Page 62 of A Wrecking of Salt and Fire

“There is a king in Voreia who seeks the power that would come with releasing the Olympi. But that takes a kind of blood magic that is no longer practiced. He has been hunting for a key, for an individual from a very powerful line of sorcerers that was lost after the war. But believe me, Aikaterine, when I say, if this king finds who he is looking for, not only are the isles in danger, but all of Odessia.” Her father was not frightened by much, God of Death and Night and all things most people find terrifying. But this—the grave look he held in his face—that was pure unadulterated fear.

“Why is this kept hidden from the people? How is it that you, nor mother, have ever told us?” Katrin was worried, but she was also angry. That meant her parents had been lying to her for her entire life.

“Many don’t remember. Our memories were wiped clean when the powers of the Olympi who were destroyed seeped into our veins. But gradually I began to experience dreams, flashbacks of sort, to the end of the war. To being in a golden cage, and the memories flooded back.

“And where exactly are these golden cages? Where are the Olympi entombed, Father?” Katrin’s hands shook as she asked the question she already felt she knew the answer to.

“They are held in the mountains of Cyther.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Kohl

When Kohl departed Alentus, he felt only partially guilty for leaving his father in charge of ruling. Except for the fact that Ember was young and not politically inclined and could very well cause the entire isle to implode before he was back, hopefully with Katrin in tow.

He had to wait, at least that was what Kohl kept telling himself. Delaying the search for Katrin had nothing to do with him being afraid she had left him or that she may lie dead at the bottom of the sea. It had entirely been about the fate of her home, her people.

Yet, in the moments Kohl had alone the past few days, sailing toward the precocious isle of Lesathos, he could not help but acknowledge that it really had been so much more. Kohl wasn’t sure what he would do if he found her, how he would explain that he had almost killed her sister, that he had taken her throne, that he had put his desire for power above the need to rescue her. He would maybe leave that part out. After all they had been through, he could only hope Katrin would forgive him.

Kohl had hated this gods-forsaken isle, the way it smelled of piss and regret. The useless brawls that broke out in alleyways spilling from the taverns. But this is where his father’s spies always found their information, where he had heard of the ship that took Katrin last time.

Lesathos housed all sorts of oily merchants and men who made their trade in things that were not allowed to be spoken. No doubt the home of the black market where his father obtained that smokey drug olerae. It was the only port trading in goods from the Anatole. Merchants had to travel along the dangerous coastal road on the main continent to reach the Port of Thesea on the peninsula of Voreia. From there, ships would cross over to Lesathos with hopes they were not raided by pirates roaming near the shores.

A direct waterway from Anatole to any of the Mykandrian Isles had been sealed off by the blockade surrounding Nexos. It was truly the only thing that made Kohl nervous, not being able to broker the ship through the blockade if Katrin had been taken past that looming isle. King Nikolaos had been adamant that only ships that bore the wolf and crescent moon, his banner, would be allowed passage. And if Katrin was being held on Nexos—well, he would need much more than the small crew of soldiers to rescue her.

His father had given him twenty of his best men for the journey. Men of which Kohl himself was almost frightened. They were the true warriors and sailors of Morentius, originally hailing from Votios. Much like the king, their canines had been shaven down into sharp fangs, their bronzed brown skin shimmered in the sunlight but their ebony eyes made them look deadly. The blades each warrior carried were laced with the venom of the viper, deadly to all who dared to challenge.

Kohl had wanted and also not wanted to be one of these men all at once. He wanted his father’s respect and pride and yet, these men slaughtered first and asked questions later, all under the guise of peace. But he was certainly pleased that this elite team was on the journey to find the princess, especially if some pirate who terrorized the eastern isles was responsible for her capture.

The pirate would pay. Kohl could only hope he would be the one to slit his throat, because when it came down to it, he loved her. Loved Katrin more than he could ever describe. Even at their worst moments, she was still the sun he revolved around. Even when his ambition clouded his judgment, it was always to benefit her.

The Hydra had been docked at Lesathos since morning. They had sailed through every night, each member of the ship taking a shift manning the wheel and the sails. A trip that would normally take a week had only taken them five days. It would have been faster had the winds not died out on day three and the current not pushed against them for several hours.

Now, the crew aboard waited for the group of spies King Athanas had sent before The Hydra to return. They needed that initial information the spies collected in the taverns and at the ports around the isle before they could start devising a plan. A plan that would most likely involve some less than approachable characters.

One of the soldiers knocked on the door to Kohl’s quarters where he was fumbling through old reports his father possessed on the Prince of the Lost Isles. The man at the door was broad with deeply tanned skin. His hair shone the same color as Kohl’s, but he kept it braided long down his back. “Excuse me, Your Majesty, but it appears the spies have returned. Would you like me to send them to the war room?”

Kohl fumbled through the papers again, searching for any description of this prince, but he had no luck. “Yes, let them know I will be right in,” he said as he waved off the soldier. There was nothing. This Prince of the Lost Isles was a mystery. Not his age nor the color of his hair, or even from where he originally hailed was recorded. No man could have actually been born on this island that most thought to be merely a myth. The prince had to have come from somewhere, and Kohl would figure it out even if he had to interrogate people. He had always despised that part of war—torture. His father was proficient at it, but Kohl had always preferred other methods to gain the truth from people.

The war room on The Hydra was massive. Larger than most of the non-merchant ships that sailed the Mykandrian Sea. Although their ancestors hailed from the deserts of Votios, the Athanas line had quickly taken to the seas.

Their fearsome soldiers and rigorous training tactics built Morentius into the fiercest naval force, however their size never stood in comparison to that of Nexos or the Spartanis of Alentus. That would change now that an Athanas sat on the throne of Alentus. The two fleets would easily outnumber King Nikolaos’s naval forces if it was not for his power to control the seas. That same power that made it so easy to blockade the straits to Anatole and the seas beyond.

Kohl entered the war room, positioning himself at the head of the long mahogany table. He leaned over a chart one of the soldiers had laid out. It was similar to the ones he had grown up studying; however, in the north-eastern corner lay an inlet from the Mykandrian Sea he did not recognize. The inlet had the words Manos Sea scrawled over a depiction of waves and fog. There lay two isles, Skiatha and Cyther. The mythical lands that Kohl had only just learned existed.

“So we have a chart to guide us, but how do we know this is real? How do we expect to cross through the straits to either side of Nexos?” He glanced around the room at silent faces. The thin and oily men his father usually sent out to do his dirty business seemed to have nothing to say. “Did you all not bring this to me under the guise it held the secrets we need? Or is this just another piece of useless information?” Kohl pointed at the chart. It had been weeks and the spies had found nothing. Nothing except this apparently.

“It is useless, Your Majesty,” a seedy voice piped up. Kohl looked among the men and landed on one in the far corner, standing in the shadows opposite the door he had entered.

Kohl cracked his neck, his jaw clenching shut. “Then why exactly have we all gathered here?”

The man who spoke stepped closer into the light surrounding the table. He was shorter than most of the soldiers his father employed, his skin paler and face ruddy and sweaty. He looked like the kind of man who would lose to you in a bet then try to steal your coin anyway.

“You are one of my father’s spies?” Kohl questioned the man.

“No, Your Majesty. My name is Dolion. And I have a personal vendetta against this prince you are after.” One of Dolion’s hands gripped the side of the table so hard his knuckles went white. The other grasped around a velvet pouch. “He slaughtered my men as well as my brother outside a tavern only two weeks ago. And it just so happens I know exactly how to find him, I only need a crew to take me.”

Kohl would have cringed at the way the man spoke, his voice causing a need to recoil in his bones, but if he had more information about the Prince of the Lost Isles then Kohl had no choice. “I thought you said that chart was useless.”

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