Page 9 of The Last One Standing (Rogue X Ara #4)

ROGUE

K ing’s Port wasn’t far from where we landed.

It was a town built by Auryna’s soldiers and the port where the battle against pirates was won centuries ago, but now, it was overrun by criminals, including the pirates they fought so hard to disband.

It had long since become the city of exiles, where people went when they had nowhere else to go—both human and Fae—and it came alive at sunset. Shouting, drunken laughter, and fighting poured from every tavern and gambling hall, of which there were many.

I’ve never traveled this far south. Guardian flew over the Southern Sea, and fleeting images filtered through: stars sparking off black waters, salty mist on clawed feet and wingtips, white capped crests beneath a bright moon.

Me either, I replied before walling off my mind. The two scars on my back itched, and I rolled my shoulders with a deep breath, ignoring the ache that settled in my chest.

I crossed the bridge over the canal that cut through the center of town. Floating lights speckled the deceivingly calm river, giving the death trap a romantic facade, but the undercurrent was stronger than it seemed. That canal was the final resting place of many drunken men.

No one batted an eye as I walked into the first tavern I came across, filled to the brim with men and women, human and Fae. The atmosphere felt shockingly light, given the late hour, with music playing from the corner stage.

I took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink before scanning the faces of those around me. A pit burned in my gut at the sight of them all, living, laughing, enjoying their time.

Ara wasn’t theirs to worry about, but it felt wrong.

The world should be worried. The world should be tipped upside down, in utter disarray, or simply crumbling around us.

Yet, it was only my world suffering.

As the barmaid set a mug of ale in front of me, a letter floated from a nearby fireplace, and I tracked it as it drifted closer. It landed in my lap, and I cursed under my breath.

My fist closed around the folded paper as I gulped down the ale and signaled the barmaid to order something stronger, but when I unfolded the note, the knot of tension in my gut unwound. I crumbled the parchment in my palm and scorched the evidence.

At least one thing went according to plan.

Thirty head of cattle. Take them from various camps or farms, I said to the wyverns across Auryna. They all took flight at my command and moved to snatch livestock.

When the barmaid returned with rum, I asked for paper and a quill. She chuckled until she realized I wasn’t kidding, then she slipped into a backroom and returned with both.

I ripped the parchment in two and scribbled letters to the astronomers, one bound for Nautia, one for Canyon.

I dumped every question I had regarding the liminal moon, most importantly, the date of its next occurrence.

Once finished, I folded them both, recited the spell, and they burned away in my fist.

Then, I sipped my rum and returned to my task at hand. Someone here was bound to know where the worst prisoners of the crown were kept. Hell, someone had to have been kept as a prisoner of the crown themselves at some point.

But who?

Potentially, the table of women—sex workers based on their interactions and the sheer wealth in their attire.

Because autonomy was a core value of King’s Port, sex work had always been a respected career path, as much as any other.

Autonomy above all else, an unspoken rule set in place a millennium ago by one of the more powerful pirate lords of the time.

Surrounding them were half a dozen tables occupied by current-day pirates.

Their rowdy stories would have given them away if their clothing and leathered skin hadn’t.

Their captain sat in the middle with long gray hair beneath his tricorn hat, ale after ale brought to him without him so much as lifting a hand.

In the corner, however, were a few tables of isolated men, dirty and seemingly angry. They didn’t interact with those around them, spread out among the few emptier tables, and based on how malnourished they were, they could easily be bought.

I hopped off the stool and moved in their direction when someone tapped on my shoulder. Turning, I found a Fae woman with long, white hair, yet she looked young.

“Come with me,” she said.

I gulped down the rest of the whiskey before asking, “Why?”

“She would like to speak with you.”

“She?” My brows furrowed. I looked past her but saw no one. “Who?”

“Calypso.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, but I scoffed. “Calypso, the sea wench?”

“Tis be the one, lad,” a man said as he threw his arm around the shoulders of the woman—the captain I’d seen moments before, his tricorn hat embellished with silver runes. “Don’t be doing the sea wench’s bidding, Mae.”

Mae sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’m not. She simply asked me to relay the message.”

The captain looked at me and shook his head. “Bidding, aye?”

I glanced between the two of them, ignoring his question. “Where and why does this Calypso want to see me?”

“That’s a question only she can answer,” Mae said.

Calypso had always been a scary story to trick children of the sea into behaving, a witch who liked to make deals with deceivingly high costs.

I hadn’t known she actually existed.

Apprehension coiled in my gut as I followed Mae to a hidden room behind the bar and stopped dead in my tracks when I spotted Iaso.

Their facial features, dark skin, height, hair, everything was the same—except their eyes.

Where Iaso was green and gold, warmth and sunshine, Calypso was undeniably cold, plucked from the depths, her clothing blue and eyes iridescent, like the inside of a seashell. Her irises looked to be cut from those shells, leaving her gaze unnatural.

They had to be related—twins, even—but Iaso never mentioned a sister. In fact, she explicitly said she didn’t have any family left, all taken by time.

So, who was this?

Armored scales rippled over my neck and down my torso. “Who are you?”

“Ah, there he is.” Her voice sent chills down my spine. Iaso’s voice. “My sister’s son.”

“Who are you?” I repeated.

She laughed and rose to her feet, her beads and chains clinking. Her voluptuous curls swayed, decorated with shells and sea glass.

“I thought it was a bit obvious, no?” She held a hand out, and I stared at it for an abnormally long time before sliding my hand into hers. Her grin grew wide, eyes nearly sparkling. “My name is Calypso.”

Cold slithered into my skin, and I ripped my hand from hers, scowling. “What did you just do?”

My pupils slitted, firelight pouring from my irises, heat pulsing in my veins. The shift clawed at the confines of my Fae skin, talons and fangs breaking free.

My claimed was gone. Touched. Taken. Hurt.

She wasn’t here.

Kill the inconvenience.

The woman lifted a brow in amusement, and I ground my teeth, head cocked as I wielded every ounce of restraint I had to reign in the blood lust.

My claimed wasn’t with me.

My claimed wasn’t here.

“Not much.” She laughed again, grating my nerves enough to snap me from my slip. “Not enough to fret about.”

Without Ara, my soul frayed at both ends, Fae and dragon, and I feared this was my slow—or not so slow descent into madness.

Was this the joke I failed to see all these years? Was this my father’s final punchline?

Was madness my true birthright?

A flash of Adrastus, a backhanded slap, the warm splash of blood, screaming, begging for mercy, cold laughter ringing in my ears?—

The shift ceased. Fire suffocated. Talons and fangs retracted. Only the dragon scale armor remained.

She sank back into her cushioned seat and gestured for me to sit, studying the scales along my neck as I took the chair across the table from her.

“That is quite impressive.” She lifted an urn and poured two glasses of wine. She held one out to me, but set it back on the table when I didn’t move to take it. “There are no threats here, Draig.”

“Why am I here?”

With a gleam in her eyes, she sipped from her cup and reclined in her seat, crossing one leg over the other. “You have a need, do you not?”

“And you can help me with that?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve been waiting for you to retrieve this.” From somewhere in her skirts, she pulled a dagger: silver with a blue stone in the handle.

Not just any stone. Storm’s eye.

It was identical to the one we’d purchased in Canyon.

My heart sank at the memory of that Goddess-forsaken place, but I rolled my shoulders, aggravating the wounds on my back, thankful the subsequent pain was enough to dull the deeper ache in my chest. “How did you get that?”

She shrugged before taking another sip. “You threw it in the pond. I fetched it.”

“The pond?” My eyes widened. “That’s not?—”

“This is her original dagger,” she said, waving the blade from side to side.

“How do you know that?” I narrowed my eyes at her. “How do you know about Ara at all?”

“How does Iaso know things?” she asked like it was obvious, a laugh bubbling from her throat.

My brows furrowed. I didn’t understand what that meant.

She sat straighter, her head tilted, tapping the tip of the blade on her lip. “Interesting.”

“How will the dagger help me?”

“It belonged to her once. It does still, and so, like most peculiar things, it wants to return.”

I released a sharp bark of laughter. “Right. If only it were that easy.”

I belong to her, too, yet I can’t find my way.

Her smile widened, her iridescent eyes shimmering as she leaned forward over the table. “Luckily for you, I’ve spelled the stone to lead back to its owner.”

My attention snapped to the dagger, its steel flickering under the flames of oil lamps. “How?”

“The closer you get to her, the brighter the stone will glow.”

A heartbeat passed, and I lunged across the table.

She jerked back just in time, her laugh piercing the air. “Not so fast, boy.”

My heart thrummed, ears ringing. “What do you want?”

She took another sip and used the tip of the dagger to carve a sun into the smooth wood of the table—a circle surrounded by six small triangles.

The blood oath symbol.

It was the same one etched into the walls of Canyon, the same symbol burned into the center of my chest.

My eyes narrowed. She couldn’t know. It would be, quite literally, impossible— fatal— for anyone to discuss what lay beneath my shirt.

If she knew anything, she didn’t let on.

“I want to be alerted when the final war starts,” she finally said.

I stilled, my gaze sliding back up to meet hers. “Why?”

“I have my reasons, none of which are yours to know.”

“That’s what you want? A warning before the final battle starts?”

“Yes. Doesn’t matter how: a letter, a messenger, a whisper on the sea breeze.” She laughed at that, and I scowled. “Any means of notification. As long as I am notified.”

I shook my head. “That’s impossible to know. No one can predict which battle will win the war. How?—”

“You’ll know.” Her expression turned grim.

“Listen, if you haven’t found her yet, then she’ll be in the Black Veins, a series of tunnels and dungeons that run through the earth like…

well, veins. Veins that seep poison into the land.

They’re reserved for personal vengeance, truly isolated from civilization, and they stretch on for miles.

” She wagged the dagger again. “She’ll be impossible to find without guidance. ”

The consequences of signaling her before battle shuffled through my mind in rapid succession.

Calypso could attack with an army. She could relay the message to Adonis, alert him to our movements somehow, and plan an ambush.

She could be a third side in an already complicated war and aim to gain a crown for herself.

There had to be many more tragic outcomes I couldn’t fathom at the moment, but none seemed more important than finding Ara.

Not a single one.

So, I stuck a hand out. “Deal.”

She met my gaze and slid her hand into mine. “Deal.”