Page 65 of Death’s Kiss (The Order of the Tide Raiders #1)
T antalizingly warm air ruffles past my cheek as I gaze out at the sinking sun.
My chin rests on a fist beneath my elbows, currently propped on the stone terrace edge. Scents of brine and salt tease the inside of my nose while I study the arctic waves out beyond. I watch the waters as they heave a ship brandishing the crimson southern flag towards the horizon.
A lip slides between my teeth and I try to steady my untamed nerves. This day has taken a torturously long time to arrive but now that it’s here, it seems to have come all too quickly.
Tonight marks our final pillar trial. The one that will decide our fates and potentially take us away from here for good. The anxious beating in my chest at the prospect of what tomorrow morning might bring is so obnoxious that I’m sure everyone on the entire bleeding isle must be able to hear it.
Anxiety peppers my brow and tips my stomach over. The doubts I tossed and turned with from nights prior is suddenly overbearing .
Closing my eyes against the sea air, I force myself to take deep, steady, practiced breaths. I utilize the rhythm that Preceptor Darood has drilled into us for high-stress situations. Inhale a count of four. Pause. Exhale a count of four. Pause. Repeat.
This cycle of breath work keeps me company while I watch the colorful portrait of dusk unfold.
I’ve always loved this time of day best. When the sun lays down atop the sea and stars begin to wink into existence in the brilliant vividness of half-light. It calls to me, singing some sort of forgotten melody while also unfurling a bit of the tightness inside.
Eventually my unease fades.
After a few peaceful moments, I blow out a long-winded sigh and reluctantly move onto more important thoughts. Tonight's events will begin with the traditional race into The Vaults' famously treacherous kórallian maze. All of my focus needs to be on that. Must be on that.
The anticipation of fulfilling Kleio’s plan sends a welcome buzz of adrenaline pulsing through my veins.
My fingers tap impatiently along the coarse barrier and the bottom hem of my captain’s cape lifts idly in the breeze.
Both northern crews are set to report down at Giant’s Crook right after sunset.
The other cardinals have begun departing already.
Our final trial won’t begin until midnight.
“Captain?”
Turning away from the waters, I shift to face Kleio hovering in the doorway of our cabin's veranda.
The exact same hesitant smile plays on her lips as the day she tracked me down to the wharf and conned me into becoming her ally.
My lips flicker upwards at the memory of it.
That turned out to be the most important day of my life. Until today, perhaps.
“Raider Hiraeth?” I mimic her formal tone in jest.
“We have something to show you,” she says, her eyes dancing with endearing mischief .
The smile I sport stays in place while my brows pull together in question.
I give her a bemused tilt of my head in interest. Holding onto her own grin, Kleio motions to what I assume must be the rest of my crew and I watch as the six of them file out into the darkening veranda to form a shadowed line before me.
The wrinkles of confusion beneath my hairline grow as I look them over. Each one is expertly dressed in our newly fashioned uniforms. It’s not often the north provides us with new provisions of anything. Just about every scrap of cloth I've ever worn has been third or fourth-hand, at least.
So discovering the carefully wrapped bundle of skillfully crafted regalia left before our cabin’s hearth this morning was akin to having gowns made for Luminalia. Better, even.
Having obviously kept our sizes on file from the previous festivities tailoring, each garb was created and labeled individually.
The uniform itself gives the illusion of being a single bodysuit, while in actuality it’s two separate pieces.
The long-sleeve top is made from surprisingly breathable yet fitted fabric, beginning at the neck and ending at the waist. The bottoms are looser, high-waisted, and made from a similarly lightweight material.
They also boast a plethora of pockets, perfect for concealing numerous weapons without weighing you down.
A sturdy onyx belt for sheathing supplies and additional weapons graces each of our hips. Boots the color of midnight cut off just below the knee with outsoles made for any terrain. The waterproofing material of them is rather curious too, like leather but without its typical shine.
My personal favorite part of the suit lies in the details.
While we’re covered from neck to toe in black, the stitching provides a pop of brilliant azure.
That blazing thread work was then taken a step further as each of our affinity markings has been artfully embroidered in the fabric atop the part of our bodies where they reside.
The backside of the shirt currently clinging tightly to my skin displays my affinity proudly in all its wild and unruly patterns. The stitching imitates my marking perfectly as it bursts across my shoulder blades and streams down to the base of my spine without any sort of definitive motif.
Squinting back at Kleio in confusion, she laughs at my obvious puzzlement before stepping into the light of the dying sun. Something glints in her neatly tied braids and shines bright in my questioning eyes.
Understanding takes a moment to dawn, but when it does, my jaw slackens and I blink repeatedly at my second in disbelief. I’m not entirely positive whether I trust my vision, especially after the events following Reed's pyre burning.
But then the rest of my crew steps forward one by one. They join Kleio in the golden evening light and I’m suddenly blinded by them all.
No—it—they can’t have.
A tythe.
All seven members of my crew, who make up our sacred eight, have streaks of pure glittering white woven throughout their hair.
A lump threatens to strangle my throat as I scan the group over and over again, in continued disbelief.
My mouth opens but no sound comes out. I can’t find the words, let alone form them.
What they’ve done—the statement they’re making— tything themselves to me. Tything themselves by the very awful token the drowned gods made with my startling shade of hair.
They’ve taken my deepest, darkest vulnerability and turned it into a show of solidarity. The same way that a TideLord’s crew will choose permanent matching ornaments or inkings of great significance on their skin to link themselves by.
What they’ve done is considered a major declaration among The Order of the Tide Raiders.
A tything is an extremely sacred rite. A way to show that you all belong together as one— always . It takes every last shred of my own self-discipline not to sink to my knees and break down in tears. Even so, my chin quivers, and my eyes begin searing with undeserved rapture .
“H-how?” I manage to ask. I'm too stunned to put into words what this means to me, or the gravity of the pronouncement they're poised to make.
Kleio’s eyes gleam with the tears I won’t afford myself. “I went back to the wharf market the day after we got fabrics for Luminalia,” she explains easily, as if it were no more than an errant thought.
My head shakes slowly, a hand coming to cover my mouth as I again examine every one of their beautiful heads. There must be countless strands woven throughout their various tied-back hairstyles.
“But—how did you all—they were worth a fortune!” I sputter in remembrance of how expensive they’d been, fifty-silvers each . My widened eyes trace back and forth over the line of women before me again and again.
My brave, rash, idiotic, perfectly wonderful crew.
"Well, as you may remember, mommy moneybags over here did wash up with a rather ridiculously large oblation.” Herse’s husky voice is teasing and she gives a pointed cough in direction of my second.
Kleio rolls her eyes. “We pooled together for them but I might have contributed a little bit extra.”
Herse rubs her thumb against her pointer and index finger while mouthing the words 'money bags’ to me in clear emphasis. A bubble of rich laughter escapes me in response. The others break into snickers at Herse’s charade while a reddened Kleio waves them off.
"This, however—” My second begins fishing out a small item from her breast pocket. “I will take credit for,” she boasts, extending the retrieved trinket out for me to see.
I glance down at the small golden band in her hand, then back to Kleio's face in uncertainty.
Laughing gently at my perplexed expression, she explains, “It’s a cuff that you put around your hair when it’s tied on top of your head. See the holes on the sides? You just slide that hairpin I gave you through them both and it will lock it all in one place. ”
My gaze returns to the precious golden trinket laying flat in her palm. “No,” I say in refusal after a minute, shaking my head repeatedly. "No, it’s too much, I can’t.”
“ Merena. ” Kleio sighs deeply, her eyes looking up at the sky, as if she already knew this would be a battle.
“Please, just this once—for me—don't be difficult. We don’t have time like we did with the hairpin debacle for me to challenge you to a fight, just for you to win, in order for you to accept the stupid gift.”
“Are you saying you let me win that fight?” I argue and Kleio’s lips press together in a thin line of silence. It only takes a moment to read the seriousness in her gaze before relenting.
"Okay,” I surrender, swallowing hard. “Thank you .” My traitorous voice decides right then is the perfect time to fracture and heat consumes the back of my neck in embarrassment.
Fucking Hiraeth.