Page 27 of A Curse of Salt

‘Thank you.’ Strangely, I meant it. ‘It seems you and Mors are the only decent men around here.’

Aron snickered. ‘Well, if it’s books ye’re after, Mors can surely help ye better than meself. Assumin’ ye don’t wanna ask His Majesty, o’ course?’

Didn’t need to ask, I thought darkly. I’d been so enraptured by the story the King had handed me I’d read it twice already – so different from anything I’d read before, so excruciatingly poetic.

‘No, I don’t,’ I huffed. My uneasy breath faded across the water, shadows climbing the sunlit planks.

Aron glanced edgily over his shoulder. ‘Wanted to give ye somethin’, actually,’ he said. The pirate unsheathed a dagger from his baldric and held it out to me. Its iron hilt was cast into the shape of a rose, ornate etchings swirling down the grip.

I took it hesitantly, the cold metal heavy and unfamiliar in my palm. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘Gods know where ye might end up,’ Aron said, scratching his head. ‘But I’ll rest easier knowin’ ye can protect yerself.’

I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered or afraid. Protect myself from what? If these pirates weren’t my enemies, then . . . I glanced down at the blade, at the blooming iron flower. ‘I’m not sure I’d even know how to use it,’ I admitted.

Aron grinned. ‘Figured as much.’

He grabbed my fingers, pulling them apart and turning the dagger upside down in my hand. I gripped its hilt as he rotated my forearm, pointing the tip of the blade outwards, at him.

‘Like this,’ he said, manoeuvring my arm in a stabbing motion.

My stomach clenched. I doubted I was strong enough to cause much damage, but the thought of actually wielding something so dangerous made my heart pound.

Aron took a step back, eyes gleaming. ‘C’mon, then.’

I swallowed when I realised what he wanted. He spread his arms wide, smirking in anticipation. I glowered at him, making a feeble lurch forward and bringing my weapon arm down like he’d shown me.

Aron laughed. ‘Harder’n that, lass.’

I struck out again, my temper rising, but he dodged my attack as easily as swatting a fly.

‘Better,’ he encouraged, smirk growing.

When I lunged again, he reached out and pushed me, sending me stumbling. I recovered, darting forward faster, harder. With a rough swipe, he blocked my swinging arm and my dagger clattered to the ground. I picked it up with a scowl, raising it again.

My next attack was vicious, fuelled by irritation. Aron’s widening grin only spurred me on as my swings grew bolder, fiercer, until we were almost fighting – him to deflect my blows and me to wipe that damned look off his face.

With nothing to defend himself, I soon had Aron backed up against the quarterdeck, shoving him roughly into the wall, raising my blade to his throat.

‘How’s that?’ I growled, wiping a trickle of sweat from my forehead with my free wrist.

Laughter rang out and I glanced behind us to see a dozen or so of the crew gathered around, watching on in amusement.

Aron straightened, looking impressed. ‘Not bad, fer a princess,’ he conceded with a wink. He shouldered past me, cursing good-naturedly at the pirates who mocked him from the sidelines. Then he reached for his cutlass, drawing the sword from its scabbard at his waist. He raised an eyebrow at me and grinned.

‘Think ye’re ready fer this?’

The dining hall shone with faded splendour. The King stood once more by the flames of the hearth, his shadows splayed across the walls. I crept towards him, drawn by an invisible string that wouldn’t heed my growling instincts. Not afraid, I tried to remind myself. I was half sure he was only a man; it was easy to forget, when simply being around him made me feel so hollow.

I came up beside him, the light of the fire playing across my exposed shoulders. I’d spent the entire day on deck with Aron and the crew and I was covered in grime, sweat and bruises – tendrils of dark, carving me out before the flames.

I peered up at the King, still anxious to catch a glimpse of what lay beyond his hood, but the shadows went deep as ever, impervious even to the dancing blaze. His gaze fell to my bare skin, a tangible whisper of something invisible that swept along the curve of my collarbones. I would’ve sworn I could smell him beyond the smoke from the fire – but the scent was so like the sea, I couldn’t be sure.

When he finally spoke, his words were stilted. Measured, yet somehow uncertain. ‘You never told me your name.’

I blinked. You never asked. Why would he? No man bothered to name his pawns.

‘Ria,’ I said warily, even more on edge than before. ‘Well – Aurelia is my given name, but I prefer Ria.’

---