Page 63 of A Wrecking of Salt and Fire

The man smiled. “It is. Without this of course.” He allowed the device in the velvet pouch to drop onto the table.

Kohl scoffed. “A compass? We’re on a ship, we have enough of those.” This man was really all the spies could come up with? He would have done a better job searching for answers himself.

Dolion chuckled. His booming laughter filled the room in an unsavory way. “I am sure you do, Your Majesty. But this is no ordinary compass. It came from one of the ancient temples before the war. A gift from the god Poseidon himself. It is said to hold a drop of his power, enough to let you mask yourself to a foe on the seas. Enough to fool the wards around the Lost Isles into letting you pass.”

Kohl’s eyes widened. The soldiers around began murmuring to one another in hushed tones. Poseidon. An Olympi they had been forbidden to learn about, all knowledge of him vanished or burned save for the spoken lores. And if you were ever caught speaking one of those forgotten myths it was grounds for execution, a punishment written into the treaty between the isles after the Peloponnian War.

“And what was this Poseidon the god of exactly? Why would his power allow these things?” Kohl questioned, leaning in. Gazing at the chart, the details seemingly changed. As if the parchment itself shimmered around the depictions of the isles. Taking in the smaller markings, Kohl noticed the movement of a ship, a symbol of a sea serpent and two crossed swords hovering above it. Saw as it entered past the perimeter of the wards and disappeared. Katrin.

Dolion held everyone’s ear as he spoke. “He was the God of Sea and Storm, of course. It was his magic that warded Skiatha from its foe. From anyone who might seek to harm his line of succession.”

“Nikolaos,” Kohl whispered. Of course. His father had thought Nexos was working with this pirate, but now they knew for sure. “How do we know this compass is real? That someone did not con you into a fake, or lie about the story?”

“Oh, it’s real. See for yourself, Your Majesty.” Dolion slid the bronze compass across the table toward the king.

The whites of Kohl’s eyes began to flicker black as he took hold of the instrument. A faint heat radiated against his palm, feeling something else. He couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was, but this was certainly no ordinary device.

“And what do you want? For letting us use this compass? For leading us to Skiatha? Gold? A ship?” Kohl was expecting a hefty price. The man looked like he was one to gamble away all his fortunes. A typical disgusting man of Lesathos. But he did not care, Kohl would give Dolion whatever he desired. To find the pirate. To find his bride. No amount of coin was too much.

The ruddy man laughed again. “All I want is to watch as that pirate dies.”

Kohl smiled back at him, the ebony color retreating back to the center. “Well, I’m sure we can arrange that.”

Part Three

στο τ?λος

(at the end)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Katrin

Cyther. Her mother likely sailed there the morning of the Acknowledgement, unable to interfere with tradition, whether it was postponed or not. If the Olympi were entombed there, held against their will until they were released to aid these northern dissenters, what of the Queen of the Gods herself?

Aidoneus could no longer sense his wife, something they could do since they became Fated after the Pelopponian War. A permanent buzzing that hummed through the deepest cells in his mind, that type of bond could be felt even in the furthest and darkest dungeons of Aidesian. For him not to sense Kora now—that could only mean one of three things. She was shrouded. She had burned out. Or she was dead.

A few of the soldiers from the mountain traveled to the shore; they would shepherd the party to the training camps located deeper into the isle. They had gathered in what used to be Ander’s mother’s home, confined to a tiny room underground with dim lighting and certainly not enough space for the large warriors of Skiatha. They stood shoulder to shoulder muttering about why this young princess was in their midst. She couldn’t help but wonder if the look they gave her was one of fear. But not fear of death, none cowered from Katrin’s father, or the fate he brought them—fear from an untapped power that lived inside her, wild and untrained. As if she might explode at any moment, reducing those around her to ash and dust.

Or perhaps it was fear of the little white creature sitting atop Thalia’s lap by the door. Each man had shuddered as they stepped below into the damp underground room. As if they had previously seen the daimon she could become. Her true form. No longer the little spy, but the adaptation of Thalia’s psychí that haunted even the likes of Ander and Leighton.

The captain and the nauarch stood next to Katrin in front of the burning hearth. Droplets of water trickled down from the ceiling onto their skin as they waited for the men to quiet.

Ander cleared his throat, “As some of you may have noticed, we have a new guest in our presence, Aikaterine Drakos, Princess of Alentus.” Thus began the murmuring once again as Katrin smiled lightly at the men. She was not afraid of them, at least she thought she need not be. Her father was there, as well as The Nostos crew and she trusted them. Her gut trusted them. But the broad shouldered and tattooed men had an air about them. One that signaled they had seen despair and death in its truest form. That they would slaughter those who stood in their path without hesitation.

The men began to hush once more. “I expect everyone to treat our guest with the utmost respect and care. If you don’t, it will not be me you have to answer to, but her father.” He nodded to Aidoneus standing in the corner, half hidden in the darkness and shadow of the flames that were posted haphazardly about the room. Looking terrifying in this moment, her father with deep brown eyes piercing, firm jaw clenched, held his lips in a snarl. Gods help them. She had not seen her father look that overbearing or protective in—well, in five years.

An older man stepped out of the crowd of ten soldiers, his eyes weathered, but his stocky frame was still built out with muscle. His skin was a deep brown hue like Leighton’s, his irises a similar striking green, an unusual feature. A black tattoo circled up his bicep, extending to his neck—a sea serpent releasing from water, its wings flaring from his shoulder across his chest and back.

“You don’t need to worry about us, Captain. No one would dare lay a hand on Aidon’s daughter, even without your reminder.” The man chuckled. “I’ve taken enough grief from him in the past. But if she chooses to train, I would be more than happy to instruct.” He bowed toward Katrin, toward her father. His voice was a serene chill, a blend of the ease she felt when she first met Leighton aboard The Nostos and an odd sense of knowing crept up Katrin’s skin.

“That won’t be necessary, Kristos, I will be training the princess myself.” Ander winked at her.

“Is that so?” Katrin scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I’m pretty sure if someone should be training the other it should be me, considering I’ve bested you not once, but twice.”

The men began to howl. Kristos the loudest of the group. “This small woman—no offense, Princess—beat you in a fight?” He was laughing so hard water welled in his eyes, the tattoo shuddering from the way his chest heaved as the booming sound left his mouth.

“She’s a lot tougher than she looks,” Ander muttered under his breath, barely loud enough to hear.

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