Chapter 1: The Blood-tainted Mist

Juliette

Even as the cannonball hit her father’s chest, his eyes found hers—storm-dark and commanding—giving a silent order: Avenge the Jaymes name.

His captain’s hat left his head and settled atop his empty boots below. It lay there, still and silent, while the crew’s shouts of agony faded to nothing.

She blinked—and he was gone. Only the hat remained, perched atop black leather boots.

Second blink—the sterncastle deck lurched beneath her feet.

The ship’s wheel spun out of control, and instinct took over. A scream ripped from her belly as her hands seized the wheel. The ship fought her—smoke and death all around—but she held fast.

It would obey.

She would survive.

The cannon’s roar returned, pounding in her skull. Her knees buckled. The empty boots stared back at her.

Gone—a pirate king blown from his family’s magnificent ship, Storm Rider.

Her gut twisted. A thick moan left her lips. The salt and smoke burned her eyes but not as deeply as the sight of the empty black boots. The weight of it pressed into her chest more than the wheel in her hands. Her breath hitched. The sea—the DeepMother—hissed her cold reminder: Avenge me.

Another scream released from the depths of her belly, rage replacing sorrow. The waves crashed over the ship’s side. She heaved the wheel to steer away from the grappling hooks, but some raiders started climbing aboard from the other ships. The unlucky fell to the deep. Four black-sailed ships surrounded her. Where was the Jaymes fleet?

“Hold fast!” Her order cut through the chaos. “Storm Rider don’t fall to scum!” she yelled.

The wind stirred the captain’s hat—her father’s crown—tossing it at her feet. Her belly knotted. Rage simmered in her cheeks and ears. Not yet. She wasn’t ready.

Had they been abandoned?

Her heart plummeted as another hail-shot twin cannonball took what remained of Storm Rider’s proud main mast. Splinters rained like shards of bone. Cannon smoke curled into the sky, smothering the sun. The sea dragon trophy—a spike of the beast’s horned mane—fell with a sickening thud on the deck. Its blackened tip glinted once in the sunlight before rolling to rest among the dead. Her father always said it was no mere trophy, but a prophecy that had earned him the submission of six captains’ fleets. A prophecy the DeepMother would grant and never forget.

The downed white sails swept many of the ship’s crew from their feet into the watery abyss. The golden “J” on the fallen sail glimmered once—then vanished beneath the waves. Without its main sail and surrounded, the ship was stranded, and the raiders boarded with ease.

Juliette drew her cutlass and a flintlock. The helm was useless. She ran and slid down the stairs, shooting a raider between the eyes.

For Father.

Her leather-booted feet landed on the deck with a thick thud. Her cutlass caught a raider’s blade with a screech of steel. The pistol’s crack split the air—he fell without a sound. The next one came yelling like a madman, but dropped dead just as quickly.

Avenge Father.

More ships approached. More raiders boarded. It was not a random attack. She glanced at the main deck where the few loyal crew remained. Her mother, Danna, and twin brother, Bobby, fought as a team, back-to-back. Her gaze shot to the sea at Storm Rider’s stern. Her father’s fleet was behind them, all under attack. The swirling pit in her belly pressed against her lungs as a vision of death swept past her—her father’s contorted face in the murky depths. His eyes called to her, Avenge my name; Avenge our legacy.

Juliette growled as a bullet whizzed past her head. A scowl of determination embedded on her lips.

Raiders swarmed the bow and now the stern. She was the only one left on the quarterdeck. As the gun smoke cleared from her latest shot, the realization that they were outnumbered and outgunned on a stranded ship sank into the pit of her belly. But she was a Jaymes, and whoever did this to her family would pay with their anguish-filled screams.

She tucked her flintlock and cutlass back in her belt, grabbed a flailing rope, breath steady, rage contained.

“Storm Rider’s still ours,” she yelled with a running leap to swing wide over the ship’s edge. Sailing with legs out straight, the raiders were knocked from their gangplanks.

Her boots hit the main deck. A blade slashed, meant for Juliette’s back, but a shot cracked first. The raider fell. Juliette turned. Her mother—cutlass raised and flintlock smoking—met her gaze with a nod.

“Multiple ships—this be no chance fight!” Juliette yelled, cutting a raider down with a single, ruthless swing. Yet, no matter their valiant defense, the fighting ended in vain; the raiders penned them in, encircled them on the deck, and cocked their guns.

The Jaymes crew shot, but the sound of clicks echoed through the space.

Empty.

Juliette’s heart pounded in her ears. The taste of injustice soured her tongue. They were Jaymes—the blood of Robert “The Ruthless,” ruler of the North Sea’s triad pirate kingship. And Chadwicks—heirs of the first and greatest pirate king. Royalty of the seas. Feared. Honored. Respected. The family of the DeepMother’s prophecy through the sea dragon’s relic. They deserved more than death on a stranded deck.

“We die standin’, mates. Jaymes honor don’t bend or break,” her twin brother, Bobby, said.

Juliette shook her head in defiance of her brother’s declaration, though the future seemed it would end in mere moments.

“No finer crew for a last stand.” Bobby’s voice carried with a strong cadence. “Be seein’ ye in Tophet.”

Tophet—where death reigned, curses whispered, and despair knew no end. The final depth where all souls sank.

Her eyes widened. Her knuckles drained of color as she gripped her useless flintlock and cutlass. It couldn’t end this way. Not for their family. Not for pirate royalty. Not for their loyal crew.

The gunshots pounded in the air, and bullets flew past her head. She expected one to end her, but when the shots ceased, she stood unharmed beside Bobby and her mother. The rest of the crew lay dead.

“Drop yer steel, pretty lassies. The sea don’t mind claimin’ souls draggin’ chains,” a raider said, motioning with a cocked gun.

“Me flintlock hits the deck when I do,” Bobby said, lifting his chin to face the probable outcome.

“Give ’em up, or we’ll carve ’em from yer grip,” the raider ordered.

Juliette raised her cutlass with a growl, but rough hands seized her. She thrashed, teeth bared, kicking hard. Still, the ropes came fast. The wheel was lost. The fight—over. The Jaymes twins and their mother, Danna Chadwick, were bound and at the mercy of raiders.

“Weapons down, Jaymes kin—our captains want ye alive, fer now. Couldn’t say the same fer the rest o’ yer crew,” another raider said, as he sniffed her hair and ran his hand over her neck.

“Ye smell like the sea after a hard rain,” he whispered, brushing his lips on her ear.

She yanked her head away.

A voice cut through the smoke—smooth, commanding. “Lars, stop makin’ eyes, or ye’ll meet the black depths along with these scalawags.”

Boot steps echoed across the deck. A figure emerged. A broad-brimmed, plumed hat cast his face in shadow. His walk was slow, confident, and dangerous.

Juliette’s breath caught.

She knew that saunter.

His handsome face grew clearer.

Daniel Rosa.