Page 17 of A Curse of Salt

My head ached. Whether I could believe it or not, they all thought me a princess. Aside from Mors, they believed me to be King Oren’s sole heir. And I had to keep it that way; had to let them lure Bane to whatever fate they thought he deserved. I didn’t know why and I didn’t like it one bit, but for my sisters, I’d do it.

Like I had a choice.

I buried my face in the light grey pelts and let out a sigh. My future felt as lifeless as the creatures they’d once belonged to. I could almost feel their hungry claws digging into my mind. Slaughter, they seemed to say. That’s all you’re good for now.

Shivering, I closed my eyes and let the darkness claim me.

6

The wafting smell of warm bread stirred me awake. A gleaming silver tray sat at the foot of the bed, piled with sweet-scented cakes and fruits. The rest of the room was empty, no sign of whoever had delivered it.

My mouth watered as I stared down at the glazed shell of a pastry. What the hell was this place?

I’d slept unnervingly well, given my situation. The soft mattress and cerulean silk sheets were more luxury than I’d ever known, and it roused guilt in the pit of my stomach. What kind of sacrifice was this? A warm bed and fresh food, while my family back home would be rationing scraps until Father could drum up some new trade?

Father . . . The thought of his kind face brought up too many feelings, most of which I wasn’t ready to face.

Aside from Mors, my captors seemed satisfied that I was who they needed me to be – a princess, the heir to the throne. But I’d lived eighteen years as a merchant’s daughter; I’d spent my childhood dodging beneath the feet of sailors, reading books by candlelight while my family slept. I’d passed most of the last four years barefoot and hungry, and thinking about the sea. If I ever found my way to King Oren’s court, I’d be as far from where I was supposed to be as possible. There was no way I could ever belong to a place like that.

There must have been more to it. Must have been a reason Father hid this from us.

From me, I amended. Aberdeen had known. How much, I wasn’t sure, but enough. As if you need another reason to be better than me. I hadn’t understood her words, just two nights ago, but there it was. A spectral crown ringing my head from the day I was born – perhaps that was the reason she’d never loved me quite the way I wanted.

Too hungry to think about anything but the food in front of me, I slid the tray into my lap and bit into the crisp, sticky shell of a pastry. The sweet flavour spilled across my tongue, a mixture of soft cream and ripe fruit. I groaned, taking another bite before it struck me where the food had come from.

My stomach turned. This was a pirate ship. I was probably eating food stolen from hungry people. My people. I threw the pastry back on to the tray in disgust, ignoring my body’s cries of protest.

I grabbed the tray and returned it to the end of the bed, feeling a jolt of tenderness in my hip as I moved. Pressing a hand to my side, I could feel a bruise forming. I found the culprit in my skirts: the apple I’d taken from the cottage. Its green and brown skin didn’t exactly look appetising, especially compared to the blood-red ones that glistened on the tray, but I bit into it stubbornly, telling myself the dull flavour was better than I had any right to ask for.

When I was finished, I set the wilted core atop the tray and gazed around the room, still unsure how I fitted into it all. It was certainly no prison cell, but that didn’t stop me feeling like a caged animal.

I crossed the room and tried the door handle. It turned without complaint and the door creaked open. Startled, I slammed it shut again.

So I wasn’t a prisoner. Not to this chamber, at least. But the world at my disposal began and ended with the wooden hull of the deadliest ship I’d ever seen. Not to mention it was plagued with pirates. A bitter kind of freedom, indeed.

Still dressed in my clothes from yesterday, smelling of salt and wind and sweat, I took a deep breath and crept out into the hall, bare footsteps muffled by the layer of dust that blanketed the floor.

I sneezed. Luckily, the corridor was empty and I managed to tiptoe across to one of the two sets of ornate doors without being seen. I pressed my ear to the wood, listening for the sound of voices on the other side. Nothing. The whole forecastle felt deserted, left unlived-in for too long.

I opened the doors and slipped inside. A vaulted ceiling arched above me, the space filled with a single table, long enough to seat a dozen or more, and an empty hearth. An unlit chandelier sparked hollow light against the walls, filling the cavernous room with a dull glow.

Like my bedchamber, the room was vast and untouched by anything but time, whose passage had eaten away at the heavy curtains and strewn dust across the varnished wood, dripping waxen from candelabra stubs.

The fireplace was inset below a grand marble mantelpiece, on which rested a shattered mirror, its surface reduced to a few remaining fragments of glass. The sight unnerved me – as did the thought of lighting a fire below deck. But I supposed that whatever magic gave the shadows texture and kept the roses in bloom ensured that no fire overcame the bow of the ship.

I was retreating the way I’d come when the sound of distant voices made me pause. I lingered with my hand on the doorknob, listening. Three sets of footsteps were ascending the staircase outside.

‘He’s angry,’ came a woman’s voice, one I didn’t recognise.

‘Are you surprised?’ Mors countered. I knew it was him from the way he spoke, a gentleman in a pirate’s guise.

‘Thought he migh’ at least try,’ grumbled another. Aron.

‘And the lass?’

‘She’s so like Estelle.’ Mors’ words grew more distinct as they passed the doors behind which I hovered, breathing as shallowly as I could. ‘If anyone can . . . Well. We can only hope now.’

Aron made a noise of assent. ‘We’ve already sent word to Bray. Bane’s got ears in more places than he’s got enemies – won’t be long.’

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