I’m the unlucky bastard that has to see him in all his terrifying glory.

Being subjected to such darkness should be considered a sacrifice with my efforts to secure Skull’s Row. Sure, cocky cunts like Soren will drown in what’s to come next, but those that comply will live a controlled, yet stable life within these walls.

A new world will be born, and I the king.

That is my reward for suffering.

Continuing to deny any acknowledgement of the god in the room, I fix my gaze onto Soren as he rises from his seat with a loud scooting of the chair. He downs the shot of rum and places the glass on my table, pushing it forward with weathered hands.

Sea glass eyes burn through me like hot iron piercing flesh, but I bet he gains absolutely no information. He’s grossly misplacing his confidence in his senses.

It’s his true weakness.

Hopefully by the time he learns that lesson, it will be too late for him.

“You’re certain?” Soren’s rough timbre breaks through the thick pause between our words.

What were we talking about?

“The bastard is a warlord,” I retort, referencing our conversation once it returns to me. I inhale deeply as I put on my best face for deception. “The Basilisk is out there trying to steal land that he sees as open, but we all know it’s ours . Someone has to go take care of this, and the Corsairs know that craggy coastline the best. To which they’ll only listen to Tempest . So yes, I’m certain that she goes. If Basilisk gets a foothold in the Crimson Isles, he’ll become a real problem for Skull’s Row.”

Almost as soon as I release those words, an uneasy chill sweeps over my body, the hairs all along my skin rising, even down to my balls.

Don’t look at the corner.

If I dare glance that way, I know I can’t cover the abject fear that even a drunk pirate could see. Just the mere thought of those onyx eyes with tiny, orange glowing pupils burning into the two of us, as if unwinding our souls, seam by seam, is enough to keep me noticeably on edge.

They’re eyes that Soren remains oblivious to; nearly everyone is, if he wants it that way.

“That’s a lot of men to sacrifice for something so petty ,” Soren remarks.

He doesn’t believe me.

“Tempest is the one risking it all, so if she agrees, I don’t see what the others are bitching about. Including you,” I snap, wanting this conversation over with.

Just let it fucking happen as Misery wants and shut up. Do we really care about the Crimson Isles? No, but Misery wants Basilisk dead, along with Tempest, and you, once he’s done using you, anyway…

Soren’s inscrutable eyes flash with an irritating insight that I’m growing to despise. The more he’s among us, the more he’s learning us, and the bastard is clearly aware that something isn’t quite right. Which is impressive given that we’re fucking with his powers, making it nearly impossible for me to be read.

Misery, no doubt, is aware of Soren’s perception.

Soren continues to move in his stance like the floor is immeasurably uncomfortable. “If you insist, Blackwell.”

Without more pushback, he heads toward the door as if he’s suddenly gotten word that he has better things to do.

A faint smile tugs at my lips as I consider living in a Skull’s Row where this man’s body rots at the bottom of the ocean, tied to a large stone with ropes I’ll force him to knot himself. Misery’s restoration will be the death of the Council, and I will be there to stand in their ashes with a crown on my head, like the pompous cunts in Belstead.

My crown will be made of naprese gold and bones.

When Soren’s grip is on the handle of the door, my gaze almost immediately drifts to where a shadowy figure resides, one that holds a large, black staff. Darkness eats away at any light that reaches that corner, an ebony, ethereal cloak covering the body underneath. Long, gray arms emerge from a heavy hood that covers his face. His hands are clawed and veined, slowly wrapping around the staff. His pupils are like candlelight that doesn’t flicker, burning with a depth that Soren wishes he had.

The Zenith before me has the audacity to pause before opening the door, turning his head to stare right at the spot that should look empty to him. My jaw drops as I nearly back away from whatever encounter this could become; my heart rarely races this fast. I’ve seen my share of warfare, but the devastation that this broken god can bring is disturbing .

The God of Misery stares pointedly at Soren, sharp teeth glinting underneath the hood. Whether Misery is smiling or baring his fangs, I’m not certain.

Soren continues to fight his hesitation to leave, moving his attention to the door, then back to Misery, almost as if he swore he saw a ghost.

Just leave, you annoying bastard.

My shoulders heave forward with a heavy sigh as he finallyfucking leaves. Did Soren see him? Or feel him?

I wait a few moments before I can breathe again, nearly panting as I do so. “You said he can’t see you,” I mutter, staring at the empty glass I drained my rum from, wanting to remain calm.

That was the deal—Misery uses some of my energy to conceal himself from Soren; a feat he can accomplish on his own when, and only when, he’s returned to full power. In the meantime, the taxation of his energy means he requires mine to do it.

The shadowy figure lazily turns to face me, his eyes the only visible feature among the darkness of his face. “Nor can he hear me, which explains your tiredness as of late. I have been consuming more than usual. It would be unattainable to conceal sensing me, though, given our connection. I’ll admit… he has remarkable control over his powers. It’s rare to witness such a feat in an ordinary mortal,” he replies, his voice like that of a hell hound’s, if one could talk. I hate the way it wraps around the room as if his very words could grip my neck if he so desired.

I eye the glass that Soren drank out of, watching the last legs of the rum drip back down into the well of the chalice. “He doesn’t trust me, or what we’re doing with Tempest. He will see through it. He is a massive liability.”

“The Scorpion’s daughter will fix it all,” Misery croons. “Soren is quite distracted by her. It’s her first act of service to my cause, whether she realizes it or not.”

I look at the floor in front of the fallen god, unable to call him by his true name, even in my mind— Morvock . It’s as if every time I do, his power saturates the room; acknowledgement, or worship, nourishes his existence. I can’t give him any more of what I have, though. Just because I need him, doesn’t mean he doesn’t scare the shit out of me.

Even I have to admit that what Misery plans for Jane is barbaric.

“Does Soren know who she is? That she’s Ritter’s daughter?” I ask, anxiously rapping my knuckles on the table.

“He was… hard to read.” An otherworldly breeze chills the air, emanating Misery’s distaste.

Gods I’ll never get used to him.

If I were one of Misery’s fanatics, I might find some demented enjoyment in being so close; to feed him with my own energy. But all I want is what I’m promised, then to be as far away from this fucker as possible when this is all done.

Looking out one of the windows to prevent despair from leeching under my skin, I survey the ocean skies. I imagine a day when I can sail those waters as mine . “I still think the others should know about who Jane really is, rather than let Soren put on this show. They’re all catching on to the fact that I’m plotting something.”

“And ruin good bait? The Scorpion’s heart still beats, although I can’t sense his location. Soren inspires many when he’s out for blood. Miss Ritter will lead them both astray, and Tempest will meet her fates out in the Crimson Isles while destroying Basilisk… then we restore my body, and you will have nothing else to ask for in your lifetime.”

It’s like making a deal with a kraken.

Misery adds, “You may come out, now.”

It’s always a relief when another person interacts with Misery alongside me, as if affirming I’m not suffering from insanity. I scoot my chair on the wood to watch as a door to my private sitting room opens, revealing a very capable man by the name of Shade. His attire is like all the rest with leathers, buckles, weapons, and an addition of chain mail on his thighs that clink with every step.

A howler monkey with fur so black it’s like a moving abyss springs out on pattering feet, its eyes two giant orbs of molten orange to match its master’s. The animal leaps up onto Misery’s shoulder, and I have no fucking desire to learn about why , out of all the animals, he has a monkey .

The only relevant part is that it’s connected to Misery, like an extension of him. And unlike the god it’s tied to, the monkey cannot take on the power of invisibility; it’s often locked away in my chambers of this castle, or in Misery’s.

Shade, too, lowers his gaze whenever it nears the miasmic corner. “Yes, my lord?”

Misery turns his oppressive gaze to Shade. “Do you have word on locating Ritter?”

It’s so unnatural seeing someone as bold as Shade to seem almost meek; even at a young age, he feared nothing. “No, my lord. He’s elusive.”

A grating sound emanates from Misery that makes both Shade and I lower our heads even further. “So is your use to me, then, if that’s true.”

“I do believe that there’s something he’s doing that makes him hard to find,” Shade swiftly adds.

“That is painfully obvious if I can’t sense him,” Misery snaps. “I suppose it was wishful thinking on my end, as it’s not your true purpose. Both Soren and Jane will be residing at Rosmertta’s in the near future. I can see that , at the very least, which is why you were chosen. Use that to your advantage as a guard there. Wherever Jane is, Ritter will be close. He always has been. I can sense that much, as well.” The burning eyes shift to examine a large black ring encircling his finger, its surface glistening darkly as if forged from the depths of an abyss. “We need Soren removed, or wounded, before making an attempt. I will inform you where to be at the right time. It will be up to you to take advantage of it.”

“Understood,” Shade replies, a hunger in there that gives me some confidence he might actually succeed. He’s always been impulsive, even as a child. Hopefully, it won’t ruin him here.

The glowing gaze flits down as Misery reaches into his robe, pulling out an antiquated bronze pocket watch on a matching chain, fluidly opening it as he stares at worn patina. I’ve seen the watch up close only twice, and it doesn’t read wherever north lies

It tells Misery the direction of calamity. A faint, red light slowly illuminates as it’s opened and fades before he clenches it shut with a smack . “And beware of rubies.”