Dark Tides (Kingdom of Bones #2)

Original Edition: ◇ Chapter 9 ◇ The Archer and the Flame ◇

JARON

Baltessa

Mid-Rainrise

Pirates had attacked Port Hullscar when Jaron was thirteen.

He still remembered the screams, the smoke, and how he'd searched for his little brother's tuft of charcoal hair in the chaos and never found him. He remembered how he'd abandoned his search when pirates started pillaging the street, and how when he'd finally found the courage to leave the crate he was hiding in, he returned to a home engulfed in flames. But what he remembered most of that day was his little sister's lifeless eyes staring unblinkingly at the sky, empty as a broken bottle, her lungs filled with smoke from the fire. It was a shard in his memories, an ache that was present even in his dreams. Sera had been so full of life, yet that life was taken away so easily.

He'd vowed back then and there he'd do whatever he could to avenge his sister and find his brother. He'd bury the pirates of Cerulia to the bottom of their sacred seas. He'd burn their homes with a fire of his own, take away what they held dear, and when there was nothing left for them but hope, he'd snuff that flame out too.

He didn't know why carrying the Storm through the shadows of the palace reminded him of that forsaken day. Perhaps it was her small frame and the way she fit in his arms the same as Sera had. It was nothing but a fleeting feeling, something to be squashed. He focused on the tasks ahead, leaving no room for his mind to wander as he slipped through the last door and out into the night.

The moon painted the beach white, the wall surrounding the palace rising up like a tidal wave behind him while the true sea remained calm, lapping at the shore. His small ship was one of the several tied to the sleeping docks, waiting for him just as he'd left it. He breathed a sigh of relief that Crew hadn't run off with it like he thought he would. The man was as trustworthy as a pirate.

Had it really been as easy as Turncoat had promised? Using stolen white merchant sails had disguised his ship perfectly, the southern docks and servant's halls went unguarded, all just as he'd said. His boots echoed down the wooden path across the beach and to the docks. All he had to do was put the Storm on his ship before she woke up, find Crew, untie from the dock, and he was one step closer to fulfilling his duty.

An echo of footsteps that weren't his own. He stopped—one foot on the plank to his ship—and glanced over his shoulder. A silhouette stood where the path across the beach met the dock. He'd gotten all this way and of course, now someone found him. He sighed, frustrated that they'd been able to sneak up on and him and annoyed he'd probably have to use his embers. He turned back to his ship and crossed the plank, setting the Storm down carefully on the deck before retreating back down to the dock.

The silhouette hadn't moved, but now Jaron could make out a feminine shape. Long, straight obsidian hair waved in the wind like a flag. There was something at her back and in her hands, but he didn't realize what it was until she nocked an arrow in her bow.

Jaron raised his hands in mock-surrender. He was this close to getting out of Cerulia with their weapon. He couldn't let it slip through his fingers. Perhaps he could at least test the archer.

"Step away from the ship," the silhouette said. Her voice was as cold and smooth as a sheet of ice.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he told her. "This cargo is too precious."

The silhouette didn't waver. "Then you should take your final glance at the moon because you won't be able to see it from the dungeons."

What an amusing threat. "Pity," Jaron said, lowering his marred hands. "I would've been much inclined to hear more, but I'm on a bit of tight schedule."