Page 11 of Death’s Kiss (The Order of the Tide Raiders #1)

Yet the mention of Kerau sends a rush of unwarranted memories running through my mind.

I never pinned for him. There was no teary, heartfelt goodbye when he was chosen to captain under TideLord Raimbaut at the end of his final year.

Yet from time to time, I do miss the nights we shared.

The things he taught me. The way his fingertips sent volts of lightning skittering over my bare skin—literally and figuratively.

The others pick up their chatter and teasing as we make our way through the skull-like entrance and into the dark fortress. By the time we arrive inside the large vaulted dining chamber hosting the evening feast, my mood has steadily darkened into a budding storm.

I hardly notice the idiotic looks of intrigue from the visiting cardinal raiders as they take in our dining hall.

It’s framed by walls made from stained glass, each one depicting a different story from The Days of Many Waters.

Those same curious raiders begin craning their necks to view the massive skeletons of mythic creatures haunting the arched ceiling high above.

My gaze scans the wooden tables crammed full with the addition of the other cardinals. It snags on arrogantly ruffled hair the color of oblivion and eyes that flicker with malice.

The southern captain, Olsson Agni, has his attention focused on the sandy-haired raider next to him.

The same one who nudged him out of our staring contest earlier.

They’re angled toward each other with voices lowered, while the six other males around his table watch and listen intensely.

I’m positive he’s being given a report similar to my own.

I don’t linger, and instead stride for our table at the front of the dining hall, parallel to Captain Larceon’s.

Kleio and the others are already there. I glimpse the quick squeeze Vash gives my second’s hand.

They share a brief smile, filled with flirtatious promises, before parting.

And I claim my chair at the head seat wordlessly.

I don’t taste the dinner I eat tonight. I honestly couldn’t even tell you what we were served. My eyes wander up the gilded staircase where the preceptors sit at their tables on the large platform balcony before us. I halt my careful scan when finding a new arrival .

Next to Preceptor Oplon sits a surly-looking man I’m sure I’ve not seen before.

His hair is a faint reddish blonde, his nose crooked, and eyes a boyish blue.

The middle-aged raider is elbowing Oplon while they share a laugh.

Studying the stranger closer, I note he wears a plain uniform of lackluster sage.

But nothing about it tells me to whom he belongs.

I move my assessing gaze over to the three other corners of the room where the captains and their crews have been intentionally placed so that we’re as far away from each other as possible.

That’s when I spot the female southern captain at last—Corvina Leporem—sitting head of the table parallel to Captain Agni’s.

I can’t tell her height from here, but she appears petite.

I can tell she’s slender and toned, as most raiders are.

Her face is as pretty as a painting, with large doe eyes of emerald green and sharp cheekbones to match an equally sharp chin.

All of which is framed by a canopy of raven hair cleverly twisted back into a low knot.

The remainder of the evening I spend eating and drinking on autopilot.

I don’t join in on my table’s conversations.

And when Grand Preceptor Skelm announces the end of dinner with the captains’ meeting to follow, Kleio has to elbow me in the ribs to get my attention.

To which I bristle and adjust myself before leaving my crew to follow the other captains.

The meeting is held in a small reception hall located just off the dining chamber.

Without the stained-glass windows and odd fantastical creature skeletons dotting the ceiling, it’s rather shabby in comparison.

The room is mainly stone, with colorless patterned rugs here and there, and a floor-to-ceiling fireplace made of black marble taking up the far wall.

Vash and I stand near each other toward the front of the room, as far from the newly raging fire as possible.

The eastern captains, Dhara Ghosh and Reed Namak, have their heads inclined toward each other as they speak in hushed words under the single window in the room.

Brisa Bedivere and Ansil Tetsuo are both chatting with the western grand preceptor and regent near the oblong table filling one side of the room.

I spot Corvina Leporem and Olsson Agni lounging lazily on the patterned chairs before the hearth .

Skelm and Saubarag, their regents, plus the surly man I spotted eating next to Preceptor Oplon, enter the room in a wave of low arguing voices.

They abruptly stop when stepping inside.

Grand Preceptor Vedet and her mustachioed regent move up from where they've been scheming in the back shadowed corner at their arrival.

The rowdy buzz of raiders leaving the large chamber next to us and heading toward their various cabins overtakes the room. Until Beldham shuts the large oaken door with a tight click.

Once it’s silent, Skelm announces, “Now that we’re gathered, I would like to introduce to you all our officiant for the upcoming Pillar Trials. Raider Horas Dornon. He’s come here to us on behalf of our Raider King and his Driftwood Court.”

Raider Dornon smiles, and the crookedness of his nose becomes even more noticeable.

“It’s a pleasure,” he says, a hand on his chest, his voice low and gruff.

“I am aware, as you all are, that it has been an age since the Vault last opened.

Before some of us had even taken up the title of grand preceptor.

" Dornon addresses the room but waves a freckled hand idly in Grand Preceptor Vedet’s direction.

She stiffens but doesn't argue, and I wonder just how recent her promotion in rank is. The last trials having been a decade ago, she can’t have been in charge of the Cardinal East for very long.

A pair of bright blue eyes find each of us eight captains.

“I have been sent on behalf of King Nereus to preside over these auspicious trials and feel it’s best if we review the rules and expectations of the events to come.

As you well know, the TideLords will be joining us for the challenges to act as impartial judges.

They will rank you individually based on scores given after every event. ”

I swallow down the nerves triggered by the mere mention of the TideLords.

Of course I knew they would attend. Historically, they’ve always acted as the judges.

Yet the idea of having them see what I can do firsthand—even if I don’t win The Vault—could still be a way to secure a ship in one of their fleets.

A way to get myself and my crew out of the north .

Permanently.

Raider Dornon’s rumbling voice carries over to me again.

“Each of the four tasks will test a pillar of your training under the TideRaiders. The first, of course, being endurance and survival. In one month from today, the first Pillar Trial will be held. It will be observed by your peers and judged by the TideLords. You can expect a test over that very first lesson taught by each of your cardinals.”

I watch his blue eyes dim, and he meets the gaze of each grand preceptor and their coordinating regent. “There will be no hints and no help allowed. You can bring with you a single weapon of choice and your affinity.”

Raider Dornon finishes with a curt bow to the room. “I wish you each the best of luck. To Nawai and back.”

Half an hour or so later, I stroll down one of the last stretches of alcove-laden hallways that make up the path to mine and my crew’s cabin.

But something more instinctual than rational has me frowning and reassessing my familiar surroundings before coming to a halt. Scanning the corridor, I quickly discover the reason for my impulsive pause: A tall shadow lingers just outside one of the many nearby stone recesses.

I note that the windowed doors, normally latched against the outside world, are currently ajar.

From the faint light provided by tonight's slender claw moon, I can just barely make out the sight of black windswept hair. It’s Captain Agni, and he’s—I turn my head to check up and down the hall— alone .

Is he waiting for someone?

That idea seems unlikely, but why else, and how else, would he have managed to make it down here?

I decide the strange movements of the southern captain are not worth my time or attention. And I continue strolling back down the hall toward our cabin. I make it about five steps before the smell of a spice-burdened smoke laces its way through both the air and my resolve.

Stopping short again, I turn back around to discover that shadow no longer lingers on the opposite side of the alcove’s doors. Captain Agni leans casually against the stone corridor wall. A set of burning ember-like eyes stare back at me from beneath the shadowed hood of a crimson captain’s cloak.

“May I help you?" I ask, my tone sharper and colder than a winter gale.

It would normally be enough to make any other raider turn tail. But this one only chuckles. The sound is a deep rolling timbre that sends a wave of gathering energy rumbling somewhere deep below my affinity.

“ Fortasse pater meus dabit te mihi, ” he replies, his voice so low and dark it emulates smoke sliding over gravel. Meanwhile his eyes rove up and down my person appraisingly.

I blink in surprise at the strange language from his foreign tongue. “What?”

The southern captain brings a hand to his mouth, revealing a line of rolled paper attached to one of the many golden rings that adorn his calloused fingers.

The source of that spice-scented smoke. He brings his other hand to the end of the aroma-laden stick, and a small blue flame appears at the tip of his index finger.

It takes every ounce of self-discipline I possess not to flinch at the sight of that flame.

To push down all the horrors associated with it and package them away into a box of trauma I can deal with another day.

I watch Captain Agni as he breathes in the burning spices and exhales out a narrow stream of smoke, sending it through the open alcove door and out into the night beyond. All the while, his eyes never leave mine .

The living embers in his irises appear to be shifting between interest and amusement while searching for something in my face.

I don’t have the faintest idea what language he’s spoken, but it must be common to the south.

His arresting features form an expression that appears even more bemused by the fact that I clearly haven’t understood him.

I wonder for a moment if perhaps he and the others can’t speak our dialect. But then he pushes off from the stone wall with predatory fluidity, before saying in perfect northern tongue, “Good luck with the trials.”

The captain's gaze remains on me while flicking the end of his rolled spices out the alcove opening. The shadow of a smirk pulls up onto his lips before he turns around and begins sauntering down the corridor from the direction I’ve just come.

I lay awake that night for a long time, replaying the troubling interaction over and over. It’s not until an unreasonably late hour that exhaustion finally drags me under.