Page 31 of A Curse of Salt

Each page pulled me in deeper, spinning tales from sea foam and salt, from wooden hulls to sandcastle spires. They told of the great King Nereus and his beloved daughter. Of the water spirits that played in the shallows of their tide-bound kingdom. I read of Arenes, a glistening seaside city, its shores pebbled with activity, where marketplaces lined the docks and the people mingled with the waves.

Most of all, I read of the sea. Of the goddess who watched fiercely over everything her tides touched, from the voyagers who journeyed her waters to the creatures that dwelled beneath. To these people, she had a name. Nerida.

I thought back to the brutal battle I’d witnessed, to the sea serpent devouring the fallen – wondering if these two worlds could ever have existed together. If the expanse beneath me could be the same one from which Nerida had once rippled forth to bring a kingdom into being. And if so, whether there was anyone but Mors and I left who knew her name.

Curlicues of ink and colour framed each page, the vellum worn thin and gold leaf details flaking. The book wasn’t just old, it was well loved.

Daylight waned and the crew trickled inside, leaving me all but alone on a twilight-stained deck, the sun winking a slow farewell over lapsing waves.

I drank in the stories of the Sinking Cities; and I knew, the moment it began, that the last – and longest – tale of the book would be my favourite. The sound of the tide crashing against city walls curled around me, echoing through a rough-hewn marble palace that carried rivers in its cobbled veins. The story told of a young prince, of his love for Arenes and its surrounding isles. A love that would endure long after their kingdom sank below the waves.

Dusk turned to night. With a sigh, I gathered my skirts and returned to my room. The rest of the story called to me, dimming what little desire I had to see the King. I didn’t bother to wonder what reason he could have for inviting company, but I was eager to see Mors again, at least.

The book will be here when I get back, I told myself firmly.

Soon I was tugging myself free of my clothes in my warmly lit chamber and dragging my fingers through the salt-tangled ravels of my hair, wishing I had a mirror. I gave up quickly, sweeping my unruly curls into a knot at the top of my head and letting loose ringlets fall about my face.

I dressed in pale blue overskirts and tied a soft navy corset under my bust, wondering what my sisters would’ve said if they could see me now. Aberdeen would’ve cringed at the grime that darkened my skin, the smell of dust and ink and roses that clung to me. Felicie might’ve said I looked like myself again.

Sighing, I headed for the door. I was late and my mind was cluttered, so I didn’t notice as I hurried out into the hall and—

‘Watch it,’ Golde hissed.

I stumbled back in alarm. ‘Sorry,’ I mumbled, smoothing down my skirts in an attempt to regain my composure.

Aron sauntered up the stairs a moment later, greeting us with an easy smile. ‘Play nice,’ he warned Golde, winking at me as he passed.

‘I am,’ Golde snapped, following Aron into the dining hall. ‘Ain’t like I stabbed her,’ she muttered, letting the doors swing shut behind her, almost hitting me in the face. I pushed my way indignantly into the room, my gaze immediately drawn to the shadow by the fireplace.

The Heartless King wasn’t alone, his head dipped low as he conversed with a woman, one vaguely familiar but whose name I didn’t know. She turned when we entered, breezing straight over to me with a smile.

‘Ye must be Ria,’ she grinned, long black braids dancing about her shoulders. ‘So glad I finally get to meet ye.’

Before I could reply, the woman yanked me into a tight hug, soft curves encircling me with warmth. It’d been so long since I’d felt such a comforting touch that once my shock faded, I almost hugged her back.

‘Lass, meet Una,’ Aron remarked, walking past us to take his seat at the table.

When she finally pulled away, Una was still beaming at me. She was gorgeous – charcoal hair, ebony skin, rosewood eyes. Her skirts were stitched in multicoloured cloth and her ears pierced with rows of small gold hoops that twinkled in the firelight.

‘Nice to meet you, too,’ I said, eyeing her sceptically. There didn’t seem to be a cold bone in her body, yet she stood among those closest to the Heartless King. It felt wrong not to be afraid.

‘I hope ye’ve not been too lonely, lass,’ Una said, pulling out the chair beside Aron’s and offering it to me.

I slid into it reluctantly, knowing full well that the seat to my right belonged to the King. I said nothing, but the thought of sitting so close to him for a whole evening set my teeth on edge. I was at least glad to see Mors already seated across from me, warmth lighting his ringed eyes.

‘I’ve managed,’ I told Una, offering the white-haired man a smile.

Golde threw herself down beside Mors as the King’s shadow fell over the table. I kept my gaze fixed on my plate as he took his seat, his proximity curling around the edges of my consciousness.

Our meals were often shrouded in an ominous disquiet, but framed by the easy chatter of those who stood by him, whose lives were woven into the deadly fabric of his own, it made me even uneasier. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this – warm, almost familiar. Especially when Una leaned around Aron and asked me with sparkling eyes, ‘Tell me Ria, has our Sebastien been his usual merry self the last couple o’ weeks?’

It took a moment for the name to settle on my ears. Sebastien. So that was what they’d called the man before he named himself King.

I lifted my eyes slowly from my plate as I spoke. ‘If you consider quiet rage to be good spirits,’ I replied drily, feeling his gaze upon me. It had been a long month.

Aside from a low chuckle from Aron, the crew’s eyes darted to their King. Golde’s narrowed to slits, the knife in her hand throwing candlelight at me, a reminder of the dangers that still lurked in the shadows around us. They were the danger – I was the prey.

‘Ah.’ Aron sighed, lips still turned up in a smile. ‘The two o’ ye should lighten up one o’ these days.’

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