Page 66 of The Secrets of Jane: Reborn
Shit.
A nasty collective of pirates has made a home right around this bend, their residence established over a bridge; their longboats are anchored in the narrow waters right next to us, so they’re definitely home. They frequently perch their asses on a deck—therethey are.
They adorn featureless, black masks that are slightly in the shape of an animal skull with subtle ridges, their fingers all stained black in an uneven fade to their wrists as if dipped into the shadows. Their bare arms are layered with intentional, small scars revealing a pattern of how many they’ve killed in an open ledger of death.
Blades of Zanos.
Aside from being hired swords, they’re one of the very few who can cross the Black Sea, andalsohave knowledge of the harbors and ports. It’s a complete mystery how they acquired their vessel, which defies the odds, as not even Tempest knows.
They’re ruthless cutthroats who like to demand tolls down here. When I look up at four of them, not one of them seems interested in us—thankfully—except maybe morbidly curious about what we’re doing and why we’re all covered in sweat and blood.
I swear those fuckers all have to be classified as insane before earning their mask.
I’m so fucking ready to be out of here.
When we walk under a two-story footbridge with pirating flags hanging down them, cold chills of relief wash over me. Ahead, the official harbor stretches into view; we pass by ships pulled completely out of the water as barnacles are scraped off the bottom like beasts being flayed alive. The floors creak underneath our feet, worn by relentless waves, sea water sprays, and boots.
We’re so damn close.
At least forty vessels are anchored in port or pulled out for cleaning. There are only two flights of stairs we need to descend to be on the piers themselves?—
I’m overwhelmed with the sensation of something so incrediblyfoulbehind us, but I ignore it to scan for any of the longboats that have the wolf’s head at the hull, but I don’t see one. My heart races faster, everything telling mebelow, but looking down only reveals the wood.
The foul sensation slithers up my spine, the undeniable rot nearly identical to the corner I felt back in Blackwell’s room.
No.
He’shere.
J A N E
We just need to leave.
We just need to leave.
We just need?—
Soren looks over his shoulder as I’m slightly above him on a set of stairs, the massive man terrifying with that mask on, the skin around his eyes smudged with black ink to emphasize the pale blue.
It’s like the further we get to the possibility of fleeing, the morethatpart of my mind can register how unfairly seductive Soren is, all violently wrapped up in his armor and weapons, let alone the loose strands of dark hair that get in his vision. It’s only more pronounced that he basically saved me by showing up at the right time?—
When our gazes connect, and he’s lost in the sea of his Zenith ways, his eyes are entirely cold, and… alarmed?
I follow his line of vision that he just looked at, dread consuming every inch of my skeleton when, probably ten stories higher on a stoney ledge behind many wooden columns, is a cavernous entrance?—
Blackwell.
My heart races when next to him is something that sticks out from the shadows, the wind catching the edges of a cloak, two orange, glowing lights disturbingly haunting and I have no idea why.
Everyone in our party catches on, even Basilisk, who looks up at the very end of this chain of humans and then swiftly at Soren.
What the fuck are those glowing dots?
“Get in!”shouts a voice I don’t recognize.
We all glance down to see what appears to be longboats emerging from underneath these docks, like pulling out something from below a bed. There’s got to be at least six, all of them already half-filled with what appears to be pirates.
Tempest.
