Page 40 of Death’s Kiss (The Order of the Tide Raiders #1)
W hen dawn finally comes after a long night watching the other cardinal captains down at the boneyard, I slip away from our still slumbering cabin alone.
I make quick work of the wooden hallways and spiral staircases that eventually land me before a familiar, daunting archway. For a moment I stand there in frozen deliberation, trying to decide whether to turn back around and forget this ridiculous idea altogether.
The choice is made for me when a brisk voice calls from the other side of the archway, “Captain Boreas, are you a person or a statue? If it is the former, come on inside. If it is the latter, please go make yourself useful by deterring the seajays out on one of the alcoves.”
Grimacing at her uncanny awareness, I hastily push open the large oaken door, revealing the Grant Regent's chambers. They are as intriguing with their organized chaos as I’ve ever seen. Beldham doesn't even bother glancing up from the scroll she's studying upon my arrival .
I take out the tightly rolled bit of paper that’s been burning a hole in my pocket for the last hour or so and twist it between my thumb and forefinger while waiting silently. A few minutes later, her cornflower eyes at last stop their exploration of the scroll and turn my way.
“I was wondering if—” I begin a bit too loudly, pause to clear my throat, and then continue in a noticeably lower voice. "I was wondering if I might be able to use one of your epistles?" The words sort of cram up in my mouth , then fall out all at once under her piercing gaze.
In all my years in the north, I have never visited a preceptor's quarters without receiving a summons or a punishment.
I have certainly never asked for anything from one of them.
My insides squeeze uncomfortably as her lips purse tightly and I wonder idly for the hundredth time exactly how old she actually is.
Kleio and I have had a running bet since level four, but I’ll never admit my wager.
Beldham looks away from me for a moment, and I’m about to call this stupid idea a wash and sprint down to the pool chambers to work off my impending mortification with a swim. Before I get the chance, our Grand Regent unexpectedly turns around in her irregular circular desk.
I watch hesitantly as she pulls open a low-level drawer, and the sound of glass clinking around fills the room.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I find myself leaning in just a bit to study her collections.
Bottles of all sizes and shapes rattle around in the deep drawer.
She carefully selects one that perfectly fits my purpose.
Again, her uncanny perception is unnerving.
Having found the one deemed correct, Beldham swiftly slides back in the drawer before turning to face me. "This, I trust, should do the trick,” she states quite matter-of-factly, setting the epistle down on the tiny bit of spare space available on her desk with a firm ‘clink’.
I’m a tad stunned at how easy that was. Outside communication from your cardinal is not strictly allowed.
I rationalize this unexpected outcome with the knowledge that she likely is granting me this kindness because I have no one else out there in the entirety of Pontus to communicate with.
No family, no home, not even a memory of my past life.
Therefore, there is really only one candidate for whom I may be contacting.
“I assume you remember how to use them from my course?” Beldham inquires, her voice as crisp as the winter winds stirring outside her arched windows.
I dutifully repeat our instructions from her lesson over them in level-six. “Slip the message in, seal it with your signet, and drop it in a body of water.”
Our Grand Regent’s stern face reveals nothing as she nods her head, currently steepled upon slender fingers. “Don’t forget to call out your intended receiver's name in full. Otherwise it could end up in only the depths know where.”
“Thank you, Grand Regent.” I acknowledge her unexpected kindness with sincerity before taking the epistle from her desk and turning to leave.
My hand grips the ornate handle of the exit, and I’m almost halfway through when her sharp voice calls back to me. "Captain Boreas, be sure to return the epistle to me when you're finished with it."
I’ve read and re-read the tightly rolled note in my hand more times than I will probably ever admit.
After the events of last night, I have questions that demand answers. Even though the thought of sending this message makes my stomach feel like it might just tear itself apart,
Winter is coming on strong, with its freezing rain and frigid winds that smatter and tear at bits of my hair while I slip the message into the glass epistle bottle.
The black sands beneath my boots have a thin layer of morning frost upon them that sings to my affinity.
I ignore the power inside of me that wishes to be allowed time to play and remain focused on the task at hand.
Once my note has settled securely inside the epistle, I push back the corked stopper. On the outer end of the cork is a black re-impressionable wax made for near infinite uses of the device. I press my northern captain's ring into it firmly as my sealing signet.
The seas today are calm despite the deepening cold; the swelling waves form a pattern of sea foam and cool azure tides.
Inhaling the scent of salt and brine eases a bit of the tension that’s been building in my neck and shoulders.
As much as the wintry winds and frost-covered sands taunt my affinity, the pull and seduction of the seas calls to something far deeper inside of me.
Next, I locate a spacious black rock to stand on, free from the waves' current assault. Then I hold the epistle up high, the sea and sky bearing witness as I shout, “Kerau Tharos, Captain of ‘The Challenger’,” before flinging the bottle into the churning ocean before me.
As soon as it hits the water, the epistle disappears.
All I can do now is wait and hope that he’ll answer.
If there’s one tradition living within the raider ranks that I enjoy above all others, it’s revels .
The order relinquishes their terribly strict hold on us a touch when it comes to celebrating our most treasured holidays. In the Cardinal North, Luminalia is the most cherished of them all.
Luminalia is a revel dedicated to showing deference to ‘The Soteria Daughter’ and the sacrifice she made to save the world of Pontus from The Great Deluge.
The day chosen to celebrate this mythical seraph was said to have been her birth day.
That having been a thousand years ago, I doubt the accuracy of it, but I enjoy the celebrations as much as the north enjoys throwing them.
This fact is further proven when it is announced that a market will be set up inside the wharf of Giant's Crook. My crew and I are thrilled by the prospect. Normally we wear our dress regalia for the revels, so it’s a rare thing indeed to be offered the chance of an extravagant gown or finely tailored suit.
I suspect Skelm is hoping to impress not only the other cardinals but also the attending TideLords with this spectacle.
He’s never been satisfied with his lot here, always itching to get back and rise into the newest Raider King’s ranks.
Perhaps he sees this as a chance.
Regardless of the motives, I'm a bundle of cautious excitement as the eight of us journey down to the wharf during our allotted free day to pick out our attire for Luminalia. My crew's fur-lined cloaks are wrapped tightly against the icy winds and white flurries dancing about in the salty air.
“I want something pink—no orange—or maybe chartreuse. Gods, it's been so long since I’ve worn a color outside of boring old blue,” Prisca laments as we descend the rocky cliffside.
Nephthys argues immediately, "Well, I’m wearing orange, so you’ll have to pick a different color.”
“I’m thinking of something with a pattern.” Nimra’s soft voice from the back of the group adds to the twins' conversation.
"Oh, you’d look incredible in a floral,” Greer says thoughtfully.
Davina sighs. No doubt she’s relieved to be given a break from the leeches, but I sometimes wonder if our company actually provides her much sanctuary or just adds to her stress. “I’m picturing green, but I’m not sure what shade,” she muses aloud.
“You’ll look good in any of them,” Nimra remarks breezily with a wave of her hand.
“What are you going to get, Captain?” Kleio asks with a playful nudge of her shoulder.
“That is a great question,” I answer vaguely.
I honestly have no idea what I’m searching for today. I’ve never worn a dress before, and I’ve also never gotten so much as a choice of the shirt on my own back. I’m not positive whether or not I actually even have a preference in colors.
“Something purple for me,” Kleio announces with a grin.
"Ooooh, shocking ,” Herse teases from my other side.
Kleio has made it well known to us all of her favorite color time and again over these last several years. I huff out a laugh at the prickly pout she hurls immediately towards Herse.
I’m pensive the rest of our trek while the others continue on in their lighthearted chatter.
It’s been an entire week since I sent the epistle off to Kerau, and I’ve received absolutely nothing in return.
Not even the godsdamned epistle bottle back so that I can at least make good on my promise to Beldham. I feel stupid for even reaching out.
Kerau has undoubtedly forgotten all about me by now.
As a captain under a TideLord, his horizons are far wider, brighter, and no doubt busier than I could ever imagine.
I just wish he would send me something. Even if it’s just a note telling me not to reach out anymore.
Then at least I would know for sure he was the one to actually get my message in the first place.
Gods forbid anyone else received the epistle.