Page 10 of A Wrecking of Salt and Fire

“Training to be a spy for the Spartanis, are we, little one?” A deep voice chuckled behind Ember’s hiding spot. She drew her attention away from Kohl and Ajax before she could learn anymore. Standing behind her was a broad man, face weathered from years in battle, arms lined with scars from his past, a smile that could cause the unhappiest of people to feel joy.

“Iason, hush! I am trying to hear what they are discussing.” Ember raised her index finger over her lips. Iason was one of the oldest members of the Spartanis and one of its esteemed senators. He had always been a part of the Drakos court, even before he became their uncle’s lover. Machius, the last Prytan of the Spartanis. Kora’s younger brother. Late younger brother. There was not much they knew about Machius’s death, only that he perished on the seas. It was where he wished to die, having always been more keen to be sailing rather than attending to his duties in Alentus.

Even though the Prytan was never allowed to marry, Iason and Machius kept their relationship in the years they served together. He was one of their own, a father when Aidon was not around to care for her or Katrin.

“You know your uncle would be proud. He always preferred the act of spying above battle.”

“Maybe it’s a thing all Prytans have preferred.” Ember shrugged.

Iason nodded back toward the garden, over Ember’s shoulder. “Not a very good spy yet, though. It looks like your lead is on his way back to the barracks—and we all know how much you hate it there.”

Ember whipped her head back around, Ajax had indeed disappeared.

“I will see you at the banquet then?”

“I’ll be there, little one. Save me a seat by my favorite niece, will you?”

“There’s always a seat by me for you, Iason.”

“Oh, I meant your sister…” His eyes squinted, lips reaching ear to ear and Ember gave him a light shove before turning around and exiting from the bushes.

“Ajax!” Ember called after him, a few times to no avail.

The commander strode away as if he could not hear her.

“Ajax! Stop being a gods-damned pompous ass. Turn around and face me right this second!” her voice not only straining with anger at the lie, but her own desperation. She could hear Iason’s faint chuckle coming from where she left him.

Ajax’s spine went stiff, turning around with a look of realization that Ember overheard what he and Kohl spoke of. He took a step toward her, laying his calloused palm on her shoulder, bending down so the height of those warm brown eyes met hers. “She will be safe. That I will always promise you.”

Ember looked straight back at him, barely able to mutter out a whisper with his captivating gaze. “You cannot know that. You cannot promise that. Last time—”

“Last time I was barely twenty, a foot soldier if anything. Last time I was not the Commander of the Spartanis. I will personally see to it that she is protected at all hours, and that no harm comes to her before, during, or after the Acknowledgement.”

It was true. Ember watched him grow up in the training rings, his lanky form slowly filling out into the stocky and muscular man who stood before her. He even grew a few inches, the top of her head barely made it to his chest now. In the last year, he was named commander, surpassing several candidates that out-aged him by at least ten years. Even they did not show a twinge of jealousy as he was assigned the title.

A single tear slid down Ember’s paling face, her hands trembling almost uncontrollably now. “What if that isn’t enough? She’s been having nightmares again. It’s a sign, I just know it. What if it’s like you said and they are already here? What if we are just too blind to see the spies amongst us?”

Especially if it was Nexos coming again. The stories she heard around port made King Nikolaos out to be more terrifying than even the Viper. God of Sea and Shadow, deceptive and could snuff out life with a snap of his fingers. He was known for destroying all that came between him and power. Ripping into minds and leaving people wandering with no sense of where they were or even who they were.

Ajax shook her shoulders gently. “Snap out of it, Drakos. I’m not the only one who is different than I was five years ago. Katrin has grown into one of the finest fighters I have seen. Gods, she might be better than even me.”

Ember knew he was right. She saw the way her sister trained alongside men and women down in the barracks. Her movements stealth and light with each slice of her blade. Katrin’s attention to detail and form always worked to her advantage, and when swords were torn away, Kohl taught her to throw one of the most lethal punches.

“I want that.” It was her breaking point, the idea that both her mother and sister could be stripped away from her. Then she truly would be alone.

“Want what, Drakos?” Ajax straightened, cocking his head to the side.

“I want to be as good as my sister. Better even. I want to learn to fight and defend myself against those who are coming. I want to start my training.” Not just for if Nexos showed up at the Acknowledgement, but training to be the Prytan. To be taken seriously. To not be seen as the younger daughter prancing about the castle in her gown. To prove she was more than just a pretty face.

The corner of his mouth twitched up in a wicked grin, eyes narrowing on hers. “I thought you would never ask.”

“I’m not all gowns and balls, you know. I do have substance.”

“Mmm, I guess we will see. Barracks, dawn tomorrow. You show up and I will teach you all I know. You miss it, don’t bother coming to me to train you again.”

Ember rolled her eyes at the dramatic display of rank. Soon she would outrank him. She would be there. Barracks. At dawn. She would show him who she could be.

Dense fog thickened the air smelling of dew and low tide. It was quite the day to start training. When Ember closed in on the entrance to the barracks her nose crinkled, a waft of sweat or horse or something putrid burning her nostrils. A gag caught in her throat. This was a mistake. She shouldn’t have come, she couldn’t do this—learn to fight, be around these men who bore scars and drew blood like it was second nature.

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