Page 71 of A Wrecking of Salt and Fire

Only the captain and a small group of the crew should be out manning the course of the ship and the sails. The rest should be passed out in their quarters, bellies full of food and wine. Normally, Kohl heard the snores of the men through the ship’s walls.

Kohl jumped out of his bed, slinging on his red linen shirt and black trousers. Careful to sheath one blade to his hip. It was not impossible that The Nostos had found them first—or perhaps some other pirate that dwelled off the coast of The Northern Lands they passed by. He could only hope the pirates could be tempted by coins and treasures rather than their usual lust for blood.

A little piece of Kohl hoped it was the Prince of the Lost Isles—that he would get a chance to slay him before they even had to reach Skiatha.

But as Kohl exited his quarters and reached the deck of The Hydra there was no other ship in sight.

Instead, all Kohl could see was an endless sea around them, darkened black by the starless night sky. The ship’s deck had been flooded with the sea as The Hydra began to rock against newly formed waves. And men—he saw men, as they flung themselves from the rail of the ship into the endless sea.

“Calliope! Calliope, I am coming! Don’t worry, my love, I will be with you soon.” One of the soldiers yelled to the great unknown as he hung from the side of the ship, before stepping off and sinking below.

“Dion! Dion, where are you! I can’t find you!” another screamed as he splashed in the water, a creature gripping him and dragging him beneath.

Kohl stood, mouth agape, as more and more men rushed to their deaths. Only a few did not. They stood equally frightened and confused. The soldiers of Morentius were not naive to death during battle. But this—this was an unwilling and unknowing sacrifice to the sea.

In the center of it all stood Dolion, his eyes wide and as dark as the sea. Kohl raced over to him as the screaming began to stop. He gripped the older man tight around his throat.

“What did you do? What did you do to my men?” the king seethed, his hand gripping so tightly Dolion could barely utter a word.

“Please. I did not cause this,” he sputtered, gasping for breath beneath Kohl’s firm palm. Kohl could see the faint glint of fear in his eyes. One that longed for the comfort of another, but not for death—his own or others. Kohl pushed the man away, as Dolion coughed, attempting to steady his breathing.

“The men—they said they heard voices before they jumped to the seas to perish. They spoke of their partners back home. What poison lingers in these depths?” Kohl gripped Dolion’s arm. Only a small portion of them had survived. Kohl glanced around now counting six of his men and Dolion.

The ruddy older man lifted his brow, rubbing at his now bare throat. “A curious thing, the call of a siren. It bends the will of men and women alike, beckoning them to their death in the depths of the sea. It was said they were scorned by the goddess Demeter after Hades stole her daughter.” Kohl’s jaw clenched. Of course the seedy man would speak so freely of the Olympi.

“That doesn’t explain why the men thought they were hearing people who are not aboard this ship.” He should have just strangled the man, they would be better for it.

“A siren will only sing with the voice of one bound by marriage,” Dolion smiled, a violent grin reaching from ear to ear, “or by Fate.”

Kohl brushed his hand over his face, rustling it through his sleep-torn hair. “And those who were not affected by the lure of the wicked creatures?”

Dolion’s eyes darkened to a deep ebony, the same look Kohl’s father had when he spoke in anger. “Many things make you immune to the siren’s call. Many things, Your Majesty.” There it was again. The uneasy chill that crept up Kohl’s skin like a spider.

He wished to be off this ship, glad to be away from the oily man who stood before him and Dolion’s riddles. But first, they needed to finish the journey to Skiatha. To Katrin. Find The Nostos and the captain who took her.

One of the remaining soldiers came up behind Kohl. “Excuse me, Your Majesty, but it looks like a storm is quickly approaching. We will need to make haste if we plan to outrun it before we reach the Lost Isle. According to the charts Dolion procured, we have around two days until we reach port.”

Kohl looked out to the west and indeed a storm was brewing. The skies had begun to cloud over a deep gray, the seas a swirling dark green now replacing the brief blackness of the siren’s cove. Even from here Kohl could feel the winds pick up, the chill in the air heighten. The salty air around them thickened so much he could barely breathe.

Trickling in from the distance was a wave of fog, one they could not navigate through if it caught up to the ship. Magic compass or not, that kind of dense, blinding air would surely leave them crashing upon a rocky shore. Kohl couldn’t help but wonder if this was where their luck ran its course. If the gods had indeed sought retribution for disturbing their peace. If the compass knew he was not its rightful owner.

“Keep course and travel as swiftly as we can to the east. We will sail through the night once more.” The soldier nodded before returning to his post at the helm of the ship, charts in hand. Kohl gripped the compass tightly in his hand, even as the blinding light seared his skin.

Two more days. Two more days until he was with his betrothed once more. Two more days until the bastard prince was dealt with.

He was grateful, for whatever grace had allowed him to still stand aboard The Hydra rather than be swallowed by the deep unknown. But as the ship sailed farther from the storm, Kohl could not help but wonder what made him immune to the siren’s song. Why had he not heard Katrin’s voice beckon from the depth of the seas?

Chapter Thirty-Six

Katrin

Ander had been moody since the night they stayed at the fortress in the woods. Since then, he had not spoken to Katrin. Three days. Three days of utter silence. Not on the walk into the mountains. Not to show her the cabin she would stay in—a lavish one by barrack standards. Not even when the men and women would meet for dinner in the Castle Phyli—a large stone building carved straight into the side of the mountain.

It did not help that it had rained for the last three days. Not a heavy storm, but enough that caused the training pits outside to flood, and an uncomfortable second day walking through the woods. Shivering most of the journey into the mountains, Katrin’s boots were soaked and squeaky, her leather trousers shrinking closer to her body. Her hair continuously plastered to her face despite starting out in a tight braid down her back.

If anyone asked her, it could not get worse than this. Katrin had tried to apologize once, the first night they had arrived at Castle Phyli. She had cornered Ander at dinner where he had elected to sit at the opposite end of the room. When she apologized to him, all the captain did was grunt, look away, continuing on with the conversation he had been having before she strolled over. If that was the way he wanted to handle things, Katrin would start ignoring him too.

The only bright spot had been her training with Leighton in the main hall of the castle. Since the captain was no longer speaking to her, he was also refusing to train her, or had simply not shown up to the sessions. In his place, the nauarch volunteered his time.

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