Page 4 of Prince of the Phantom Sky

A shadowed figure leapt in front of him and a growl vibrated from Raiden. A pair of slender hands whipped up, warding him off. “Woah, it’s me,” Leto signed.

His vivid eyes came into focus through the Mist, and Leto stepped forward, dressed head to toe in grey-and-black, accompanied by a grey-toned parrot with beady eyes perched on his right shoulder. His wiry black hair had been scraped back, and his pale skin reflected the moonlight, casting a deathly aura.

“The ship’s ready,” Leto signed, motioning to the ocean behind him. The parrot—Mara—quietly squawked, fluttering her feathers. “Hector’s going to kill us for this.”

Raiden grunted. “I don’t care, this is our only chance of rescuing Kordelia.” He signed quickly, his hands erratic. Leto’s peculiar eyes followed his movements, his brow furrowing. Despite losing his hearing as a child, and his tongue later as an adult, he’d become one of the deadliest of pirate lords. All feared him—except Raiden.

To him, Leto was a brother in arms. A friend. Someone he could depend on, unlike Hector fucking Read. Since their return to Galen a month ago, after Kordelia slipped through Raiden’s fingers, Hector had stormed Mistros City, demanding to fortify the castle, insisting only the pirate lords could enter or leave the island.

Because the threat of the Talmon Empire still lingered—and it was growing. Leto, Hector and Cassidy were scouting constantly, sending in reports via hawks about the rapid growth of blight that was the empire across Talmon Island, spreading towards Aldara. Within one month, Barron’s reign had tripled.

And no one was doing anything about it.

They hurried across the promenade to the docks, their footsteps silent as the city slumbered. Rows of rounded buildings erected from white stone lined the promenade, with blue slated roofs rising into a mix of spirals and domes. Metal benches faced the sea, interspersed with tall lanterns they had installed during the first year of the Mist, as an attempt to gift light to the people of Galen all year round.

They rounded the docks and Mara flew from Leto’s shoulder, soaring through the Mist until she landed on the cracked, weathered railing of Bone Rattler. Raiden’s muscles tensed as they silently raced up the wide plank, and he breathed in the mysterious aura that prickled his hair, causing every warning bell to ring in his mind.

Torn grey sails fluttered in the gentle breeze, the strips of fabric loosely hanging from the masts. The deck groaned under Raiden’s feet, and he wondered if he’d fall through, into the jaws of the ocean. He sought that familiar scent of ocean breeze and vanilla, but he’d been unable to reach Kordelia since her cry for help . . . and Kordelia had never said please in her lifetime.

Tension wrapped around him like a vice as Leto organised his crew, all dressed in the same dreary garb. Their thin frames were overlaid by shredded longcoats, warped swords attached to their sides.

It was a gods-damned death ship.

Raiden carefully skirted around the holes in the deck, unsure as to how Leto’s ship ever survived the storms in Shaurock Sea, let alone sailed in the first place. As he reached the other side of the ship, his hands biting into the crusted woodwork to steady his cresting nerves, a figure dropped down beside him from the single shroud still intact.

“Glad to see you made it, Windward.” Aryn crouched, balancing expertly on the creaking railing of Bone Rattler.

“Aryn,” Raiden replied stonily. As the ship pulled away from the dock, that strange aura thickened, expanding across the deck.

“Did your father see you leave?”

Aryn’s hazel eyes flashed gold against the muted honeyed lanterns as he carefully scanned their surroundings, as if he could see through the mystical aura. No one had seen Raiden leave. He’d managed to evade his father’s guards, his courtiers, and was so gods-damned lucky that his father had decided to travel north for the week.

“No, Zephyr left this morning for Skybell Castle. He won’t know we’re gone until it’s too late.”

“Thank the gods for that,” a familiar voice joined, and Raiden groaned as Aerion clapped him on the shoulder, the red band across his forehead stark against the muted tones of the ship. His curled silver strands looped around his brow, tickling his high cheekbones. “We’d be strung up by our heels for leaving if he’d caught us.”

Aerion leaned against the railing, throwing Aryn a casual glance as he gave Raiden an aloof thumbs up.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Raiden rubbed his face, suppressing his frustration. Holy Haizea, he was getting a headache already.

“Helping,” his brother summarised. “You can’t do this alone. We all want Kordelia back, and the latest scouting report shows Talmon is crawling with soldiers. We’re walking into a bloodbath.”

Raiden’s stare cut towards Aryn. “You said they’d left the island. That they were venturing to the west side and Aldara.”

Aryn’s grip on his bowstring tightened as that ethereal gaze threatened to turn Raiden’s world to complete darkness. He still hadn’t revealed what his power was, but something about Aryn was . . . off.

“Before I returned two days ago, I saw empire vessels sailing from South Wharf to the Black Abyss . . . the kraken’s escaping. Barron is trying to contain it. One of his soldiers confirmed just as much.” Aryn flexed his bruised knuckles.

Aerion scoffed, but not before glancing warily at Aryn’s darkened hands. “Maybe the kraken can help us destroy some of his armada.”

“His army must be growing.” Raiden swallowed the lump clogging his throat. Fuck. He’d fight all of them. He’d battle his way across an inferno if it meant he could even see Kordelia again. Gods, if he could touch her, feel her warmth, and allow himself a mere second to wrap her scent around him, he’d split the world in two to do it.

“That would be the smartest assumption,” a third voice appeared, and Raiden’s anxiety skyrocketed as Skylar emerged from the central grey aura.

Slicked back, braided hair ran down the length of her spine, and she donned the same flight suit as Raiden and Aerion. She winced as she subconsciously rubbed the side of her head, where a small scar ran from her forehead to her right brow. It’d become a noticeable tick, something she did when she was stressed, since Blake Marwood had laid his dirty fucking hands on her.

“No, absolutely not, you’re not coming,” Raiden snapped. His heart seized at the thought of his sister entering battle once again. She’d almost died the last time.