Page 6 of The Shard and the Serpent (Shard Daughters #1)

Fuck The Accords

Warrick

“Wake up,” a low voice snarls.

Pain ruptures, and my lashes snap open.

I groan. Hard, cold manacles cut into my wrists, my arms held aloft by chains. They string through steel loops bolted to the underside of Saltmaw’s deck.

The harsh brine of the sea lingers among barrels and hammocks, lanterns swinging side to side as the night sky zips beyond portholes.

We’re flying.

“Trask,” I rasp.

The Kraken Heir leans among stacks of cargo, and a gauntlet encasing his right fist releases a hiss, gears spitting steam. Its upper barrel shifts, jagged, iron teeth locking into place.

Aiming at my stomach.

Fuck my life.

“It’s been awhile, Ivor, hasn’t it?” Ruel asks.

A charged spike, thick as a nail, is buried in my stomach. Heat pulses off its steel, every twitch driving it deeper.

“Did you shoot me?” I mutter.

One eye like a copper coin brightens behind the swing of a lantern, the other hidden by the black of his eye patch. “It’s hard to say, really. No witnesses.”

“Convenient,” I grit out.

Ruel hums. “Yeah. A lot like you having nothing to do with those assassins.”

“For fuck’s sake. I didn’t hire them.”

“Just like you didn’t sell my baby sister into the Skin Trade?”

I stiffen. “Ruel—”

A spike punches out of his gauntlet with a metallic crack. It tears through the space between us and lodges inches from the first.

I jerk, teeth through my tongue. My muscles contract as electricity surges outward from the shot. Blood soaks into my waistband, and I release a slow exhale.

“I deserved that.” My chains rattle as I grab them to steady myself.

“Yes,” he growls. “You did.”

Ruel angles into the light. His Heir mask gleams, bronze and mechanical, clamped over the lower half of his face like a muzzle. Golden tentacles curve up from the chin-piece, framing his cheekbones before vanishing among the curled ends of his dark hair and rust-colored head scarf.

“Hallie,” I start then cave in on myself with the stab of a third shot.

Ruel closes the distance between us with a single stride, the gold hoop through his right nostril rattling with his angry breaths. “You don’t ever say her name.”

Then his armored knuckles slam into my jaw.

My head cracks to the side. Blood splatters from my mouth and streaks a pillar. “Gods, fuck, Trask!” I whip my face back toward his, but he shoves his fist against my brow, his cannon lined up to kill.

He leans close, voice ragged. “I’ve waited thirteen years for The Accords to be broken so I can rip Synlon apart with my bare hands. I will find Hallie, and when I do—” He presses the barrel harder—“you’ll wish I made this shot.”

“I told you when we were kids, and I’m telling you now,” I force out. “I never took your sister.”

Frustration tightens the corners of his eyes. “She disappeared under your watch.”

I lean into the barrel, not daring to look away. “I’ve searched, Ruel. Every fucking club. Serpents don’t have her.”

He wrenches back, brows tight. “You’ve looked?”

“Since the day you blamed me.” I pull against my chains, stepping toward him.

I swallow, my gut squeezing with the Bond’s presence. It doesn’t matter how hard I try to push it aside, it won’t allow me a minute of peace. Rayze . Her name is a fucking curse.

“I didn’t take your sister,” I hiss, “and I didn’t hire those assassins.”

Ruel studies me, his one eye hunting for lies. His jacket strains across his shoulders, cropped and rigid, dark leather reinforced with brass panels. A kraken claims the bulked expanse beneath, its tentacles coiling over his torso and up his neck in a chokehold.

He never did ink his face. The scars are too brutal.

My tongue swipes over the scar hooked into my upper lip, and he tracks the movement, his glare easing slightly.

“We were friends,” I push out, and the vein at his temple flexes. “Brothers.”

“ Heirs ,” he cuts me off. “Nothing more.”

“You know me, Ruel.”

The planks beneath his boots creak as he widens his stance and lifts his gauntlet. “I thought I did.”

“Fine. You want me dead? We do this right. There’s protocol to follow if you truly think I broke The Accords. You can’t take my life without a Witness.”

He yanks a lever back on his gauntlet, its iron jaws swiveling.

“First blood,” I bite out. “Draw mine before a Witness, and my life—and my city—is yours. Shoot me now, and any Boss can take Synlon.”

His muzzle clicks. His eye slants.

I have him. Always was a bit of an honorable shithead.

“First blood?” he asks.

My chest heaves. “First blood.”

Ruel lifts his gauntlet. In two swift, perfect shots, spikes crack into my manacles like keys jammed into a lock.

The cuffs snap open, and I drop my hands to the steel in my stomach. I inhale—then rip them free. I grunt, the wounds not deep enough to be fatal but still fucking painful. I toss the spikes and glare at Ruel.

“This doesn’t count,” I mutter, wiping the blood from my stomach using the inside of my vest. “And when I win—”

“You won’t.” He leaves me for the stairs.

“When I win,” I growl, “you stop sending Kraken spies into Synlon.”

The tail of his head scarf swishes across his shoulders. “I’m going to kill you, Ivor. There’s no point in counter negotiations.”

“You’re so sure.”

“I never missed when we were kids.” He kicks open the door at the top of the stairwell, and wind rams into us. “I won’t miss now.”

Moonlight spears across the deck.

Metal groans beneath my boots. Thunderous clouds curl and crackle along Saltmaw like eerie waves.

Sails pulse, veined electrical currents moving across stretched, rugged canvas.

A tiered platform juts from the starboard side, lit by lanterns.

The platform curves around the steering system, a throne welded in its center.

My eyes lock on Torren Trask.

The Kraken leers over steepled fingers, jaw tight as his son speaks in his ear. “Get the Heir his things,” Torren orders, the gold coins through his dark, gray-peppered beard clinking in the wind.

Ruel nods and crouches at a locked chest by his father’s boots. He throws it open, dragging out my mask and chains. Then he digs for another second and withdraws a rusted Serpent blade.

He throws all three into my chest, and I stagger. The serrated edge of the Serpent blade scrapes over my chest, drawing a fine line of red. Shit. “Still doesn’t count,” I grit out.

The tiniest gleam of humor flashes in Ruel’s eye before it leaks away. He tugs fresh spikes from his jacket pocket and lines them up along the barrel of his gauntlet. “I don’t need cheap shots to win, Ivor.”

I slip on my mask. Then I fist the hilt of the blade in one hand and my chains in the other.

“Draw first blood, and we let you go when we dock in Rathem,” The Kraken announces. He leans into his throne, the gold rings along his fingers glinting in the moonlight. “After your failed assassination attempt, that’s all you’ll get from us.”

My breath warms my cheeks, fogging behind my mask. “Fine.”

Shadows move along the perimeter of the ship, the crew lining up to watch the fight.

“But if I win,” Ruel says. He adjusts the thick straps of his gauntlet. “You die with my fist through your chest, half of Synlon belonging to The Kraken.”

I brace myself. “Only half?” I shout over the wind.

Torren traces his dark gaze over me with disdain. Unlike at The Bid, he’s changed into stiff, armored gear.

Oh, my girl has him scared.

My girl? I frown.

“The other half was sold.” Torren nudges a thick sack beside his throne. Gold coins spill from its loose mouth. Vials of Volt glint between them.

The Storm . They’ve made negotiations for my Godsdamn city before I’m even in the grave.

They’ll regret that.

I point my rusted blade toward their shitty haul. “That little bag of gold and drugs is nothing compared to what my reign could have made you.” My voice drops, low and lethal. “Now any deal with me is off the table.”

“Synlon’s been dying a long time, Warrick,” Ruel spits. He takes a step toward me. Another. “We’ve no use for Serpent trade. Boss and Heir.”

My grip tightens on my chains. “I didn’t break The Accords, but you sure as hell have.”

The frayed end of his headscarf whips in the wind. Pirates watch silent but ready, their own weapons flashing beneath lantern-light.

“Fuck The Accords,” Ruel spits. He steps forward fast, gauntlet swinging. His fist tears through the air—

I meet it with rusted steel.