Page 9

Chapter nine

R aggon’s wrists were already slick with sweat and blood from the manacles’ rough edges. His leather coat clung to him in the dank cell. With enough pressure in the right spot, maybe he could—

The dark iron suddenly gave way with a crack like breaking ice. The sea steel, without its partner to maintain the spell, crumbled to glittering dust. His magic rushed back like a breaking wave, leaving him gasping with relief.

A shout echoed through the stone corridors, followed by the scuffling thud of boots. More visitors were coming. Raggon hurriedly threw his hands under the broken iron left of the manacles, pretending to still be bound.

A familiar, putrid caller came into view. Captain Maddox. He brought with him the stench of stale rum and sweat. Seeing Raggon behind bars was enough to set the man to sniggering. “I hear I’m to wish you felicitations. You sly dog. You’re to marry the Land Witch, and here I was thinking you were enemies. Have the Sylphorians made up with the Circians then?”

Raggon glared. His black hair fell into his eyes as he steadied himself for this confrontation. “Where’s my brother?”

“He’s on my ship,” Maddox snarled. “We’ve got to keep you in line somehow.”

His stomach clenched when he thought of the crinkling at the corner of his brother’s eyes, even in the worst situations. Ah Smiley! How long could he hold up?

Maddox moved into the light. Red pulsating injuries were the man’s latest tokens from their battle. Some inept surgeon had clumsily stitched them in a way that would leave more repulsive scars on the man’s face. Maddox had repaid Raggon by slashing him in the side… except the wound was inexplicably gone.

“I’ve made slaves of all your surviving men,” Maddox boasted, the gaps of his teeth rotting pits as he reveled in his enemy’s downfall. “A whole ship of hostages readying to set sail to the Undine Isles.”

The revelation hit Raggon like a punch to the gut, but he kept his face neutral. “Circe has it wrong. I can’t touch that dagger. My power is of a different sort. She’s delusional!”

Maddox’s snorting laughter was full of mockery. “You must’ve convinced the Land Witch of your… skills.”

Raggon had heard enough. He’d release himself of this deadweight and liberate his men. “I didn’t thank you,” he said.

“For what?” Maddox asked.

“Your ship.”

Raggon dissolved into seafoam, his form becoming mist and shadow before materializing on the other side of the cell bars—one leap in the chain of shifts that would eventually carry him to freedom. The manacles clattered dully to the dirt as Maddox’s eyes widened in shock. The beasts guarding the dungeons roared, their twisted forms of scales and fangs lunging forward.

But it was as he said, they weren’t much for brains and Raggon shifted again, this time snatching a sword from a guard’s scabbard mid-transformation. Maddox screeched out and almost took off his head, before Raggon disappeared into another cloud of vapor.

Maddox’s blade whistled through the air where his neck had been a heartbeat before, but Raggon was already gone, racing through the dank corridor in bursts of mist, appearing and disappearing like frenzied lightning. Each materialization brought him closer to freedom, closer to the ship where his brother waited as Raggon moved at ten times the speed of a natural man.

The drawbridge loomed ahead, still lowered. He didn’t wait for the cry to halt his escape, his boots thundering across weathered planks each time he touched ground, when movement stirred in the moat below. A roar shook the bridge to its foundations. A massive dragon’s head shot from the water, fangs dripping venom and foul brine, its serpentine, scaled body adorned with trailing algae and reeds like some hideous crown.

Raggon stumbled, scrambling backward, overcome by the overpowering stench as the monstrous head descended. Fire erupted from the recesses of its belly and shot at him in a spray of brimstone and death. Raggon barely shifted in time. When he materialized a distance away, the air reeked with smoke, and looking behind him, he saw the scorched bridge was a wreck of blackened timber and melted metal behind him.

Excellent! Another obstacle facing Circe’s armies in their pursuit of him. They’d have to go around to chase after him.

Then Raggon danced with the wind itself, his body dissolving and reforming in heartbeat rhythms. Each materialization lasted no longer than a lightning strike—here on mud-slicked cobblestones, there between shadow and sunlight, now atop a merchant’s cart, then beside a startled guard. He was everywhere, never daring too far a distance lest his essence scatter beyond recall, and yet, he was also nowhere, a story told in fragments of sea spray and shadow.

The port emerged before him like a painting coming into focus, familiar sounds washing over him—seamen calling to one another, gulls wheeling overhead with piercing cries, waves lapping against wooden hulls. The forest of masts rose against the morning sky, their white sails unfurling like great wings as crews prepared for departure.

Salty air filled Raggon’s lungs as he took solid form once more, his boots finding purchase on sun-warmed stones near the vessel’s stern. Circe’s flag with the crimson boar waved proudly in the brisk wind. Maddox’s pride and joy was a masterwork of shipbuilding—her wooden rails gleamed with fresh varnish; her brass fittings caught the sunlight like captured stars.

On the quarterdeck, he spotted a familiar figure: the Duke, bound, though his aristocratic jaw tilted proudly. Even after all these years, the man still carried himself like the warrior who had saved them from Circe’s first attack.

Taking a deep breath, Raggon shifted to the main deck, studying the crew as he materialized from the spray of his magic. Maddox had assembled an impressive collection of cutthroats and veterans—weathered sailors who knew their business, judging by their swagger and the precision of their knots.

Yes, he couldn’t thank Maddox enough for gathering such a fine crew, and for providing what might be the sweetest vessel Raggon had ever had the privilege of commandeering.

A shadow fell across him as a mountain of a man blocked his way, tribal tattoos snaking up his bare arms and a whip hanging low on his hip. “Who are you?” the pirate demanded. His bloodthirsty sneer showed how he bullied all his men to submission.

“Your new captain,” Raggon answered. To the side, others moved in on him—twelve men within striking distance, three with pistols, two near the rigging.

The tattooed giant’s whip sliced through the air. The whip cracked where Raggon had stood. Raggon reappeared behind a red-bearded pirate with twin pistols. His fingers closed around the first pistol’s grip even as its owner reached for it. Raggon shifted again, taking the weapon with him, and materialized on the starboard rail where a burly sailor tried to take his head off with a boarding axe. The stolen pistol fired. The man stumbled back, crimson spreading across his chest. The axe crashed against the deck.

Two pirates rushed him from opposite directions, their cutlasses gleaming. Raggon waited until the last possible moment, then became seafoam once more. Their blades met with a metallic shriek where he had been, and he reappeared behind them. A swift kick sent one stumbling into his companion, and both pitched over the rail with startled cries.

The tattooed giant bellowed and charged, but Raggon flowed around him like smoke through fingers. He snatched the second pistol from the belt of the man he’d dubbed Red-beard, and in the same fluid motion, fired point-blank at a sailor coming at him with a knife. The blade clattered uselessly to the deck.

Bodies splashed into the wine-dark sea as he cleared the deck with ruthless efficiency. The tattooed giant, now alone, raised his whip again—but Raggon materialized beside him, plucking the weapon from his meaty fingers as easily as confiscating one of his brother’s inventions. The giant’s eyes widened as Raggon tested the whip’s weight in his hand.

“I believe this makes you my bosun,” Raggon said with a dangerous, generous smile. The giant’s face went pale beneath his tattoos as he took a hasty step backward. “Unless you’d prefer to join your friends for a swim?”

The man shook his head, eyes wide.

Raggon swung around on his heel to face the remaining crew. Blood dripped from his dagger. “Does anyone else care to object?”

The officers stepped back, hands raised in surrender. Loyalty, as Maddox would soon learn, had to be earned, not bought. Shifting through the air one final time, Raggon retrieved a key from an officer’s belt to free his old friend.

Morris let out a grunt as Raggon jabbed the keys into the lock of his manacles. “Did you have to bloody the whole deck, Your Majesty?”

The manacles clattered to the deck with the clash of ringing metal. “Quit your complaining,” Raggon said, the royal title still jarring to his ears though he’d better accustom himself to it now that his secret was out. The days of anonymity were over. “I got us a ride out of here, didn’t I?”

The Duke rubbed his wrists with grim satisfaction. “I will release the others.” His voice carried the same steady authority it had when Raggon was a boy.

“Wait—I have to know,” Raggon grabbed his arm, his heart thudding uncomfortably. Maddox had bragged of using Tobias as his hostage, but if he had lied… “Where is my brother?”

The Duke pointed to a lanky figure near the forecastle. He was alive!

But Raggon’s triumph at taking the ship shattered the moment he saw his brother’s neck. The Typhon’s Kiss—that same fusion of dark iron and sea steel that had bound Raggon’s wrists—circled Tobia’s throat like a lover’s cruel promise.

His breath caught as he recognized the intricate wave patterns, the deadly weaving of the two enchanted metals that pulsed under the light. For a moment, he was back in that dungeon, feeling the magic drain from his body. “No,” he whispered, the word dropping from his lips with the heaviness of a stone. “No, no, no.”

On Tobias’s shoulder, Sterling ruffled his feathers anxiously, pecking at the metallic collar as if sensing its master’s distress.

Raggon reached his brother’s throat with trembling hands—there would be a seam where the sea steel and dark iron connected. Yes, there it was! He found it.

He had hope… but no time. In the distance, Circe’s beasts were already advancing across the wharf, their misshapen forms weaving in that strange, eerie formation.

“Set sail!” Raggon bellowed. Maddox’s vessel was a three-masted barquentine and perfect for speed. Her wooden deck planks, though scarred from battle, were solid. He noticed the hardened faces of those who hadn’t been in his original crew. They watched him with suspicion, and despite how he’d handily took down their leaders, they still reeked of rebellion.

Thinking quickly, he gave them a deal that the greedy tyrant Maddox wouldn’t: “All treasure we find will be divided equally amongst the crew.” The men’s faces registered surprise. He doubted Maddox ever offered such incentive. “Those who don’t like my terms, pick up your sword and deliver your complaints.”

None did.

“Weigh anchor!” Raggon commanded. The deck came alive with movement as the crew blessedly sprang into action, manning the capstan, heaving the anchor from the harbor bottom. They had to work fast! The relentless march of Circe’s monsters would end with her soldiers dropping into the sea once the platform ended and swimming with a zombie like persistence to reach their prey—nothing would stop them. “Loose the fore-topsail! Get those sheets trimmed!”

Men swarmed up the ratlines to unfurl the sails. The heavy canvas snapped taut in the freshening breeze.

He hurried back to Tobias as Sterling squawked and pecked at the Typhon’s Kiss. “Dead man’s chains! Dead man’s chains.”

Raggon flinched. The parrot was likely echoing what their cruel captors had said when snapping on this monstrosity, but he’d had success at getting his own off. “It’s not as bad as all that!” he growled. A heavy iron chain stretched from Tobias’s collar to a sturdy metal deck ring bolted into the ship’s forecastle planking. These iron rings, normally used to secure cargo during storms, now served a crueler purpose. An expert glance told him that the chains holding him weren’t enchanted, at least.

“Dead man’s chains! Dead man’s chains!”

With growing impatience, Raggon waved the bird away. His eyes fell on the boarding axe abandoned on the deck below them—the very one his burly attacker had tried to separate his head with earlier. Raggon shifted to snatch it up and reappeared at his brother’s side. “Let’s get this thing off you!”

Tobias’ eyes widened, and he backed up. “Oh no, you don’t! Not with that!”

“I’ve got it!” Raggon knelt beside his brother, examining where the chain connected to the collar. He’d cut as many links off as possible before working on the enchanted metal. “Lay on the deck. No sense you dragging around more of this weight than necessary.”

“For the sake of the High Command, be careful with that barbaric tool!” Morris shouted from across the deck, his aristocratic accent touched with horror when he spied what mischief his two charges were about to embark on. He ran to stop them.

“Hold still.” Raggon muttered, positioning the axe head against the chain’s weakest link nearest the collar. “I’m just going to get you free first.”

Tobias knew when to follow orders. Groaning, he got into place.

With careful precision, Raggon struck the link against the deck. The sound of metal striking metal rang out across the forecastle. Tobias winced with each blow, eyes squeezed shut. It took three solid strikes before the ordinary iron yielded with a satisfying crack. The severed chain clattered to the deck.

“There,” Raggon grunted with satisfaction. He turned to Morris who’d come just in time . “Got that first part off.”

“By the grace of the heavens alone,” Morris huffed, straightening his disheveled clothing.

At least now Tobias was no longer tethered to a single spot. His brother rubbed the skin around the Typhon’s Kiss still clamped punishingly around his neck. He stared up at his brother, his usual smile replaced by a grimace. “I can’t shift with it.” His voice was raw with frustration.

His powers of moving through the air would leave his physical constraints behind—which was the very reason the witch had used this enchanted metal against the brothers in the first place.

Raggon’s fingers ran over the collar.

“Don’t you dare try to use an axe against that!” Morris warned.

Of course not! Raggon took out the dagger he’d stolen from the last man he’d killed. He’d been able to get his manacles off—maybe there was a way!

The sun climbed higher as they worked, its heat beating down on the deck as the ship cut through the waves. The Duke had excused himself, no longer able to watch. The port fell away behind them, but Raggon barely noticed, focused entirely on the collar.

Blood welled up from where the knife had slipped, a thin line across Tobias’s throat that made Raggon’s hands shake. They’d been at it for hours, trying every angle, every bit of leverage they could manage, but the Typhon’s Kiss sat too snug against skin. One wrong move and… Raggon dropped the knife, bile rising in his throat as he watched his brother dab at the cut.

Tobias’s brown eyes darted at his brother before flashing a determined grin. “You dirty bilge-rat! That’s one way of taking out all competition for the crown.”

Raggon didn’t feel like joking. “We’ll find another way.” But the words tasted like lies. The seam was there, visible and mocking him. Any attempt to work at the crack risked cutting too deep. He could free himself from manacles, but this—this was like trying to remove a noose after the weight of the body had dropped.

Morris approached, his weathered face grave. “I’ve made the orders to take down Circe’s flags.”

“No.” Raggon shook his head. “Fly them high. Nothing else will sail us through these waters unmolested.”

After a moment, Morris nodded. “The helm awaits your orders, Captain. What heading shall I give the helmsman?”

Raggon hesitated, studying his brother. He’d go to every length to free him, even if they’d all stare death in the face. “Set our course for the Undine Isles,” he said. “And tell our new bosun to keep every scrap of canvas flying. We’ll need all the speed she can give us.”