Page 70 of A Wrecking of Salt and Fire

“You know I earned this title fair and square, Senator.” And there it was again, Ajax’s stupid, white, flashing grin so wide it showed the dimples in his cheeks. “Sorry to interrupt your clearly riveting studies, but the time seems to have slipped away from all of us this afternoon. Dinner is approaching, and I’m sure our Prytan would like to bathe and change before then.”

Ember slumped farther in her seat. She was a bit of a mess. From her physical training this morning to sitting around in the dusty library, she smelled of sweat and old books. Plus, she wanted to get out of these clothes and put something more delicate on. Something that could compete with Farah. Not that it was a competition.

“Right! Yes, I better get going.” Ember hopped up from her chair. “Thank you, Iason. For everything.” She leaned down and gave the old man a kiss on his cheek.

“Always, my sweet darling.”

“What was that about?” Ajax asked as she walked over toward the door.

Ember rested her palm on his arm. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Commander. Just some advice from a wise old man.”

Ember brushed out the long diaphanous turquoise dress she changed into. The thin material shimmered in the low light of the castle, flowing delicately with the puffs of wind that followed down the hallway. She kept her hair in curls, an array of little braids weaving through her half-pinned blonde locks. She had not dressed like this since being appointed Prytan of the Spartanis. Normally, she would not be allowed to, in light of her position, but King Athanas made it very clear that women had a certain place in the isles. As much as she despised his sentiment, Ember was grateful for the chance to wear one of her many custom gowns.

She felt beautiful, powerful even, and so much better than the Princess of Morentius—that is, until Farah walked in. Walked in on the arm of none other than the commander. They sat down at the table, right next to the place that had been set for Ember. Iason sat on the other side, giving her a knowing and empathetic look. Although she had not mentioned the commander by name, it was now pretty clear who she had spoken about to the senator earlier that day.

A few deep breaths and one dinner. That was all Ember had to worry about for now. But as the evening progressed, her patience wore thinner and thinner. The way Farah threw herself at Ajax was unbearable. Her light laughs and sing-song voice. How Farah touched his arm or leg or back every time she spoke to him, even leaning in for little whispers in his ear, to which he would smile and laugh himself. It was disgusting. It was going to make her sick! Ember threw back another glass of the amber liquid in front of her, ignoring the side eye she caught from Iason beside her.

“Are the soldiers in Morentius so drab that you must throw yourself at ours?” Ember scowled, the vein in her temple pulsing.

Farah’s eyes narrowed. A deadly smile creeped across her lips, the same one the Viper had when he spoke down to people. “Ours are quite handsome, thank you, but I seem to prefer the way this one smiles at me when I speak.” She slid her hand much too far up Ajax’s leg. His whole body stiffened as Farah leaned up against him. But then he relaxed, covering her hand with his before he gently slid it back to the table.

“Yes, I am well aware of how captivating his smile can be,” Ember murmured, earning a look from the commander she had not seen before. A brief twinkle in his light brown eyes, a softened twitch of the corner of his lip.

She was furious. And jealous. And apparently freezing. Even the blanket of the liquor Ember drank could not keep her from shivering. The autumn chill was returning, and it was piercing right through the thin material she wore, as were the words the princess spoke.

Ajax leaned over toward Ember and whispered, “Ember, do you need me to get you something to wear? You can have my jacket.” Apparently, he had not whispered quietly enough, because King Athanas and his daughter both shot them a look. The king’s—of warning. The princess’s—of curiosity and a hint of jealousy.

Ember brushed his hand away. She would not give the Viper one more excuse to belittle her in her own home. “I’m fine. The night is almost over anyway. A glass of brandy should do the trick.”

Ajax recoiled from her, his jaw tightening. He tightened his hand into a fist and released, shaking it off and reaching for his goblet of wine.

“If the princess refuses, you’re always welcome to keep me warm, Commander. I get particularly chilly in bed.” The words slid off her tongue like venom. Ajax gulped down the sip of wine he had lifted to his lips. A light blush crossed the bridge of his nose. Ember wanted to strangle Farah, tell her to keep her greasy little paws off of her man.

But Ajax was not her man. He never could be. Not unless she resigned from her position.

Ember was destined to live her life without love, despite what Iason had said. Even if it was not Farah—gods, she wished it was not Farah—Ajax would no doubt find some irresistible woman to take to bed, to have as his wife, to make happy and fill with the love she knew he had to give. She would never get that. His love. His affection. No more than what he was duty bound to give a higher ranking official. They were not wishful children anymore. Ember and Ajax could never be.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Kohl

They had only been at sea for a few weeks, and Kohl was already getting frustrated. Yes, they had a general direction to guide their sailing. And yes, Dolion, the odd and angry man, had a way to get them by all potential threats and blockades along the route to Skiatha. Still, something did not seem quite right. Like this man was a little pest eating away at Kohl’s mind. He was keeping something from Kohl and he didn’t know what it was.

The journey had been a rather calm one so far, something the newly crowned king rarely experienced when sailing the Mykandrian Sea. The winds had been blessed by the gods and they traveled swiftly over the crystal blue waters toward the ancient isle that should not have existed in this realm.

Kohl had spent most of his time in his quarters, writing in his log about the course they were taking. If they ever needed to return to Skiatha, he did not want to rely on that greasy man. There was something familiar about him that Kohl could not place. Not unsimilar to the distaste he had for those in his father’s army. A presence that only the most seedy of men carried.

In the logs, he also documented anything he could discern about that curious device Dolion had given them. The spelled compass that seemed to faintly glow and warm at his touch. Sometimes so much so, he thought it would burn the first layer of his skin right off.

That was all Kohl did. Take notes, sleep, walk the deck, sleep, eat, fiddle with the device. The closer The Hydra got to Skiatha, the more the compass seemed to thrum with pleasure. A simple tune that repeated again and again in Kohl’s mind.

Return to me, my King. Return to me.

The voice was not a familiar one, its low and soft whisper gracing his ears only in the darkness of night.

So when the voice stopped, when they were but a few day’s sail from the Lost Isle, Kohl awoke startled from his dreams. At first the ship appeared to be silent. The only noise was a vibration on his bedside table. The compass no longer called to him, but instead shimmered a blinding gold light, like the fiery stars in the sky.

He heard it then. The footsteps padding above him. The cries from the corridor leading to the deck. More than should be at this time of night.

---