Page 55 of A Wrecking of Salt and Fire

“A journey home. I like that.” She hated that she loved the sound of his voice, what it did to her insides. The heat that formed in places that made her blush and cringe and yearn. “Tell me about them.” She flicked her eyes to meet his, feeling his breathing hitch as she placed her hand on his chest.

He smiled at her, soft and kind. “About who? My father? My grandfather?”

“No, about the Olympi. We were never taught their history in Alentus. Not more than them destroying much of the Olde World before being defeated in the Peloponnian War.”

“The Olympi…” Ander’s jaw twitched, like he was thinking deeply about what he could and could not say. It was forbidden, yet they spoke the language aboard this ship. Maybe it was not fear then that halted his words, but wonder. Wonder of why she had asked in the first place.

“Were they like us—well, like me?” Us, like Ander was somehow also born of the gods. Katrin vaguely remembered how the men had been killed last night. But it could not be. She must have misheard him, delusion already fabricating the images in her mind. Or blurred that memory with another. This mysterious prince who hailed from a hidden isle had no power to his name.

Ander took her hand in his. “Were they like you? I would say yes. They were strong and feared, but they were also fiercely loyal and could love deeply. There was Poseidon, God of the Seas. A moody bastard at will, but a friend to the sailors. I think he would have favored you. Always having an eye for beauty. Then there was Zeus and Hera, the king and queen. Zeus with his wandering eye and Hera with her unrelenting jealousy. Athena, goddess of wisdom, often came to those in need during war as an owl, she was always my favorite as a boy. I often ran about at night in the woods by my home looking for the mysterious and wise winged creature, my mother would hate it. I usually only encountered wolves and that would become a whole other argument for why I should not be alone at night.

“Let’s see, then there was Aphrodite, born of the sea, the goddess of beauty—” his sweet smile turned feral, “and sex.” Katrin swallowed, feeling Ander’s muscled chest under her palm. “There were the twins Apollo and Artemis, god of healing and goddess of the hunt.”

“And what of my father’s position? Was there a god like him? Of death?” Her curiosity peaked.

“There was. But right now we need to get you bathed and fed. If your wish is still to return to Alentus I can personally get you passage on a merchant ship back.” His words were melancholy. He’d said it last night that he should not have let her go. If he hadn’t, then she would have been safe, unbruised, and unburdened—at least from those horrors.

“We can discuss it after I have bathed then.” Katrin went to sit up, wincing at every move of her body.

“You're going to need help.” Ander slid his hand behind her back to try to guide her up and off the bed. This time Katrin swatted him off.

“Excuse me?” she gasped. “Need help with what?”

“With bathing, you can barely sit up, your injuries are healing quickly since you are nearing coming of age, but you can barely lift your arms. How do you expect to wash yourself?” He said it so matter of factly that she cringed.

Ander was right, but she would rather sit in filth than let him bathe her. Well—let him bathe her again. She could still feel the shivers that went through her as he took the damp cloth to her skin the night before. And now he wished to do that to her again. While she was naked. Katrin’s whole body glowed a bright red.

“What? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” He had probably been with many women before based on that red-head last night. But this was different. Yes, she had half-stripped in front of him before. But that was in the cabin, when he had been a stranger she would never see again. A distant stare, not his hands this close to her bare skin. “I can get Thalia, if you would prefer another woman?”

No. She could not bear to have someone else see the scars on her back. To explain why they never healed. To relive those moments on the bed or why she always flinched when someone mentioned a belt. Even the seer. Even someone who had gone through the same pain. “It’s fine. Just…just try not to stare.”

“I’ll try my best.” She could feel his eyes rake over her, even as she looked away.

He gently gripped her under both arms as he helped to lift her from the bed. Her balance was uneasy, the pain in her ribs still flowing deep through her core from where those men had beat her. Kicked her as she lay on the ground bleeding, no power left, no fight left. The vein by Ander’s temple twitched each time they took a step closer to the bathing chamber, no doubt pledging to kill those men all over again. She was honestly surprised he did not just pick her up and carry her like he did last night. Maybe he wanted to give her some semblance of control knowing she had little else to herself at the moment.

The bathing chamber felt warmer than usual, even though the autumn’s crisp air was beginning to trickle in on the winds.

“May I?” Ander asked, running his hands along the edge of her silk chemise like he had not changed her into clean clothes after she passed out last night. Katrin nodded, and he helped her slowly lift her arms, sliding the shirt off first. Then slipping her shorts down until they dropped to her ankles. She gently stepped each of her feet out and there she stood, bare and ruined and broken in front of him.

Katrin tried to take a step into the bath, but her knees seemed to give out beneath her. He brushed his hand down her arm. “Please, let me help.” His gaze met hers, but she did not hold it. She only let Ander lift her body into the soapy water. She could not dare to see the judgment in his eyes.

But he did not look away. Despite his many prior vulgar comments, this was not a sexual gaze, nor was it one of pity. It was sorrow and regret and it burned more than the scalding water he lifted her into.

“Thank you,” Katrin whispered as she let herself sink below the water. She had almost drowned once, and yet underwater was where she felt the most at peace. It was silent, and calming—a good place to feel alone. Maybe Ander was right. Maybe the now dead sea god would have favored her.

It felt like minutes that she sat under the layer of bubbles, pushing the memories of the night from her mind. Centering herself, if she could even do such a thing anymore. When she surfaced, Ander was there waiting, cloth in hand.

“You don’t need to do that. I just needed help getting into the bath.” She reached for the cloth he held and sucked in a sharp breath as her healing arm writhed in pain.

“It’s fine, really.” His words again soft against her ears as he dipped the cloth under the water, beginning to wipe what dirt and sweat and blood remained on her skin. “Just let me know if I am hurting you, alright?”

Katrin took a deep breath, still unable to meet his eyes. “I will.” So there they sat in silence as he moved the cloth over her back, her chest, her legs. Ridding her of any trace of those men. Of the shame she felt for killing a man, even if he had attacked her.

He poured soap through her hair, washing away the tears and snot that lingered from her sobs last night. Then Ander lifted her back out of the bath, drying her with one of the plush towels he kept stored in the room, until he was left kneeling before her.

She swallowed and heated as his eyes trailed back up her body, lingering on places she now wanted him to touch.

Ander blinked, a rosy hue she had never seen on him bridging across his nose. “Let me go get you a clean gown.” He quickly stood wrapping her in the towel.

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