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{ Prologue }
1813 Port of Veracruz
The pistol shot rang in his ears, suffocating every other sound as the world slowed down in front of him.
His father staggered a step backward. Then another. And another.
Falling. Falling.
The mass of him that had always been so huge, so strong.
Falling backward. Down.
The thud shook the floor under Rune’s feet—vibrating beneath the half wall that supported the crisscross wooden screen partition that separated the hallway from the private dining room of the tropical Weller Inn.
Blood spread onto his father’s chest. Onto the white of his shirt and his waistcoat. If he’d been wearing the coat he hated to wear for the heat, the blood would have soaked into the fibers, hiding the crimson. Instead, the blood seeped upward. Vibrant. A red like he’d never seen.
Splatters of blood flew up from his mouth, gurgle after gurgle as the blood trailed down his cheek onto his neck.
Gross. Ignoble. Nothing of the strength and dignity of the man. The honor of him. The integrity.
The small diamonds of open space in the wooden panel didn’t afford Rune a solid view of his father. Broken. Only bits and pieces of his body and his face. Not enough.
Rune had to reach him. Reach him before his last breath.
He charged toward the side door of the room, only to be jerked backward. His feet swung out from under him, flying up in the air.
A hand clamped over his mouth as whispered words hissed in his ear. “Don’t do it. It’s death for sure.”
Bloody idiot.
Rune bit the hand across his mouth.
“Shit,” Strider hissed, but his hand didn’t leave Rune’s mouth, only dug harder across his lips. “Don’t make me knock you out.”
Rune thrashed, silent, determined to free himself from his friend.
“Sink me, Rune. Still or they’ll find us.”
His muscles exploding, Rune tried to break free. Strider’s hold was a rock and he—he was weak.
Damn, but he was slight—too slight. Couldn’t even break free from another fourteen year old’s grip. Couldn’t hold himself against Strider’s weight—his strength.
“Yer dead—dead if I let ye go. So the next move ye make I’m knocking ye out and ye won’t see any of this,” Strider whispered, the hiss gone from his voice.
No option, Rune stilled with Strider’s hand suffocating the gasps he was aching for. His body frozen, his eyes locked onto his father’s face.
He saw it, watched it, his insides tearing out.
The moment his father’s face relaxed.
Not struggling.
Not trying to stay alive.
Gave up.
No more blood to pump his heart.
