Chapter 33
Secrets of the Damned
CASPIAN
No amount of cunt or cock could lessen my seething rage.
The wrath flowing through my veins burned far more intensely than any inferno, and our venture to Raghar’s Spite had only added more fuel to the fire.
Why? Because that copper-haired bitch still lingered in my mind, and I was nothing more than a traitorous bastard to all those she’d killed for even allowing my thoughts to settle on her.
But I would be a liar if I tried to claim she hadn’t infected my essence.
She’d become the finest plague any land could experience, a virus that had hijacked my sanity to the point of madness.
Her existence was far more addictive than the most expensive tobacco or the most flavorful whiskey, and I’d found myself hooked.
I would hunt her to the ends of the earth regardless of what it meant, not because I yearned to claim her as my own, but because I would be the only person to put a blade through her chest.
“Captain, we have docked. She is tied down, and Veilmar is yours to explore,” Lionel offered, his statement carrying a bit of weariness because of my displays of uncapped ire during the three days it took us to make land after our visit to Raghar’s Spite.
“Is there anything else you would like us to do for your approach inland?”
“No,” I stated with a smile. “Order the crew to divide themselves into two and to take watches on the ship. I want you all to enjoy this island as I plan to.”
Without another word, he simply dipped his chin before making his way from the sterncastle deck onto the main.
As his boots drummed down the stairs, my gaze remained trained on his back as he approached the other crewmates.
Watching the handoff of information intently, I didn’t bother to glance over my shoulder as a new pair of footsteps approached.
“Caspian.”
“Syoran,” I hummed, gliding my fingers along the leather harness I wore over my white linen shirt, the bishop sleeves flowing with the movement.
Stopping beside me, he joined in my observation. “Do you not question if this is the best plan of action?”
“Executing Rohen Levitte is the best plan of action. She murdered our men, men who were brothers. Family.” My chin snapped toward him, my lips curling into a sneer. “Are you admitting unfaithfulness to this crew?”
“Gods above, no.” Running a hand down his face, he turned to hold my stare. “But are you really doing this for them? Or are you doing it because of this irrational inability to get her out of your mind?”
My tongue pressed against my canine with enough force to pierce. “I can chase the same end goal for multiple reasons.”
“Fair enough, I suppose.”
Not allowing him to prod any further, I shifted the conversation. “Where is Saph?”
“She wasted no time deboarding. Ventured inland as soon as we touched dock.” His eyes narrowed, something like uncertainty flashing within them. “I apologize for making it seem as if I do not trust your judgment, something just feels—”
“Off?” I posed, watching his chin dip. “Believe me, I’ve felt that way since the night Rohen carved her way through our sailors.
It's clung to the air since—a shift in alliances, an underlying force, the king’s influence—I’m uncertain.
Which is why it's important we make quick work of our time here.”
It was a partial truth.
I’d felt that way since the first night I brought Rohen on board, an ancient aura clinging to her like a second skin.
At first, I’d blamed it on the alcohol, but the longer I was around her, the more intense her presence became.
The evening she butchered half of the crew solidified everything, but it also lit whatever lay in wait beneath my skin—whatever had kindled my brand to silence me.
It’d become clear that the royal crest marring my skin carried secrets of its own, prophetic implications that I could feel yet couldn’t reach.
With Rohen undoubtedly belonging to the sea, I knew it also linked us in some way.
Ever since that grotesque storm of bloodshed and fury, it burned not only with any utterance I attempted about the texts I’d read over thousands of times, but in each instance I focused on her for a second too long.
Rubbing over the raised flesh, I turned to Syoran. “Are you staying on board or coming with me?”
He huffed in offense. “I can’t believe you’re asking me such an idiotic question.”
My lips curled, and I reached over to squeeze his shoulder. “Sometimes it is nice to hear the devotion.”
“If you wish to understand the depth of my loyalty, then allow me to kneel for you and give you whatever you please. If you wish to use me as a blade, wield me with the intention of death. If you wish to explore my mind to comprehend the ancient parchments you have uncovered, then have the crows pluck at my brain until nothing remains.” He lifted a brow as if he was waiting for me to challenge his faithfulness further.
“I’ve told you, Caspian Vayne, I am your right-hand for good reason, and whatever comes out of protecting you has already been etched in my fate. ”
Yet, little did he know, the chance for him to toss his life aside for me would never come to fruition.
I’d brushed Elaros’s hand countless times, my visits to the brink of life innumerable.
Familiarity lingered there, and a certainty had settled within me that, when my time came, it would not involve Syoran’s interference.
I carried the weight of the shadows and the chime of death wherever I walked, for I was the son of the God of Death.
Having slipped away from Syoran, I vanished into an alleyway, narrowly avoiding the boisterous crowd of cityfolk who had gathered to explore the liveliness of the market. Usually, skipping out on other towns’ pleasantries wasn’t something I did, but I had far more pertinent matters to take care of.
I had a siren to find.
The cobblestone streets became familiar beneath my booted feet, each chime of the blades at my hips a cautionary tale to any onlooker who dared challenge my arrival.
Part of me hoped one of them would be foolish enough to ask the wrong questions, but the other knew that level of involvement would further complicate the already complicated journey I was on.
Elaros’s presence bloomed in the back of my mind, billowing like a crisp breeze during the fall season. “Have you elected to keep your word?”
“Is there ever a moment when you are not intrusive?” I questioned, fingers brushing along the various structures I passed.
“I prefer to avoid intimate situations,” he hummed, a subtle chuckle following. “You are rolling your eyes.”
Engaging in the exact action he called me out for, I exhaled. “Yes. I am.”
“For what exactly?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Father, perhaps the words you just uttered.”
His laughter grew, but the haunting tune it carried was far from innocent. “We digress. You have not strayed from the plan we discussed?”
“No. I mean, not like I have much of a choice considering the ‘fragility’ I harbor. Something you incessantly remind me about.”
“Good. I would hate to be put in a position of eradicating my last heir.”
“Just as I would hate to be slaughtered by someone of your… decree.”
A gentle coax brushed against my subconscious, a sign that he was escaping and offering the only comfort he could. It was something I’d started to rely on ever since the brand was forced against my skin, ever since the first moment I connected with Elaros.
He’d remained consistent since, coming to my rescue whenever my fate slipped too close to a place of finality.
The conversations we shared had first felt like they came from a place of lunacy, a coping mechanism I leveraged as a young boy trying to stay alive.
But the night Alastair betrayed me transformed into an admittance I never would’ve imagined possible—Elaros’s confirmation that I was, in fact, one of his children.
Where one would assume favoritism when sharing lineage with the Damned, it felt far more aligned with the title they carried.
It was a poison that slithered through my veins, weaving its way through my mind to partake in whatever was asked of me.
The things I had agreed to do, regardless of the irrefutable betrayal, walked alongside the implications of expectation.
Or rather, a desire to avoid eternal torment from the God who helped craft my existence.
I had my own secrets. The methods and tactics I used ensured I remained undetected, even by those I held close.
Yet, even with that extended sacrifice, Elaros still refused to share certain things—the truth behind the prophecy, the definitive meaning of Mizani, and why he desired to continue playing these games instead of putting an end to the suffering that’d plagued our lands.
Perhaps it had to do with the involvement of the Others, and their uncovering of—
“I should kill you as revenge for what your Mizani did to me, but it seems I have run into a bit of a conflict of interest, considering you are the child of the prophecy. The one that is supposed to weave our world back together as one.”
Morwenna.
What the fuck was she doing here?
“I-I don’t… I’m not—” Rohen’s words were silenced, from what I wasn’t certain; the corner I’d perched myself around didn’t allow me to see into the alcove that echoed their voices.
“Right. Your mother warned me you were still living in a state of denial, but do not be fooled, Daughter of the Sea, the Damned do not lie. The veil separating the halves of a whole awaits your awakening, and I’d highly suggest you start working on that before we are all turned to ash.”
A sharp gasp followed, coughs flowing from Rohen in waves.
“Secondly, I cannot kill you because you are about to find yourself at a reunion.”
“Reunion?” The single word came from Rohen with enough venom to poison an army of men. “What the fuck are you on about, you psycho bitch?”
The abrupt ring of the town’s bell erupted across the courtyard, slithering through its alleys and in through open balcony doors and windows with warning. It was a sound that I’d only heard once out of the handful of times I’d been to Veilmar—the approach of a Royal fleet.
“Oh, fuck me,” I groaned, steeling myself to catch the remnants of Morwenna’s utterance.
“...He has arrived to claim what is rightfully his.”
For once, the witch was wrong about something. Though she did favor spewing white lies so long as a partial truth coated them, and in this instance, that was exactly what she had accomplished.
Listening to her steady, heeled retreat, I counted her steps before I elected to slip from where I’d lingered.
My gait was light as I prowled toward Rohen, the brand burning as if it were some newfound beacon guiding me to her.
With the distance fading entirely, I stepped around the pillar, planting myself in the alcove’s arch and making it impossible for her to escape.
As soon as I crossed that threshold, steel met my throat just as fast as I’d settled my own blade against the back of her neck.
“Caspian Vayne,” she growled between clenched teeth as she glared down her nose at me.
Eyes settling on the faint line of crimson that slid from just beneath her chin down the column of her throat, I chuckled. “Fancy seeing you again, little siren.”
“Do you truly believe you can survive the speed of a slash to the throat? You’re confident enough you can sever my spinal column before I drain you of your polluted essence?”
“So angry for a woman who has no right to be.” Yanking her closer, she gasped as our chests met.
“Tell me, Rohen, should I be concerned about your ability to slit my throat? Because, correct me if I’m wrong, but the last time we found ourselves in a similar…
position,” I leaned forward, my lips brushing against her ear. “You hesitated.”
“My loathing for you has grown immensely, just as—”
“Has it?” My free hand moved, two fingers pressing against the brim of her tricorn. “I’d state the opposite, considering that is my hat you’re wearing.”