Vane Black Sails Novels & Stories

I stand on the high cliffside, my heart sinking as I count dozens of black-sailed war-ships closing in on our coastline. The vast expanse of the dark ocean below is choked with iron-clad vessels bearing the serpent insignia of Dawn Mercer's western syndicates, their towering masts slicing through the gray, turbulent sky like a forest of wicked blades.

Vane coughed up dark blood, staring up at me with terrified, wide eyes as I stood over him, my silver runes burning with absolute authority. "It's over, Vane," I said, my voice cold as ice. "Your rebellion ends today." Vane let out a desperate, wheezing laugh. "You... you think I'm the mastermind, girl?" He spat blood onto the floor, his trembling finger pointing toward the high balcony overlooking the city harbor. "Look... look at the harbor!" I turned, my heart freezing in my chest. Through the shattered stained-glass windows, out in the middle of the burning royal harbor, a massive, ancient black warship was rising out of the water—a vessel three times the size of Vane's entire Sunfang fl

"I am requesting an immediate audience with King Solas and Prince Kaelen." There was a pause. A long, heavy silence where I could almost hear Vane grinding his teeth. "General Vance," Vane spat the name like a curse. "You have some nerve. You steal our fleet, disappear for half a decade, and then knock on the front door?" "I'm not knocking, Captain," I said. "I'm returning your ship." "We don't want the ship," Vane growled. "We want your head. Target lock confirmed. Fire on my mark."

POV RUBY The Siren’s Wake cut through the choppy black waters of the Irish Sea like a blade. Behind us, the fiery orange glow of the Docklands was nothing more than a bleeding scar on the horizon. The roar of the engine was a constant, low-frequency thrum that vibrated through the floorboards and up into my very bones. Silas was at the helm, his silhouette a grim statue against the spray-flecked glass of the cabin, leaving Nevan and me alone in the cramped, dimly lit quarters below deck.

The war room in Blackwater Port was not a room of polished stone and ancient maps, but the Admiral's private cabin aboard his flagship, *The Sea Serpent*. The air was thick with the scent of tar, salt, and the faint, sweet smell of the rum Thorne poured into two heavy pewter mugs. The ship rocked gently at its moorings, a constant, reassuring reminder of the power that slept at their fingertips.

Miro was right. Five ships. Black hulls. No lights. Moving in perfect formation. And on the lead ship, at the bow, stood a figure I recognized. Silas Vane. But he wasn't alone. Beside him stood a woman in white. Her hair was long and silver. Her face was hidden behind a mask. But her eyes — one blue, one red — burned through the lens. Dr. Reinhart. She wasn't dead. She wasn't dying. She had lied.

The red glare of the flare hung in the salt-heavy air like a bleeding star, casting a jagged, rhythmic light over the deck of the mangled gunboat as it pitched violently in the black harbor swells, Verina felt the world tilt, not from the waves, but from the impossible sight of the man standing over a pinned and gasping Miller. Silas’s father, Elias Vane, the original "Executioner" who had supposedly been buried in a watery grave ten years ago, looked like a specter forged from obsidian and sea-spray, his face was a map of deep, jagged scars and a decade of cold, subterranean exile, but his eyes were the same dark, predatory wells as his son’s. The heavy breathing of the two Vane men filled

"Show me." The captain bowed and started walking fast ahead. We didn't have to go too far because he pointed at a large residential apartment complex partially on fire and I saw the giant letters spray painted in red. "Death to the Moon Goddess vessel." I read the large text.

The Black Rose lead submarine navigated the suffocating, silent pressures of the abyss for seven relentless days. It moved like a ghost through the thermal layers, evading every sonar sweep and satellite eye that the Voss and Reyes empires possessed. Finally, in the frozen twilight of the eighth day, the charcoal-black leviathan breached the surface.

As far as I know, Tobia is always thinking of ways to kill him. "He wanted me to stop you from making a mistake. What's wrong?" That moron. As if Federico can stop me from doing something. Straightening, I smooth out my dress. Tobia is not stupid. He knows Federico can't stop me but he'll insist on coming along. So if shit hits the fan, there will be someone to take the blame for me. For some reason, that thought gives me back my confidence. Who says I'm not powerful? I have this man at my disposal. Not just him but a lot of men rely on me to put food on their table. I am the Black Queen. A failed attempt shouldn't scare me. I will scour the earth for that bastard and make him pay for trying