Page 4 of Of the Stars and Sea

It is the worst curse that can be bestowed upon someone. Transformed into a creature of darkness, there are some humans who do such terrible things that they are brought before the Dark Moon Coven—witches who curse them as the undead. Not wholly here and never feeling, they consume the blood of others to sustain themselves. Legend says the undead are never sated from the craving of blood. That it is the worst part of the curse—to always hunger for the taste of others.

I can’t conceal my disdain when I look back at Red Beard. What he’s doing employing one ofthemis beyond me. To my surprise, Red Beard meets my eyes, as though proud of this recruit, and enjoying the shock value behind it.

Then he throws his head back and laughs.

His wet cackle grates over my nerves. We were supposed to get our assignment without drawing too much attention and get the hells out of here.

Now the guard has his sights set on Amara, like she is some precious toy he cannot wait to play with.

The column of Amara’s throat works as she swallows and I know she’s come to the same realization as me.

“What’s the next assignment, Red Beard?” I ask as the guard stalks back to his position behind the desk.

We need to get out of here—and quickly.

Red Beard eyes me carefully. All I can do is hope we haven’t muddied the waters enough for him to refuse our next bounty. There is a quiet ticking of a large clock that hangs on the wall behind him.

A quiet breath leaves my lungs as Red Beard finally speaks. “There is a scoundrel who has plans to steal an ancient artifact from King Renard Aouin of Esoros. The king has entrusted me with the task of getting it back for him. And as you know, the cost of failing the king is death.” A wicked smile curses his lips and I refrain from staggering backward. He is not speaking of his own death, but mine should I fail in this task.

“What is the artifact?” I ask, straining to keep my voice from shaking.

Red Beard is quiet for a moment and the flames of the candles seem to shift in the air when he finally hisses, “The Serpent’s Key.”

My jaw goes slack and I feel Amara’s eyes on me.

“The Serpent’s Key,” I repeat—which is a mistake, because Red Beard’s gaze narrows on me instantly.

“Is the great Rowenya Stone afraid of sometrinket?”

I stand straighter, lips pursed.He’s toying with me.

His rough laughter spills into the space, quickly turning into a hacking, wet cough. He pulls a handkerchief from his desk drawer and wipes the moisture from his lips.

The Serpent’s Key was created after the Heavenly War, when Ujun, the god of earth and fire, cursed his brother, Thaeto, the god of sea and wind, forcing him into a deep slumber before stealing his treasures and burying them in some unknown place of the world.

Every pirate has dreamed of Thaeto’s treasure. It is said to be an endless loot of gold and gems—a god’s fortune—and the Serpent’s Key is meant to guide whoever is brave enough to wield it to the treasure’s location.

“It is said to be cursed by Ujun himself and kept within the king’s vault,” I note before glancing toward Amara. She’s looking aimlessly at the floor and I know her mind is working. Looking back to Red Beard, I ask, “How was it stolen?”

Red Beard leans his beefy arms on the top of his desk. The old wood creaks beneath him. “Gods cannot bestow curses, child. Only witches can do that.”

Amara has the audacity to scoff at him and he snarls in her direction. I swear to the heavens she is going to get us killed before we even have a chance to make it back out the door. Most captains would slice her tongue from her mouth as punishment for speaking out of turn and continuing to cause dismay.

Snaking my fingers over her wrist, I give her a squeeze.Not now, I try to say. The last thing I need is for my quartermaster to fall by the dagger of a vampyre. The crew would never let me hear the end of it, and her death would be one more tick against my name to every other pirate on the Aelynthi Sea. “A betrayer of The Code and a failure to her crew,”they would say.

“In the matter of it being stolen”—Red Beard runs a meaty paw through his long beard that is more gray now than red—“it hasn’t been yet.”

My brows furrow. “Then how are we to recover it?”

His gaze withers toward the door at my back, like he can see the offender right through the wooden planks. His voice lowers. “There have been whispers on my docks that someone is meant to steal it tomorrow eve and I have considerable reason to believe these tellings.”

“Who?” I whisper.

“Blythe Quint.” Red Beard spits his name like a hex.

Blythe Quint. I guess the battle against him will come much sooner than I thought. Some shadowed part of me feels excited for the chance to bury my dagger in his belly.

“Blythe is vengeful, Red Beard. He will come after us both.”

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