The Dread: A Sneak Peek

a quest for buried treasure beomes a bid to break an empire

Hello, readers! Here is a sneak peek into my latest project: THE DREAD, an adult nautical fantasy about a pirate king who kidnaps a mapmaker with ancestral ties to a fabled treasure horde. I am SO excited for this book. It has been such a joy to write. I hope that readers will enjoy reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed creating it!

Fast facts about this new book…

Word count goal: 95k (so, shorter than my debut!)

Status of novel: Editing, polishing, and (soon!) querying

Age range: 17+ (adult fantasy)

Content warnings and spice level: Some language, violence, and intimacy. Based off most BookTok spiciness scales, I would say it’s a grand total of two chili peppers.

Similar titles: Daughter of the Pirate King, Nightweaver, Dark Water Daughter, Pirates of the Caribbean (of course), The Ever King

Book blurb:

Young Imperial mapmaker Ariella Windcroft’s stomach churns, but whether from the turbulent sea or her imminent marriage to the dashing Governor of Portshelm, she is uncertain. A whistle splits the air, and her world vaults sideways. Through a haze of artillery smoke, Ariella spots a ship borne of sea yarns: a black frigate with sails the color of congealed blood. She recognizes the vessel of the infamous pirate Captain Jaryx Silvereye, a Disgraced elven commodore who carves his legend with pistol and rapier. Captain Silvereye intends to quest for the Last King’s treasure, rumored to be buried upon the Wandering Isle, but he needs a navigator. Convinced that Ariella possesses hidden knowledge, Silvereye demands that she chart an impossible pathway across vicious seas and Imperial trade routes. Ariella is plunged into a world of pirates, elves, sea-goddesses, and monsters. Soon, she discovers that others, including her erstwhile fiance, covet the Last King’s gold. Her bloodthirsty captor hides traumatic secrets of his own, secrets that could render them allies instead of enemies and turn a bid for buried treasure into an empire-breaking rebellion.

Like this so far? Check out my debut novel here.

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THE DREAD by A.C. HOBBS

CHAPTER ONE: THIS WIDE SEA

If you close your eyes, then maybe this isn’t real, the young woman whispered to herself. Eyes clenched tight, she leaned into the wind. If you close your eyes, you’re there. You’re in Imperia. You’re home…

A brine-laced breeze stroked her clammy skin. Overhead, she heard the slap and gutter of canvas. The creak of salt-stiffened rope. The singsong of male voices barking orders, raised in sharp laughter, bellowing warnings. Waves lapped the ship’s wooden hull. The ocean hissed and splashed and whipped itself into a frothing frenzy.

The young woman’s eyelashes fluttered open. She was greeted with a broad expanse of slate-blue water as far as the eye could see. Loneliness and emptiness stretching in every direction.

Out here, there was no birdsong. No babbling brooks or sighing leaves. No rattling Imperial stagecoaches or marching squadrons. This far off shore, the only sounds you heard were the ones you brought with you.

Except for the sea, the young woman thought. The constant breath of the great dark sea.

Ariella Windcroft gripped the deck rail until her knuckles blanched. Seaspray spattered her cheeks. An eastbound wind whipped her dark curls. She inhaled a shaky breath of air that stank of seaweed.

Suddenly her stomach heaved. With a moan, she willed the nausea to abate. Her fingernails dug crescent moons into the weathered wood. Gods, she hated the ocean. As if sensing her disdain, the boat lurched -- her stomach with it -- she paled.
As her mouth filled with saliva, Ariellat clenched her eyes, this time out of desperation.

The ship bucked like an angry horse. Rise, hover, tilt, plummet, only to rise again.

Oh, gods. Ariella groaned.

Ariella, pull yourself together. Her father’s voice snapped like the sails overhead, forceful even in memory. Her stomach tightened with grief instead of sea-sickness.

The gilded parlor of the Rhododendron Tea Room floated in her memory. Ariella saw pink china teacups, stems as delicate as flower petals. Powdered dainties, candied flowers, and cold cucumbers that she couldn’t even eat due to her whalebone corset. Her heart galloped beneath her bodice; her fingers trembled in lace gloves. Over it all loomed her father’s frown, severe and dark as a stormcloud. His black wig curled magnificently over his embroidered coat. The rich shot-green and black silk garment made his eyes pierce icy blue, while the silver wig glowed against his skin, dark as oiled walnut.

Ariella had stared at his chiseled features, unyielding as hardwood, and sought any resemblance to her own. But she had inherited her mother’s face, a fact her father routinely decried. Soft cupid lips, sandy complexion, and a regal brow. The sole concession to her father was her eyes: iridescent blue and cold as winter. And glistening now with unshed tears.

Father and daughter had glared at each other across the simpering tea service. In that tense moment, Ariella had realized that, shared color notwithstanding, they did not see matters eye-to-eye. Certainly not today. And now, she’d conceded with sinking dread, perhaps never.

“Ariella, I confess myself disappointed. I’d anticipated a better reception.”

Ariella had stifled a laugh. Her teacup rattled against its saucer as she set it aside. “I don’t know what to say, Father.”

“Your opinion is irrelevant. The matter is settled.” Sir Windcroft dabbed his mouth with a lace-edged napkin. “I’ve booked your passage aboard the Endeavor. You’ll sail within the fortnite.”

Ariella clutched her hands in her lap. “So soon?”

Unfazed, Windcroft continued: “Your mother’s cousin Eridena will collect you at Portshelm. After which you’ll be escorted to the Governor’s mansion. Your wedding will occur as soon as possible, I’ve been assured.” He sipped his tea and waved a hand. “Regrettably, I’m unable to attend the nuptials but Eridena is sufficient to the task, I’m sure.”

“Sufficient to the task,” repeated Ariella under her breath. She tapped the golden rim of her cup. The delicate lace ensconcing her finger was so diaphanous it appeared tattooed: white swirls and roses against flesh as dark as a coconut husk.

Her father droned as incessantly as the cicadas outside. Ariella stared at her tea -- stared at cream dwindling to surface scum -- stared at her tapping finger -- stared at the virginal tablecloth and hand painted saucer, fragile as a seashell -- stared -- stared -- stared --

“No.”

The single word jolted through her spiraling panic: swift as a bullet.

Her father stopped. The blue eyes met her face. “What did you say?”

The word welled up Ariella's throat and burst into the air between them. “No. No, I won’t go. I don’t want to.”

“You don’t want to?” her father repeated her words with the air of one being told the sky was purple.

Ariella’s cheeks scorched. “I want to stay here.”

Her father’s lip curled; then he boomed a laugh that made more than one patron glance their way.

“My dear” -- chortling as he poured her a fresh cup of tea -- “ what you want doesn’t matter a whit. The marriage is arranged. Dowry paid, papers signed.”

Ariella’s hands trembled. The teapot clattered on its burner. The silver spoons tinkled. Such nonsensical sounds.

“You’ll depart nine days hence. Here” -- offering a tray of sugar-encrusted pastries -- “have a biscuit.”

#

“Ari?”

The nickname splashed over Ariella’s memories and dissolved her father’s frown as easily as the biscuit in his tea. She turned to find her brother standing at the rail. His auburn curls, soft as ocean-froth, jumped on the wind. He squinted up at her, nose wrinkled. Unlike Ariella, William had inherited their father’s goodlooks. Yet the boy’s personality belonged to their mother: quick laugh, soft hair, lip-biting frown.

“Gods, William,” huffed Ariella. “What do you want?”

“Captain said I’m to man the helm,” gushed the boy. Ten years younger, he still viewed daily life as an adventure waiting to be bested. “Next bell! Can you believe it?”

Brandishing an invisible sword, he feinted left, then stabbed her side. “I’m captain of this ship now, Windcroft. And ye’ll do as I damn well say or it’s the brig for ya!”

“William!” Despite his cursing, Ariella found herself laughing. She caught his shoulders to assess his appearance. Shirttails loose, waistcoat unbuttoned.

“Well this uniform won’t do,” she tutted. “Tuck. Button.” As he obeyed, she pulled a ribbon from her pocket satchel and finger-combed his tousled hair. “There. Fit for duty, Soldier.”

William flashed a glittering grin.

And the first cannonball struck.

#

Blasted wood and shrill screams. Water jettisoned, furious white. The ship bell clanged, despite the fact that the cannon had rocked the Endeavor hard enough to throw every sailor from his bunk. Clearly someone had scrambled to his post.

Ariella peeled herself from the deck. The frenzied bell clanged and clanged, rebounding inside her skull. Boots thundered around her as she whirled, searching for her brother.

“Will? Will?” Her voice cracked. “WILLIAM!”

“I’ve got him, miss!” A black-haired sailor popped onto the quarter deck, hauling Wiliam by the bicep.

Ariella’s stomach dropped. She flew to her brother’s side, hands outstretched. Blood smeared the boy’s forehead, streaking down his cheek. “Oh gods, you’re hurt --”

"I’m fine -- don’t fuss -- I’m fine!” William squirmed, but his face was ashen. Ariella pulled him tight and turned to the sailor.

“Thank you, sir.”

“He’ll be fine,” the sailor shouted over the din. “Scalp wounds bleed something fierce. I’d get below decks if I were --”

A horrible whistle truncated his sentence. A boom and then a fountain of water jettisoned skyward. Ariella shrieked, clinging to William as oceanwater rained and drenched them both. The sailor rushed to the railing.

“A miss!” he crooned. “First must’ve been a lucky shot, the bastards!” He shepherded Ariella toward the stairs. “Get below decks, miss, quickly, quickly!”

“Below decks?” Ariella cried. Somehow trapping herself within the ship’s hull felt like a deathwish.

The sailor leaned close to be heard. “This is an Imperial frigate. A few cannons won’t sink her. Not today.”

“TAKE COVER!” bellowed a voice from above. The watchman leaned from the crows-nest, frantically waving his cap.

The whistle-shriek and a cannon – streaking black – ripped through rope and tackle. Canvas sagged like fallen laundry, and a scream pierced the air. A boom had splintered, ropes popping; a sailor scrambled to grab purchase on the shroud, a line, anything. Below, his comrades scurried, yelling for a net.

“Wh-what’s happening?” cried Ariella.

“Pirates!” yelled a sailor.

William’s eyes popped wide as silverspoons. “Pirates?”

Bodily, the sailor shoved Ariella towards the main deck. “Below! Now! Run!”

Pirates. The word stabbed cold through Ariella’s brain. Pirates! Pirates? No, this can’t be happening. Gods help us –

Ariella flew, dragging William behind her. Down the gangway they raced, leaping over fallen lines, past three sailors holding a net, screaming for their friend to jump, jump now, Sammy–

The flailing sailor plummeted.

The Endeavor’s own cannon roared.

Ariella screamed. Barely registering if the fallen sailor was safe, Ariella dragged William toward the center of the ship.

Again came the warning screech. Another water geyser, spray like bullets on her skin.

“RUN OUT THE GUNS!”

“TURN HER ABOUT!”

“ALL HANDS -- ALL HANDS ON DECK!”

Orders ricocheted like gunfire as the Endeavor came alive with purpose and fury. Ariella shoved William toward the main deck.

“Run, William! Run!”

Ahead a man beckoned from a hatch leading below decks. His eyes were wide and white beneath his tricorn. “Here, miss!”

Ariella’s skirts tangled, wet and heavy, around her legs. Safety beckoned from the darkness below. Ariella need only step into it. Yet on the precipice, she slowed, an unbidden force compelling her to turn and to look back.

The world slowed. Foam speckling the air, flying wood like confetti, the sea enraged and white.

Ariella’s gaze lifted to the horizon.

And she saw it.

Like a monster burst from the deep, black and hulking on the waves: a galleon. Hull as dark as pitch, sails proud and full, it crouched broadside. The galleon’s mainmast was a proud fist against the sky. From it unfurled a black flag.

Ariella’s eyes widened.

A black flag hoisted above a black ship. Black against cerulean blue skies, black as night, black as death.

The name popped into Ariella’s head, pulled from penny pamphlets, barked from citycriers. A name that had risen to gruesome prominence throughout the Empire. The name of the only vessel flying both black sheet and black banner.

She gasped the word like a curse: “The Dread.”

Light flashed on the galleon’s distant flanks. A thunderclap of ignited powder.

“Below!”

An urgent hand shoved between Ariella’s shoulderblades. Caught off guard, she tripped – toe catching against the hatch door – and tumbled down into the hold. Her hands scrambled for purchase. Briefly she grasped the ladder, then only empty air. The hatch fell, and the world closed upon her.

#

Fuzzed black lines and slatted light. Cold dripping onto her forehead. Pain sparking in her ankle.

Ariella’s vision focused. A gray rag hovered over her face, dripping brown water. A gnarled hand moved to reveal a face knotted and dark as driftwood.

“Ah, there she is,” wheezed the old man standing over her. He grinned, revealing two teeth stark in his black maw.

Ariella batted aside the dirty rag. Pressing a hand to her forehead, she stammered: “Wh-what happened?”

“Ye took a right nasty tumble, you did, miss,” said the old man. He slopped the rag into a bucket at his feet. Droplets spattered Ariella’s bodice. Wincing, she rose onto her elbows.

“Ari?” a nervous voice murmured over her shoulder.

Ariella’s heart skittered as memory slammed into her. Cannonfire, pirates…

“William!”

Wide-eyed and pale, her brother knelt at her side. Ariella grasped his knee. The cut on his forehead had stopped bleeding, although red caked his hair. Barrels loomed behind him. Pitch, salt, and spice mingled with sour water.

The hold, she realized. Someone must have carried her to the frigate’s cargo level.

“Your head struck the ladder,” William supplied. “A soldier brought us down here.”

Ariella inspected her own forehead and winced. A goose-egg had formed above her right eye.

William nodded at the old seadog. “Cookie here helped me.”

“I --” Ariella started to thank the seadog, but fear sank like a stone in her belly. “Oh gods, William! The Dread! I saw it” She grabbed her brother’s hands. “I saw the pirate ship!”

“Aye,” growled the cook. “And aptly named, I’d reckon.” He chuckled, the sound creaky as the frigate’s bones. Tapping a finger to his nose, he winked. “Ye’ll notice the quiet? Nary a cannon blast.”

Ariella’s heart surged. “Did we outrun them?”

“Outrun?” The cook’s eyes popped: hard and yellow as cueballs. “Outrun the Dread?” Whee! Godsbones, miss!” His shrill voice whistled through the gaps in his teeth. “No ship outruns the Dread. Nay. Look out yonder.”

As the words left his mouth, darkness bloomed around them. Something blocked the light rippling through the Endeavor’s portholes. As the sunlight faded, Ariella’s spirits sank.

Oh gods no.

The old cook chortled as if watching a street show. Outside, black planks overtook the slate sea. Weathered boards, speckled with salt, then the malignant eye of a cannon barrel. Its soulless glare bored straight into Ariella’s heart.

“Whee - heehee -- there’s no ship afloat can outpace the Dread.” The seadog’s voice pitched like a teakettle. “You’ll meet him now, missy. And maybe yer Maker too, eh? -- whee hee!” His wheezing laugh raised every hair on Ariella's neck.

A bone-shaking thud. The Endeavor pitched. Water splashed against the portholes and Ariella scrambled for a handhold as William careened into her.

“What was that?” he gasped, righting himself.

More thuds, followed by shouts overhead.

The cook’s grin stretched taut over his skull. “They’ve rafted ‘longside.”

They’re boarding us. Ariella’s core went cold. Without thought, she shoved William between the crowded barrels.

“Oof! Hey!”

“Hide!”

“But --”

“Hide now!” Ariella kicked him into the small curved slot behind two apple barrels, then lunged for a sheet of spare canvas. Boots thundered far above. “Hurry!”

“You too, missy.” The cook leered at her elbow. Taking the canvas, he nodded at the makeshift hiding spot. “In you go. Nary a peep.”

Ariella’s stomach twisted. She had no desire to entrust her fate to this drunken yellow-toothed lubber; but what choice did she have? She huddled beside William, pulling her skirts tight around her boots. Her corset bit into her ribcage, but the discomfort did not faze her.

With a final wink, the cook dropped the sheeting and disappeared from view.

“All hands!” boomed a distant voice. Ariella nearly leapt out of her skin. “All hands on deck!”

“That’ll be me,” grumbled the cook.

View shrouded by white, Ariella clutched her brother as the cook’s boots receded. She heard the dull thump of a hatch, then Ariella and William were alone with only their hammering hearts. Brother and sister exchanged one wide-eyed look.

A thud overhead -- William jumped. Ariella grabbed his hand with both her own. Don’t make a sound, her eyes begged. Fear crawled like spiders over her skin.

Voices, shouts, one loud doglike laugh. Heavy boots pounded over their heads as men traversed the decks. The Endeavor sloshed -- Ariella’s stomach with it -- with the redistribution of weight.

William, she repeated her brother’s name like a prayer. Just protect William…

A whistle pierced Ariella’s panic. High, long, and dignified. A captain’s whistle.

Ariella and William exchanged a bewildered glance. Did pirates salute their captains?

The cacophony overhead calmed. A heartbeat of silence passed; Ariella heard only William’s breathing.

A deep, male voice murmured. Ariella strained to catch the words but could not identify or distinguish anything concrete.

The hatch banged open. Light poured into the cargo hold, bright against their canvas shelter. Hands pressed to her mouth, Ariella willed herself still, willed herself silent, even as William trembled with round panicked eyes, even as bootsteps clambered down the ladder.

“Search every corner!” A voice boomed through the hold, and it was all Ariella could do not to yelp. Ariella’s eyes met William’s. She clutched his arm. Gods protect us. Please, please --

The canvas snapped -- light flooded their hiding place. Before Ariella could scream, she was hauled to her feet.

A tattooed face leered next to hers. “Two below, Cap’n! A girl and a whelp of a boy!”

#

Blinded by brightness, Ariella’s eyes smarted tears. She saw only searing white as she jerked against the pirate’s grip. One hand straggled free -- but her captor snatched her black hair.

“Let me go!” shrieked Ariella.

“Quiet, bitch!”

A shove drove Ariella to the deck. Pain rang through her knees. Her vision swam.

White figures molded into huddled shapes that further solidified into men, stripped of their blue coats. Ariella gasped. The Endeavor’s crew knelt along the gangway, hands bound and heads bowed. Behind them stood an army of men. Muskets, pistols, machetes brandished. One blade dripped red.

William! Ariella turned, only to have her hair yanked so severely that stars danced before her eyes.

“At ease, Bilson,” a voice barked.

A pair of boots stepped into Ariella’s vision. As she stared at the steel-capped toes, her heart sank. Her gaze traveled to a black belt festooned with tarnished coins -- up the velvet waistcoat, red as spilt blood -- to a bandolier jagged with knives -- and finally to a face.

A face borne from seamen’s yarns.

The pirate’s dark beard split into a cruel grin. One gold incisor winked. He was chiseled and bronzed by decades of sun with a glare as cold as the surrounding sea. Ariella’s blood thundered in her ears. The pirate’s boots creaked as he knelt bringing them face-to-face. An austere baritone, cultured as any Imperial schoolboy, rolled over her:

“Miss Windcroft, I presume?”

Eye to eye with the rogue, Ariella felt her spine go soft. The pirate captain’s left eye was blue as baywater, pure and vivid. But the right was blighted: a veil of white obscured its pupil. A name, whispered in ports and screamed from pamphlets, popped into Ariella's mind.

Silvereye.

Jaryx Silvereye, captain of the pirate vessel Dread, knelt before her. Sea salt encrusted his gold belt buckle, dusted the toes of his boots. One hand rested on his pistol as he assessed her, slowly. His smile uncoiled like a snake.

"I've searched this wide sea for you, lass. And here you are.

Thank you so much for reading this sneak-peek chapter of my upcoming novel. I am currently polishing the book to begin querying literary agents. Querying is a journey that can take a long time, so I appreciate every bit of support along the way!

“How can I show support for this book?”

1. Subscribe to my Substack (it’s completely free and will stay that way)

2. Follow on social media [at] achobbsauthor on Tiktok and Instagram

3. Borrow or purchase my debut fantasy novel SCYTHE AND PEN

4. If you’ve already read SCYTHE AND PEN, drop a review on GoodReads, Fable, or Amazon (or all three if you’re feeling frisky!)

   I will be posting updates along the way, about this book as well as Scythe and Pen’s sequel. Right now, I’m in a holding pattern for the sequel to my gangster fantasy novel, but fingers crossed, the ball will be rolling soon! Until then, you can subscribe (it’s free!) for updates, writing blurbs, book events, and more!