Page 63 of Death’s Kiss (The Order of the Tide Raiders #1)
T he leg I rest beneath our table shakes with unusual impatience.
Preceptor Beldham has turned around no less than four times in the last half hour of today’s lecture covering systematic raiding ploys in order to glare at my various forms of fidgeting. I grimace when her piercing blue eyes land on me for what is now the fifth time.
“Captain Boreas, do we need to tie you to your seat this morning or have your leg removed altogether?” Her voice carries out to the back of the room, where the South Regent observes.
Kleio and Herse both flash me quizzical looks, which I ignore. I’ve been anxious as hell since receiving a message during breakfast carrying Skelm's signet seal. He’s requested I meet in his quarters following the conclusion of today’s classes. That’s hours from now.
I hate to admit it but his methods of torture are becoming quite clever.
There are about a million different reasons why our grand preceptor would need to meet with me. They churn my nerves with their passing, each one even more unsavory than the last. The worst of all being Skelm somehow learning of my misstep during Luminalia.
I worry about Kerau exposing me almost as often as I did Captain Agni. He sends me epistles with long written apologies every week. I’ve yet to respond to a single one. Instead, I shred them immediately after reading before pitching the scraps into the sea.
Seeing as he is the captain of a TideLord, Beldham and the others can’t very well restrict him from attempting communications with me. Although I’m almost certain she supposes them to be love letters.
Who knew the old bat had a heart?
Pressing my lips into a firm line, I shake my head in silent response to Beldham's chastising.
After a considering moment, she drops her petrifying gaze and breaks us off into table discussions regarding successful overwintering ploys.
Kleio begins leading our debate, leaving me free to zone out to the sounds of Herse and Greer arguing.
I lean back further in my seat and my ankles come to cross in an attempt to stop their restless movement. I'm trying hard not to brood too deeply over the reason for my summons. Thinking about it won’t lessen the punishment.
A fact I know painfully well.
“If she asks to have you tied again, I think I’ll volunteer,” whispers a dark, sultry voice from just beside my ear.
My pulse stumbles. I hadn’t realized how far back I’d positioned myself while mentally spacing.
Sliding my gaze to the right, I find Olsson Agni leaning forward in his seat so that our faces are a mere inch apart.
A wave of heat floods my system and I quickly work to dispel it before the evidence can manifest on my skin.
“I would prefer to lose the leg,” I whisper sharply in return.
His resounding chuckle is semi-frightening, without the typical edge of bitterness that I've come to expect. “ Tu minoris aestimo quam iucundus esset experientia. ” His comment exudes a taunting quality and I’m more curious than usual to unravel its meaning .
Agni’s smirk is cocky when he gives me a flash of his brows before turning back to rejoin his crew. I don’t even have the chance to respond. Vagar narrows his deep navy eyes in my direction before saying something to his captain in a voice too quick and quiet for me to pick up.
I can’t decide if Agni’s foreign words sounded more like a threat or a promise. Quite possibly they’re both. His little comments, I’ve come to realize, are each a mind game in and of themselves. They also happen to be the perfect distraction from my anxious brooding.
I’d previously written the southern captain off as an especially irksome, pretentious highborn. One who’s used to the taste of power and willing to do whatever necessary to keep it flowing.
His obsession with vexing me in particular I noted as strange but also not so unlike others I’ve encountered before. I’m well aware others see me as an easy target and there’s a distinct message to send by crushing me under their heel.
But lately, I've been reconsidering.
Our interaction that night after the winter storm rattled the very tightly wrapped categorical box I had him packaged in. Arrogant, self-important, spoiled, cocky-little-prick, the labels all read. Now—well—now I wasn’t so sure which of them actually fit.
The kelpie and the tragedy of its maiming were one of the large driving nails in Agni’s coffin of awfulness. Learning that it was unintended, and what's more, that he felt something very much like remorse over it, has sent me into an existential loop.
If I’m not analyzing Agni properly—if I haven’t been this whole time—then I can never hope to form the right strategy in order to bring about his downfall.
And he must fall.
Whether I’m willing to audibly admit it or not, Captain Agni and his crew pose the biggest threat to me and mine when it comes to winning The Vault and leaving the north. I won’t allow for my own miscalculations about the asshole to be the reason that he wins .
If that is in fact what it comes down to.
The nights I spend twisting and turning in sweat-dampened sheets are now dedicated to deciphering this sudden shift in his character.
Or is it truly another layer ?
I struggle to grasp the horrible way in which Agni was so easily able to slide right back into the role of tormentor. He was unexpectedly skilled in countering his own private admission by forcing me to pry out a dark and damaged piece of my soul in return.
I’m not an idiot. I know he’s terrible. I know he’s cruel and conceited and outright insolent. However, I also now know there is more to it than that.
To him .
I’ve memorized the words he gifted me that night and tucked them away into a dark, shadowed corner of my consciousness. Sometimes I find myself repeating them beneath my breath when ugly images of earlier years break into my thoughts or night terrors drag me from slumber.
Oderint dum metuant.
Let them hate, so long as they fear.
It has indeed become a sort of prayer and repeating them evokes in me an unexplainable calm. I've discovered that they feel more powerful in his rich dialect than in my northern translation. I’m beginning to worry that there is much, maybe too much, regarding Agni that I do not know.
Kleio gives me a curious look when I return my attention to their ongoing debate and I throw her a glance that promises an explanation later.
Wrapping up one of the final lessons remaining in our theory of war class, I feel a vexing tug on my braid. I don’t bother turning around. I can feel the perpetrator’s movements as he stands and passes me, trailing behind the rest of his crew.
Before exiting, Agni pauses to look over his shoulder, finding me brazenly flipping off his backside with both hands and a deep scowl. His response to my obscene gestures is worse than I could have anticipated .
Agni laughs a real laugh. Right before his mouth curves itself up into a heart-stoppingly crooked, dangerously-dark grin. An expression I’m positive I’ve never seen him wear before.
My heart stutters and then pounds furiously against my ribcage, each beat a desperate attempt to remind me to breathe.
Heat threatens to give away the brewing storm of new and strange emotions taking root inside of me.
My affinity fights against the warmth spreading from the pit of my stomach, unfurling in slow, tingling waves that reach all the way to my fingertips.
I blink and he slips out into the fray beyond.
Kleio’s voice echoes back into existence and I have no idea how long she’s been talking to me. "Merena, are you alright? We have to get to Darood’s class. Anyone late this week is getting waterboarded for level-four demonstrations or something.”
"Yeah—that's good. I mean, I'm fine. This whole meeting with Skelm is just messing with my head.”
I quickly gather myself and follow her towards the rest of our retreating crew. But my claim is not entirely the truth.
Something is incredibly wrong with me.
Every detail of that crooked grin is now seared into my mind.
“What a sick fucking joke. ”
The evening following Beldham’s lecture finds me storming out of our grand preceptor’s quarters with an attitude I wouldn’t have dared display had I not been so close to freedom.
The thought of kicking down his door actually presented itself to me as a legitimate temptation. I swear I saw a flash of outrage in Skelm’s eye, as if he could read my momentary consideration.
We’re just so damn close to ditching this hellish island. The mere thought of not winning The Vault has my insides freezing over in a fit of terrified rage.
" Well now , Boreas, whose fault is it for choosing a leech as a crew member ?”
Skelm basically spat his list of reasons for his disapproval at me. My teeth grind together in memory as I tear down the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time.
I make it to the main level and stalk the long corridor. The stone’s carved recesses reveal the outside world is exploding with delayed symptoms of spring. Icy veins spider the moist walls with sharp crackling sounds in my wake as I veer towards the outdoor lyceums.
In instances like this one, with the internal beating so savage and wild, it's safer for all residents of the Cardinal North if I work off at least a portion of my affinity’s violence outdoors.
My crew has already started their evening training rounds, I can hear their voices mixing with the ringing of weapons.
The fourth and final trial is not as mysterious as the other three. Each time The Vault rises, every captain and their crew are obliged to participate. It’s said to be a test of loyalty and leadership. I’ve had Kleio run training on the side in preparation for the last several months.