Page 8 of A Wrecking of Salt and Fire

Her eyes widened when she saw the mistaken look he gave them. Mortification set in as a smirk rose along Ajax’s lips.

“King Athanas has arrived at the castle. I thought you would like to know.”

Ajax nodded at the man and began to rise from his chair. The top of his trousers drooped a little lower down his hips before he laced them up, and gods if Ember was staring. “Do you want me to escort you back to the castle, Ember? I will be going anyway to speak with the king.”

Ember shook her head and turned away without a word. She could not be near him a second longer. Not with his messy hair and raspy voice. This feeling, it was the real reason she never ventured down to the barracks, never started her training. Ajax haunted her mind. An ever present reminder of what she could never have.

Chapter Six

Kohl

Lavish orange silks and red velvet covered the guest wing where King Athanas would be staying. Kohl accompanied his father to the room, now filled with plush floor pillows for smoking and woven baskets overflowing with fruits and nuts from the king’s southern lands. The servants switched out the familiar luxuries, foregoing the delicate turquoise and gold of the Drakos court.

Five years earlier, Kohl stepped into these chambers for the first time and took in their simplicity and beauty that was rarely seen in the overdone castle on Morentius. The rulers of Alentus preferred ethereal white gauzy curtains, small furnishings made of olive branches or driftwood, glass polished by the Mykandrian Sea decorating the windows. That quiet elegance was stripped away as he now roamed about the room. Now Kohl only saw reminders of a home he long since returned to. One he did not even want to see in the years since coming to this isle.

A few Morentian soldiers dropped luggage trunks off to the side of the bedchamber before his father ordered them back to the ship. King Athanas never kept a guard outside his suite. None were necessary. No one would threaten the Viper and live to tell the tale.

His father drew his curved black sword and laid it on the desk. Carvings surrounded the hilt and blade depicting an ancient battle, one that was filled with sorcery and bloodshed. One that leveled kingdoms and sunk cities. The world of the Olympi. The world his father’s people fought for and failed to protect.

Goosebumps peppered Kohl’s flesh despite the warm summer breeze coming through the windows as he thought of the Olympi, whose names were forbidden to be spoken. How they tortured mortals and kept them as slaves. How they raped and pillaged not only Votios in the south, but the isles here as well. How when the lands rallied together to overflow the olde gods, they sent out a burst of power, splitting the continents thereby sending entire isles to the depths of the sea, before disappearing for good.

The opposing side of the blade showed events in the wake of the Peloponnian War. It was thought that the new gods—the Grechi—were born within the caves of the Triad Mountains on Alentus, blessed by the Mother, Alenia, herself. Aidoneus, Kora, Nikolaos, Giselle, gods who dwelled in the northern lands of Voreia, and lesser gods who lived along the coasts of Cyther. They crawled out from the depths of the caves, each radiating with power from the Olympi. The different elemental and celestial powers were not as strong as the Olympi once were, but dangerous nonetheless. No other power beyond theirs seemed to exist anymore. The ashes and magic of the once great sorcerers of Votios vanishing into the desert never to be seen again.

Kohl remembered being a boy, grazing through the books in the Library of Morentius, reading stories of famed war heroes. How they stood in the face of sure death sacrificing themselves to protect the weak. He knew then and there that he wanted to be a soldier, a commander, a leader, fighting back in the deserts or on the high seas.

There was never a time he wanted to settle down, not until he became involved with Katrin. Now he would be consort, tasked to lead by her side, while others forged into battle. A disgrace by his father’s standards, if the alliance with Alentus did not mean so much for peace.

King Athanas draped himself over one of the plush pillows, inhaling a substance from Anatole, the eastern lands. Olerae swirled around in a delicately decorated glass bottle, smoke trickled out and into his father’s lungs before it was released back through his nose and mouth in a black cloud. His father was instantly relaxed, a rare sight for the king, but Kohl rarely saw his father anymore. King Athanas tipped the bottle toward Kohl, but he refused. Kohl would need his mind clear if he was to deal with the king all day. At least until he figured out what his father wanted.

“So…my…boy,” King Athanas coughed out, “do you have anything to report other than your betrothed having her nightmares.” Kohl rolled his eyes, hoping his father did not catch him through the black smoke. He knew that tone of voice, that quiet disdain hidden under layers and layers of court politics.

“I have not, and neither has Commander Ajax.” The commander was named after one of those very war heroes Kohl used to aspire to be, although he hardly thought the man lived up to the name. The eagle. Ajax was skilled, Kohl would not deny that, but he was fickle with his emotions and indulged in the niceties of flesh too often. “We have spies out searching for more information on Nexos, but anytime we get close, get a lead, it disappears. Some have even found remains of people they were tracking, imprints of their bodies against the ground in a black dust.” His blood boiled even thinking about that place, that kingdom, that wretched man who sat upon its throne.

“Normally, I wouldn’t trust a word that comes out of the commander’s mouth,” the king’s eyes narrowed, his tone too pointed and vicious for this conversation, “but my spies have told me the same.” His father folded his hands in his lap. “King Nikolaos has a way with such dark forces even when he is locked away in that decaying castle of his. He can suffocate anyone with the shadows—and will—whether they hide information or not. A mad man made from the decline of his kingdom.”

Kohl looked at his father as his face went taut, as if he was remembering something significant from the past. Not Katrin being kidnapped. No, this look was personal.

“You did not know, my boy, what they called him before the treaty? The Bringer of Shadows, able to manipulate the very air around you, strip the life right from your lungs before you cease to exist at all. That dark magic was forbidden among my people, the sorcerers, but a god? There were no restrictions on what they might do. The foulest man I ever laid eyes on.” King Athanas spit on the ground. “May he one day rot in the dungeons of Aidesian. A spitting image of the monsters Aidoneus keeps down there.”

Kohl clenched his fists, like father, like son. Nik was just as wretched as the older male. “He shouldn’t be able to get away with that just because he is a god. Is that not why the people fought against the Olympi?”

“Don’t be so naive, my boy. The gods, new or olde, care only for their own kind. They will destroy everything in their path to power.” King Athanas inhaled the olerae once more.

“Not Katrin,” Kohl’s stomach turned, pinching the bridge of his nose attempting to curb the headache that formed. “She would not wish harm on anyone.”

He knew it, deep in his bones. She would only use her power to protect those around her, not destroy them.

“Maybe so.” The King’s eyes darkened as his eyelids drooped behind the smoky haze of the drug. “Maybe she will not be a threat at all.”

Kohl pondered the words his father spoke as he descended the stairs to meet Katrin in the great hall. Maybe she will not be a threat at all. He’d said it with such sureness. With a hint of malice. This was the worst possible time for her to greet Khalid—when there was such disdain swirling about in his father’s head. It was Kohl’s own fault for mentioning the nightmares to him in the first place. A breach of trust, something Katrin hadn’t even wanted to confide in him as to not cause worry. Now all there seemed to be was worry. What would he tell her? Nothing. He would tell her nothing and hope that his father kept that knowledge to himself.

Approaching the wrought iron doors that led to the hall, a flash of orange and red silk caught his eye. Gods, the dress was heinous. What poor member of court was forced into—

“Kohl, there you are!” a familiar voice called. It was not a member of court at all, but his bride, somehow persuaded into wearing the colors of his people. At least his father would find that appealing, especially with the low-cut bodice and tight laces along her stomach. It gave the appearance of curves she did not have, ones that were a sign of rank and beauty in Morentius. A preference Kohl did not share with his father. He thought Katrin looked like the ideal woman, especially now that her collar and cheekbones were cut sharp against her tan skin. It made her appear older, more regal than she became in the years after her kidnapping.

“You look captivating, my darling Aikaterine.” Kohl looped his hand around her waist, pulling Katrin in for a brief kiss. When he retreated from her lips, a scowl covered her delicate face.

“You know I can tell when you’re lying, Kohl. The dress is atrocious, but it seems I already insulted your father by not being present at the docks. Hopefully this aids in his forgiveness of the unintended slight,” she replied, hands shaking by her sides. That was not a good sign—her tremors only appeared when her anxiety was at its worst. Another thing his father would take note of.

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