Page 9 of Death’s Kiss (The Order of the Tide Raiders #1)

Meanwhile Vash and I, along with our crews, flank the opposite side of the berth. To be seen and not heard , as Skelm so lovingly put it. The rest of our level, and those below, are back at the dark-spired fortress, awaiting our arrival and the feast to follow.

A minute passes before the shape of a willowy woman appears at the top of the gangplank.

She’s bathed in gold from the shade of her hair down the flowing fabric of her robes.

The beautiful age lines gracing her sun-kissed face only serve to make the golden willowy woman more striking.

Her descent is masked with an air of authority and poise.

“Ah, Krasinu,” Skelm says in welcome, lifting a gloved hand to assist her in making the last step onto the wooden pier.

She brushes him off and clears the gap in one graceful leap. Which is highly impressive, considering the length of her robes. “I s’ink you mean Grand Preceptor Vedet,” the woman replies loftily, her accent a rolling wave of soft vowels and harsh consonants.

A man I hadn’t noticed before appears at the eastern grand preceptor’s side. He’s thin, both in face and body, but his hair is thick and dark, accompanied by a matching mustache. He measures about half a foot shorter than Grand Preceptor Vedet.

Skelm turns his one good eye on the male with a barely restrained sneer, completely ignoring Vedet’s earlier correction. “And you brought the mutt, I see.”

It’s only due to years of training that I’m able to refrain from choking on my own surprise at Skelm’s scathing words. Vash appears to have the same struggle. His eyes widen while glancing toward me.

What the fuck is that about? he seems to say.

My own eyes widen back in turn. It’s the only signal we pass. To be seen and not heard.

The slim mustachioed man beside the eastern grand preceptor laughs, his dark eyes giving Skelm a once-over. "I'm surprised you even recognized me, Grand Preceptor. V’hat v’ith only half your vision still intact,” he ripostes with a cruel smile .

Beldham intervenes in the next moment. Probably because of the way Skelm is looking at the man—like he wants to wear his skin for a cape. “Grand Preceptor Vedet and Regent Nagual, please follow me. I’ll show you to the North Order. We have a feast prepared and awaiting your arrival."

Beldham’s crisp voice offers no argument, and she’s already begun leading the way out of the wharf before either can so much as comment.

Vedet lifts her chin and delicately sniffs the air with disdain before following.

But Nagual turns to face the deck of the behemoth ship. “Captains, fall in!” he orders.

I discover two new forms have already appeared at the top of their gangplank. Nagual then turns with the sweep of his auric cloak and follows after Vedet and Beldham’s retreating forms.

The eastern captains march down the steps in a dutiful procession, one male and one female, each no older than twenty.

They look as though they could quite possibly be siblings, twins even.

Both have tied back their long, dark hair into plaits, not unlike my own.

They possess rich olive skin with very similar almond-shaped eyes that glitter like cut garnet in the shadowy wharf.

The two of them match completely in their deep emerald uniforms trimmed with a tan-colored lining. I watch the captains descend the short gangplank down to the pier in eerie unison before pausing in sync to wait for their crews to join them.

Vash and I begin studying our competition from across the dock, and they scrutinize us in turn. I can see their narrowed eyes on us. They’re more than likely trying to calculate exactly why we were made captains and what power we must hold. It’s precisely what we’re trying to discern about them.

When the last of the eastern crews make it to the pier, they file behind their captains, who begin marching after their superiors. Skelm and the other Preceptors ignore them entirely. Their attention has already turned to the next ship in line.

I observe the Cardinal East’s dutiful procession until they make it out of the mountain-covered port entirely. Only then do I turn my attention to the current vessel being unloaded. The smell of newly mixed salt water fills the air while the sounds of workers continue to clang about.

I know from the silver flags hanging from the masts, with a sea-goat constellation upon them, that this craft belongs to the Cardinal West. It’s sleek and narrow, designed to cut through storms. If I had to guess, it’s likely also fast as all hell.

I’m suddenly itching to step aboard it. There’s a need inside me to see just how many knots it could do in open water if pushed.

My initial assessment is proven correct only a few minutes later when their footbridge is pulled out and down to the pier. Their ship is lower in stature than the first, so there isn’t the same awkward gap as the eastern order’s had.

A stern-looking woman—as old, if not older than Beldham—draped in a flowing cloak of charcoal, sweeps easily down the steps.

She’s followed by a tall, somewhat portly man.

His rounded head is barren of all hair and his uniform is one shade lighter than the severe eldery woman's.

But what stands out most is the thick black markings traced around his eyes and angling downward with what I assume to be kohl.

“Grand Preceptor Ator,” Skelm boasts, addressing the older woman as she makes it off the gangway.

Her time-weathered hand goes to pat the silver hair that’s been carefully coiffed into the sterling coronet-style headpiece adorning her head.

"Yes, yes,” she chirps, giving an idle wave of her hand.

“Would it be possible to skip the formalities this evening, Hymir? I need to sit soon or I shall begin to wilt.”

Skelm nods curtly. “Of course. Preceptor Ersatz will show you all the way.” He extends a hand to where Ersatz stands nearest to the exit.

Ersatz flashes a wild sort of grin at the recognition before turning to lead them to the North Order. And I swear I catch the old woman rolling her eyes before following.

Skelm flat out ignores the portly, kohl-marked man, who I can only guess is their Regent.

I'm surprised to catch Preceptor Bealu giving him an oily sneer as he walks past. So far, Bealu has remained silent at Skelm's side—no doubt plotting in his own sinister ways. And from the way the western regent chuckles at Bealu’s expression, there must be a history.

No one commands the rest of the western raider's to follow, but their captains promptly begin leading their crews down from the ship in dutiful rows of uniformed twos.

Vash and I study the next male and female pair as they step onto the pier.

Unlike the East Order, the western captains don’t even bother to look our way.

The girl is rather pretty, her head full of long, beautiful black braids with silver charms coil around them here and there.

Her upturned eyes look almost predatorial, and I can feel myself narrowing in on her as a major threat.

She'll be someone to look out for.

I can feel it.

The boy is handsome, of medium build and taller than average height, with his inky hair tied back into a bun atop his head. They both wear light gray dress regalia with dark capes similar in style to our own. I have to wonder what Vash’s thoughts are.

The western captains move at a calm and unhurried pace after their grand preceptor and regent.

Some of their crew members whisper to each other while throwing curious glances in our direction.

I stare forward icily, and when any of those gazes do land upon me, I find they look away almost immediately.

The west trails out just as the final craft moves up to dock. My stomach is starting to bark at me impatiently, and I can only pray this last arrival is quick so we can join the dinner unfolding.

The remaining preceptors seem more on edge than they did a moment ago.

Except for Skelm who remains as unruffled as always.

His one eye steadily tracks the ship being brought forward.

This last vessel appears to be made entirely of iron or some other dark metal.

There are curious markings along its hull that look almost like burn marks and create an odd pattern on its edges.

The shape of it is both hulking and sleek—like the best parts of the other vessels have been stolen in order to create this one .

Flags the color of spilt blood wave in the idle cavern breeze and reveal four golden stars arranged into the infamous southern crux of the South Cardinal Order.

It is perhaps the most terrifying ship I’ve ever seen.

The dark cruiser glides in near-perfect silence and makes me want to test it out all the more.

I watch the dockhands trying to secure the vessel and almost flinch when a loud, booming voice shouts, "Oh, do get out! The last thing I need is your filthy hands touching my ship. My raiders will drop the brow. Scurry off like the disgusting rats you are!”

Risking a glance across the way, I find Grand Preceptor Skelm smiling— actually smiling—in the direction of the gruff shouting.

The ironclad walkway is then lowered from the ship’s side with one easy, fluid movement. The mark of well-practiced raider hands. And from the dark beast of a ship emerges the outline of an equally morose man.

His hair is onyx and wild as it falls to his shoulders in unruly curls. The long black goatee he sports has the beginnings of silver streaks running up from the ends, and his deep-set eyes flash about the pier below him in a menacing sort of search.

It’s a pity Preceptor Ersatz has already left. I have a feeling the two might just have had a love-at-first-batshit-crazy-sight moment.

Those sunken eyes of his find Grand Preceptor Skelm, and his face breaks into an awful sort of expression that I think is supposed to be a grin. “Hymir!” he growls in exclaimation, throwing up his hands and striding down the metal gangway.

I notice that one of his hands is entirely made of metal, starting halfway down his forearm. The metallicity of it shimmers in the orb lights as they clasp hands, and the southern Grand Preceptor pulls Skelm into a hug of sorts. I clench my jaw to make sure it’s not hanging open.

"Saubarag, you old sea devil!” Skelm growls affectionately after releasing him from the embrace.

“It’s been too long!” his southern counterpart barks back in agreement .

Their regent ascends the walkway next, more silent than a shadow.

He’s a tall slip of a man, thin yet tan from time in the sun and cloaked in a uniform of deepest onyx.

The male's hair is devoid of almost all coloring but it's not the same damning white of my own.

Rather a pale yellow, like the shade of old milk.

He stands beside Saubarag before giving a pointed nod to Preceptor Bealu and then Preceptor Oplon a little further down the line.

Bealu inclines his head back with more respect than I’ve seen him bestow on just about anyone other than Skelm.

Incredible.

Now there’s two of them.

Preceptor Oplon merely looks away blankly.

Interesting.

“These are your captains this year, Skelm?” Saubarag questions. His deep, rumbling voice rises while turning to where Vash and I stand at attention, with our crews lined in perfect formation behind us.

Skelm’s single eye narrows directly in on me, and I can read his darkening expression with perfect clarity. Do not make a fool of me, or I'll have your hide for a rug before my hearth.

Amusement flickers in the corner of my mouth.

Were it any other year, I just might have.

But sadly not today.

Saubarag’s sunken eyes study Vash at my side, and after a minute he grunts—or maybe it’s a laugh. He and Skelm then have some wordless exchange before his attention turns itself on me.

Saubarag's eyes rove over every inch of my person in a way that makes my affinity coil tightly.

He studies me for a noticeably longer time than Vash.

And it takes every ounce of restraint I possess not to send the temperature around us plummeting.

Instead I lift my chin to his piercing stare with my own freezing gaze, refusing to look away .

A dark grin creeps across his battle-worn face, before he turns back to Skelm with a laugh. “You've certainly got your hands full here, I should think. Well, you showed me yours, Hymir—I'll show you mine. Agni! Leporem!” He barks out the names as a command.

A quick glance upward reveals his demands are met in record time. Another pair of captains have already emerged at the top of their iron bridge. One male and the other female. Albeit I don’t actually even glance at the girl to be sure.

My attention is now wholly, absolutely, locked elsewhere.