Page 4 of Death’s Kiss (The Order of the Tide Raiders #1)

R eturning to mine and my crew’s cabin, positioned on the far back side of the sprawling fortress, I’m unsurprised to find Kleio pacing in the main room.

I’m also unsurprised to find the green-veined marble fireplace that sits against the front wall of the main area has noticeably been extinguished. Upon my entry, my second pauses her anxious walking and turns to me with an anguished face drained of all color.

“Merena, I—” she starts with a step in my direction.

I hold up my hand, halting her mid-sentence. Fortunately for Kleio, the ache in my back is slowly but surely easing with every passing moment. Thank all the fucking drowned gods for leeches.

“I do not want to hear an apology,” I snap, and it’s an effort to keep from shouting. “I know you, Kleio. You’re only sorry because you all were caught.”

She looks at me like I’ve just slapped her. I have to restrain myself from grabbing hold of my second by the shoulders and shaking until some sense finally rattles round in that stubborn fucking head. Kleio folds her arms over her chest as if she can read my thoughts.

“If this was last year, you would have been the one leading us out there! You wouldn’t have had an issue with it, you—”

“I wasn’t a captain then, Kleio!” I exclaim, effectively cutting her off again. “Last year and all the years prior, I was nothing. I had nothing to lose. There was nothing they could take from me.”

I watch as the typical warmth in her brown eyes cools. “Nothing? You had nothing ?” she argues, her voice rising an octave.

I gaze up to the thick wooden beams lining the cabin’s ceiling and back at my second in exasperation. Then I bite down on the side of my fist to stop myself from saying something I shouldn’t and stride into the main room.

Shaking my head silently, I ease into one of the two armchairs facing the dead hearth.

One of my hands goes to gingerly hold my back while proof of the lingering pain slides through my teeth.

Kleio’s eyes soften again as she watches me carefully position myself so my still-healing wounds don't touch the chair.

My voice is a bit more controlled when I finally reply. “Obviously I had you. I had all of you. But as my allies, not as my crew. I wasn’t in a position to affect your futures, to give you all a shot at freedom—or as close to it as we can ever really get.”

I try selecting my next words carefully. “I’m one of only two captains, Kleio.”

“I know that!” she practically explodes.

The chocolate curls framing her heart-shaped face shake with the force of her voice.

“Do you really think that I don’t already know all of this?

You don’t think that there must have been a great godsdamned reason I was down there?

” Tears begin to betray her eyes. “You cannot seriously believe your newly minted second-in-command would risk my own captain’s neck for a night of rebellion, can you? ”

“Alright, then let’s hear it!” I hurl back at her, thankful the others have obviously been sent out to observe morning colors. “What was so incredibly important for you to take my crew, under my nose, and gallivant down to the one fucking place you weren't allowed to be last night?”

It feels good to yell.

It feels good to rage against something.

Anything.

Frost begins covering the arms of my chair, and I spot Kleio trying to hide her shivering.

Huffing in irritation, I reel back my affinity before looking to my second in expectation for her response. She hesitates, tucking a loose curl behind her ear and looking anywhere but my eyes.

I groan, a hand coming to pinch the bridge of my nose as my eyes squeeze shut. “I swear, if this has to do with Vash fucking Larceon, I will—” I begin to warn, and her eyes flash at the implication of my words.

“It isn't about Vash! It’s about something he said,” Kleio snaps defensively.

As if that somehow makes it better.

Kleio’s current entanglement and I have a long history of mutual dislike, but that isn’t what sparks my aggravation. That’s more or less due to the amount of times I’ve heard his name from her lips in the last seven years. On and on and on . Ever since we were thirteen.

I curse beneath my breath but motion with my free hand for her to explain.

She’s hesitant with her next words. “There is a rumor. A rumor going around the levels that the Vault has risen up this year.”

Now that has my attention. I lean forward too fast, and merciless agony flares up my still-healing back. “Shit,” I curse between my teeth, and Kleio’s eyes widen with worry.

“The Vault?” I echo, my mind narrowing in on the improbable possibility at hand. “Vash actually told you that the Vault has risen?”

Kleio eyes me for a moment, and I know she’s thinking about my wounds. She also knows much better than to try and coddle me in this state.

Fun fact: I bite when smothered .

My second gives a stiff nod of assent. “He did.”

The hand still pinching the bridge of my nose drops to grip my chin in thought. If it had been a rumor heard by any other ears, I’d dismiss it entirely. But coming from Vash, the only other captain in our cardinal, there must be some weight to it.

Also, there’s the fact that his affinity tells truths from lies, among other talents. It further indicates this is very likely real.

My mind begins racing at nauseating speeds. Possibilities jump out at me with every passing thought. The doors this could open—the opportunities. Not only for myself but for all eight of us.

The Vault in question is not your typical guarded chest containing some trivial bout of treasured possessions.

This Vault was crafted by the drowned gods themselves.

Or so legend claims. It rises from the netherdepths only when sensing there is a Tide Raider among us worthy enough to enter its gilded doors.

Of course it’s not as easy as being chosen, the Order would never allow for that. So there are challenges, or rather Pillar Trials, put in place for those who might gain entry. Only level-eight captains from one of the four Cardinal Orders are eligible.

“You know,” Kleio says, her tone noticeably lighter, “almost every single captain who's ever been chosen by the Vault became a TideLord later on in their career.”

“It’ll be a bloodbath,” I reply, still lost in thought,

“Why do you think we went down to the water?” she responds slyly.

My gaze slides right back over to lock with hers. I watch as a mischievous smirk—one I’m guilty of encouraging over the years—tugs onto her rosy lips. And I have to fight my own grin threatening to make its appearance before finally shaking my head in defeat.

Only Kleio could get away with the bullshit she pulled last night .

Capturing a soul in a bottle was a very tricky thing indeed. But if you were able to manage it, which from the look on my second’s face tells me that she did , you could tell it a wish before releasing it back into the sea.

The tradition being that the soul will then tell the drowned gods of your prayer when it returns to the spirit world of Nawai. If you're lucky, the gods might just choose to answer it.

It’s the closest thing we have to an actual shot of hope around here.

Our first official week of level-eight passes by without another hiccup.

My cabin, having been thoroughly reprimanded by myself and given the task of walking the courtyard for two nights straight, is on its very best behavior. I still haven't entirely forgiven Kleio, although now having the facts, I do understand her reasoning.

After her public discipline, a requirement of any crew member who disobeys or shames their captain, I find it much easier to meet her newly blackened eye. To Kleio’s credit, she wears the shiner like a crown and actually laughed when I asked if it hurt.

" You should really work on that left hook, but I appreciate you using your off hand. "

No more words are heard or spoken regarding the Vault until our weapons class the week directly following the Sál Moon. The class in question is headed by Preceptor Oplon, a now middle-aged raider who’d previously made his career as one of the most sought-after gunners in all of the Order .

His training is held within one of the largest chambers carved deep beneath the dark fortress of the Cardinal North.

Today, we work in pairs with weapons called dancing discs.

The twin circular blades are one of my favorites.

They’re incredibly fast and have the ability to match their wielder’s fighting patterns after only a few moves.

We're currently tasked with using the two discs with another person. Working as a team is proving to be much harder than working alone.

“Merena—catch!” Javin shouts before streaking across the training grounds ahead of me in a blur of cropped dark hair and bronzed skin.

Javin Supad is my assigned partner for today's lesson. His affinity for speed makes him a worthy opponent and an even more challenging partner. Preceptor Oplon is always sure to pair me with whoever he deems most difficult based on the weapons we’re training with.

I follow the line of the disc’s flight and dive for the spinning blade. My hand catches the slim leather-bound grip just before it makes to cut through my thigh. The disc in my left hand hums with excitement at the presence of its twin in my right.

I scan the training chamber and find Preceptor Oplon watching our exchange.

He gives me a shallow nod of praise, and I bite back a smile.

There are very few instructors here who don’t outright try to increase my chances of failure.

Oplon has always been tough on me. He’s always pushed me harder than the others and expected more.

But with him, I know it has nothing to do with my origins.