Drums.
My heartbeat feels like drums beating through my veins, too loud, too fast, too harsh.
I’d always thought that the stories of the commander, even the written accounts in Highbell’s library, were exaggerations. Dramatics to overemphasize the terror of his presence and justify people’s cowardice when they buckled in fear of him.
The commander—who people call Rip for his predisposition to literally rip soldiers’ heads from their bodies—became a modern legend, someone to be feared, just like King Rot himself. But I didn’t expect Commander Rip to actually be this frightening.
Of course, there were rumors that he was fae—more fae than any other Orean. But again, I thought they were just that. Rumors. Gossip. Embellishments. More exaggerations spread, probably by King Ravinger himself, to make his commander seem that much more frightening.
But now that I see him for myself, I can tell that he’s not just another Orean with a watered-down magical bloodline from long-ago fae ancestors.
He’s more.
The spikes prove it. Most written accounts made it sound like it was just a part of his armor, another dramatic elaboration. But I can tell that it’s not. The spikes, the height, the menacing presence, it’s all real.
I don’t know what to think of it.
My eyes can’t seem to leave him, and I find myself counting the black spikes that trail down his spine. Starting from between his shoulder blades to his lower back, he has six of them, each one shorter than the one above. They’re curved in a slight downward arc, popping right through his armor, a vicious gleam to them that reflects the red-burning lanterns.
The ones on his outer forearms are much shorter, but look no less sharp and deadly, four leading from above his wrist to below the curve of his elbow.
I’m too terrified to wonder what he looks like without his helmet. Some accounts have said he has horns on his head or vile scars ripped down his face. Some have alleged that he has fangs, while other written records swear that he can kill a person just by looking at them with his burning red eyes.
I don’t want to find out if any of those are true.
But what I do want to find out is why he’s here, in the Barrens, meeting with the Red Raids.
“Captain Fane,” a low, deep voice rumbles out. The saddles beside me stiffen at the sound.
“Commander Rip,” the captain replies in greeting with a slight tilt of his head. “I’m surprised to see you so far from Fourth. Your message was unexpected.”
“Hmm.”
Captain Fane’s attempt to fish for information is fruitless, but he doesn’t seem deterred. “We heard there was trouble at your borders.”
The commander cocks his head. “No more than a nuisance. But the king doesn’t tolerate attacks on his land.”
“Of course not. No true leader does.”
I nearly swallow my own tongue at Captain Fane’s obvious suck-up.
“How are the Barrens and Breakwater Port? I assume pirateering is still paying well.”
The captain smirks. “Can’t complain.”
“You’re not usually this far north in the fall.”
It’s not a question, but even I can hear the demand for information.
Captain Fane shares a brief look with Quarter before replying. “We had a tip. It pulled us back this way, and fortunately, it paid off. We’ll return to the docks soon enough.”
My hands, still frozen on my ribbons, drop down to my sides.
We had a tip.
A tip? A tip to bring him here? Frowning, I look at the captain, as if staring at him hard enough will give me answers.
“Interesting,” Commander Rip replies. He shifts his arms, the scarlet light catching on those spikes of his, drawing the captain’s eye. “And would this tip have anything to do with the dozen messenger hawks you sent out a couple of hours ago?”
Captain Fane stiffens. “How do you know about that?”
Instead of answering, the commander holds up his fist. He opens it, letting a piece of rolled parchment fall to the deck…followed by his soldiers behind him also opening their hands and tossing down eleven more.
The captain’s expression turns outraged. His mouth opens and shuts, a gaping fish without water. “What…How did you—”
The commander tosses up a pouch in the air, and Quarter barely catches it in time. “Compensation. For the hawks.”
Quarter and Captain Fane stare at the commander, completely caught off guard.
“You intercepted all of my messages?” the captain demands, fury coating his throat.
The commander tilts his head. “I did.”
Captain Fane’s jaw tightens, wooden teeth grinding. “And do you want to tell me why? That’s an act of enmity, Commander. My Reds have killed for far less.”
The threat does nothing to affect the commander or the soldiers behind him. If anything, it’s the Red Raids who appear nervous, exchanging glances with one another, as if dreading a fight between them and Fourth’s soldiers.
“There’s no need for bloodshed between us,” the commander replies evenly, unruffled. “In fact, I’ll be helping you.”
“And how’s that?” the captain snaps.
Commander Rip takes a single step forward. One step, such a negligible thing, and yet, the menace of that stolen space between them has the captain’s hand going to the hilt of his knife—the same one he used to plunge into Sail’s heart.
“You were all too eager to write to potential buyers, bragging of the spoils you pilfered. But I’m going to do you one better, Fane, and make it easier for you.” His voice is no louder than before, but for some reason, the tone makes me wince, makes my teeth capture my bottom lip in worry. “You have Midas’s traveling party. I’ll buy them.”
Captain Fane gapes. “You? Why?”
Even though he still has his helmet on, I somehow get the feeling that the commander grins. “That’s between Midas and Ravinger.”
My stomach twists in a corkscrew, like it wants to wring itself out and dig itself down. I hear one of the saddles gasp, the sound full of dread.
It’s one thing to be stolen by vile pirates. But it’s another thing entirely to be bought by King Rot’s commander. The male is notorious for his heartlessness on the battlefield, the entire army itself a brutal force that has never been defeated.
And now he wants us.
That’s between Midas and Ravinger.
With that vague explanation, there’s not a single doubt in my mind of why Commander Rip is way out here in the Barrens, why he’s striking this deal. King Ravinger sent his army to confront Midas. And we just fell into the palm of his hand.
Captain Fane shares a look with Quarter, the glance loaded and considering. When he turns back, he drops the hand away from his hilt.
“As I’m sure you read in all of my letters,” the captain begins testily, “I have Midas’s royal whores, plus a few of his soldiers who lived. I was planning on bringing them to the coast to be split up and sold.”
The commander finally looks away from the captain. His head turns, and I swear, I feel his eyes land right on me. My breath gets stuck against that gaze, like a fly to sap. I’m trapped, unable to move, unable to escape. My pulse skips ahead.
But then he just continues his visual sweep, head turning, those hidden eyes passing over the group of saddles with bored consideration. I’m finally capable of letting a shaky breath slip through my lips, a fly ripping free from the clinging trap.
“Like I said, I’d be saving you the trouble,” Commander Rip says, facing the captain once more. “I’ll buy all of them. The horses too, though you can keep their gaudy gold armor. They’ll have no need of it.”
Captain Fane narrows his eyes, as if suspicious of just how much information the commander seems to have.
“It’ll be a hefty sum. I was anticipating multiple offers.”
“I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” the commander says with bold certainty.
Captain Fane shifts on his feet. “My men were expecting at least a couple of weeks to enjoy our prizes before I sold them off.”
That wringing in my stomach tightens and twists. Captain Fane has no shame, complaining that he and his men won’t get to play with us if he sells us straightaway. The thought, the debasement of it, makes bile burn in my throat, hot enough that I want to breathe fire and scorch him where he stands.
“As I said, I think we can come to an agreement, Fane.”
Silence ticks by. The wind is the only thing that moves or makes noise. Everyone else watches, saddles, pirates, soldiers. Every eye trained on the commander and captain, waiting to see what will happen.
Above us, the night carries on, as bleak and dark as ever. It makes me wonder if it will ever ebb or if I’m doomed to be stuck in these bleak shadows forever, to go from one bad circumstance to a worse one.
Finally, Captain Fane nods. “Alright, then. A meal is in order, I think. I always say an agreement is best made over wine and food.”
The commander tips his head and lifts an arm. “Then lead the way, Captain, and you can tell me all about what transpired this night. I’m sure we’ll have a lot to talk about.”
Captain Fane grins. “Aye. When Midas finds out that you and your king have his men and his whores, he’s going to lose his head.”
A dark, gravelly chuckle comes from behind the dark helmet, sending chills down my arms. “I’m counting on it, Captain.”
