62
Samuel
Samuel stood before the helm. Perpetual icy darkness was all he knew.
The bleak black of a stone prison smothering his life, broken apart by a vixen’s eyes.
The colour of emeralds, of a meadow in spring.
But those eyes betrayed him time and time again.
Vivian continually promised relief, promised he would fulfil his purpose, only to demand more, until he would have nothing left to give.
He was empty. A succubus of dread and death. All Samuel had left was his name—the one thing he refused to sacrifice. The armour tried stealing it away, but he would never forget it. And those who controlled him.
The ship listed on the grey sea, thunder rolling through the cloudy sky. A familiar route, with the Mist trailing starboard side, its inky tendrils cowering in the presence of true darkness.
“It’s fading, just as the latest missive confirmed.
” Blake guided the ship, his soot-stained hands gripping the helm tight, matching his rigid frame.
Something about him steering caused the most fleeting of anger before the dark magic tamed it, hiding it away, whispering to Samuel’s frayed mind to forget it.
To forget her.
“Zephyr has left them unprotected. Now is our chance to strike them in their heart. Once Galen falls, we can storm the highland. Its unlimited potential mine for the taking.” Powder dusted Barron’s cuffed shirt, and the same purple grain stained an envelope peeking from the inside of his black waistcoat.
He flicked the chain winded around his wrist, and the faintest of growls died in Samuel’s throat as the witch of the burning sun collapsed to Barron’s feet, clutching at the metal collar around her pale neck.
Her ember eyes landed on Samuel, and he stared back vacantly, losing himself in the only thing that granted him solace.
The sun. A light amongst darkness. A singular burning candle guiding him through this sea of death.
“Samuel?” Vivian sang from the main deck. “Come here, I have need of you.”
Blake grimaced at his side. “I don’t know how you’re fine with this.”
“Your mother is a goddess and a queen, and you never deny a goddess,” Barron replied, gesturing to Samuel to move.
The armour forced his legs into motion, stomping down the wide steps of the ebony vessel, towards Vivian by the central main mast. Her green robes flowed in the cool breeze, matching the shrouds and rigging, and she’d bound her hair in a royal braid around her head.
Samuel’s faint heart skittered and he swayed, his veins flaring to life.
It was the most it had pounded in weeks, and he came to a halt at the kneeling man, his arms tied back against the mast. His shoulder joints protruded, the way his arms bent backwards around the mast suggesting they were broken, snapped by his elbows.
Samuel swallowed bile down as pit-dark eyes met his. Spiked veins clawed down to the male’s chin, leaking into his neck. Dark blood oozed from his nose and ears, and the sores smothering his body had become so decayed, a foul stench permeated the air.
Theron.
A faint memory, the constant irritation associated with this male hadn’t been erased . . . yet. As Theron recognised Samuel, pain so clear broke through, chased by anger. Samuel shifted, uncomfortably leaning towards his mistress, her wicked smile widening at the motion.
But . . . Death. He had arrived.
Maybe he would take Samuel with him.
“No . . .” Theron spluttered, his head lolling with the effort to keep it upright.
“You need some persuasion,” Vivian crooned, crooking her finger at Samuel.
He immediately came to his mistress’ side, standing before her as her finger slid down his face, across his jaw to his lips. It smelt off, but she commanded his attention, her green eyes cornering him into a pit of fear.
“Open wide,” she commanded.
Samuel’s jaw dropped and Vivian ran her finger down his tongue. His eyes immediately watered as she shut his mouth for him, the putrid, decayed taste causing sick to leak down the edges of his mouth. Yet he couldn’t release it, Vivian’s control crushing his body into submission.
“No! He’s choking!” Theron yelled, grimacing as his snapped arms heaved against his bindings.
“Tastes vile, doesn’t it?” Samuel could barely nod as he heaved internally, his eyes streaming, his heart picking up speed. Vivian spun Samuel to face the broken male, holding his chin down to look at him, his bile spilling onto her hand.
“Do you want to breathe, Samuel? Do you wish to release this infection from your lips?” Vivian’s grip tightened, crushing his mouth as it filled.
His nose burned, his lungs screamed, shadows encroached the edges of his vision.
“You are choking him, Eli. My magic will kill him soon. Tell us what we want to know.”
“I cannot see,” Theron seethed. “You’ve destroyed my gift. I can no longer see.”
Vivian raged, her eyes flaring as the ship violently rocked. Wood splintered around them, ocean water spraying across the deck, soaking their feet, yet the crew didn’t blink. They’d all witnessed it before. They all knew what corruption festered in the depths of her soul.
Magic was no longer forgotten history.
Silence passed, and Samuel’s chest burned brighter as he choked, unable to gasp for air. The armour tightened, constricting him, his hands numbing. But he didn’t fear death. No, death would be a relief. He feared the very hand gripping his chin, more so than Barron and his son.
“You will tell me what I want to see when I want to see it!” Vivian demanded.
“I see him dying,” Theron’s stare swivelled to Samuel. “Very soon.”
Vivian scoffed and released her hold on Samuel. He crippled, bowing over and spewing at Theron’s bare, gangrene feet. Cool air swept down his throat, and he gasped, gagging as that putrid taste coated his insides.
“There are other ways to make you talk.” Vivian waved a hand and a broad male appeared round the mast, strolling in the same deadly cage, like it was nothing more than a fuzzy blanket.
“Let’s have some fun.” His lisp grated Samuel’s ears and he tensed, an arid memory haunting him. Of branded foreheads and mounds of hot blood. Darkness ushered it away, soothing him, reminding him he only needed the here and now.
A helmet with a slit obscured his face, and gloves encased his clawed hands as he grabbed Samuel, shoving him to his knees. He obeyed without a word, his mind already retreating to the pit. The darkest of the dark. The quiet, icy numbness that protected him from everything.
“I’ve been looking forward to this,” the guard sneered, grabbing Samuel’s hair.
“Callan!” Theron yelled, his face twisted. “Don’t do this!”
Callan laughed. “You’re no prince of mine anymore, Eli. I follow a new king now, and he is a god.”
He revealed a sword, wielding the weapon effortlessly. Tugging viciously on Samuel’s hair, Callan exposed his throat.
“You’ve no idea who I am, do you?” Callan goaded him. “I can see it in your eyes. Your resistance to the magic is wiping your mind, taking who you are, one memory at a time. All you had to do was give in, embrace the darkness inside you.”
Samuel ground his jaw. “N-no.” Vivian startled at his response, her eyes flaring.
Callan sneered. “Just a pathetic sailor, like the rest of your crew. I’ve been looking forward to this for so long.”
Sailor . . .
Crew . . .
Instead of slicing his throat, Callan levelled the sword to Samuel’s right eye, the end nicking the thin skin of his lower eyelid.
He internally screamed as it plunged deeper, slicing open the flesh.
Red consumed his vision, sloshing as the vessels burst in his eye.
Vivian’s command prevented him from screaming, but his jaw unhinged, voicelessly crying from the agony.
“Stop!” Theron cried, his voice cracking. “I’ll try. Just stop!”
Blood poured down Samuel’s face and Callan stepped away. He rounded Samuel’s back, and placed the sharp edge of the weapon against his neck. It was wet, a mix of ocean spray and blood coating the sleek silver. Salty and hot.
“If you fail, he dies.”
Vivian’s catch of breath was unmistakable, and she nervously glanced at Callan as Theron screamed against the pain.
“They made him kill Ivar! How can you do this?”
Ivar. Samuel shook, his muscles trembling, writhing beneath the surface of the armour. It tightened, forcing his body still as grief struck true.
He had killed. He was their weapon.
“I am always on the side that wins.” Callan pressed the blade against Samuel, the sting bringing him out of the fog of red-tinged despair.
“I’m so sorry,” Theron mumbled. “Forgive me, Captain.”
He roared, the agony of summoning his power breaking him as his dislocated arms rolled.
Stained veins on his face rippled, and his dark eyes turned entirely black, the whites disappearing as his head shot up.
Streaks of dried blood were smothered in fresh liquid, now pouring and dripping onto the weathered deck.
“Tell us,” Vivian demanded. “Tell us where Kora is. We need to know where we can attack.”
The air shifted, and Theron blinked rapidly as a shimmer unfurled in the space before him. He yelled again and the shimmer increased, his sight projecting.
Blurred shapes came into focus in Samuel’s good eye. A fireplace. A castle. A navy and silver bedspread littered with fruits and dips. Samuel’s stomach convulsed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. The suit of death kept him alive without the need for nourishment.
On the bed, two bodies, writhing, grinding as a head of white hair flung back, ecstasy spilling from her lips before a stranger’s hidden face.
Kora.
His captain. His friend. Samuel groaned as Theron’s vision vanished in a second, and he slumped against the mast, wheezing as his blood pooled by his knees.
“Kora,” Samuel moaned. “Hide . . . they’ll . . . find . . . you, Captain.” Vivian whirled, slapping him across the face.
“You will forget her!” she snapped. “She left you, Samuel. She doesn’t care about you. She will never care about you. Your place is here, with us. With me.”
Within moments, Samuel’s pain vanished, numbness embracing him once again. Callan sniggered, laughing as Samuel slumped back, resting on the back of his legs.
“I can’t wait to see that bitch again,” Callan jeered. “She owes me.”
“None of us care for your shrivelled phallus,” Vivian remarked.
“Kora!” Blake stormed past Samuel, his second shadow following a step behind. He knelt before Theron, pushing his head up. “Where was that? Who the fuck was she with?”
His shadow leaked into the air, the wisps of darkness dancing along Blake’s shoulders, winding around his arms and pressing into Theron’s skin. A gut-wrenching scream followed, Samuel’s skin chilling further than he thought possible in his icy cage.
“She’s not in Mistros City.” Theron’s voice was faint, the whites of his eyes slowly returning. His cracked lips chafed as he spoke. “She’s with him.”
Blake’s hand slammed into the mast, cracking it up its centre. He rounded, facing Callan. His shadows lashed out, wrenching the sword from Callan’s grip.
“Oi! That’s mine!”
“And Kora was mine, but someone took her. Just like you tried to.” Blake flicked the sword, and it flew towards Callan. It rebounded, the intensity ricocheting from the black and malachite armour, soaring across the deck.
It impaled a sailor, spearing them through the chest, sending them overboard into the increasingly choppy seas.
Blake stilled, his throat bobbing as darkness exploded upon the quarterdeck.
His father’s fury evident at his son’s actions.
Footsteps thudded, stomping across the weathered deck, the shadows fading with each approaching step.
“Marwood!” Rough and hoarse, a towering male dressed in blue-steel armour grabbed Blake by the cuff of his shirt.
“Stop fucking about, lad,” he growled. “We’re on the precipice of war, and you need to be ready.” His bald head shone with sweat, his brown eyes narrowed upon them all, and his lips curled.
“Callan is a rapist. He should walk the plank.” Blake glared towards the snickering male leering behind Samuel.
“We need as many bodies as possible to defeat the Windwards. Now get below deck. My son, Egon, is waiting for you.”
Blake growled, and removed the male’s thick grasp around his shirt. As he stomped away, disappearing down the hatch, Vivian sighed.
“Thank you, Garvan.” She placed her hand on his arm, her vixen eyes fluttering. Garvan visibly relaxed, his brown eyes crinkling with a small smile. “I fear he’s distracted. He doesn’t wish to marry, so much so he’s left his bride behind. Or so I’ve led him to believe.”
“The Hydraforts have no place here. Otto will cower before the first droplet of blood is spilled. It’s a blessing he’s confined to the Citadel,” Garvan huffed, peering down at Samuel. His forehead crimpled, his shaven eyebrows pulling together.
“It took some convincing for Rashi to remain behind in Talmon. She won’t notice Bree’s absence whilst remaining at Ironwharf Outpost.”
“I’ll marry a princess for you,” Callan laughed. “Bet she’s got a loudmouth on her.”
Vivian waved her hand, dismissing him without a word. Callan slunk away, waggling his gloved hands around as he barked orders at sailors. Samuel remained in silence, whilst Theron’s head drooped, the exertion of magic claiming his consciousness.
“Remember our plan, Garvan. My husband has lost sight of the future. Of the real prophecy. Once we secure Galen, we can perform the true ritual within the rift. None of this highland nonsense.” Vivian’s smile was terrifying, her voice taking on a sultry tone as her hand slid up Garvan’s arm, her fingers flexing in a way Samuel knew to be enticing.
Shadows still lingered on the quarterdeck, the master’s sight obscured. The crew yelled, pointing ahead to the south. Samuel squinted, as the air rippled, a glimmer of purple and green cracking down the middle of the horizon.
“You better hope Bree Hydrafort doesn’t back out now.” Garvan removed Vivian’s slender hand from his armour. “Otherwise, your dark god will kill us all.”