Strap in for a high-octane mission that hurls Conrad and crew toward jaw-dropping discoveries that could trigger total obliteration, in Book Two of the Above the Black fantasy trilogy from the New York Times bestselling author of Sky’s End.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt in both print and audio format for Among Serpents by Marc J. Gregson, which releases on January 7th 2025.
It takes guts to rise to the top of Meritocracy. It’ll take sheer ruthlessness to stay there. As militants and monsters lay waste to the Skylands, Uncle’s lawless tyranny threatens to unravel fragile Trade alliances. Conrad, no longer a mere Captain, now commands a squadron of ships at the order of the King. But Conrad’s High status can’t protect him from his own turmoil, and the price of power is steeped in blood.
Tormented by tragedies of war and by betrayal from his own family, Conrad must prove his worth to all of the Skylands. Led by an unhinged Explorer, Conrad embarks on a secret expedition to turn the tides of battle—before another island falls at the jaws of the gigataun. It’s a journey fraught with peril: Deadly monstrosities. Sabotage. Stowaways. And with friendships pushed to the brink and gentle romance stirring, Conrad will have to muster more than courage to weather the raging storms ahead.
Order your copy of Book Two of the Above the Black trilogy and continue the adventure! Marc J Gregson expands his fast-paced fantasy universe with shocking twists, treacherous battles, and a memorable cast of characters. Fans of Frank Herbert and Jules Verne will appreciate touches of classic science fiction, including speculative frontiers and turbulent political intrigue.
CHAPTER 01
My sister stands over an unconscious member of my crew.
Ella’s white hair flies in the wicked evening wind, and blood dribbles from the end of her dueling cane. I leap from the hatch and step onto the deck of my skyship. She rotates on her heels, and her fierce eyes find mine.
“He was being insubordinate,” she hisses. “What have you done, Ella?”
She glances at Declan. And spits.
My stomach twists at the sight of the man beneath her boots. The green pin of Swabbie shines on his jacket. Declan of McDougal. He’s an aged veteran, honorable. Keeps the deck clean, the laundry scrubbed, and the corridors clear.
Blood stripes his forehead.
A jagged streak of lightning cracks behind Ella, illuminating the other ships in my squadron. Ella’s lips curl as she stares at me.
My late father’s voice creeps into my mind.
Take her cane before she hurts you, too.
“Ella.” I breathe to slow my raging heart. “On my ship, Declan doesn’t have to follow your commands.”
“I am the Princess of the Skylands.” “So?”
Her mouth shuts, and her eyes narrow. “You are the Prince.”
I meet her gaze dead‑on. Being delicate doesn’t work with her. “Uncle gave me that title, but my crew follows me because they respect me.” I take a step toward her. “Princess or not, this is my ship. You are not a Hunter. You have no right to attack my crew. Step away from him.”
She squeezes her cane dangerously and remains in place. I almost scowl. It’s always a challenge with her. We finally reunited after Uncle tore us apart for six years, and I thought we’d go back to the way we were when we were rich Highs in Urwin Manor. When we’d steal cookies from the kitchen and break windows and leave mud pies under the blankets of our guests’ beds.
But we’ve outgrown such things. Uncle poisoned Ella’s heart, turning her into the angry thing that stands before me.
“Ella.” My voice rises. “Step back.” “He is untrustworthy, Conrad.” “Declan’s an old man.”
“He was talking to someone.” She jabs at the empty night sky around us. The three other skyships in my squadron float nearby—but not close enough to hear anyone aboard my ship. “There’s no one on deck, Conrad. Who was he talking to?”
“He talks to himself,” I growl. “Whispering. Laughing. Singing. He’s weird, but he’s a great Swabbie. And my crew loves him.” My voice tightens with frustration. “Now, get back.”
When I approach her, she readies her cane. So I snatch it, quick as a snake strike. She nearly topples. I tap the button on the side of her cane, halving its length to three feet. The cane was our mother’s.
It was supposed to be Ella’s path to learn a better way. Instead, it has emboldened her warped sense of power.
“Give it back.” Ella crouches, hands outstretched like some wild thing about to jump me. “Now.”
Brutally cold wind blows between us. I stoop over Declan and press my fingers against his neck until I find a steady pulse. He still needs medical help.
“This is not the way, Ella,” I whisper.
“This is Meritocracy, Brother. The Highs rise, and the Lows fall.” “It is not the right way.”
She pauses. Considering me with her icy green eyes. Some claim
Ella’s the worst of my family. Worse than Uncle, even. The Father part of me, the part that wanted me to learn the world’s hard, brutal lessons, demands that I teach Ella the hard lessons, too. Beat her with the cane she used on Declan and humble her.
But the Mother part of me believes in another way. One of compassion and growth through experience.
“Attacking my crew is unacceptable,” I say. “Physical conflict is not the Hunter way.”
She scoffs. “You can’t tell me to act like a Hunter, then forbid me from hunting with the rest of the crew. I killed three prowlons. By myself.”
“Prowlons are not five‑hundred‑foot gorgantauns, Ella. You’re not ready for sky serpents.”
“I’m ready for more than you know.”
My head shakes. What the hell am I supposed to do with her? It’s been three months since our reunion, and I’m exhausted from the battles. She fights with my whole crew. She sneaks around the ship and eavesdrops on everyone. And despite being the Princess, she has a penchant for stealing.
Roderick’s still missing weapon plans.
Beat her down, Father’s voice whispers again. Humiliate her. Ensure she’ll never challenge you. Because deep down, you know she wants what you have. She wants to be the heir.
I study her. She has too much of Father in her. What she needs is more of Mother. But I can’t be her mother. All I can do is teach her in the ways Mother taught me.
“Conrad,” Ella growls. “Give me the cane.”
The stag of Hale shines at the end of Mother’s cane. Beating Ella won’t fix her. No, she needs something Uncle never gave.
So I toss her the cane.
Ella snatches it and blinks, confused. But, after a breath, she starts toward the hatch.
I cut her off and point at Declan. “He needs to go to the medical room. You owe that to him. And when he wakes, you’ll apologize.”
“Urwins don’t apologize. I’m not your servant, and I’ll not drag him anywhere.”
She tries to side‑step me, but I block her path again. “Move,” she says.
“Hit me.”
“What?”
“Hit me, and you’ll be excused. You can do whatever you want for the rest of the night.”
She hesitates. If she were all rotten, she’d have already done it. “Hit me once, Ella, and you’re free to go.”
She eyes me, licks her teeth, then crouches into her dueling stance. “Have it your way.”
I frown. “Your posture’s too low.” “Birdshit.”
I sigh. Ella hasn’t faced true challenge yet. Sure, Uncle forced her to hunt prowlons, and she fared in that trial better than I did. But when Uncle threw Mother and me out, I survived by dueling in the Low pit and enduring nights with hunger gnawing away at me while listening to Mother’s hacking coughs. For six years, that was my life. Then, on this very ship, I rose from the boot‑waxing Swabbie to Captain.
Uncle’s teachings cannot replicate real experience.
“Stand straighter,” I say, circling around her. “Raise your cane.” “That’s not how Father taught me.”
“Father? Uncle is not your father.”
“Might as well be. Uncle didn’t abandon us. He didn’t leave us.” “Leave?” I take a breath to swallow my anger. “Ella, Father was murdered.”
“He was weak—not the true leader of Urwin.” My voice grows bitter. “You sound like Uncle.” “That’s because I am like Uncle.”
I stop. I’m on this cold deck, the gales chilling my skin, standing in front of the person I dreamed of rescuing for years. But all I feel now is an empty heart.
“Ella,” I say softly. “I was on your path once, too. I was a paranoid, irrationally angry person who ate alone in the cafeteria and refused to engage in meaningful conversation with anyone. It got me nowhere. But being better than what the world intends . . . that got me where I am now.”
“It made you Prince?”
“No, it made me Captain of this ship, and that’s what I care about more than being the heir.”
She eyes me skeptically. “Being better . . . who said that?” “Mother.”
Ella considers this, then shrugs. “Hardly knew her.”
I glower. “Fine. Use what your ‘ father’ taught you. Strike me with the cane once and you’re free to go.”
“Your cane’s in your cabin. I’d rather duel. It’s not a fair fight right now.”
I laugh. “Fair? This world is never fair. But I’m sure you’ve learned that lesson. What you need,” I pause, “is the lessons Mother taught.”
She studies me. “What lessons?”
“Compassion. Mercy. Proving that true strength comes not from weakening others but building them up. True leaders lead powerful people.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Do you think I’m weak?” She doesn’t answer.
Bitter wind blows between us again, and a gentle rain peppers the deck.
“Use all that Uncle taught you.” I wave her toward me. “C’mon.”
She spits, then crouches in her too‑low stance again. The next instant, she’s swinging her cane at me. Fast, her eyes wild, movements agile.
But I’m nimbler. Her attacks hiss past my head, my shoulder. Strike air instead of my gut. She swears with frustration. Ella has Uncle’s sensibilities in dueling. Uncle never likes a duel to last more than a minute. To become King, he challenged King Ferdinand to a duel and killed him in under ten seconds.
Her cane grazes my skin, but I slide away before she can get me. Ella continues jabbing. I step back, giving her an open path to the hatch. She studies me, then marches for it, her eyes gleaming with victory.
But I cut her off.
She scowls and furiously charges me again. I duck away and pivot around her. She keeps on the offensive. Swinging wild, frenzied attacks. Finally, her cane nearly strikes my cheek, but her momentum sends her sprawling and she hits the deck, chin‑first.
If I’d listened to Mother’s lessons only, I’d rush to her. Maybe let my guard down. But Father taught me to never trust a downed foe, especially one who needs a whole damn gallon of humility.
Ella’s rolling in pain. I watch her and wait for the act to end. Eventually she snaps upright, brushes herself off, and seems ready to shout at me. Her body’s shuddering with frustration.
My fingers twitch, preparing for another attack. Instead, she leans on Mother’s cane and takes a long, calming breath. She looks me up and down.
The rain’s falling thick now. Making her white hair stick to the side of her reddened face.
“What does it mean?” she asks softly. “What does it mean to be better than what the world intends?”
A sudden hope blooms inside me. This isn’t a breakthrough, not much more than a flicker of a candle, but it’s something. For months, I’ve been looking for an opening just like this.
“Help me take Declan belowdecks,” I say, “and I’ll tell you.”
She considers me, stands straighter, then retracts her cane and clips it to her belt.
“Fine.”
My chest swells a little. Maybe I’ve just discovered the secret to getting Ella to listen to me. She respects strength. And perhaps through that vessel, I’ll teach her and finally become the big brother Mother would want me to be.
We walk to a small control panel, recently installed by Roderick, and tap a button. The deck cracks open in the center and the munitions platform rises. Harpoons, mobile launchers, flak cannons, and shoulder cannons rest in the crates atop the platform.
We catch Declan’s collar and gently drag him onto the platform. After another touch of the button, the platform descends us into the bowels of the ship. While the attached chains rattle, I feel Mother with me as I begin explaining to her daughter the lessons she never had a chance to pass on herself.
CHAPTER 02
I inject Declan with meds. Within a few minutes, his groggy eyes open. Ella leans against the white walls of the medical room, watching the man wake from his stupor. He slowly sits upright, and I cram another pillow behind his back.
Declan’s still touching his forehead and taking in his surroundings when Ella breaks the silence.
“I am sorry.” Her words are rigid and unfeeling.
Declan coughs. He reaches into his mouth, touches his bloody gums, and winces. “You attacked me, Princess.”
“Yes, and I just apologized.”
He looks at her. “An apology is simply noises if there’s no remorse behind it.”
She glances at me, irritated. Then repeats her apology with false sweetness.
“Ella,” I growl.
“Pardon me, Captain,” Declan says. “But an apology means even less if it’s forced.”
“She doesn’t know how to apologize,” I say. He raises an eyebrow, perplexed.
“It won’t happen again, Declan,” Ella says.
He stops, perhaps realizing this is the best he’ll get from her, then nods. She’s been taught, like all Urwins, that people apologize to us, not the other way around.
“Ella, you’re dismissed.”
She looks between us and leaves without another word.
Declan massages his gray jaw. He appears exhausted, with blood‑shot eyes. I pat his shoulder. He’s a sixty‑year‑old man among my crew that ranges between sixteen and eighteen. Was a Captain of his own ship, earned a lot of money. Amazingly, after forty years of being a Hunter, he’s still in one piece. Many Hunters have lost limbs, or worse, while taking out gorgantauns.
His silver uniform hugs his thick, muscular forearms. Like all Hunters, he has a black jacket draped over him, gloves, and heavy magboots. A pair of wind goggles rests over his neck, just above the harpoon insignia on the chest of his uniform.
I drafted Declan to the Gladian’s crew because he wanted this to be his final hunting tour. He wanted to pass on his knowledge to the next generation of Hunters. After his six months end and the next Hunter draft arrives, he plans on retiring and working on the docks at Venator or, if he’s lucky, teaching at the Hunter Academy.
“Why did she attack you, Declan?”
He exhales. “She wanted to duel. I told her physical conflict is not Hunter’s way. She kept insisting, so I told her I wouldn’t duel a little girl. Next thing I know, I’m here.”
“Were you talking to someone else on the deck?”
He blinks. “I was the only one up there until the Princess arrived.”
I exhale and touch his shoulder again. “I’m sorry.”
“Least you understand how to apologize.” He slides his legs off the bed and grunts. Fortunately, the meds work quickly. Developed by Scholar Doctors. Still, he needs to take it easy.
“Get some rest,” I say, “and take tomorrow off to recuperate.”
He nods and ambles toward the door but pauses. “Captain . . . I’ve met a lot of people, but rarely have I met ones that feel broken.” He looks back at me. “Like something inside them is wrong.”
I stare at him, my mouth hesitating. But I keep my face passive, even though my skin goes cold.
“Good night, Declan.” “Captain.”
The door shuts. And after a few seconds, I lower onto the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of my responsibilities. Uncle’s poison has gone beyond Ella’s heart; it’s in every part of her. And the worst thing is, Ella’s only one of my concerns. Only one of the things that has torn sleep from me and filled my skull with pressure headaches.
The war.
I exit the medical room and walk the quiet, dark corridors. The Gladian’s engine gives off a persistent, living sound. I walk beyond some of the rooms of the crew. Past my friends, Pound and Roderick and Keeton.
And then I pause at one door.
Bryce’s the one we need in this war more than anyone, but I’m worried about her. She’s not sleeping. Turning paranoid. She’s been waking the crew in the middle of the night to face phantoms on the deck.
Pound claims she’s losing her mind.
I sigh and head to the Captain’s cabin. Once inside, I see Ella’s already lying on the bed down the hall. When she came aboard my ship, I gave her the bed while I got the couch. This works better for me anyway because I’m often up late.
A stack of papers rises over the desk—plans from Pound, our Strategist, for the next hunt. We face so many dangerous beasts in these open skies. Things like acid‑spitting acidons and skull‑ramming orcons. But they’re not nearly as dangerous as the class‑eight gorgantauns we’ve been seeing more often.
Killing those creatures helps the Skylands. And returning their carcasses to Hunter outposts earns me money—money that I’ve been using to pay off this ship so that it’s mine and can never be taken away from me.
I glance at the board where I’ve been tracking how much I’ve earned: three hundred thousand coins so far, seven hundred thousand to go.
My eyes itch with exhaustion. I’ll worry about hunting tomorrow.
I’ll read Pound’s plans then.
I lower onto the couch and kick off my boots. Gentle rain patters against the window. The calmness of it eases my tension. Then I clutch the soft blanket, lower onto my side, and shut my eyes.
A sudden crack of lightning erupts outside. I turn away, trying to ignore it, trying to get comfortable. But another clap shoots my eyes open. I roll back and stare at the three Hunter skyships hovering near mine. They’re obscured by the wet window—nothing more than dark shapes.
Those ships are under my command. Uncle wanted to give me more responsibility. So now I’m out here, in the middle of the open skies, helping protect the fragile supply lines from sky serpents. Each of those ships is built of pure gorgantaun steel. Sleek and silver—they’re mirror images of the Gladian. Harpoon turrets line their decks, and their pointed bows, like the edges of a sword, skim through the clouds. Several of their windows glow red from the warmth of their heatglobes.
After another streak of lightning, I growl and kick off the blanket. Can’t sleep when it sounds like a battle out there. Can’t sleep when I’m thinking about the war.
I sit up.
Three months ago the people of the Below exploded into our lives, surprising us with their existence when their greatest weapon left hundreds of thousands dead. The Below created the terrible beasts of the sky. They infiltrated our Meritocracy, our Trades, our islands. And, if there’s something Bryce has taught me about her people, it’s that they prefer to strike at night. When it’s dark and cold.
My body sinks into the cushions again. Just a few seconds of rest, that’s all. I’ll let myself get a little weightless, let that tempting embrace of dreams drag me away. Oh, the blanket feels nice. Soft. Wrapped so gently around my torso, warming my legs.
My breathing gains a gentle rhythm.
✦ ✦ ✦
My communication gem explodes with light, and a voice shouts, “Alert! All hands on deck!”
I leap to my feet in a daze.
Ella shouts from down the hall. “What is it?”
My heart races as I quickly regain my senses. “Stay, Ella.” “Like hell!”
“Stay!”
My gem lights up again with Bryce’s voice. “Battle stations!”
Fear clutches my heart. We’re under attack. I shove on my boots, slip on my jacket, and race into the hall. My dazed crew’s shouting in the corridors. I climb the ladder and push through the heavy hatch onto the deck. Readying myself for war.
The Below has come for us.
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