Page 64 of A Curse of Salt

I swayed on my feet. My mind whirled, spiralling into the numbing heat. I knew that voice – missed it most at night. But the burning in my shoulder drowned it out. I could feel it, the fire, leaching through my veins with every pump of my heart.

It’s killing me. The realisation crept in hot as the creature’s venom, dark as the shadows that swarmed around me.

‘Don’t say that,’ came that voice. That tide-crashing, sand-coarse voice. The world swept away from beneath me, my head falling back into a nest of warmth, the smell of my cliffs curling in my nostrils.

‘It hurts.’ The words tumbled clumsily from my mouth, muddled by the swimming walls and dimming moonlight.

‘Aye, blackbird, I know.’

The world was a blur but he stood steady, leaning over me on the bed, his words undercut by the tearing of material.

I heard thunder in the distance. Quiet, hurried thunder, then voices that made my eyes ache to reopen. Cold air breezed against my shoulder, tempering the fire that scorched me from within. I tried to call out, to say their names, but the darkness ripped the words from my throat, drowning out the world once and for all.

Only one thought stuck, a stubborn star in the all-consuming night.

Again.

A searing pain in my shoulder tore me from the dark. I lurched awake, a sharp ache lacing my movements as I lifted my head from the pillow. I lay flat on my stomach, the chamber filled with late afternoon light and murmured conversation.

Golde sat perched on the rim of the claw-footed tub, talking to Aron and Una, who lounged in chairs by the window. My gaze drifted to the end of the bed, finding Sebastien hovering there, his eyes fixed on me. A once-white tunic hung loosely over his bandaged chest. Both were streaked with blood.

My blood, I realised. My heart skipped.

‘All done,’ said Mors.

The old man was seated on the mattress behind me, a needle in hand. I angled my head to catch a glimpse of the three long claw-marks marring my shoulder blade, the skin knitted back together by rows of tiny, neat stitches.

‘How’d you do that?’ I asked groggily.

‘Have to make myself useful somehow,’ Mors smiled, patting my leg. ‘The ship may mend herself, but sailors don’t. Perhaps I could teach you sometime.’

My heart clenched at the kindness in his voice. Sometime felt faraway, but the thought of spending it with Mors was a comfort to my aching bones. ‘I’d like that.’

He tucked a leather pouch into his trousers and rose from the bed as Una moved closer, helping me sit up and pull a clean shirt down over my head.

‘What about the venom?’ I asked. ‘It burned . . . I thought it was going to kill me.’

Mors shrugged. ‘There wasn’t a body left for me to examine, but it seems the venom wasn’t potent enough to kill, only weaken.’

Weak. I resisted the urge to scowl.

‘It’s because I killed that creature,’ I whispered. The crew exchanged glances around me, looking unconvinced. ‘It wanted revenge.’

I looked down at my hands, pain throbbing in my head and my shoulder. Clean. My hands were as clean as they were ever going to be. He’d saved me again – not just from the monster, but from its blood.

Una settled down beside me, resting a comforting hand on my arm. ‘Ye’re safe now, lass,’ she said, but her brows were drawn low.

I gave her a dubious smile, glancing around at the crew. They all wore equally troubled expressions.

‘Knew she’d never play fair,’ Golde grumbled, scowling out at the dreary horizon.

‘Who?’ I asked. And what does she mean, play?

Aron shook his head. ‘Nothin’, lass. No one.’

I shot him a disgruntled look. I was tired of living in the dark, especially if my life was somehow at stake.

‘Will one of you tell me what’s going on?’ I demanded.

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