Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Seraphina

We return to Crimson Cove, and Killian and I part ways. 

I walk back to my chamber room and lay around waiting for nightfall.

As the sun disappears, I slip out of my loungewear into an all-black outfit�"the skin-tight leather hugs my curves, perfect for slipping through shadows. I sheath my daggers and fasten the belt that holds my sword. My dark red cloak conceals the multitude of weapons on my body.

The Captain wanted me to find a man who made the mistake of stealing from him. The poor fellow has no clue what’s coming.

I quietly leave my room and walk across the docks�"the ship creaks and moans against the calm sea. The distant laughter of drunken pirates harmonizes with the crackling flames of bonfires.

Getting to the Cliff City of Sangrahv is quite troublesome. A long trail of uneven cobblestone leads to the far side of the cliffs from the Pirate’s Pier. Along the face of the rock are the hundred-foot steps, a steep and narrow staircase carved into the cliffside. Many pirates keep away from Cliff City because of the challenging climb. After numerous incidents of intoxicated men attempting the ascent and plummeting to their deaths, the pirates have decided as a collective to avoid taking that route. They prefer to spend their days closer to The Cove and on the pier. That is until they run out of alcohol and entertainment.

It is also the best scenario for the locals because the treacherous cliffs bring fewer pirates to The City to harass and rob them. The Captain’s minimal law enforcement invites criminal activity, leaving those who committed the crimes unpunished unless those crimes have affected him directly. 

That's why he sent me into The City�"to do his dirty work and spare him from mingling with the 'vermin,' as he calls the impoverished. 

It's not their fault the majority live in poverty�"it's my father who's to blame for the scraps they struggle to survive on.

I walk up, up, and up the stairs, until I reach the top of the cliffs, barely out of breath. The midnight air is crisp and chilly; the cold feels exhilarating against my flushed cheeks. 

I hear the sound of the waves crashing beneath the cliff; the crescent moon has risen, its reflection blurring into the rippling ocean.

On this quiet summer night, the streets are deserted. The only signs of life are stray cats rummaging through piles of rubbish in the dark alleyway to my left. Gas lamps dimly light my path, casting just enough to keep me hidden as I navigate the main streets. 

Most superstitious citizens follow an unofficial curfew, retreating to their homes at this late hour. Those who don't believe in the beast-like monsters said to roam beyond The City's borders are likely spending their nights in taverns�"or perhaps, like an assassin, out hunting a wanted man.

The buildings are made of sandstone or scavenged ship parts, weathered and worn but functional. Tall, uneven, multi-story structures with ironwork balconies can be seen looking down the winding, bumpy, narrow streets. Due to the harsh tropical climate, peeling paint and overgrown vines adorn most structures.

The market square, usually bustling with crowds and merchants during the day, lies in the heart of The City. At the center of the plaza, a large granite fountain in the form of a statue dominates the space. The beautifully crafted sculpture is of a mythical being�"a woman of enchanting beauty whose legs are replaced with the tail of a fish. Her eyes gaze to the sky, one arm planted on the stone she sits upon, the other hand reaching towards the heavens. 

Below the statue, words are engraved in the common tongue: "Selnacia: Mother of the Sea and Protector of life." 

One of the forgotten gods. Only pitiful fools clinging to the past still worship them. These same fools fill children's heads with dreams that one day, the gods will end famine, cure diseases, or even bring back lost parents. But there are no gods�"only disappointment and false ideals.

The neglected fountain is filled with coins thrown in by children over the years, their wishes to the goddess sinking into the murky green waters. Whatever they wished for, none of it will ever come true. The water, infested with moss, is so putrid that even the poorest would refuse to touch it for the coins.

It's better to believe in oneself than to depend on imaginary beings. I say this not as a mere observer, but as someone who knows the sting of such disappointment.

I move past the fountain, gazing at the familiar buildings with arched doorways and covered verandas surrounding the square. Market stalls and vendors are constructed from driftwood and canvas. During the day, the now-empty tables would be filled with an eclectic mix of fresh tropical fruits, handcrafted trinkets, and scavenged treasures; the square is typically filled with the clamor of bartering voices, the scent of exotic spices, and the vibrant hues of woven fabrics and painted signs.

But right now, the only source of excitement is the local taverns scattered along one of the nearby streets.

Drunken sailors sit on stools outside one of the taverns. They are rolling dice on top of wooden barrels, and the sounds of coins fall in and out of their pockets. I glance at the old sign that hangs above the entrance; in faded red paint, it reads, "The Naughty Nymph." The name certainly fits a place like this.

I walk in and search through the bustling crowds. Every man here is of different size, height, and color. But to me, none stand out as they all wear dull, tattered clothing in various shades of brown, black, and orange. Most of them are either missing a tooth or a limb and lacking any reasonable sense of hygiene. The women are fashioned in thick layered skirts and overly tight corsets.

 They are all enjoying themselves, eyes glazed and cheeks pink, getting drunk on rum and ale until they can no longer stand. I blend into the crowd and sit at the bar on a creaky wooden stool.

In the tavern, cheerful music fills the air, and patrons sing and dance to the lively tunes of the flutes and guitars. The clinking of pewter mugs mixes with the melody, and the smell of ale and hearty food wafts through the room. The flickering candlelight almost gives the place a warm atmosphere. No fights have struck out yet, but it’s only a matter of time ‘till their fragile egos are bruised, and they have to uphold their manhood by punching someone. 

I spot two men sitting in the far corner alongside the stone wall. One has a suspiciously large amount of gold coins stacked on the table, glowing next to a lone wax candle, with a deck of cards in his hands. 

Is this idiot seriously gambling away the tax money he risked his life to steal? I almost pity him enough to let him go. Almost. 

The bartender pours a small glass of brown liquid and sets it before me. I shoot it down quickly, the bitter liquor burning my throat as I swallow, warming my body. I flick two copper coins for the bartender to catch, and he pours me another shot. I take another swig of the liquor and wait patiently. 

As I wait for their game to end, I suddenly sense a gaze so intense it feels like it could bore a hole through the back of my skull. I turn my head sharply, expecting someone to be there, but all that meets my eyes is an empty table. 

Am I being followed? No, it must be the liquor getting to my head. There’s no one there, and my attention must remain on the mission. Maybe it wasn't such a bright idea to drink on an empty stomach. 

It’s too late for regrets now. Focus, Seraphina.

I turn back around to see that the tax collector’s winnings practically double. The other man storms away in frustration after losing the game. 

Now’s the perfect time to approach him. I hop off the barstool and stride over to where the tax collector sits. He’s gathering the coins and tossing them in a brown leather pouch.

I invite myself to sit across from him at the small table. I rest my arm on the chair, cross my legs, and make myself comfortable. He sets the pouch on the table, keeping it close by.

The man seems to be in his mid-thirties. He is not unattractive but not the most striking of his species; his looks are underwhelming. 

He looks up at me with a broad, ugly grin. The candlelight catches an oily sheen on his face, making him appear even more repulsive. “Well, what can I do for ya, little lady, on this fine evening?” I can already tell by the tone of his voice what his true intentions are with me. Why not play along? It’s been a while since I had some fun of my own. 

"I saw you from the bar and just couldn't help myself, and I thought it'd spoil my night if I'd given up the chance to approach you." The lie comes easily. 

"You certainly know how to make an entrance. As you walked in, every man�"even the women�"looked your way. I wasn't sure I stood a chance. I've never been so glad to be wrong. Your mysterious demeanor entices me. " He brushes his ginger hair out of his face as his gray-blue eyes look me up and down, lingering on my chest�"disgusting scoundrel. 

I swallow a groan. "You flatter me, Sir. I merely came here for a beverage and to enjoy the splendor of music." I continue my deception. 

"What about some company? A woman of your beauty shouldn't be left alone on a night like this." He smiles, crooked teeth showing as he leans over the table towards me. “And there’s no need for formalities. Call me Theo.” He slowly licks his lips, not breaking eye contact. 

"Well, Theo, I'm here with you now, right?" I fake a faint blush and give him a sheepish smile.

Oh, Theo, your name certainly won’t be remembered after tonight. I’ll make sure of it.

“What do I call you?” he asks. 

"I’m Victoria." I give him a fake name because I'm almost sure he'd be running for the hills if I gave him my actual name. 

Most people in this City have heard of Seraphina Auberon and its associated rumors, but they have never seen what I look like. The rumors are almost as foul as the truth.

He inches closer and picks up my hand, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Victoria.” He kisses the top of my hand with his slimy, wet lips. It takes all the restraint in the world not to kick him in the jewels then and there. 

“Might we find a quieter place to talk?” I ask.

“Lead the way.” He stands up, and I notice his freakishly tall stature. His limbs are lanky, and there’s not much meat on his bones. I could snap this man like a twig. 

I grab his bony hand, and we head out the back door. 

I lead us into a dark and empty alleyway, where no one can hear his screams. The soft muffling of the tavern's boisterous sounds blur into the background. He immediately grabs me by my waist and starts to kiss me on the neck without any hesitation. This guy is shameless.

He whispers, “Mmm, your skin is so soft, like honeydew.” His hot breath smelled of ale and pungent garlic. He backs me against the wall, and I feel his left hand lower, inching down. I squeeze his hand so tightly that all his finger bones crunch, snap, and pop. 

Theo wails in pain. 

“B***h! You broke my hand!” With an enraged expression, he shouts more curses that are not worth repeating. I grab him by the collar of his shirt and throw it against the wall. His legs give out, and he stumbles to the ground. My grip remains strong as I pin him by his shoulders, his back rubbing against the jagged edges of the stone.

I crouch down on one knee. “I relay a message from The Captain,” my tone is as cold as death. 

Locking eyes with mine, his expression morphs from anger to disbelief and ultimately escalates to a sheer sense of terror as the realization of his grave error dawns on him.

“You�"oh f**k. You're Seraphina Auberon,” he stutters. 

He jerks around, attempting to wiggle out of my grasp, flailing with fear. His weak, pathetic attempt to escape was to no avail.

“Glad to know my reputation precedes me.” I glower at him with a sinister smile.

“You made an idiotic mistake stealing money from The Captain. I must hand it to you, though; it takes some guts to do what you did. Unfortunately for you, The Captain’s got eyes and ears everywhere.” I sneer. “Especially in The City.”

I unsheathe a knife�"the one with sharp, rigid edges on one side, like shark teeth. I crouch down, pick up Theo's good hand, and slowly start cutting off his thumb. The serrated edge doesn’t cut cleanly through the finger, adding more pain to his experience and enjoyment to mine. He screams as I see off the joint, not stopping until it’s fully separated from his hand.

“You are a psycho!” he cries in agony. 

Tell me something I don’t know.

I move on to the other fingers, sawing through the flesh and bone until I hear the blissful sounds of metal scraping and grinding against granite. He almost blacks out a few times, but I force him to stay awake the entire time, savoring every moment. The smell of piss ruminates in the air, fresh blood dripping down the cool cobblestone floors. We’ve barely even gotten started; He won’t last long.

I take the pouch of gold coins from his body and stuff it in my pocket. 

My hood slips off, exposing the tips of my ears and revealing my Fae features as I summon my magic.

The river stream of what was once light magic is swallowed by inky darkness, welcoming in the trenches of death. My eyes become a void of black as I summon my powers. I can feel a piece of humanity slip away each time I let the darkness take over me, and as exhilarating and powerful it may feel, it terrifies me.

But I allow myself a small taste of what it feels to be the god of death, and I can say with certainty it is very addicting.

Theo's eyes widen in shock, taking in my true form�"something no one has seen in years, and something I prefer to keep hidden. Especially the dark side of it.

His face contorts in horror, his eyes nearly bulging from their sockets. "The Fae deserved what happened to them!" he spits out, his voice dripping with venom. "If it were up to me, all of you freaks would have been wiped from The Seven Isles long before Captain Auberon claimed the pirate throne!" His words are laced with a deep-seated hatred and disgust.

His cruel words struck a sensitive place in my heart, and although I have been trained never to lose control, all senses of logic escape me as I grab his throat and squeeze it. 

"And you deserve everything that’s coming to you," I snarl, tightening my grip. "As you die at the hands of a freak like me."

Like a fish out of water, Theo gasps for air that will never come. My magic senses my greed and hastens the process, draining him dry. I can hear the blood slowing in his veins, feel his heart shriveling, and sense the remnants of his muscle dissolving within him.

Though I hold the power to heal and reverse wounds, I also wield the power of death�"an irreversible force. Taking a life is permanent, a truth I learned long ago when I was still struggling to control my magic. I suffered the consequences of my powers after accidentally killing someone, and from that moment, I vowed to use this curse only on the wicked and the damned. As long as I draw breath, I will never again take an innocent life. 

Some mysterious force�"one I have yet to comprehend�"gifted me these powers. And that mystery will likely remain unsolved, as no Astorian Fae live on this Island. If only there were a way to speak to them. 

But that’s impossible�"they're all dead.

I feel Theo’s final breath slip away.

What’s left of him is barely recognizable�"a gray, sunken, almost skeletal corpse. It’s a grotesque sight to behold.

I wipe the blood from my dagger onto my crimson cloak, then pull up a fabric mask to hide my face. With that, I melt back into the shadows, leaving the remnants of bones for the dogs to chew on.

***

I walk into The Captain's quarters and stride over to his monstrosity of a desk, where he sits, nonchalantly filing his nails. Without a word, I slam the pouch of gold onto the polished wooden surface. For a fleeting moment, a flicker of surprise crosses his face, but he quickly returns to his usual unamused demeanor.

Without a backward glance, I turn on my heel and storm out of the room.

That night, I sleep soundly, knowing The Captain will eventually open the pouch and find ten severed fingers mixed in with his blood-stained golden coins.