Page 5 of A Spell of Bones and Madness
Farah stepped between her and the door, lips in a tight line. “No thank you?”
Ember stepped around the princess, scowling at Ajax in the process. “You haven’t earned that kind of respect from me yet.”
She probably never would.
Howling wind left over from a storm whipped in Ember's face, salt peppering her skin as she made her way over to the nauarch and Kristos. Arms folded, Kristos arched his brows up with a questioning gaze at Ember’s harsh stomps across the deck. She liked the older man, though it hurt to speak with him. His demeanor and aura were so distinctly similar to Iason’s, even the way his eyes sparkled with pride when she whispered some backhanded comment about Ajax under her breath. But Ember had decided she would no longer get close to anyone new, not anymore. Not after the man that had been by her side her whole life, the one that gave her the courage to even be the Prytan in the first place, had fallen before her eyes. So instead, Ember diverted her gaze to Leighton, tightening her scowl and acting as if her task was an utter inconvenience.
Leighton stood at the base of the main mast, attaching some sort of mechanism to Thalia to hoist her to the top. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing spiraling tattoos, runes she did not understand, all patterned around a compass rose. It was intricate and stunning, and admittedly, Ember was jealous. The men andwomen of the Spartanis all received a tattoo after completing their first battle—something that symbolized the bravery they showed against evil. Ember never had the chance to prove herself, to be marked with such a reminder of her own courage. Never would she have that chance. She wondered if Leighton’s marking held similar meaning, or if perhaps it was just the brand of a pirate who spent his life on the seas.
“Gods, it took you long enough, Ember.” Leighton snatched the halyard replacement from Ember’s hands with a bit too much force for her liking, especially when he had barely seen the light of day since they left Alentus. “We need to fix this right away.The Nostoscan't sail at the speed we need her to with only the smaller sails.”
Ember bit her bottom lip and started to pick away at her nail beds. He was right though, they needed to make haste to their final destination. Where were they even going? No one had informed her of the isle where they would make port. There were not enough supplies to make it all the way to Skiatha, or so Ajax told her, but to stop at one of the smaller isles would allow time forThe Hydraor one of King Athanas and King Edmund's ships to catch up. That was, if they were even still following them. The two kings had what they wanted now, at least as far as Ember knew. Alexander, the Prince of Nexos, was locked up in the Alentian dungeons, and they had run off the only people who could contest their usurping of the throne. Ember's blood began to boil under her skin once more.
Grabbing the mechanism from Leighton, Thalia showed no signs of fear to be scaling such a tall pillar with only a rope as her safety. Instead, a bland look flashed across her face as she tied therope around her waist. “Is someone going to haul me up, or are you both going to stare aimlessly at nothing all day?” Thalia waved her hands in front of them both. Clearly Leighton was distracted by something as well.
Leighton pulled firmly on the rope as Thalia scampered up the small wooden planks nailed across the mast. The way her long nails dug into the sides, Ember doubted the seer needed the rope to help her up at all. She dangled at the top for a few moments, stringing or tying knots or something before slowly descending, kicking her way back from the mast with each plank of wood she passed. Crew members came over to get orders from the nauarch before hoisting the mainsail back up with the repaired halyard.
“Now that we have the mainsail fixed, do we finally have a waypoint?” A faint breeze blew from behind the princess, the looming presence of an unseen person standing behind her sent goosebumps rising along her arms.
“Yes,” a familiar voice replied. “We have a set destination.” Katrin brushed the wind-whipped tendrils of her wavy brown hair behind her ears. Her face was pinched, and it looked like she needed a bath. Sweat dripped from her brow despite the chilled autumn air, and her fists were planted firmly on her hips.
Ember had not seen much of her sister since the day they boardedThe Nostos. She hadn't wanted to see anyone—well, that is anyone except Leighton—so Ember had let her be. But it looked like the tides had turned. That her sister had cried enough tears for their home, for their people, for the man she left behind.
“And where exactly are we going?” Ember asked.
A determined grin crossed Katrin's face. Turning toward the eastern horizon, Katrin inhaled a long breath, closing her eyes asthe spray from the waves peppered her skin. Ember could have sworn a low rumble sounded in the skies as her sister opened her eyes and said, “We sail for Nexos.”
Chapter Three
Ajax
Chapter Four
Ander
The air was foul on his tongue, a mix of rot and decay, of bodies left too long in a damp and chilling space. It was colder here than where they held him last time. The brig on the ship had been small, but the stuffiness of being below the waters surrounded by planked wood and dust had kept him warm—it almost made him feel at home, back on his ship. This dungeon, however, was stale and teeth-chattering, what Ander expected the deepest realm of Aidesian to feel like. A fire sat in one corner, just out of reach from where they kept his legs chained to the stone bricks of the wall, but the flame gave off no heat, its swirling reds, yellows, and blues sucking the warmth out of the room rather than feeding it. The wood never burned through, spelled to staywhole, a reminder that his reality wasn’t his—wasn’t nature’s—to control.
A small wooden tray lay forgotten to his side. Crumbs from the stale bread and moldy cheese they fed him morning and night lay scattered about. Rats scurried around the tray, battling each other for who might snap up the bits left behind by the broken man. Thankfully, he left enough for the rats to avoid eating away at his own flesh. How much longer would it be before they too tired of the minimal nourishment and came after something more filling?
Ander could smell other things—things he wished not to think of. Blood coated his forehead and chin from where he was beaten, a sticky reminder of how powerless he truly was against these men. The golden cuffs still burned thick lines into his wrists—his power depleted, at least for now. He could feel it there, yearning to claw its way out from his gut. The little flickers that sent a foggy hue through his mind. Through his very soul. Reaching, reaching, reaching, but never making it to the surface.
Leighton had told him the horrors of Cyther. Of how these golden objects that now fed off him were made. Ander had not contemplated the pain they would cause when used on someone like him. On a fully powered god. The first time, when he was younger, they felt numb and tiring, a mere nuisance as he’d wasted away in the brig of Edmund’s ship,The Typhon. Now, sitting here in this dungeon, unable to move his broken bones or fight back, it was unbearable. The slaughtered women sacrificed to Hades, it was as if he could hear their screams and pleas. Feel their tears and pooling hot blood mixing with his as it slid along his skin. Undiluted terror radiated out from the two concentric circles thatbound his hands together and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Night was always better. The guards would give him a cup of broth and some fatty bits of meat, no doubt left over from whatever lavish meal they ate above. They kept him fed, barely, but enough that he knew they did not want him dead. No—King Edmund and King Athanas wanted him alive for something. He just didn't know what. Was it revenge for him escaping? Was it to force Katrin’s hand to save him and return to Alentus? If there was one thing Ander did know with the utmost certainty, it was that Katrin should stay as far away from her kingdom as possible. Because the two kings would kill her. Ander was sure of it. Even Kohl, who claimed he loved Katrin, would not be able to stop them. Kohl was merely a puppet, an object Khalid and Edmund used to do their dirty work.
Accompanying them, Kohl would only sit there, ebony eyes gleaming with hatred, foot tapping incessantly, breathing heavy. Kohl would watch as they carved up Ander’s body, never participating in the act fully. Sometimes, the King of Alentus would graze his thumb over the shaven teeth he now bore—the sign of a true Morentian warrior. A warrior from the south. One that would rip out the throat of those that stood against him if necessary. A show of power, perhaps. That although he did not torture Ander directly, he could. But every once in a while, when King Edmund used one of his more treacherous methods of inflicting pain, Ander could have sworn Kohl flinched.
Leaning his head back against the stone wall, Ander sighed in relief. Today had been one of the worst days since he was dragged screaming down into these dungeons. Night would be comingsoon, which meant he would not be visited again. King Edmund preferred the calmness of the early morning, waking Ander with a bucket of ice water dropped over his head. Liked the way the water chilled Ander’s bones before Edmund and Khalid took fire-wrought pokers and dragged them down his skin, searing lines deep in his flesh. It was almost poetic, that such evil took place in the light of day and his only reprieve from pain came at night. Night, where he could almost picture Katrin watching him from the corner of the dungeon, begging to help him, telling Ander that he would make it if he just held on a little longer.
It was the best part of his day—imagining her face, sparkling brown and amber eyes, copper-streaked hair waving delicately over her shoulder. Her smile—gods, that smile was the one thing keeping Ander from giving into their requests. Keeping him from letting them kill him.
Footsteps sounded from down the flame-lit corridor. It would most likely be one of the guards stomping away because they had to come pick up the discarded food tray and empty the bucket they deigned to call a chamber pot. Usually the males would just toss the contents in the corner of Ander's cell. One of the many things that burned his nose when he breathed.
Ander tugged at his restraints as two men came into sight. One was decked out in a simple black shirt, sleeves rolled up showing his muscled forearms, snakes winding around each one. The other wore a silver-threaded, navy waistcoat, too fine a material to be ruined by the stench of the dungeons, though this particular man never seemed to mind. The two chattered amongst themselves for a moment before one of them broke out in a bone-chilling cackle.
There would be no rest tonight.
King Athanas slid into the light first. Seeing the Morentian man never frightened Ander, not like others who witnessed the Viper of Votios. Ander was used to his cruel forms of torture. Always physical, always brute force. King Edmund, on the other hand—although he equally enjoyed the usual manners of torture—had far more wicked ways to torment those he imprisoned. Flashes of his time spent locked in the brig haunted his memory. How the scenes and images of the ones he loved dying would play in a constant loop in his mind. How sometimes he would see each and every one of them betray him, forever held in a dungeon to rot away much like he was now. Thankfully, the king had not resorted to those methods quite yet. The ability to weave that kind of illusion when you were not a god took more power than Edmund had now. He used what manipulations his sorcery could muster on capturing Ander in the first place. It would take time or a sacrifice Ander did not think even the king would resort to.
