Page 82 of The Shard and the Serpent (Shard Daughters #1)

Greed

Rayze

Torren stands there, soaked to the bone, hair plastered to his scarred face. A fire lights in his eyes, the same damned spark I’ve seen in my own reflection.

I tighten my grip on the bow, fingers slipping on its wet frame. The string creaks with tension.

The Kraken and Rathem have thrived on strategic manipulation.

So have I.

He’s keeping me from shooting him yet—why?

My heart pounds against my ribs.

“Years ago,” he shouts over the storm, voice harsh and ragged, “your brother and I heard there was a ghost in Synlon. A girl taking out Serpents. Driving Russell Ivor mad.”

My muscles burn and strain.

He grins, teeth glinting gold. “Green eyes. Dark hair. Every woman Russell dragged in looked too much like Thalassa for it not to be you. I saw them take you before I was forced unconscious by that bastard’s cronies.

I told Ruel. Part of me hoped you were dead,” he says, his smile slipping.

“But Trasks don’t stop fighting. Even when we probably fucking should. ”

My bow dips just a fraction. I jerk it back up.

He takes a single slow step, the deck groaning under his boots.

“Your brother,” he goes on, voice hoarse, “cut ties with the Ivors as soon as he realized Warrick had to be helping Russell hold you captive.”

My vision blurs with rain and fury. “That’s not true,” I hiss. “Warrick didn’t know.”

Torren tilts his head, lightning flashing across his face. “Are you sure?”

I falter.

“There’s very little a Boss keeps from their Heir,” he says, almost gentle.

I grit my teeth, hearing the hidden truth behind those words. Ruel knew. Maybe not all of it, but my brother knew enough to save his sisters, and he didn’t.

“I’m sure,” I answer, sucking in a breath.

That infuriating, Godsdamn pride hardens his features. “You tortured him.”

I inhale deeply. “I did what was necessary to secure the safety of my family. My only family. Not you. Not Ruel. The ones who saved me.”

The storm howls around us, whipping my hair into my face. Then he juts his chin toward his axe.

“My weapon’s down,” he says, amber eyes dipping over me with a sense of resolution. “So, I’ll give you what I can, my girl. You’ve got thirty seconds to take your shot, and you nail it right between my eyes, you understand?”

I raise my elbow, my whole arm trembling. The string threatens to slip from my fingers.

“Thirty seconds?” I laugh, bitter. “This doesn’t end until you call off The Rigged.”

He takes a measured step back.

I follow him, leveling my arrow and forcing my arm steady.

He smiles, sad and crooked. “No can do. I owe my son a new city.”

My throat tightens. “And what about what you owe your daughter?” I demand. My voice cracks. “Don’t I deserve peace? Doesn’t Synlon deserve it after everything you’ve put us through?”

He stops at the rail.

“This city’s fallin’, whether you like it or not. I’ll be dead when it happens, but I’ll be damned if I let everything I put my family through go to waste.”

Then he yanks a knife from his belt and slits his throat, smiling wide with every gold tooth on display.

My bow drops from my hands, my body paralyzed as shock ruptures through me.

“I Yield,” he chokes.

“No,” I whisper.

Blood spatters the rail as he stretches his arms out like he’s embracing death. Lightning cracks overhead, blood soaking through his beard—and he crashes over the side of the ship.

“No!” I cry, hitching over the railing as tears burn.

His body falls past The Dredge, his tricorne toppling away and his headscarf whipping through the rain.

Magic gathers in my chest. “ How do I call off The Rigged ?” I demand, immediately reaching for his threads.

The words rip from my throat, power crackling over the deck in a wave of shimmering distortion.

His threads flicker.

He jerks mid-fall.

For a single breath, he hangs in the air between the crumbling floors of The Dredge. Blood pours like a river from his open throat. He sputters a gurgled laugh, eyes glazing over.

Then the threads— disappear .

Dead.

My vision tunnels. I choke on my own breath, hands spasming on the railing.

Below, The Rigged rampage through Synlon. Blades catch in the light, bodies slamming into walls, screams rising over the thunder.

My city, my people, crushed beneath the weight of his greed. My chest caves in on itself, heaving, a sob tearing loose before I can swallow it down. I slam my palm against the wet metal, pain shooting up my wrist.

Rage boils with grief until it’s all the same choking heat in my lungs.

I want to claw the threads back. I want to rip them into something that can hold him here so I can make him hear me.

But his threads are gone.

He is gone .

I scream, voice breaking to nothing as Synlon dies, too.