Page 7 of The Shard and the Serpent (Shard Daughters #1)
Flesh and Weapons
Warrick
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Spikes scream through the final dregs of night as Saltmaw tilts into a steep dive. Storm-torn skies split to reveal the first rays of sunlight cresting over the Sea of Veriyth—
And I slam into the deck.
I drive my blade down for purchase, but it snaps in half. A hollow shout tears from my throat, and I fall, slamming spine-first into a mast.
Pain detonates. Muscles sear. My lungs fucking scream.
Then the ship yanks to the left, and I lurch.
A fatal shot thunks into wood, inches from where my head was.
“You fight like your city, Ivor. Slow and without innovation,” Ruel’s taunt cuts through the wind.
He clanks toward me, undeterred by Saltmaw’s descent. He lifts a boot with a feral grin and knocks against its sole.
“Magnets,” he says, thrill lighting his eye. “Better hold on tight, old friend.”
Steam pitches from the command deck, and the ship tilts harder, The Kraken behind the helm. Torren grips the wheel with one hand, the other shoving down a brass lever until it locks with a heavy clunk.
The bastard flashes me a gold-toothed smile and steers the decent as executioner, his son’s gauntlet aimed at my heart.
Fucking pirates.
I sling my chains toward an upper crossbeam, desperate for any kind of leverage as Saltmaw maneuvers into the direct path of a storm.
Ruel fires again.
Hot, biting steel slices open my thigh, and my hands slip with the hit. Chain links burn across my palms, my leg twitching as voltage strikes out from the spike’s kiss.
A graze. Nothing more.
But blood slides down my thigh.
First. Blood.
Ruel keeps coming.
“Synlon and Rathem. Flesh and weapons. You and me ,” he yells. “I trusted you, Warrick. Hallie trusted you.”
Hail pelts the deck, stinging. I climb my chains. Throw an arm over a crossbeam. Drag toward a vacant platform.
Lightning snaps behind sails. Then the City of Rathem cuts up from the horizon like a blade, sprawling across land, sea, and air.
Black towers stacked with crooked terraces and skybridges jut from dark waves. The sunrise knifes across thousands of copper pipes, each exhaling steam in a steady rhythm.
“Your city is mine,” Ruel calls from below. “Just as your life. Face me, coward.”
Why is it that wanting to stay alive is suddenly cowardice? I should be drinking right now, Russel’s body burning on a pike before all of Synlon, not dealing with another fucking God complex.
I chuck the snapped half of my blade at Ruel’s face.
He swerves and stumbles, catching himself against the deck as Saltmaw crashes into the sea.
I thread one blood-soaked chain through the platform’s banisters.
The storm thrashes harder, but Ruel rights himself, his laugh sharp, cocky.
Then I swing.
My boots slam into his chest and we crash in a tangle of limbs.
I seize his skull and smash it into the deck. His mask wrenches from his jaw and skitters away, revealing lips stretched into a crooked sneer by knots of warped, scarred flesh.
“Son,” The Kraken barks. “Yield.”
I fist Ruel’s jacket and haul him nose to nose. “We’re even. Do you hear me? This is it. We got our fight. You got some gold and Volt. I will let this go because of Hallie, but make no fucking mistake, Ruel—if you threaten my city again, I’ll fight you to the grave, history be damned.”
His thick lashes flutter. Blood dribbles from the back of his head.
Concern twists through my chest, but I force it down. I release him, and he smacks against the deck, his one eye falling shut.
“Ruel,” Torren shouts and abandons the wheel.
From the ship’s far end, boots hammer as the crew erupts. Crossbows grind and click. Axes and bone-saws flash in the early morning light.
I vault from his body and sprint for the outer railing, a single thought tightening my panic: I can’t swim .
Steel crackles through the air, hundreds of arrows chasing me down. A yell rips from my lungs as I plant one boot on the rail—I CAN’T FUCKING SWIM—and shove off.
Sharp arrows tear at my back. I flail, my vision splotching black.
Then crushing cold .
The eager jaws of the sea claim me.