Page 36 of A Curse of Salt

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The young prince stared down at his hands, fronds of bronze flesh not yet scarred by life’s callouses. They dripped blood to the marble beneath; a portrait of his future painted in rivers of red.

The old king’s blood seeped into the cracks, filling jagged crevices with dark, hot crimson. It ran like veins through the palace, a swirling mosaic of red and white. The prince’s home was flooded with the smell of death and the colour of his violent new dawn.

His father’s sword lay where it had fallen beside his mother’s body, her blood mingling with her husband’s until they were indistinguishable, made one even in death.

The princeling sank to his knees, tears falling thick from his seascape eyes. He had failed – failed to separate them, failed to save her. He had failed his people, too. Doomed them to the hands of a boy with a monster’s blood running through his veins, dripping from his fingertips.

His blood-spattered face ashen, he looked up at the vaulted arches of the throne room, watching the black sea swirl outside the windows, slinking ever closer . . .

My head snapped up, jerking me awake. Rain lashed against the windows, streaking the library with silver-blue light.

I blinked the drowsiness from my eyes and wiped a smudge of saliva from the corner of my mouth. I didn’t know when I’d drifted off, nor how long I’d slept for, but moonlight danced across the painted ceiling and the room was darker than usual. It took me a moment to realise why, glancing up at the unlit chandelier and—

‘Good evening.’

I jumped, my head whipping towards the opposite end of the table where a hulking figure sat fused with the shadows.

Sebastien.

It would take some time to reconcile such a beast with such a human name.

Murderer, my instincts growled. There was an even darker truth to that title now.

‘You never came to dinner.’ The King’s cloaked shoulders shifted as he leaned forward in his seat, closing the book he’d been reading with a snap.

‘I wasn’t hun—’ I glanced down at the dark blue cover in his hands and gasped. ‘Where’d you get that?’

‘Could ask you the same question.’ There was a soft menace in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

The hairs on my arms prickled as I looked down at my empty hands, shuddering at the thought of him lifting Mors’ book from them while I slept. Bastard.

‘Give it back.’ I strode around the table towards him, hands clenching into fists. I’d been so close to the end. I needed to know what happened.

Sebastien stood and I backed away instinctively. ‘I asked you where you found it,’ he repeated.

‘I found it here,’ I told him, gesturing at the room full of books, unsure why the truth felt so dangerous.

‘Don’t lie to me.’

‘Why does it matter?’

The King stepped closer and the briars twisted through the chandelier trembled overhead. It reminded me of the windows that had shattered from the force of his rage on the day we met, as if the ship’s heart beat in synchrony with his own. Not that he had one.

‘Don’t let Mors fill your head with foolish hopes,’ he said. ‘He’s wasted his own life chasing sea mist.’

‘It’s just a book,’ I said. ‘What, now I’m not even allowed to imagine there might be a better world out there?’

‘I’ll save you the trouble. There isn’t.’

My temper ignited. What right did he have to take anything more from me?

‘Just give it back,’ I snapped.

‘There are thousands of books in here. Are you still not satisfied?’ Sebastien’s voice lowered, jagged with restrained frustration.

‘So this is about your pride?’ I cried, his composure only infuriating me more.

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