Chương 59: 7 Grimton

A bell tolled. Icy. Low. I crossed the deck and caught a shroud, leaning out over the bulwark. Green light from the lighthouse carved a sickly corridor across the harbor, cutting through fog and atramentous water. The tenebrous bell tolled again, drawing goose bumps on my flesh. The port resolved before us. Four Grave Wraith-class war galleons lay at anchor, sails furled against their yards. The first bore long white bones along her hull.

Ribs jutted forward at the bow, curving inward like teeth, shaping the prow into a skeletal maw. Two others displayed unmistakable Feykin workmanship. Their hulls swept in elegant arcs, keels drawn into deliberate curves that balanced hydrodynamic efficiency with artistry. Black lacquer caught the green light and gleamed like midnight pearls rather than pitch. Then I studied the last vessel. It should not have floated. Holes gaped above and below the waterline.

Sections of missing planking yawned wide, exposing bare frames in several places, like stripped ribs. Even furled, I saw that the sail had so many holes it shouldn't be able to catch a breeze. But it would. That was the second fastest ship in the World Archipelago.

"The Revenant Requiem," I whispered. Corin came up to stand beside me. Yellow-tinted goggles glinted in his eyes.

"Terrifying, isn't she?" I glanced at him and forced myself to exhale long and hard.

"Glad she's on our side."

"I wonder how she'd pair against the Undertide," he said. My fist rose to my nose as the fetor of death filled the air. The lighthouse guided us between flotsam—sections of floating debris where drowned sailors clung to anything that floated. We watched them. They watched us. One looked up right at me as we passed, half his face pale and tight. A ghastly rictus stretched across the other half, where flesh had been stripped away, leaving a skeletal grin.

"That can't be sanitary," I said, trying my best not to breathe through my nose. The bell toned again, and fog parted as if banished by the dirge. A townscape stretched behind the pier. Grimton—capital of Fel Rock. The citadel drew my eyes first. Needle-like spires of a fortress stretched skyward like spears, parapets crenelated like jagged teeth. Buttresses tapered to impossible thinness, denoting Feykin architecture. Black steel reinforced the inky basalt stones.

I studied the town spilling out from the fortress, like a midnight cloak. I'd expected rot and decay; instead, I found order. Green witch lights flickered at regular intervals. A neat grid of streets checkered the buildings. Slanted slate roofs angled steeply, and iron balconies hung off tall, narrow buildings like cages. My hand went to the goggles on my face. The yellow lenses were the only protection afforded to us to combat Fel's emptiness.

"I wouldn't," Corin warned. I rolled my eyes, then slid the tinted lenses onto my forehead. I withered. The breath rushed out of me. Emotion sapped from my heart. Cold, numb remained. A week of overcast became sunshine and rainbows when compared to the pall of Fel Rock. I jerked the yellow lenses back over my eyes, panting through clenched teeth. A nugget of ice had already settled somewhere in my chest. I rubbed my sternum, combating the panic.

"Warned you," Corin shrugged, his own goggles fixed securely in place.

"That's worse than Scorched Rock's heat!" I gasped.

"Many people misunderstand," Corin said, Submariner accent dignified.

"Fel Rock wasn't the isle of death or shadow. It was the elemental anchor of emptiness." Barked orders from the dock reached my ears, and bent vampiric thralls rushed to catch mooring lines. Rubbing my chest, I studied the wretched figures. Ashen grey skin stretched tight over bone and lean muscle. Pointed ears, like a bat's, hooked upward, and thin hair had fallen out in patches. My eyes widened at the reception party arrayed before us.

A line of armored Feykin stood at attention, flanking the walkway on either side. Behind them, soldier Wights maintained a perfect stillness in two additional ranks. Then, four rows deep behind them, skeletal bowmen swayed in the breeze. In all, a small army. A collection of officials stood at the rear end of the walkway. At the center of the reception party, a regal Feykin woman stood, hands clasped before her. She shared Naomi's large eyes and slender nose. She wore a low-cut, flaring, pinstriped gown.

A lattice of gold chains threaded across her throat and chest. Her nose tilted up, poised absolutely. Both Aunt and Queen—Flavia Myrkrath. Beside her stood a man who could only be her recent husband, Lord Leonardo Bloodshackle. His massive chest tested the integrity of his shirt; his wide shoulder rounded with lean muscle. His ears ended in more subtle points than his Feykin counterpart. The whites of his dark eyes burned pink, almost refracting light.

Sycophants, disciples of various undead persuasions, and attendants waited behind him, hands clasped and heads bowed. This wasn't for me. This wasn't for the Winter Maiden. It wasn't even for the Cousins of Paradise. I glanced back, finding Naomi. My team leader's face had drawn tight, three beads of sweat forming on her brow. So this was her legacy, what she was expected to carry. I didn't envy her. The gangplank slid into place.

"Team!" Naomi called.

"On me." Corin and Bianca joined her. I hesitated. Her eyes found me, silently pleading for me to get over myself. Swallowing, I added myself to the team. The bell tolled three final times.

"Company," a Wight barked, voice raspy.

"Pre-sent—arms!" A unified rasp blended with a stomp as swords snapped up, and undead warriors presented bows for inspection. Naomi started down the ramp. I followed, sword hand flexing. These were the good guys. I scanned vampiric faces, skeletal grins, and the void-filled eyes of Wights. Good guys—right? A trumpeted fanfare cut the air, reedy and raspy.

"Order—arms!" Weapons snapped back into a neutral grip. Our boots clicked against the dock, and Vampiric thralls shuffled away. Then, we were marching between ranks of the living dead. Naomi strode forward, High Family pinstriped suit pressed and starched, leather tricorn freshly polished. She stopped before Aunt Myrkrath and bowed.

"Mother." She came up, angling toward the vampire lord, and bowed again.

"Lord Bloodshackle." Aunt Flavia Myrkrath reached out.

"Welcome home, Naomi." She caught her daughter's hand and drew her into a hug. The Wight in command stomped his boot twice. As one, the block of soldiers shifted; two stepped, thundering, as they faced their dignitaries. I swallowed, unsure how I felt with that many undead at my back.

"Naomi, I want to introduce you to someone." Aunt Myrkrath guided Naomi by the hand.

"My husband." The Vampire lord stepped forward, eyes burning pink. He took her hand.

"A pleasure to finally meet you—daughter." He leaned down, pressing his lips to her knuckles. Naomi's shoulder blades constricted near-imperceptibly. He released her hand.

"Mother, Lord Bloodshackle. This is my party."

"But they need no introduction," Leonardo said, shifting to Corin.

"Corin Saltwind. Rising up the ranks quickly, aren't you?" Corin bowed.

"Undeniably true, my lord. Though one must wonder if it's a result of my own prowess, or the frightening rate at which the Bloodwake hunts higher-ranking Cousins." This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. My lip twitched. All lecture hall and stateroom—why did he talk like that?

"Modesty isn't always strength, young Cousin," Leonardo said.

"Take credit where credit is due." He shifted to Bianca.

"The skilled shifter. Bianca, Paradise is fortunate to be blessed with your talents." She blushed and made a curt bow. Finally, his pink eyes slid to me, his smile deepening.

"And the Mongoose. I've been itching to meet you. I admire men of—" his eyes glinted.

"Resolve." Ah, tex. I liked him.

"What's up?" I asked, giving more of a shrug than a bow. Naomi and Corin tensed. Leonardo laughed.

"I can tell we're going to get along nicely."

"Naomi, allow me to introduce your new brother, Prince Lucian," Aunt Myrkrath motioned, and a young Vampire stepped forward, mane of brown hair slicked back.

"Prince Lucian-Princess Naomi." Naomi's fingers curled at the word princess.

"I'm honored, Sister," he said, bowing deep.

"Welcome home."

"A few other distinguished staff." She gestured to a Revenant in a long dark coat and stiff collar. His mummified skin pulled tight to his skull, dehydrated and dry, like beef jerky.

"Naomi, this is—""Captain Lorenzo Corvelli!" I gasped, cutting off the Fel queen.

"It's actually him, Captain of the Revenant Requiem." Next to me, Corin was hyperventilating as he gawked at the undead captain. The Revenant glared at me, then bowed stiffly.

"The souls under me are at your service. Princess." My skin crawled at the scrape of his voice. But I was practically bouncing with excitement.

"And our Capitano Generale, Rourke Greymark." The Wight who had been calling commands bowed. His eyes, burning green, never left Naomi. He saluted.

"I persist to serve." Two voices braided together with his words, one a baleful whisper, the second a rumbling bass. Naomi scanned the crowd.

"Where's Lazerus?" The retainers parted. A Shad-Feykin elder shuffled forward. Unlike the other Feykin, his eyes burned pink, a sign of Vampirism's curse. Naomi went rigid.

"What did they do to you?" she whispered.

"Young princess." The Feykin bowed deeply.

"My ailment was necessary to preserve me from a cursed wound. I am still, as ever, your faithful tutor." She nodded, but wrung her hands.

"We, of course, have more general staff," Aunt Myrkrath said.

"I can see that you do as well. Perhaps we can get them to the citadel, then make further introductions there." Behind us, marines and officers poured out of the Winter Maiden, each with yellow-tinted lenses strapped to their eyes.

"Very well, Mother." Naomi bowed.

"Lead the way." The assembly shifted to a line of a dozen carriages that arrayed behind them. I stopped considering the mounts. They stood, nearly twice as tall as any horse I've ever seen. Leathery skin so pale it took on a blue tinge, drew tight against their frames, their limbs more bone than muscle.

"Four to a car, please." Lord Bloodshackle offered a hand, helping his wife into the first wagon. Prince Lucian followed. Naomi slowly exhaled before straightening and joining her family in the lead. I shuffled to Bianca.

"Shall we?" she asked.

"Wait," I said out of the corner of my mouth. Two Vampires and two Feykin entered the second. The third carriage pulled up, and Captain Corvelli, the Revenant, stepped in.

"Go," I hissed, pushing past a noble-looking Feykin to slip into the carriage with the captain. Corin moved to follow.

"Capitano Generale Greymark," I said, pulling up short.

"Care to join us?" The last thing I wanted was to ride shoulder to shoulder with Ingred's replacement. The Wight turned burning eyes on me. My arm hairs stood on end.

"I'm on duty," he rasped.

"I'll check Grimton's defences, ensure the citadel is secure, then join you in the great hall." My shoulders slumped. There went my opportunity to rub elbows with one of Fel Rock's heaviest hitters.

"Let's go," Bianca said, pushing me.

"You're holding up the line." The three of us piled into the coach with the Revenant. My breath misted as I slid into the enclosed space, a shiver running through me. Captain Corvelli turned inky black eyes on us.

"Great," he said, voice flat.

"Mortals."

"Good afternoon, Captain," I said hurriedly.

"I just wanted to say—" I cut off short. His eyes wrinkled at the corners. Malice and cruelty radiated off him, then it sank into my skin. The edges of my vision shaded. He must have had some sort of aura effect. My excitement chained with the dread. The urge to shrink back warred with the impulse to lean in.

"I've wanted to meet you since I was a child," I whispered, heart thumping.

"Captain Corvelli, it is an honor," Corin leaned forward.

"Your legend has graced the ears of Submariner children for many generations."

"Not just mortals," he said, lip curling disdainfully.

"Fans."

"Would you sign this?" I asked, summoning my cutlass. His upper lip pulled up, scowl deepening.

"Antony, clearly you're disturbing him," Corin said quickly.

"Forgive him, sir."

"He's not the only one," Captain Corvelli said. My cutlass winked away.

"How does your ship float? Despite the damage," I asked, leaning in despite the chill emanating from him like an icy tide.

"Is it true you can sail underwater?" Corin cut in, not giving him the opportunity to answer.

"How do you choose bodies for your crew?"

"Guys," Bianca said, grabbing us each by the shoulder. Her fingers dug into meat. I inhaled sharply. Corin winced.

"Give the Captain some space," she said. Captain Corvelli inclined his head to her.

"I don't make a habit of answering to mortals, but you are distinguished guests," he said.

"A curse. That is all. The Revenant Requiem is beholden to forbidden magics, not the wind."

"Could I—" I swallowed, eyes going wide.

"Could I tour your ship, sir? Maybe join you on your next excursion?"

"Me too!" Corin added.

"Then maybe you could take it undersea—" His eyes shot over to me.

"You know, for those of us who can tolerate that." Corvelli's withered hands tightened in his lap.

"Are you willing to damn your soul to an afterlife of servitude? No Ghost Rock after death. Just the Deep, and my ship."

"Umm," I glanced at Corin, whose brow glistened with perspiration.

"May we skip that part?"

"Then no," he said.

"I run the most dangerous vessel in the World Archipelago. Not a tour barge." My shoulders slumped, and Corin glanced at the ground.

"What about the Undertide?" Bianca asked innocently.

"I hear her hunting patterns have changed." Captain Corvelli smiled without humor.

"Captain Vale is a coward. I keep my magazine stocked with cold iron rounds. If the Undertide weren't faster, I'd sink her again."

"Cold iron?" Bianca asked.

"Cold iron hurts Fae and Spirits," Corin explained.

"Even Feykin carry a general intolerance for it."

"As it happens, I'm the most accurate artillerist in the World Archipelago," I said.

"Put one gun in my hands. I'll strike her dead from an impossible distance."

"Why is nobody asking if we should sink her?" Bianca asked.

"Doesn't Captain Vale protect the dead?"

"He's a territorial pirate," Captain Corvelli rasped.

"Not some benevolent guardian. Ghost Rock and Fel Rock are kin in death. That astral island would be better in our hands."

"Keep the dead and the undead apart," Bianca said.

"They've earned their rest." Captain Corvelli cackled, laughter like a grating cough.

"You do know where you are, right? The dead are tools to be utilized. Like me." The carriage went silent, and he turned his oily eyes out the window. The ride continued in silence and a profound press of disappointment. Never meet your heroes, I guess. The wheels trundled to a stop beside a basalt curb, and a Vampire footman opened the door. Violin and bass music drifted over a manicured garden of dead and withered shrubs. Lanterns flickered along a stone path, green through my goggles.

"Enjoy yourselves, Mortals," Captain Corvelli said. I stepped out first, taking in a line of uniformed Vampire servants standing at attention. A trio of Feykin women turned to us, whispering behind raised hands. Veils shielded their eyes. I glanced down, suddenly conscious of my travel garb. In the pinstripes of the High Family, the others were more appropriately dressed for the occasion. I swallowed. Bianca followed behind me. My arm came up, and I turned to her. It was a party after all.

"Gentleman," she said, accepting it. Corin stepped out, eyes settling on our linked arms.

"Be a gentleman," I hissed, glancing back at the mummified revenant.

"Escort Captain Corvelli. Give him your arm." Corin snorted, swatting me on the shoulder. I snickered as we walked down the path.

"You two should try harder to get along," Bianca said quietly, nodding at the Feykin ladies as we passed.

"What? I'm being nice!"

"I'm still not sure what you're trying to prove."

"I'm not trying to prove anything." She gave me a look that said otherwise. I tugged at my mud-stained trousers.

"I didn't realise this was going to be a party," I whispered.

"They're royalty," Bianca said.

"Of course, it's a party." We passed through the citadel doors, and a ballroom swallowed us whole. My neck craned up, then just kept going. The vaulted ceiling stretched up seven stories overhead. Ringing balconies circled at every level. Vampires and Shad-Feykin leaned over the rails, studying us from their perches.

"You know, they used to be enemies," I said. Bianca glanced at me.

"Shads and the Vamps. It was their mutual hatred of the lich Zalathor that made them allies."

"That and a marriage contract," Bianca said, glancing at Flavia and Leonardo. I found Naomi standing between them, shoulders tight.

"Food," I said, nodding to a wing of circular tables.

"Or dancing?"

"Food," Bianca said insistently, tugging my arm.

"I'm done with travel rations."

"Food it is," I said, tugging my sleeve down to cover the patch of black and green scales that coated my forearms.

"Don't." I looked at her.

"They look good." I snorted.

"I'm serious," she insisted.

"They're not exactly normal."

"They're yours."

"They helped," I muttered, stroking the overlapping lamella.

"Fire resistance. Intimidation. Made people think of him."

"Then stop letting him own them," Bianca said. My throat worked soundlessly.

"I'm among friends now—" I said, reaching for the cuff. She caught my wrist.

"Stop."

"It's—" She punched my shoulder.

"Hey!"

"Tony, I'm a shifter. I use scales all the time, you're making me feel like mine are disgusting."

"What? No, that's not—""Then don't hide it." She brushed the patch on my cheek with a thumb. I forgot what I was about to say, the ballroom music fading for half a heartbeat. A chill made the hair on my arms stand on end. I frowned when a well in the center of the hall caught my eye, a dusty bucket balanced on the stone lip. It looked like it belonged on an abandoned farmhouse, not in the center of the Fel ballroom. Dancing patrons gave it a wide berth. I didn't blame them; an icy breeze radiated from it in waves.

"What's that?" Bianca glanced over her shoulder.

"That must be the Void Well. Naomi was telling me about it. Apparently, it's the heart of the island."

"Creepy." The song changed—a tenor voice from a male Feykin sliding into a waltz tribute to Fel Rock. The ballroom was very large. She felt very close. She withdrew her hand, smiling slightly.

"Interesting music."

"I prefer a good Paradisian guitar. But this isn't half bad." I swallowed and extended a hand before I could think better of it.

"You sure you're still hungry?" She took it without hesitating.

"The food will be there."

"Yeah," I said. I drew her toward the dance floor, and for once, I didn't think about who was watching. <<Time to Seal Collapse: 02: 01: 00: 19: 34: 41>>