Page 12 of A Curse of Salt

A shout from above made our heads snap up.

‘Climb,’ Mors instructed, pushing me gently towards the ladder.

Panic fluttered in my chest as my fingers closed around the coarse ropes. I chose this, I reminded myself. It might’ve been the last choice I’d ever make, but it was mine.

I set my foot on the first rung, feeling it wobble beneath my weight. A hand reached out and grasped the ladder, holding it steady.

I glanced sharply at Mors, feeling my resolve hitch at the gesture.

‘Trust me, lass,’ he said in my ear. ‘You have nothing to fear from us.’

I fought back a laugh. Nothing to fear. Just death – possibly dismemberment.

With an incredulous huff, I began to climb, passing grimy, almost opaque windows that revealed glimpses of an interior as grand as the ship?s façade; rooms built for more than just pirates.

In the stories, it had sounded more like a shadow than a ship – planks pieced from black clouds and broken bones, nailed through with the screams of the dying. It wasn’t that. It was wood, and dully gleaming glass, and roses.

My fingers tightened around the next rung as I forced myself onwards. Nothing about this was like the stories. Stories couldn’t kill me.

You really don’t know? Mors’ words rang through my mind for the rest of my ascent. I’d come seeking truth, but all I had were more questions. More secrets to make me doubt the people I loved most. How much had they been hiding from me?

At the top, Aron hauled me over the railing, his hands firm on my waist. I stepped away the second my feet met the deck, brushing down my skirts, flustered by his closeness.

My gaze drifted upwards and I marvelled at the grandeur of the great man-of-war. Rose vines snaked up soaring masts, towards sails scarlet as their buds, their haunting beauty luring me closer to the danger beyond. Tall ships were graceful by nature, but this . . . I’d never seen such magnificence, not even in pictures, in stories. My heart stumbled, terror tripping over an inexplicable beat of excitement.

Mors appeared behind me a moment later and the three pirates led me up a flight of steps to the quarterdeck, heading for a pair of ornate doors set into the sterncastle.

My feet hesitated, the urge to flee growing stronger with each step. If it weren’t for the sound of the crew returning to the deck behind me, I might’ve taken my chances.

‘Wait here,’ Golde grunted, disappearing inside.

I stared at the doorway, the engraved wood carved into patterns of swirling thorns and roses. All too elegant to align with those images I’d pieced together from stories. The Blood Rose was a graveyard for lost and hungry souls, sailing on shadows more than wind. Not this – not . . . beautiful.

It began to rain.

I looked up at the darkened world above, drinking in the strangely mesmerising sight. Droplets cascaded down my cheeks, soft and saltless. It was a small comfort knowing that if this sky was the last thing I ever saw, it would at least be one that wept for me.

I glanced sideways at Aron, resisting the urge to ask what we were waiting for. I was fairly certain I knew the answer. Fear knifed its way between my ribs, so sharp it suddenly hurt to breathe. I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to rouse whatever lay dormant beyond those doors.

Then I felt it – a surge of power rumbling slowly through the reverberant stillness. The ship trembled, as if waking from a timeless slumber. Icy hands clutched at my lungs, halting the breath on my lips.

Run, said every nerve in my body. Run.

Shadows bled out from within, leaking on to the deck and pooling before my boots. Just when I thought the blood in my ears might drown me, the grand doors creaked open. Their hinges groaned, masking my gasp of fear as the pirates shunted me inside.

It was a navigation room, furnished with a large round table where I imagined the Heartless King took counsel, deciding whose blood should next blacken the coasts. Despite the windows that lined the walls, the cabin was dark, muted, and it took my eyes a moment to make out what lay beyond.

Another door stood open at the end of the chamber, emanating an almost tangible shadow. It was impossible to see past where the female pirate stood, staring into the darkness, but words rumbled from within.

‘What is this?’

The room rang with his voice. It wound through me like vines of lead, rooting me to the spot. My shoulders tightened, pulse quickening. He was close – too close. I had the overwhelming sensation of someone standing behind me, but when I turned my head, heart dancing in my ribs, I saw nothing. Shadows played on the walls. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

‘Brought ye a lass,’ said Golde, her tone dripping with derision. ‘Aron seems to think we should keep her.’

‘She’s Estelle’s daughter,’ Mors added. He slid me a fleeting glance. ‘The princess.’

Princess? There was that word again. Only . . . he meant Felicie. My racing heart faltered, mind ticking over the possibilities. He was lying again. He had to be.

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