Page 41 of A Wrecking of Salt and Fire

Ander met her stare.

“I’ll tell you, Starling—but I have one more excuse. I will only tell you over lunch.”

Katrin sighed, wondering what his obsession was with watching her eat. First demanding she join him for dinner, now this.

She was hungry, though. The breakfast she ate seemed to be hours ago and although the fight was short, she did not have nearly the energy she once did.

“Fine. But I get to ask anything.”

“Well…almost anything.” Ander smiled.

When they entered the corridor to his—well, their—chambers, he directed Katrin to an earlier door, which was the one she saw across the armory yesterday morning. As they stepped inside she could see from this view that it definitely was an armory, not a supply closet that just happened to have weapons.

Foolishly Katrin had not looked around when she stole the sword earlier. Being too afraid to be caught, she only took one step in and grabbed the nearest weapon to the door. It just happened that it was the most exquisite one, and also Ander’s favorite.

He left the room briefly to grab their lunch, asking her not to snoop around, but his words were useless. Katrin had always been known for her—call it curiosity, and it often got her in trouble as a child. It probably still would cause her trouble to this day.

She took the few minutes he was gone to poke through the charts that were sprawled out on the large table in the middle of the room. She traced her fingers over the isles she knew—Alentus, Morentius, Delphine, Lesathos, Xanthia, Cantos, Nexos. Then she noticed two others to the east of Nexos in what was called The Manos Sea. The Manos Sea was just a myth, where Cyther and Skiatha supposedly resided. Although she knew Cyther was real—her mother would be there soon—it was not a place of this plane or realm. Instead it was like Aidesian, part of the world of the afterlife, not Odessia. Yet this chart showed it as if you could choose to sail there.

Before she could flip through any of the other charts or papers, Ander entered back into the room. The lunch he brought in was much simpler than the meals before, consisting of that same fresh salad made up of cucumber, olives, onion, tomatoes, and that delicious lightly-salted cheese as well as spiced chicken. It looked incredible.

“I hope you don’t mind the food. I noticed you only ate pastries this morning and that doesn’t have nearly the nutrients you need to survive.” Ander laid one plate in front of her.

Katrin was trying not to drool as he drizzled a bit of olive oil on top before sitting beside her. She could eat this salad for every meal, but would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that. Ander stared at her as she began shoveling the food into her mouth like there was no tomorrow, because at this rate she really did not know.

“What?” she mumbled, mouth half full of a slice of tomato.

“You know you chew louder than any of the crew on this ship,” he chuckled.

“I do not! I chew at a completely reasonable volume,” Katrin said through another mouthful of food, her eyes narrowing.

“If you’re an animal maybe.” He cringed as she continued chomping away.

Katrin’s cheeks flushed slightly and she tried to quiet, but it was difficult with such crunchy food. “Well you are the one who insists on eating with me, so I’m not sure you really have a say. Take it or leave it, Captain.” She made a mocking face his way.

“I don’t even know why I bother,” Ander replied, shaking his wavy black hair.

Katrin shrugged. She knew she was thin and diminished almost down to skin and bone. She saw it too. What she could not understand is why he even cared in the first place.

“Why do you bother?” Katrin asked. The first question of many swirling through her mind.

“Because I don’t like seeing people who have been through trauma waste away to nothing. You are a survivor, not a victim.” Ander’s voice seemed almost possessive as he spoke to her.

“What would you know about being a survivor?” Katrin managed to get out between chews.

Ander’s eyes darkened. “More than you think.”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on edge, the air around her thickening. She had forgotten—the markings on his wrists, often covered on the ship by the sleeves of his shirts. Those markings were one of the reasons she had felt so comfortable sharing her past with him in the mountains that fateful day.

“Fine.” Katrin pointed at the chart. “Why is there an imaginary island drawn here?”

“Keep your olive oil fingers off my chart!” Ander snatched it from under her greasy appendages. She flipped him a vulgar gesture before wiping her hands on her pants. They weren’t that dirty.

The chart was beautiful, with intricate drawings of fleets and waypoints across the isles. Depicting scenes straight out of the book she’d started reading, The Odyssey, with sirens and cyclops, and the Olympi. The marking in the upper left hand corner was familiar to her, a sea serpent, although the crossed swords that marked the horse’s bridle and the tunic she borrowed back on Alentus were not there. The cardinal directions pointed out from four arrows around it.

“Sorry…that wasn’t an answer. Why is Skiatha on that chart?”

“Because that is where we are going,” Ander said plainly.

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