Baltessa
Early Redwind

The crack of Kane Blackwater's knuckles against his opponent's nose was like the starting pistol before a race—the echo of it brought the gathered crowd to life. Surrounding men exploded into a cacophony of curses and guttural yells as they elbowed each other aside for a clear view down into the fight pit. He'd once been up there, years ago, hungry for violence.

In the basement of Grisby's tavern, it was easy to get swept away in the vicarious thrill of watching two people clash—fist to face, knee to gut. Even Csilla and Rhoda Abado had jumped into the pit for a bit of fun, but Kane was most often the one doing the beating, putting on a show, filling his leather pouch with gold pieces each time he visited the island capital of Baltessa. Tonight, his pockets would be brimming with Cerulian gold.

Blood trickled from his opponent's nose, rolling over his upper lip. Kane pitied the man—Silas, he believed—because there were only more blows to come. Giving the crowd what they paid Grisby to see would be as simple as shooting fish in a barrel. Kane's knuckles might be busted and bloody by the end, but at least with the gold he would finally be able to pay off his debt to Dominic Rove, captain of the Bonedog. Making deals with him was like bargaining with a snake, and Kane had made one rotten deal too many. Things he'd like to keep buried in the bottom of the Silver Sea.

From above, men roared and stomped their feet in approval, rattling the wooden boards that walled the fighting pit, the ruckus causing dust to unsettle and cloud the air. Kane's eyes watered, and he rubbed his face with the back of his hand, smearing dirt across his cheek. The movement stung a little, his skin still tight from the sun after his voyage here.

"Get him, Silas!" someone yelled. "Don't just stand there!"

Silas bared his teeth and lunged forward, swinging his fist toward Kane's face. The man was all rage and no prudence. Kane stepped aside, smirking as the man blew past him like a rushing boar. Raspy jeers and laughter rumbled from above. Silas growled as he turned back to face Kane. Another swing, another miss. Kane countered and jabbed, grazing Silas's cheekbone and knocking his chin.

The man stumbled back and Kane saw an opening. With a wide sweep of his arms, he used the strike his father had used on him during their brutal training sessions, catching Silas in the ribs with a blow that cracked them and caved in his side. Kane hooked his punch wide again and put his weight into it. His fist connected with Silas's jaw. Blood spewed from his mouth and his body jerked to the side like a broken piece of wood.

Cheers erupted again.

But Kane wasn't quite finished yet.

He took two steps back and the crowd hushed. He surged forward with a roundhouse kick so spot on that Silas didn't stand a chance. The thud of the man's face hitting the floor echoed in the musty basement.

One breath.

Two breaths.

Shit. Had he ended the fight too soon?

He clenched his fists and rolled his neck to ease some of his tension. He could care less if the surrounding men enjoyed his brutality or not—he just needed the damned gold. Someone started clapping and his tight muscles eased.

One breath.

Two breaths.

The basement erupted into an ear-splitting roar of approval—the loudest Kane had received yet from his fights.

Thank the goddesses.

Grisby's payout would be hefty tonight. It would be enough to stop Dominic Rove's Bonedogs from breathing down his neck for repayment on his last . . . loan. The hated captain always collected his debts. If Kane was any other man, Rove would've been murdered in a dark alley by now. Kane's surname had saved him too many times to count, for the Blackwater name was renowned through the history of captains. As the captain of the Iron Jewel, Kane was favored by the ruler of the Cerulian Islands—the King of Bones.

Kane lifted his bloody fist, acknowledging the men who praised him. He imagined the crowds cheering for him, just like this, if he was ever the one on the throne, if he was the one wearing
the Bone Crown. It was a pretty thing, crafted from the bones of an ancient enemy and dipped in liquid gold, known throughout the world, no matter which elemental deity you prayed to.

With a vision of the crown on his head, he quickly got swept away in dreams that would never come true. If he was the King of Bones, he'd cast Dominic Rove out of the kingdom and revoke his title as one of the five fleet captains. The sorry sea whelp didn't deserve his place behind the gold-crested wheel of the Bonedog. He bought his way with deals made in the dark, his crew's hands filthy with blood while his own remained clean.

But there was little chance of Kane ever becoming king. With the Cerulian king alive and Kane bearing no royal blood, striking against Rove was just a figment of a desire that would never be fulfilled. Relishing in this moment, pretending the applause was for his dream, was the closest he would ever get.

Then he heard it.

It was faint at first, like the hum of a crewmate drowned out by the flap of sails at sea. But as voices quieted, the sound became clear. The deep toll of a bell rang in the distance. The tune was different than the ones he'd become familiar with—yet somehow, he knew the song in his bones.

"The king!" someone shouted, startling Kane. "It's the king!"

His face went cold. The king. The bell. No wonder he hadn't recognized the toll. He hadn't heard the Blood Bell since he was a child.

Kane rushed to the rope ladder that dangled from the top of the pit, leaving Silas groaning on the ground. He would need his nose reset, and he might not be able to get out of bed for a few days, but he'd be fine. It wasn't Kane's fault the imbecile didn't realize just who he was up against. Most sane men wouldn't enter the pit with the captain of the Iron Jewel, but some saw his youth and thought they could get one up on him. They were always mistaken.

Once out, he motioned to a drunken Grisby in the corner—he'd be back for his payout—and followed the current of men as they moved up the stairs and into the tavern. Kane tried to listen in on flurried conversations, but keeping up was near impossible.

"Was it murder?" one man asked his friend. "It's so sudden."

"Who will take his place?" asked another.

"No heir? But what about the last Storm? Did they ever find her?"

Loud voices merged into one indecipherable hum. Kane rushed out the doors and into the city.

It was like stepping into a memory.

He had stood in this same district as a boy of nine. Still as a statue. Welded to his father's side even though he wasn't wanted there. Kane remembered glancing up at him from between the strands of his black hair. They'd stopped in the middle of the market, which was odd. Nothing could stop his father from finding a good deal in Baltessa. He was like a hound sniffing out gems among the piles of rubble. But the clang of the Blood Bell ended his hunt so abruptly that Kane had been scared for a brief moment.

"Captain?" a small Kane had asked as he'd tugged at his father's hand, trying to pull him from his frozen state. "Father, what is it?"

Kane didn't receive an answer from him. He never received much from his father besides brutal training and two meals a day from the age of six. Kane had learned to quit asking for anything a long time ago. He didn't dare repeat the question; instead he followed quietly behind his limping father.

Now, Kane didn't follow anyone—he set the course. As he made his way through the streets he couldn't help but notice how the spirits of Baltessa were the same as that day over ten years earlier. Sad faces blurred into a sea of despair for a king they'd never personally known yet who was their best protection against the encroaching Incendian kingdom.

As he walked, Kane's hand warmed, remembering the way his father's callused hand had gripped his like he was holding on for dear life. When Kane had glanced up all those years ago, his father was watching him, his eyes shining with despair and regret—too many things for a boy like him to understand at the time. His father didn't have to say it aloud. He had been thinking about the death of the woman they both loved most in the world.

Kane always thought of her when he encountered death—even now as the Blood Bell announced the death of the pirate king.

The bell still clanged in its perch above the city's copper spires and stone streets. Darkened windows lit up like beacons in the night. Curtains swept to the side and shutters opened as people mirrored Kane, their eyes searching for the tallest tower. Between the tolls rang a new sound—a chorus of crying. It echoed through the air, snaking between the spires. A song of mourning.

Kane should have felt an inkling of despair for his king, but the truth of the whispers circulating through the narrow alleys and clustered streets left him feeling something he hadn't felt in many, many moons. Hope.

The king had no child—no heir.

There was no son to take his place, no Rathborne to continue the bloodline. The king could've still conceived children, he'd still had time. His death was so sudden that Kane wondered what the cause had been—a blade in the night? There was little time to wonder, and if there was a traitor in their midst, he'd sniff them out as soon as a larger, more impending problem was dealt with.

The Bone Crown now belonged to no one. There had to be a king to rule the islands—to keep the people safe against Incendia, who would see their ways burned to ashes. The flame-worshipping kingdom would turn the islands into ports for their navy. They'd collect every gold piece for themselves and enslave the free islands to perform the daunting tasks of building their marvelous cities and palaces, just as they'd done when they'd left their western kingdom and crossed the Frozen Gap, taking the eastern land. Now they wanted to expand once more.

If Kane was king, he'd never let the Incendian Navy close enough to even glimpse one of the islands.

While the rest of the Baltessans hung their heads in despair, Kane held his chin high as he strode through the market. It should've been empty since all of the stalls were closed up for the night, but there were more people swarming the area than Kane had seen before. His mind wandered to the other four captains, including his old friends Csilla Abado and Flynn Gunnison. They'd all be wondering the same thing as him when they heard the news: Who would their next ruler be?

More citizens poured into the streets, but Kane took a sharp right and darted back to the inn where he and his crew were staying. There was too much to get in order—and too little time to do it all, especially for what would be coming next after the king's funeral. His hand twitched for the familiar feel of his father's compass in his hand, the one he'd left on the nightstand in the room he'd rented. If he could just hold it for a moment, rub the weathered scrapes along the side with his thumb, he'd be able to think clearly and piece his plan together, like his father would have done.

When he stepped into the room, everything seemed in place. In the fireplace was the faint ember of a fire he'd forgotten to put out, casting the room in an orange glow. The doors to the balcony were still open, curtains curling in the night wind like waves in the light of the moon.

"Kane?" a soft feminine voice asked.

Shit. He'd forgotten he'd left Clarissa in his bed before running off to Grisby's for gold and blood. He thought she would've been gone by now—or at least, he wished.

"Where'd you run off to?" she asked. He glanced over at her then, still in his bed. Her amber hair fell over her shoulders as she sat up, covering herself with the sheets. "When I woke up, you weren't here. And the Blood Bell. Did you hear the Blood Bell? I was worried you—"

Kane scrubbed his hand down his face. "You need to go," he said, aware of how cold he sounded, wishing she'd listen just for once.

"Go?" she asked, her face melting into a forced pout. Her hazy emerald eyes shimmered with crocodile tears. "Go? Is that how you're going to treat me? Like I'm one of Grisby's whores?"

Kane could've thrown his head back and laughed. This trick worked on traders and new recruits, but not on Kane. "You knew what this was. You knew there were no strings attached." He sighed, ready to be alone so he could get his mind right. "You said you wouldn't linger, so don't feign ignorance with me."

Clarissa straightened in the bed, her gaze down at the sheets. "I just thought that . . ." Kane knew the game she was playing—she was an innocent girl being treated unfairly by a beast such as him, but she was beastly too; her claws were just hidden. "I thought that maybe you and I would . . ."

"What?" Kane asked, taking a step closer to the bed. "You thought that I would pronounce my love for you? That I would whisk you away on my ship?"

Clarissa tore her gaze away from him, her cheeks flaming. Kane knew the blood rushing to her skin was not from embarrassment but from hidden anger. "We've been doing this for years, Kane." Her voice quieted to almost a whisper. "I know it started out as just a fun roll in the sheets every time you docked but you can't blame me for falling for you." He imagined many men would fall victim to this act, but he knew better.

"Oh." Kane watched her carefully. "So now you've suddenly fallen in love with the captain of the Iron Jewel."

Clarissa nodded, her lips curling into a pathetic frown. Kane might've believed her if it wasn't for the feline glint in her eyes. He neared the edge of the bed, noticing her breath hitch with his movement. Settling one knee on the mattress, he leaned forward, and laid one hand on either side of Clarissa's face. She arched her back as he bent toward her, so close that her quick breaths were on his face.

"Oh, Clarissa," he whispered, tracing the tip of his nose down her cheek. She shuddered beneath him. "How convenient of you to declare your feelings for me after you hear the Blood Bell."

Clarissa went still beneath him, but his voice remained low and seductive.

"Did you truly think that I wouldn't connect the dots?" he asked, pulling back to watch her green eyes widen as she realized she'd been caught. "We all know that the Blood Bell signifies the death of the pirate king. We all know that our king has no son." He lowered his head, whispering the next part in her ear. "Tell me, Clarissa. What happens when there is no heir?"

Clarissa tilted her head to the side, exposing her neck as Kane blew across her skin, making her shiver. "The Trials," she answered with a rasp. She cleared her throat. "The Trials begin."

"Do you think that I will win the Trials?" A light kiss on her collarbone.

"Yes," she said, breathless.

"Will I make a great King of Bones?" His fingers traced softly down her jaw.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Do you want to be my queen?" He leaned farther into her, brushing his lips against hers.

"Oh Goddess, yes," she moaned.

"Do you really think I am that stupid?"

"Yes! Oh yes! Yes—" She stopped, clearly realizing that Kane's question was not the one she'd assumed he was going to ask.

Clarissa put her hands on Kane's chest and shoved him away. Her sharp fingernails dug into his skin, but he didn't flinch—he'd felt much worse.

"You're a cod, Kane Blackwater," she hissed, snatching her dress from where Kane had thrown it. She slipped out of the bed and snatched her sweater from the coatrack, pulling the fabric over her curvy frame, huffing and puffing the entire time.

"You're right," Kane answered, lightly grabbing her wrist before she could run out of the room. "I am a cod, a scoundrel, all the terrible words you're thinking in your head right now. So get out of my room and go find yourself a love who sets your heart on fire and stop wasting your time on ashes like me. Don't wait for me, because I won't be waiting for you."

Clarissa raised her chin defiantly at him, but Kane knew she understood. They were both raised to take what they wanted and offer no apologies. It was one of the first things his father had beat into him.

As she trudged to the door, the strap of her dress hanging off her shoulder, she stopped and stared Kane straight in the eyes. "I wish I'd never met you," she said through her teeth. The blow should have hurt, but it didn't. Nothing really hurt anymore.

"You should be thanking me," he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyed his father's open compass on the nightstand. Good. Right where he left it. "I've taught you one of the most valuable lessons in this life."

"And what is that?" She pursed her lips, waiting for his answer.

"Never trust a pirate."