Page 17 of A Wrecking of Salt and Fire

Dust circled with every step Katrin took through the groves, swirling up and into her lungs. Blood coated her right hand and her thigh where she sheathed the blade before taking off into the woods. Tears or sweat stung her eyes, or maybe the wind, she could not tell. Could not focus on anything but the image of the confused and broken man who had stood in front of her.

The skies began to darken, once bright and blue now covered with clouds and haze. Fog rolled off the top of the Triad with haste, looming toward the base where she still ran. Air thickened, signaling that rain was not far behind. Katrin picked up her pace, trying to focus on her surroundings.

She’d run out this way a thousand times before, both with Kohl and without. Kohl who she was now running from. Kohl who she left bleeding out. She should have stayed, explained why she pushed away, why she reached for that dagger. But the truth would break him, maybe more than it broke Katrin herself. It ate at her insides, she needed it out, needed to tell someone, offload some of the pain that was sure to destroy her.

Drops of rain began to cascade down her skin, cathartic in a sense, the way it washed away the blood, the sins of her morning. Faster and faster she ran, not noticing the object that stood in her path in the thickly settled woods until she slammed into it. Slammed into him.

Instinct had Katrin’s hand back at the hilt of her dagger. She hadn’t even looked up at the man yet, too afraid to see what terror lurked in the storm.

“Whoa…whoa there, miss. Are you alright?” a mysterious voice drawled out, smooth as the rolling sea.

Katrin took a step back, letting her gaze rise to his. Her eyes narrowed, cocking her head to the side. It was him.

The young farmer who would wave to her in the low light of dawn as she ran. She heaved a sigh of relief at a familiar face. Looking at him this close, however, he didn’t seem young at all. Fine lines framed his eyes and protruded between his brows. Lightly tanned skin reminded her of the clay in the cliffs along the caldera of Alentus, sparkling even in the rain that now fell heavily. A simple tunic and average looking breaches clung to all ridges of his tight muscular body, sending quite a blush across her cheeks, although she tried to hide it. Short waving black hair, so black it almost shone blue, was plastered against his forehead. And his eyes. Those magnificent, stunning eyes. Katrin could not place what they looked like. A swirl of the tide during a storm. Greens and blues and grays mixing together. She blinked a few times, trying to center herself.

He bowed to her slightly, lowering the basket of olives he held to the ground. “Apologies, Your Highness. I didn’t mean to startle you. My name is Alexander—well most people call me Ander.” His eyes swept down to her chest. “Princess, you are bleeding!”

Katrin turned away from him, gazing into the blurry skies. “It’s not my blood,” she said with an unnerving rasp. Her body began to shake as the winds around them swirled even harder.

A calloused hand reached out to her shoulder. Katrin looked down and it was not the dirt covering his fingers that made her lungs shrivel, but the markings along his wrist. Twins to her own.

Ander stepped closer to her. “Please, let’s get you out of the rain and cold. You can dry by the fire. I promise I won’t ask what happened unless you wish me to.”

Thundering skies only appeared to be worsening, and she was cold, and hungry, and wouldn’t be able to find Kohl in the storm anyway. It looked blacker than the night sky and any chances of using a torch to find her way back to the Drakos cabin were out of the question.

“Yes…that would be nice. Thank you, Ander.”

They walked quickly to the cabin that was neatly nestled between cypress trees at the base of the first mountain. It was a small cabin, much more humble than the Drakos winter cottage she was at earlier.

Olive oil, lemon, and the salt of the sea delicately hung in the living space as she entered the cabin. A tiny table with four worn out wooden chairs sat in the middle of the room, two plush chaise lounges were nestled in front of a fireplace, their velvet fabric ripping in some places.

“Let me start a fire, the cold air came in too quickly and from the look of the skies it’s not planning on leaving anytime soon. You can change into something else while your clothes dry, hopefully that will stop your shivering.” His voice was light, his gaze flickering between her and the fire he was starting.

“Change into what exactly?” Katrin glanced over near the bed in the corner and only male clothes were neatly folded in the open wardrobe.

“Here.” Ander crossed the small room and pulled out a navy tunic that looked like it could swallow Katrin whole. “You can slip this on for now. I have a few belts lying around that you can use to tie it with.”

Katrin’s limbs stiffened. A belt, blood, the dagger, Kohl. “Thank you,” she whispered as she turned around, stripping out of the soaked white shirt, leaving only her undergarment remaining. The tunic fell to the floor with a wet smack.

Burning ran up her back from the heated stare she could see looking at her in the mirror. It was not a sexual gaze, but rather a wonder at why the Princess of Alentus was found wandering the woods with no escort covered in blood, why scars trailed up her back instead of smooth skin.

She slid the dry tunic on and then shimmied out of her trousers, eventually turning to face Ander, collecting the wet clothes to lay them by the fire. His face was stoic, all emotion drained as he stared back. His eyes shifted to a deeper silver, the blues and greens disappearing.

“Who did this to you?” A muscle in his jaw feathered. A crack of thunder shook the small cabin’s walls.

The scars from the belt never healed. Wild slashes across her back were a permanent reminder of those weeks, matching the ones that shackled her wrists.

Ander stepped closer to her and Katrin’s breath hitched. It was the way a wolf would circle their pack when an enemy was approaching, warding off all fear and evil. “It was a long time ago. I never really talked about it with anyone. If I’m being honest, I’m too ashamed,” she said, hands shaking.

Rough hands clutched hers as he bent down to her eye level. It was wildly inappropriate for a farmer to be holding a princess like this, especially unprovoked, but, strangely, it put her at ease. “No one should ever feel shame over the pain others inflict on them.” Warmth began to return to his eyes, his jaw softening. “The person who did this—” he traced a thumb over her wrist, “and this—” moving his other hand over the scars on her back, “they were small. They needed to see pain in others to ease their own. That is never acceptable. Never the answer.”

A guttural whimper threatened to leave her throat, but she shoved it back, instead allowing only a tear to trail down her cheek. Ander reached up, cupping her cheek with his palm. “Don’t cry, Princess.” His brows furrowed. “The ones who cause us the most pain are rarely ever worth our tears.”

Katrin was not sure if it was the fact that he was a stranger, that she would probably never see Ander again, or that the pain inside was growing from a small seed to a full grown monster, but she sat down and told him everything.

He sat next to her, eyes locked, absorbing every word she said with compassion and empathy. When she was done, the smallest amount of weight was lifted from her chest, because maybe if she was able to tell this farmer, eventually she would be able to tell Kohl.

The day drifted by well into the afternoon before the storms eventually stopped. The clouds parted, but left the cooler air in their place. When Katrin stepped back outside, it felt like a crisp autumn day, too cool for her light gauzy running shirt she had changed back into. She turned to Ander who led her over to a small stable behind the cabin where he offered her a horse to ride back.

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