House of Salt and Sorrows (Sisters of Salt #1)

“We, the People of the Salt, come together on this special night,” the High Mariner intoned, “to give our thanks to mighty Pontus for his great benevolence, blessing us with a season of bountiful plenty. Our fishermen’s nets—filled to bursting. Our winds—strong and sure. And the stars—clear and true. Now he churns the waters, changing the season over to a time of rest, replenishing the sea, taking care of us as he has for thousands of years.”

“Pontus, we thank you,” we echoed together.

We sat at the long table in the great hall, waiting for the ceremony to end and the seventh course to be served. Papa and Morella were at the head of the table, and my sisters and I were sprinkled among the guests. Unfortunately for me, Ivor sat at my left. I’d caught him sneaking looks down my neckline twice already.

The High Mariner stood behind his own table. Across it lay an assortment of items. I recognized his abalone chalice, filled once again with seawater. A conch rested on its wicked points, showing off its polished pink core. There were urchins, purple and spiny, and great sea stars, long since dead but preserved and buffed till their orange arms glowed.

“We, the People of the Salt, come together on this special night to commemorate the souls of those snatched too soon from us, who now rest in the waves’ powerful embrace.”

He meant sailors lost in storms or fishing accidents, but as I glanced over at my family, I knew we were all thinking of our missing sisters.

“Dear ones, you are commemorated.”

“We, the People of the Salt, come together on this special night,” he repeated, bringing home his oration, “to remember who we are. We who make our homes on the Salann Islands are a proud people, ruled over by a proud god. We are born of salt and starlight. Let us now drink to that, to remember where we come from and where—Pontus willing—we shall return.”

This was the only part of First Night I hated.

Everyone took up the small snifter nestled inconspicuously among the water goblets and wineglasses. Cassius, across from me but two people down, delayed his response to the High Mariner’s invitation. He was clearly not an islander.

I tossed back the thimbleful of salt water and swallowed fast, trying to keep the brackish taste off my tongue. It lingered, tart and biting. I set the snifter back down with a grimace, as did most of the table. Cassius wiped his mouth with a napkin and appeared to spit the water into it. He caught me staring and put a swift finger to his lips, warning me to keep his secret. I nearly forgot to say the last of our lines.

“We remember.”

“And now we, the People of the Salt, celebrate!” the High Mariner exclaimed.

Perfectly timed, the doors opened and four butlers entered, hoisting a tray high above their shoulders. A sailfish, almost ten feet long and roasted, was on the silver platter, propped up on its pectorals. The navy dorsal fin fanned wide, showcasing Cook’s talents. The silver body gleamed, and for a moment, everyone could imagine this great predator in the wild, flying out of the water with muscular grace.

Cook came out to take a little bow. Once Papa had carved out the first ceremonial fillet, Captain Bashemk pantomimed challenging the fish to a duel, striking its long sword with his butter knife. Wine flowed freely all evening. The women sipped with restraint, but the men were already a little worse for wear, and we still had six courses to go.

Father placed the fillet on Morella’s plate with a loving look. Offering her the first piece was a sign he esteemed her above everyone else in the room. Camille’s lower lip pushed out, dangerously close to petulance. She turned toward Cassius and muttered something that made him laugh.

Cook carved up the other servings as everyone exclaimed over the fish’s beauty. It was a complete extravagance, roasting an entire sailfish for a party of just twenty-four. I knew the remainder of the fish would be served to the staff for their First Night celebration later that evening, but looking at the proud beast, I was sorry he’d been caught. He should have been out in the Salt, not between gleaming vegetables and fruits.

As the High Mariner sat down to eat, the table’s conversation picked up again.

“Some of your girls had a birthday ball recently, eh, Ortun?” Regnard asked, swirling his glass of wine with unnecessary panache.

“My triplets,” he said. “It was a lovely party. We were sorry you missed it.”

“We ran into a squall coming back from Antinopally. Damned storm took us three days off course.” He peered down the table. “You’re all, what now, fourteen?”

“Sixteen, Uncle Regnard,” Rosalie corrected, flashing him a smile.

“Sixteen! And all still at Highmoor?”

His voice held a note of teasing, but a prickle rippled down my spine all the same.

“None of you are spoken for, then?” Jules asked, shooting a quick glance at Camille.

Ivor raised his eyebrows, looking me over again.

Sterland chuckled. “Ortun, you need to marry these beauties off before they run you out of house and home!”

“You’ve no idea, good sir. No idea at all. The cost that…You know, there’s a story about that.” Papa stood, commanding the attention of the room. “A mystery, actually.” His voice was colored by the wine, more relaxed than he’d been in days. “As you know, I have eight beautiful, lovely, talented daughters. And it’s true, they do cost quite a bit to keep up with, but it’s never bothered me before. Pontus has blessed our family with wealth, and it’s a privilege spending it to keep my girls happy and beautiful. However, recent events have given me pause. You see, there’s something wrong with my girls’ feet.”

“Their…feet?” the High Mariner asked, looking to each of my sisters in turn.

The guests eyed each other nervously, everyone wanting to peek under the table to see what horrible talons hid under our skirts.

“They go through shoes faster than anyone I’ve ever known. I bought them new shoes, costly slippers, just before the triplets’ birthday. All worn out. I let them go to town to buy new ones—already, those are frayed and unraveling. Every other day, they’re begging to go into town for new shoes, and now I hear from my own staff that the triplets have been asking to borrow the maids’ extra shoes.”

I shot a quick glance at Rosalie. They’d all promised to stop dancing for Churning. She looked into her lap, avoiding my gaze. Even the Graces looked cagey.

“At first, I thought it was to keep up with the latest fashions, acquiring more and more for their collections, but no. The leather is cracked and worn thin, splitting at the seams.”

“How odd,” Amelia said. “Perhaps something is wrong with the cobbler’s goods?”

“That’s what I thought, that’s what I thought!” Papa cried, taking a great gulp of wine.

Morella reached up to pull him to his seat, but he squirmed from her grasp, eager to continue his tale.

“I arrived home from Vasa just days ago and had to make an immediate trip to Astrea to berate and rail against this poor cobbler for selling my daughters bad shoes. But it wasn’t him. The fault, you see, lies with the girls.”

The guests shifted toward us. Cassius stared at me, pondering Papa’s words. I looked down, a rush of heat flaring across my cheeks. Pressing a fork into my fillet, I pulled the fish apart until it was nothing more than a pile of flakes.

The cold, dead eyes of the sailfish seemed to glare at me too.

“ ‘No other customers have complained,’ the cobbler says. Not one. Just my girls. They must be sabotaging them, but I’m at a loss to say how or why. Perhaps you can get it from them.”

“Let’s see these shoes!” Captain Bashemk exclaimed.

“Yes!” his first mate cheered, emboldened by drink. “Show us the shoes!”

“Ladies?” Papa asked.

We stared at him blankly. This was not how First Night was supposed to go. He swished his arm, indicating we stand up. After a moment of hesitation, we pulled the skirts of our dresses to the side, showing our shoes. I was wearing my second pair of slippers from Astrea. I’d not gone dancing since Edgar died, and the leather was still strong and free of scuffs.

Regnard bent over, examining Lenore’s feet. “Ortun, you’re right. These shoes are thoroughly worn out. How do you even keep them on your feet, child?”

Lenore froze, terrified to be called out in front of so many people. “Papa won’t buy us any others,” she admitted, cringing.

“Ortun, surely you’re joking,” Amelia asked. “It’s winter now. You can’t have your daughters traipsing around barefoot in the snow.”

Papa seemed more amused than angry. “Find out what mischief they’re up to and I’ll fix that. I’ll even buy you a pair, Millie! The prettiest slippers in all of Salann!”

Everyone laughed.

“No, I mean it, I mean it!” he cried gaily. “I’ll buy pairs for the whole table if you can figure out what is going on!”

“I don’t think I’d do well with shoes as dainty as Miss Annaleigh’s,” Captain Morganstin said, chuckling, as he leaned over to study mine. “But, Ortun, you’ve been exaggerating. These shoes look fine to me. There’s not a scratch on them.”

“That’s true, that’s true. Annaleigh is the only one who hasn’t come around asking for more,” Papa agreed, his eyes increasingly glassy. Morella set a glass of water in front of him, but he patently ignored it.

“How curious!” Amelia said. “What are you doing differently, Annaleigh?”

Camille’s stare weighed on me, and I raised my shoulders, admitting nothing.

“See? Can’t get a word from any of them!” To Morella’s relief, Papa sat down, resting his elbows on the table. “It’s maddening. I’m almost willing to offer up my estate to find out what’s behind all this!”

“Say, now, there’s an idea!” Captain Bashemk exclaimed, needling Ethan in the ribs. “Kill two birds with one stone! Whoever solves the mystery wins your blessing to marry one of the girls! And I’m sure we all know who he’d pick!”

He didn’t need to tilt his head to his right to indicate his choice, but he did. Camille. Obviously. She was the prettiest and the cleverest. And she was the daughter set to inherit Papa’s fortunes. Though the Salann Islands were small, we were mighty, and that could prove to be an enticement too great to ignore.

Papa downed the last of his wine and waved for a refill. Half of it was drunk in one large swallow. He blinked heavily, struggling to put the connections together. Finally, he looked up, smiling. “It’s not a bad idea, is it?”

I peeked down toward the triplets. They looked as bemused as I felt. What was going on? Surely Papa couldn’t be serious.

“Darling, perhaps we ought to save this idea for another time,” Morella suggested lightly. “We’re meant to be celebrating Pontus and First Night, aren’t we? I’d hate to offend our esteemed High Mariner….”

The priest waved her off, eager to watch this drama play out.

“We could send a messenger to the other lords of Arcannia,” Papa said, still thinking. “They could help spread the word. We’ll let anyone in the kingdom who wants to try his hand come and see.”

“Anyone at all?” Fisher asked, setting his wineglass on the table with a heavy thunk. He was the only one who knew our secret. “They wouldn’t have to be titled?” He waggled his eyebrows at Camille.

Ligeia elbowed him hard in the ribs.

Regnard nodded, his head going up and down with great care. Amelia shot Morella a look of apology. Was there any man at the table who wasn’t drunk now? Cassius sat perfectly still, but his eyes bounced around the table, following the discussion with interest.

“Better yet, better yet!” Captain Bashemk said, shouting in excitement. “Five strapping lads sit at this table. Let them have the first crack at it!”

“Six,” Sterland corrected from the depths of his wineglass.

“Come now, Henricks, don’t you think you’re a bit old to be chasing after young ladies?” Captain Bashemk said with a laugh.

Sterland leaned back in his chair, his mouth slack with inebriation, staring down the row of us. I looked away as his eyes met mine. Though he wasn’t a true uncle to us, not by blood, it still felt wrong.

“Hardly. In fact, if Highmoor is truly on the line, it’s only fitting I try my hand for her first. You owe me that much, Ortun.”

Regnard momentarily sobered, glancing between his friends. “Sterland,” he warned. “Not tonight.”

“I…owe you?” Papa bristled, his hand tightening around the stem of his wineglass. “I owe you nothing.”

“Here we go again,” Regnard muttered.

But Sterland wasn’t one to back down from a fight. “If not for you—”

“If not for me, what?” Papa snapped, his voice rising with the color in his cheeks. “If not for me, you’d have nothing. No education, no career. My family created you, and this is how you repay me? Harping on perceived injustices? Living in a delusional past? I’ve had enough!”

His knuckles turned white, squeezing the glass until it shattered, raining glittering shards. Blood welled up across Papa’s face. One of the flying pieces had struck his cheek, slicing deep.

“Ortun!” Morella exclaimed, dipping her napkin into water and trying to wipe the cut.

“Stop meddling with me!” he roared, lashing his arm out to knock hers aside. Heavy plates were swiped off the table and smashed to the floor.

“I…I’m sorry,” Morella said, sinking into her chair, looking small and so much younger than she was.

“Ortun, calm down,” Amelia ordered. “You’re drunk.”

“And if I am? This is my house. My home! You can all be turned out into the cold if you don’t like it.” He pointed an unsteady finger at Morella. “Including you.” He drained his wineglass in two slugs. “More!” he demanded.

As a footman raced over to oblige, Morella dabbed at her eyes, swallowing back tears. Though it didn’t happen often, Papa could fly into dangerous rages after drinking too much. They were like storms on the Kaleic Sea, ruining a perfectly sunny day with gale-force winds and biting rain, only to be over moments later. My heart went out to Morella, but it was better to just stay low and let his anger pass.

After a painfully long moment of tactful silence, Ethan spoke up, his voice cracking with bravado. “If you’re serious, my lord, I’d love to try and solve the mystery.”

No surprise there. I’d seen him taking in the beauty of Highmoor since his arrival, with eyes so wide, they practically bugged out of his skull.

“As would I,” Ivor said, his voice as gravelly as a crocodile. He winked at me, and I turned my head away.

“Splendid!” Papa’s voice rang out drunkenly above the guests.

Jules clapped his hands in glee. “When do we start?”

And just like that, Papa’s festive mood returned. He patted Morella on the back, whispering to her with apologetic, watery eyes. She dabbed at the cut on his cheek, all apparently forgiven.

“Ah, son, what fortunes could be yours,” Captain Bashemk said, wrapping his arm around Ethan to give conspiratorial advice.

Rosalie slammed her goblet down hard enough to silence the room. “Don’t we get any say in this?”

Papa’s eyes narrowed. “You had your chance and remained silent.”

“I don’t see why you’re upset,” Camille snapped. “I’m the one who has to marry whoever wins. Papa, you can’t be serious! Tell them all it’s a joke.”

“Why are you so sure you’ll be chosen?” Ligeia interrupted, fury flashing in her eyes. “I’d imagine someone ingenious enough to solve such a mystery might be interested in any one of us.”

As my sisters erupted into bickering, hurling insults and outrage at one another, I leaned back in my chair, wishing the padded seat would swallow me whole. First Night was a disaster. The captains’ wives watched the circus play out in horrified silence while their husbands shouted and cheered. In all the madness, Ivor crawled under the table to further examine the shoes. When his hand brushed across my ankle and ran up my calf, I kicked out hard, not caring if it was his chest or face I struck.

Papa sat back in his chair and began to chuckle. His laughter grew louder until his expression appeared entirely deranged. Morella placed a hand on his arm, but he swatted it away, slapping at the table.

Verity caught my eye, confusion written across her face, springing me into action. I hurried to the far end of the table, where the Graces and the Morganstin girls sat. They didn’t need to witness such absurdity from so many adults.

“Come on, ladies.” I tried keeping my voice even. “We’ll have a special treat tonight.”

“What is it?” Verity asked, perking up as she slid from the tall chair.

“Sweets in the classroom,” I made up, praying Papa and the guests wouldn’t think to carry their festivities into that area of the house.

“Oooh!” Honor breathed, her eyes sparkling. “Come on, I’ll show you where!” She grabbed one of the girls by the hand, and they all raced out.

Following them, I spotted a butler hurrying down the hall with a decanter of brandy.

“Can you let Cook know the children will be eating dessert in the classroom tonight?”

He grasped at the decanter’s neck, looking a bit panicky. “Brandy isn’t meant to be served until after dinner, in the library.” He bit his lip.

“Did Papa ask for that?” He nodded and I sighed. The last thing the room needed was liquor on top of all that wine. “Why don’t you let me take care of it,” I said, grabbing the bottle. “Ask Cook if she can ready coffee and madeleines for the guests in the hall. Tell her to make it especially strong.”

He hurried back to the kitchen. I stood in the hall for a moment, tapping at the bottle as I pondered my next move.

“That was expertly handled,” said a voice from behind me. Cassius stood under an arched window. “You’re not going to take that and run, are you?” he asked, indicating the brandy.

I let out a small laugh, but it contained no joy. “No. I was wondering how to keep Papa from noticing its absence.”

“It has gotten a little…spirited in there.”

This time my laugh was real.

“Will Sterland be all right, do you think?”

I nodded. “Something like this always happens whenever he visits Highmoor.”

Cassius offered me an easy smile. “It’s a wonder he ever dares show up.”

Memories of past fights—Sterland’s eyes bright with indignant anger, Papa’s face red and quivering with rage—surfaced.

“He and Papa have been friends for a very long time, ever since they were young boys. It’s just…something they do. Sterland was even engaged to my aunt Evangeline.”

“I didn’t realize he was married—”

“He’s not. Evangeline died before they were wed. He never got over it. Highmoor has always been like a second home to him…. I’m sorry for all that nonsense with the contest and the shoes.”

He waved aside my concern. “People need ways of entertaining themselves. This isn’t the worst thing they could be doing during Churning, or so I’ve heard.”

“Is this your first?”

A roar of laughter burst from the dining room, and Cassius drew me to a bench down the hall, away from the noise. I sat, leaving the bottle between us, but then wished I hadn’t. Without it to hold, my hands felt too free and I didn’t know what I ought to be doing with them. I studied his, so loose and relaxed against his knees, and placed mine in an approximation. They still felt wrong.

“It is. Camille said the true festivities begin tomorrow?”

“Yes. We’ll go over to Astrea in the afternoon. There’s a bazaar and contests. Lots of vendors selling food. The pageant begins after nightfall. It’s so beautiful. There are puppets that look like jellyfish and great paper lantern whales that float through the theatre. Words can’t do it justice.”

“And after that?”

“More celebrating. I’m not sure how long Papa will want to stay…. It gets a bit out of hand, but it’s the first break the fishermen and mariners have had since Westerlies.”

“That’s the start of the fishing season?”

“When Zephyr wakes Pontus, bringing warm winds to thaw the ice. Pontus uses his trident to shift warm currents back to us. The fish return, and the kelp grows green and thick.”

Cassius leaned in, one of his hands bumping against mine. “You know, most people call that spring.”

“Not in Salann,” I managed to stammer. When his hand returned to his knee, my knuckles felt its absence keenly.

“I’ve noticed things are done quite differently here.” He looked at the architecture above us. When he studied Highmoor, it wasn’t with the same open hunger as Ethan. “Camille will inherit all this, isn’t that right?”

The last person I wanted to be talking about in a darkened hallway with Cassius was Camille.

Papa’s voice rose, booming down the hallway. “Damn this coffee and damn these madeleines! Where’s my brandy? I asked for brandy!”

With an inner sigh, I stood up. I didn’t want to end our conversation, but I also didn’t want the staff being blamed for something I’d done. “Looks like I’ve stalled long enough.”

He stretched his long legs out in front of him. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Haven’t you heard enough about shoes for one evening?”

He smiled and I wanted to race back to him. “Why are yours the only ones undamaged?”

I arched an eyebrow. “Why? You’re not planning on taking Papa up on his challenge, are you?”

He looked back up at the ceiling. “I might. It is an awfully beautiful house.”

“Oh.”

It was a punch to my stomach. Of course he’d go after Camille. It was foolish to assume otherwise. There was an attraction between us, I knew it, but it couldn’t hold a candle to the allure of the Highmoor estate and the Salann title.

“Where’s the brandy?” Papa roared. There was a great clatter and crash. The poor butler was probably surrounded by broken saucers dripping in hot liquid.

“I need to go.” I snatched the bottle from the bench and hurried down the hall.