Page 42 of A Curse of Salt

It’s real, it’s real, it’s real.

That meant . . . the Heartless King wasn’t just a pirate. He’d had a kingdom, once. Something real and worthwhile and his. So where was it now? And why was he so desperate to hide every part of himself?

I took another sip of wine, studying the slant of his broad shoulders over the rim of my goblet as I tried to order my thoughts. If those cities really had been erased from history, there was no way they could still exist. It would’ve taken an age for a kingdom to fade from the annals. Centuries, even. So how could he possibly go home?

‘Is revenge all that’s keeping you here?’ I cleared my throat, sure he could hear the pounding of my heart. ‘Or by home, did you mean . . . below? Where your cities are?’ I shuddered at the thought. That perhaps he’d meant what he said earlier. That they sailed for only one thing . . . To our deaths.

A heavy sigh fell from beneath the king’s hood and I cursed at myself for being too eager. I was rolling my eyes before he even spoke. ‘One question.’

I gritted my teeth, formulating a different approach as I cut into a fillet of roasted salmon, trying to appear casual. ‘If that kingdom really is your home . . .’ I ventured, ‘I don’t suppose you’d want to lead Bane’s army there.’

The fish fell away from my knife, revealing a rich pink centre. Sebastien laughed. It was a sound I’d never imagined he could make, rumbling from deep within his chest. Loud and . . . warm. Not the kind of warmth that melted ice, but the kind that burned.

He shook his head, the twist of his smirk visible beneath that depthless hood. ‘You amaze me.’

I widened my eyes in feigned ignorance. ‘I only meant that perhaps—’

‘I know exactly what you meant. You forget that it’s your uncle’s kingdom Bane wants to destroy, not mine.’ He spoke as though he had any kingdom left to protect.

I sipped my wine, feeling the King’s shrouded stare on my face. ‘He must be either very foolish or very dangerous to think he has any chance against King Oren.’

Sebastien shrugged. ‘Maybe he’s both. Either way, he’s dead the second I get my hands on him.’

‘And after that, you’ll go home?’

He was silent for a while, watching me. ‘I won’t stop you from going home, if that’s what you choose.’

I narrowed my eyes. If that’s what you choose.

‘You think I have a choice?’ I asked, ignoring the way he’d deflected my question. ‘You think I’ll be free, once Bane’s dead? A life for a life – and then what? I have nowhere to go but home, to hide, and that’s only if King Oren never catches wind of my existence in the first place and forces me to join his court.’

A frown tugged at the King’s lips. ‘You always call him King Oren. As though you revere him, a man you don’t even know.’

He was right. I didn’t know my uncle, only that Father had spent our whole lives trying to shelter me and Felicie from him. He wouldn’t have done so without reason, wouldn’t have taken Aberdeen from her mother unless it was absolutely necessary.

Mors’ words rang through my mind. His reign is stoked by many fires and he hides them well. Good men didn’t inspire the kind of bloodlust Bane seemed to hold for King Oren, and I shuddered to imagine what he’d done to earn it.

I didn’t revere him – it was more than that. I feared him; feared what having his blood in my veins might mean if he ever found out about us. I had to ensure it never came to that.

Sebastien’s tone lightened, gruff but teasing, as though he could sense my unease. ‘You never call me King.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘I’ll call you King once you’ve earned the title,’ I retorted. He might’ve been one, once, but I doubted he’d earned a thing in his life, beyond bloodshed and terror.

Sebastien leaned back, spreading his hands. ‘Enlighten me. How does one earn such a title?’

I ignored his mocking tone. ‘A good king knows the value of mercy. You should show it to those who cross your waters.’

‘And Oren?’ he countered. ‘How do you know he’s merciful?’

‘King Oren’s people don’t whisper his name in fear,’ I insisted. ‘Not like they do yours. They don’t cower in their homes, hungry and cold, because the sound of his ships along the coast makes them too afraid to even touch the shore. Oren’s name never sounded like a death sentence.’

The King leaned forwards, shadows winding around my shoulders. ‘That’s what you expected, coming here?’ he asked. ‘A death sentence?’

I swallowed. ‘Yes.’

I watched him exhale, listened to the heaviness that bled from within him. ‘People die,’ he said, his voice low. He sounded weary, almost defeated. ‘Life is cruel and harsh, and innocent people suffer. That’s the way it is. If you want to saddle all the pain in the world on my shoulders, fine. But there are worse mercies than death. Men like Bane would burn the whole continent down – you included – just to see the pain in Oren’s eyes as it crumbled.’

My ears felt hot and my fingers clenched around my fork. Like I didn’t have enough to be afraid of. My elation at discovering the truth about the Sinking Cities was crushed beneath the weight of everything real.

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