Page 23 of A Curse of Salt

Golde’s hand left my arm, darting to the hilt of her sabre. I glanced around, noticing the way the crew encircled us like standing stones, except I wasn’t sure if they were trying to keep me in, or the other pirates out.

‘My only problem,’ the King mused, turning his sword over in his hands, ‘is how Bane will know to come if there’s no one left to tell him?’

Hesitation darted across Cullen’s gaze.

No, I thought. They couldn’t kill them – they were supposed to take word of me to Bane. Gods only knew how long it would take for him to come looking for me himself, which made these newcomers my surest means of escape, yet . . .

I shuddered, looking over at Cullen’s crew, their faces painted in shades of bloodlust. Instinctively, I inched closer to Aron.

‘Ye wonder why we all left ye?’ Cullen spat, his reedy voice soaked in spite. ‘We got sick o’ fightin’ fer a cap’n who wouldn’t fight fer us. Got sick o’ bein’ ignored by a coward—’

A shriek punctured the air as Golde lunged forward and pitched her sword straight through the captain’s chest.

Chaos erupted.

8

Cries filled the salty night air as pirates from both sides collided in a roar of clashing steel and crimson mist. I flinched at the uproar as the crew barrelled past me, their bodies blocking my way as they jostled towards the impending bloodbath.

I glanced over at the King, desperate for an escape and knowing I’d find none. I could’ve sworn he met my gaze for a moment, wiping spattered blood from his chin. His sword hung loose in his palm as he waited, patiently, for his first victim. I was frozen in place, nose wrinkling at the metallic scent that painted the breeze, my veins coursing with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

Only when there were ten men upon him did the Heartless King finally move – and he moved like the sea.

He was ferocious, inhuman, almost graceful. He wore power like waves wore the cliffs, shattering rocks and dragging them under. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, terrified and in awe. It wasn’t a fight; it was slaughter.

A dozen men met their fates right before my eyes. Their faces blanched with fear and blood loss, souls quaking as they fell to their knees and took their final, shuddering breaths. With every ruthless blow, every sweep of his blade, I could see the strength that rippled beneath the King’s heavy cloak, his weapon a pure extension of himself. All the while, his hood never slipped; never revealed a fraction more of the face beneath. Even as he tossed his enemies back, splintered their bones and impaled them upon their own swords. What was he hiding? More importantly—

What was I waiting for?

Heart pressed against the brackets of my ribs, I scanned the deck for a chance of escape. But I was beginning to realise that even if I could leap across the divide and make it to the other ship, there would hardly be anyone left alive to save me. The air was thick with dying breaths, each prayer slicing through me as keenly as a sword.

A rough hand yanked me backwards. I yelped, smelling the rancid breath of my captor, the festering stench of a man living on nothing but ale and plunder. And a knife, pressed to my throat.

‘Gotcha,’ he snarled.

I felt the prick of his blade as it dug into my skin, my heart thrilling in fear as his muscles went taut around me. A build-up to the strike that could end my life before I’d even begun to live it. I tensed, ready to fight back – though I hardly knew how – but before I could, his body slackened and the man collapsed to the ground. My stomach lurched at the sickening sound of tearing flesh as blood spurted from a gash in his neck.

I spun around to meet the reproachful glare of Golde as she tugged her dagger free from my assailant’s limp body.

‘Th— thank you,’ I stuttered.

The pirate raised her blade, still dripping with gore. ‘Don’t thank me,’ she hissed, wild eyes glittering. ‘I’d cut out yer heart if it wouldn’t cost me mine.’

She didn’t hesitate a moment longer before turning back to the fray and plunging her dagger through the chest of another man.

Anger bubbled up over the stir of relief and revulsion in my gut. I pushed my way through the thicket of bodies, heat clawing at my eyes, my boots tracking through pools of blood. I dodged fists and swinging blades, shoving aside pirates twice my size – but before I could reach the safety of the forecastle, the night sky erupted in barbaric cheers.

It was over. A hundred pirates tipped their heads back and cried praise to their tyrant king, a rolling thunder of celebration.

Bile rose in my throat. I’d read stories of battle for so long, thinking I’d never see it with my own eyes, not understanding what it really meant. Now it was over and I was left choking on the coppery air, caught in the mire of a blood-red boneyard.

The crew worked fast to clear the deck, tossing fallen sailors to the deep, their blades and boots smearing crimson across the wood. I watched two men lift the body of a boy no older than I was, his once-white shirt stained with blood.

‘Not exactly a pretty sight, is it?’

I blinked, the crowd of bodies moving around me. Mors stood in front of me, a crisp navy shirt tucked neatly into his trousers, looking like he’d had the sense to stay away from the chaos. I gave him a weak smile, still unnerved by what I’d witnessed. This was just another day for them.

Mors beckoned for me to follow him back on to the main deck. I hesitated, but my desire to talk to him outweighed the call of my bed, of safety, and I trailed along the starboard behind him.

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