Page 61 of A Wrecking of Salt and Fire

“Let me help you, little one.” Her father reached for her hand as she took the last few steps down into the raft. The boat was small, but still enough to fit six people—the five of them and a burly looking man tending to the oars, rowing them to the coast. He looked somewhere in his fortieth years of life, cropped black hair and piercing blue eyes, or at least they would have been. One was muted, a jagged scar tracing from above his eyebrow to his cheek. Katrin did not want to know how he got that scar.

Leighton and Ander followed next, quickly scurrying down the rope. Then came Thalia, her gown billowing in the light breeze of the isle. Katrin knew she would have fallen flat on her back if she had tried to descend wearing that, and yet Thalia was graceful as—well, graceful as a feline, as she stepped back into the small row boat. Mykonos was not far behind her, leaping from the rail of the ship and landing lightly in Thalia’s lap. Katrin leaned over, giving a little scratch to the purring creature.

It was a short journey to the shore; the sea floor dropping off close enough that The Nostos had been able to sail most of the way in. Leighton directed them into one of the smaller whitewashed buildings on the coastline, its door painted a deep azure, the color of the sea beyond them.

“We’ll stay here before we journey to the training grounds at the base of the mountain. Thalia can show you to your room afterwards, but first we eat,” Leighton said, gesturing toward an intimate dining room.

A worn wooden table sat in the center with just enough room for six chairs. A small fireplace was placed in the corner, already ablaze, countering the chill in the air from the early autumn breeze. Elegant paintings hung on every wall, their bright colors adding a sense of warmth and life in the whitewashed rooms.

“It’s lovely here.” Katrin glanced around at the other rooms. A living space stood through an archway from the dining room. Plush, velvet beige couches and chairs sat in an arc around another fireplace, a low lying table standing in the center filled with water marks from drinks shared. It reminded her of her family’s winter cabin in the woods. It looked like a home.

“Thank you, it was my mother’s.” Ander smiled softly as he ran his hand along a wooden cabinet in the dining room. “I think she would like you, Starling. She always was the feisty one of the family. You have the same spitfire she does.”

Katrin locked her eyes with his, a simple longing behind them. “You really think so?”

“She would love you, little one,” her father butted in.

“You know Ander’s mother?” Katrin whipped her head around.

“I know many people, being a god and all.” Aidonius chuckled. Katrin rolled her eyes at her father. This was the closest he’d ever been to attempting a joke.

“Are you all going to keep talking or are you going to actually join us for food?” Leighton quipped, his mouth half stuffed with bread from the table. A spread from The Nostos’ chef had been brought in—breads and fish and boiled vegetables. It smelled incredible.

“If you don’t sit soon, Leighton might have eaten it all,” Thalia laughed as she grabbed a bottle of white wine from the center of the table. Leighton would get along great with Ajax, the commander also loved to stuff his face with food.

They all sat down at the round table, digging into the food while it was still there.

“So, are there no docks in Skiatha?” Katrin directed her question to Ander, although it was her father who responded.

“There are, but only on the far side of the isle. If the wards protecting Skiatha were to fall then it would give the people enough time to escape. The waters on the far side are much more treacherous than these. Only well-trained sailors would be able to navigate around the deadly shoreline.” Her father’s raspy voice was just like she remembered.

“But the wards can’t fail, can they? Ander told me they were powered by the Grechi.” Katrin looked curiously between her father and the captain.

“These specific wards were cast by two of our gods. But our powers are not nearly as strong as those of the Olympi. It would not be easy, but if one of them used their power, the protection would fall.” Her father looked worried, a small sweat building by his temples. This was not a look Katrin had seen much—if at all—on her father. Little concerned the God of Death.

Katrin choked on a sip of wine, blinking at her father. “But the Olympi were destroyed in the war.” How could one of them take down the wards if they were all dead? Unless—

“You didn’t tell her everything then?” Aidonius asked Ander, his brows raising.

“I thought you might want to be the one to tell her this part. I wasn’t sure she would believe me.” Ander cringed, reaching for a glass of wine no doubt to take the edge off.

Katrin scoffed. “You didn’t think I would believe you? I’m here aren’t I?”

“My daughter has a point. Clearly she trusted you more than you thought.” But had she? Yes—she was here now—but when Ander had given her the choice to leave she had taken it. It was not until the attack and the way he cared for her after that she chose to stay. Chose to fight.

“Yes, your daughter always seems to have a point.” Ander bristled and Katrin did not want to see what type of vicious glare her father threw back at him.

“I will tell you a story, Aikaterine, one that is no longer allowed to be written for fear that our lies will come crashing down. There once was a beautiful maiden, Persephone, who often joined her mother Demeter, the Goddess of Harvest, in the fields to pick flowers. Her hair was blonde as the light that radiated from her smile save for a shimmering strawberry hue, her skin soft and pale, and as she picked the flowers an entrancing melody would dance from her lips. One day, Persephone strayed from her mother, finding herself lost in the dark woods. There she came upon a man dressed in a black, velvet cape, his hair dark as night, his eyes a shade one could not describe as anything other than the color of death, on a large black steed. Hades, the God of the Underworld sat on his beast, watching the young maiden to see if she would cower and run, but she did not.”

Hades. Katrin’s mind flashed to the night of the masquerade.

“‘Come with me,’ he had whispered. ‘Come with me and I will keep you safe.’ And Persephone did. Taking his hand, she was pulled up on the winged horse. But he did not lead her to safety, instead he whisked her to the underworld through a chasm in the ground. What the maiden did not realize was that Hades had known she would be in those woods, had lured her away from her mother with the lovely smell of the narcissus flower. He had become obsessed with Persephone and her delicate nature, something he did not experience in the dark kingdom he ruled. Hades forced her into a marriage, but his brother Zeus interfered. See, Zeus was the king of all gods and had answered Demeter’s calls to save her daughter from the wicked place. But Hades would not give her up so easily, sealing her fate with four pomegranate seeds with which he laced her wine. Four seeds for the four months she would be bound to spend with him in his kingdom of endless night. At the sign of first frost, Persephone would descend to the underworld to live the colder months with her captor. It is ironic that Hades now lies confined to a place he cannot stand to be.”

Katrin stared at her father in disbelief. He was the God of the Underworld, not this Hades. And yet, the lilting voice, the blonde hair and pale skin, born from a goddess whose powers were of harvesting, of growth—the woman he described sounded like her mother, like the earthly powers she possessed. “Is mother—is she Persephone?”

“Not fully. When the final battles occurred, some of the Olympi were truly destroyed, their magic returning to the earth to be reborn in others. Your mother, she was given many powers, one of which was from Persephone, the Goddess of Growth.” Her father’s eyes deepened as he spoke, his jaw becoming tight. “Some gods, however, were merely captured. Some of their powers left them, but enough remained, keeping them alive in gold-plated stone tombs, even with the blood magic that ensnared them all those years ago. I filled the role Hades left when he was entombed, but the wicked god still lives, and some people believe those captured gods should be set free. Whether they wish to wreak havoc on the world or be owed a favor from the wickedest of the gods, I cannot say.”

Katrin could feel the food she had just eaten rise in her stomach, the sour taste of bile lining her throat. “And who wants Hades to be set free?” Clearly, she was the only one who seemed concerned about this. Ander, Leighton, and Thalia all sat sipping wine from their cups and biting down on more food like they did not comprehend the gravity. Or maybe they were so desensitized from hearing the story over and over that nothing seemed to frighten them.

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