Page 4 of A Wrecking of Salt and Fire

Katrin’s eyes widened, not at the verbal lashing her sister was giving her, but because she knew that Ember was right. She hated when her sister was right.

“I know,” Katrin repeated, even quieter this time. “Just let mother know I’m sorry I missed breakfast and that I’ll be down shortly, please.”

Her sister nodded, turning on her heels with a whip of the golden gown fluttering behind her.

Two more months, Katrin thought. Two more months and I will be married. Two more months and I will have my powers. Two more months and I will be queen.

Shifting her way over to the large wardrobe, Katrin selected her finest silk gown dyed red and orange, the official colors of Morentius. A sign of respect toward her future father-in-law.

Katrin held it up and looked in the mirror, smoothing out the wrinkles. Hideous, absolutely hideous. It did not matter how beautifully the gown was made, these colors always washed out her olive skin, accentuated the copper highlight in her hair in the worst possible way.

Still, she shimmied on the gown, lifting it up to sheath her small dagger to her thigh. Again stopped, clenching her fists and willing away the faint glow radiating off them. Once composed Katrin stepped toward the doors, toward her future, toward becoming queen.

Chapter Three

Kohl

Wind howled like the wolves that sometimes prowled the mountains, the sun still in the eastern part of the sky, as Kohl paced up and down the docks of Alentus.

His father’s ship was nearing closer and closer on the horizon, its red and orange banners on full display. A golden viper sparkled in the center of the mainsail, a piece of Votios, the southern continent, where his people came from centuries before. The Morentian guards still laced their swords with the lethal venom of the creatures.

Two smaller ships sailed alongside his father’s, no doubt carrying some of his feared guard. They were known to be as vicious on the seas as they were in the sandy deserts, their black armor instilled a shuddering fear in all who beheld them, Kohl included.

Kohl clenched his jaw and released, gnawing at the inside of his cheek, trying to still the thoughts racing about his mind. There must be a reason why Katrin’s dreams were happening again. It was too much of a coincidence that it was approaching five years since the night she was taken.

He remembered it with such clarity it sometimes didn’t seem real. Perhaps it was simply a wicked dream to torture them both.

The skies were enraged every day from the time Katrin was taken. For that month, the waves grew as tall as Kohl, the winds never ceasing, but still he sailed day in and day out. He would go from isle to isle, searching every tavern and brothel and market, waiting to hear whispers of the missing princess. Week after week, there were none.

It was on the fifth day of the fourth week that he received word from his father to return home. The king’s spies had heard nothing of where Katrin may have been taken. After all that time, they said, she was probably dead.

Kohl balked at the idea. There was no gods-damned way he was giving up until he had Katrin back. He pictured the princess’ warm smile and quick wit. Her sparkling brown eyes and enchanting voice. The way they would race across the sandy shores of Alentus as children. There could not be a world where Kohl did not see her running toward him on the beaches again.

He let out a quiet chuckle at the memory of hurling the correspondence across the bar he was brooding in, knocking over his bitter ale he came to tolerate. Defying his father was not something Kohl did often—or ever—except that fateful day.

Kohl had left two gold coins on the counter and began to retreat back to his ship when he heard muffled chatter at one of the poker tables. A pirate from the eastern parts of the Mykandrian Sea was seen recently setting up delivery of precious cargo to the king, the voices hushed even more. He did not need to hear anymore, he knew which king it was, King Nikolaos of Nexos.

It made so much sense to him then, and Kohl kicked himself for not realizing it sooner. Nexos had been stirring with rebellion for decades. If they were just in Lesathos, then Kohl could catch up to them on the seas. The Hydra was faster than any ship in the isles.

For days he searched the surrounding waters until he finally found not the pirate’s vessel, but Katrin, clinging lifelessly to a piece of driftwood.

When he pulled her out of the water her skin was scorched, peeling and crusted in salt. Her lips were so cracked she could barely stutter out a word except to joke that he could never have made it that long on the seas alone.

At least the spark wasn’t taken from her. Kohl almost vomited at the sight of her frail body, skin hardly wrapping over bones, her eyes void of any color or sparkle he came to love when they were children. That day he vowed to destroy the King of Nexos.

Kohl was never able to act on that vow. His father stopped him. Why—he never deigned to ask. Where his father was concerned, his word was law. Not only for the people of Morentius, but his children as well. It wasn’t that the king did not love Kohl, or his younger sister Farah, but in Votios affection was weakness. King Athanas did not tolerate weakness. Only control. Only power. And as Kohl was frequently reminded, but never truly believed, only peace.

Worn and weathered sides of the now docked ship took nothing away from the terror of the weaponry stacked along the rails. Soldiers lined both port and starboard with crossbows loaded with bronze darts. Toward the stern of the ship stood two catapults, ready to send oily, flaming targets toward others in battle.

The Hydra was the leading ship of the largest fleet in the Mykandrian Sea, captained by none other than the King of Morentius himself. The Viper of Votios. The terrifying, but just man.

“One day this will all be yours, my boy,” the king rasped out, startling Kohl with his slick voice.

Kohl cracked his neck and took in a deep breath as his father slithered down the plank from the stern of the ship to the dock. Everyone told Kohl he was a spitting image of his father, but he could not see it. Khalid’s eyes and jaw were hardened and direct, where Kohl liked to think his own eyes appear lighter, kinder. But the color was there, the same deep ebony, the same dark curly hair, now turned a peppery gray on his father, wind-blown from his time at sea.

“Hello, Father. What a pleasant surprise. You were not expected until the evening.” He wrung his hands together, trying not to pick at the callouses on his palms.

Kohl needed the extra time to prepare Katrin. To ease her into his father’s peculiar ways. His brute force and blunt speech. She’d met the king before, but not in recent years. Not since his demeanor declined even more after the whispers of uprising.

---