Sodalite and Aventurine (Larry Stylinson au)

CHAPTER I

PART I.

A mother's job is to teach her children with love.

In mother nature, this is in the guiding winds that blow one home.

She is in the snap of sails and the crack of wood,

She is in the sunrise and sunset, and the endless starry night.

In mother by birth, this is in the hands she holds her children with.

She is in the scolding smack, the loving embrace,

She is in the letters she writes for one's return.

But this land is run by a king

and no mother has a hand in the law.

The law does not teach and it does not love,

It only fears and blackens and hates.

And so, one must live outside in watery exile

And teach themselves

And hope that love will one day follow.

ONYX | PROLOGUE

If asked, he would have said that it was a game of chess. A series of moves, a back and forth in which his opponents had just as much a part as he. If he had blood on his hands, so too would they.

Though it wasn't a game of chess at all. It was a row of dominoes, lined up and waiting to fall. Each brick that fell was another act, another moment, that carried certain inevitability that led towards betrayal. And it was he who, without knowing it, had pushed the first brick over.

He hadn't known it until it was too late, until death had marred his deck and blood had spilled between his floorboards, that everything that had transpired had been entirely his fault. Had he not gotten caught up, tied up, in delicious dreams of thighs and lips and love, he would have noticed sooner. He would have been able to stop those dominoes from falling. He wouldn't have found himself caught off guard by a betrayal he knew was coming.

His boot clacked as he stepped down onto the dock, though the wood was somehow still wary below him, salt-softened and water-torn. Between each slat, water washed quietly. At this time of night, it was black and empty and surely full of sirens. Around him, lamps glowed orange. They hung from the other ships, along the docks and up ahead in the twinkling glimmers of Tortuga.

"Well, you were right, Captain," Liam mused, stepping down behind him. "The Spaniards are here."

"Don't call me that," Louis replied coolly, pulling down his captain's hat. "We're not pirates tonight."

"Sorry, Sir."

"Much better," he said lowly. "Besides, I'm always right."

Louis flashed Liam a wink and then pulled his collar high. It was a warm night, always was in the Carribean, but he never took a chance for his tattoos and scars to be seen on land. His jacket was leather and black and went down to his knees. Though he always wore black, it suited him. It was his colour, made him less seen - when he allowed eyes on him, it made him look sharp, deadly. Just like his ship, the Black Dagger, small but whip-fast.

There was always more power in being small and sharp. No one ever sees the pin needle knife in your pocket. It's what made Louis so deadly. He kept his face hidden and let his name do the talking.