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

With a final tug of the oars, I pulled my dinghy into the marina at Selkirk, slipping alongside the sun-bleached dock as the sun rose over the horizon. At Eulalie’s wake, Morella had mentioned she’d been about to tell Papa about the baby but had been interrupted by the fishermen bringing Eulalie’s body home. Perhaps they had seen something, some small detail they might have forgotten to tell Papa because they believed the fall was an accident.

I threaded my rope through the eye of an open cleat and tied off the excess line, then pulled myself out.

I needed to find those fishermen.

The five islands of Salann spread across the Kaleic Sea like jeweled clusters of a necklace.

Selkirk was the farthest to the northeast, home to fishmongers, captains, and sailors. A bustling wharf handled the seafood arriving daily on the boats.

Astrea was next in the chain, and the most populated. Shops, markets, and taverns sprang from its rocky shores, a glittering city of commerce and wealth. The triplets had been there nearly every day since their ball was announced, scouring the stores for little treasures. An extra pair of stockings, a new shade of lip stain. Somehow Morella convinced Papa they were all absolute necessities for young ladies about to make their societal debut.

We lived directly in the middle of the chain, on Salten.

Vasa stretched out like a long, skinny eel, with ports on the north and south sides. Papa oversaw the massive shipyard that took up the whole island. Most of the King’s naval fleet had been built on Vasa. Someone at court once heard him boast the Salann ships were the swiftest in his navy, and Papa had beamed with pride for months.

The final island was the smallest but most important. Hesperus was one of the most pivotal defense posts in all of Arcannia. Its lighthouse, affectionately named Old Maude, stood taller than any other in the country. Not only did it assist ships coming in and out of port, it was also an excellent perch for spotting enemy boats.

I loved the lighthouse. It felt like a second home. When I was small, I’d volunteer to clean the windows in Highmoor till they sparkled, imagining I was polishing the lighthouse gallery. I’d climb to the highest cliffs and pretend to be atop Old Maude, spying on foreign ships—really, fishermen out for their daily catch—and noting all the pertinent details in a giant ledger, as I’d seen Silas do.

Silas had been Keeper of the Light for as long as anyone could remember. He grew up in the lighthouse, learning the beacon’s workings from his father. When it became clear Silas would never have children of his own, Papa realized an apprentice would need to be chosen as an eventual replacement. I prayed to Pontus every night it would be me.

Hanna’s son, Fisher, was chosen instead. He worked on the docks, but Papa said he was destined for greater things. As young girls, Camille and I followed him all over Salten, in awe of his every move and hopelessly smitten. When he left to begin his apprenticeship, I cried myself to sleep every night for a week.

Looking across the Selkirk wharf now, I could just make out the beacon’s flash and wondered what Fisher was doing. Probably cleaning windows. Silas was fanatical about them.

I made my way down the docks and stopped at the first boat I found, asking the captain if he’d heard of any men who’d discovered a body near Salten. He waved me off, saying it was bad luck for a woman to be near the ships. Two other crewmen followed suit before I found a dockhand willing to talk with me.

“The Duke’s girl?” he asked around a wad of chewing tobacco. The juice drizzled down from his lips, staining his beard yellow. “A couple of weeks back?”

I nodded eagerly, hungry for information.

“You’ll be wanting to talk with Billups….” He scanned the wharf. “But his boat is already out.”

“Do you know when he’ll return?” With all the party preparations, I could stay away for most of the afternoon without being missed.

“Not today,” he said, crushing my plan. “Nor tomorrow. He’s wanting one last big catch before Churning sets in.” He held up his hand in the breeze. “Feel that cold snap in the air? It won’t be long now.”

I tried to hide my disappointment, arranging my face into a smile of thanks.

“Wasn’t Ekher with him?” asked the dockhand’s companion, who’d overheard the conversation as he rolled an enormous spool of thick rope.

“Was he? Didn’t think he left the docks these days.”

The second man grunted, and together they flipped the spool over, setting it upright. “He’s a couple of piers down, the old netter. You can’t miss him.”

I navigated the maze of connecting docks, keeping my eyes out for someone with nets. Three piers down, I saw him.

Ekher sat on a bench, surrounded by coils of cobalt and indigo cording. Decades of life on the docks had left his skin dark and leathery, with wrinkles worn in deep. His sinewy fingers were hooked around a wickedly curved needle used to knot the nets together. As they lightly danced over a pile of cords beside him, searching for the right piece, I realized he could not see them.

He was blind.

I paused, wondering what I ought to do next. It was obvious he wouldn’t be able to tell me any details about finding Eulalie—Billups must have been the one who spotted her. I was about to leave when he slowly turned from his net and stared directly at me with milky, unseeing eyes.

“If you’re going to ogle an old man all morning, girl, at least come and keep him company.” He reached out, beckoning with clawed fingers.

Pushing back a nervous laugh, I approached his bench. “I didn’t realize you could see me,” I apologized, smoothing out my linen skirt.

“Of course I can’t see you. I’m blind,” he retorted.

I cocked my head. “Then how—”

“Your perfume. Or soap. Or whatever it is young girls wear. I could smell it at a hundred paces.”

“Oh.” My heart dropped with surprising disappointment, saddened his answer was so pragmatic.

“What do you want with an old blind netter anyhow?”

“I heard you were with the fisherman who found that body….”

“I’ll be ninety-eight next Tuesday, my girl. There have been a lot of bodies in my life. You’ll need to be more specific.”

“Eulalie Thaumas. The Duke’s daughter.”

He lowered the needle. “Ah. Her. Terrible business.”

“Did your friend—Billups—think there was anything unusual about it?”

“It’s not very usual to see pretty young ladies falling from cliffs, is it? Is that what you mean?”

I sank down on the bench beside him. “So you believe it was an accident?”

Ekher raised two gnarled fingers toward his chest, as if warding off bad spirits. “What else would it be? She wouldn’t have jumped. We saw the locket.”

“Locket?” I echoed. I’d never seen Eulalie with a locket.

He nodded. “Chain was smashed to bits, but we could still make out the inscription.”

Before I could ask more, he stiffened and grabbed my hand in his. His fingers dug into my palm, and I cried out in surprise and pain. His grasp was too strong to jerk away from.

“Something’s coming.” His voice rasped, hoarse with panic.

I raised my other hand to my eyes, shielding out the bright sunlight. The wharf bustled along with its usual rhythms and sounds. Gulls screeched overhead, plotting to filch bits of chum from unsuspecting fishermen. Captains shouted at dockhands, issuing orders and sometimes curses as the wayward lads struggled through headaches undoubtedly the result of a wild time at the tavern the night before.

“I don’t see anything.”

His grip tightened; he was clearly frightened. “Can’t you feel it?”

“What?”

“Stars. Falling stars.”

I cast a dubious glance overhead at the morning sky, colored deep peach and amber. Not even Versia’s Diadem—the brightest of all constellations, named after the Night Queen—was visible.

“What happened to the locket?” I asked, trying to turn his attention to the matter at hand and away from unseen stars. “Did you bring it back with the body?”

He fixed his milky eyes on me, clearly affronted. “I’m no thief.”

I thought back to Eulalie’s funeral, remembering that horrible necklace she’d had on. It was the only time I’d ever seen her wear it. Had that been the locket?

I let out a sigh of frustration. The funeral was over two weeks ago. Her coffin had undoubtedly split open by now, returning Eulalie to the Salt, necklace and all.

“Do you remember what was written on it?”

Ekher nodded. “Billups read it out loud. Brought a tear to both our eyes.” He cleared his throat as if preparing to recite a poem. “ ‘I dwelt alone / In a world of moan, / And my soul was a stagnant tide, / Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride.’ ”

My mouth dropped open. “Bride? Eulalie wasn’t a bride.”

He shrugged, stabbing the needle back into the cording. Ekher missed his mark, and the curved metal sank into the pad of his wizened thumb. He didn’t seem to feel it. The dark blood stained the indigo net black.

“You’re hurt.”

His mood shifted abruptly again as the blood welled up and he rubbed his fingers together. “Get away from me before I lose the whole finger, you daft girl!” He wrinkled his nose and spat.

I jumped away from Ekher and raced down the docks, but I kept looking back as he shouted curses at me. I’d never seen someone’s moods turn so quickly. Had so many years in the sun addled his mind? As I cast one look back toward him, I bumped into someone and nearly fell over my feet.

“I’m so terribly sorry,” I exclaimed, reaching out for balance. The rising sun was directly behind the stranger, casting around him a brilliant corona that blinded me. Spots, dark blue and white-hot, danced before my eyes.

Like the old man’s stars.

“I believe this is yours?” he said, stepping closer, arm outstretched. Shaded from the sun’s glare, I made out friendly blue eyes staring down with concern.

I felt completely dwarfed by him, barely coming to his shoulders. My eyes lingered on their broad expanse for a moment longer than was entirely proper. He must be a sea captain, I thought, sensing the muscles beneath his fine wool jacket. It wasn’t hard to picture him raising a heavy sail, one hoist at a time.

His hair was unfashionably long, the dark curls stopping just shy of his jawline. One curl brushed the corner of his mouth, caught on a passing breeze, and I had a sudden and thoroughly horrifying desire to push it aside, just to feel its softness.

He cleared his throat, and my cheeks burned, so terrified was I that he’d somehow read my mind. He’d been holding out a coin between his fingers while I openly gaped at him, my mind racing with wild thoughts.

“You dropped this.” He took my hand and pressed the piece of copper into my palm.

Such a simple gesture, performed every day by merchants and tradesmen, should not have felt so singularly intimate, but his touch thrilled me. His thumb caressed the center of my hand, leaving a tingling sweep when he released the money into my possession. My breath caught as I irrationally wondered what that same movement would feel like against my neck, my cheeks, my lips….

“Thank you,” I murmured, finding my voice. “That was very kind. Most people would have kept it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of keeping something that didn’t belong to me.” I sensed he was about to smile. “Besides, it’s only a copper florette. I’d rather lose the money and seize the chance to talk with the pretty girl who owns it.”

I opened my mouth, willing anything to come out, but words failed me.

He stepped in closer as a pair of fishermen barreled down the pier, a heavy crate balanced between them. “Actually, perhaps you could be of some assistance?”

My guard shot up. Papa always cautioned us to be on the lookout for pickpockets and thieves when outside Highmoor. Perhaps returning my coin was merely a ruse to swindle me out of greater sums.

“I’m new here and was looking for the captain.”

I squinted, keeping a wary eye on his hands. Papa said many were so skilled in the art of thievery, they could steal the rings from your fingers without you being the wiser.

“It’s a large wharf,” I stated, gesturing to the dozens of boats around us. “With many captains.”

He smiled guilelessly, his cheeks betraying a trace of his chagrin, and I thought perhaps his intentions were pure. “Yes, of course. I’m looking for Captain Corum. Captain Walter Corum.”

I shrugged, wishing the light in his eyes didn’t fluster me. After so many years of being locked away at Highmoor, I had almost no experience with men. Even speaking with Papa’s valet, Roland, for more than a question or two left me a rosy, stammering mess.

I pointed toward the marketplace farther down the harbor. “Someone there will know.”

The stranger’s eyes dimmed a touch, his disappointment evident. “But not you?”

“I’m not from Selkirk.”

He turned to go.

“Are you to sail for him?” The question burst out too loudly. “For Captain Corum?”

He shook his head. “He’s sick. With scarlet fever. I’ve come to take care of him.”

“Is he very ill, then?”

He shrugged. “I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.”

I remembered how everyone gathered at Ava’s sickbed when she fell ill. The room was kept dark, the curtains shut tight against the light. The healers said to heat the plague out of her body, and it grew unbearably stuffy with the fires stoked as high as Papa dared. Even so, Ava’s teeth chattered so loudly, I feared they’d crack apart, falling from her bloodied lips like hailstones raining down.

But the stranger didn’t look like a healer. He was made to be on a ship, high above the sea in the crow’s nest, halfway to the stars. I could picture the wind tugging at his dark curls as he scanned the horizon for adventures.

“I hope he’s soon on the mend,” I offered, my hands fumbling, unsure of what they were supposed to be doing. “I’ll say a prayer to Pontus tonight for a swift recovery.”

“That’s very kind of you…” He trailed off, clearly seeking my name.

“Annaleigh.”

His mouth curved into a smile, and my breath caught as a bundle of nerves fluttered deep within me.

“Annaleigh,” he repeated, and on his tongue my name sounded full and lush, like a line of poetry or a hymn.

“Thaumas,” I added, though he didn’t ask. I sounded like a staggering simpleton and wanted to sink into the waves.

His eyes lit up, as if he recognized my surname, and I wondered if he knew Papa. “Annaleigh. Thaumas.” His grin deepened. “Beautiful.” He swept into a deep bow, holding his arm out like a gallant courtier. “I hope our paths soon cross again.”

Before I could voice my surprise, he’d left and was halfway down the busy pier, ducking around another approaching crate.

“Wait!” I cried out, and he paused, turning back.

His face was painted in unexpected pleasure as he waited for me to continue.

Though my cheeks warmed, I stepped closer. “I can show you the way to the marketplace…if you like.”

He glanced toward the covered stalls several docks down from where we stood. “That marketplace over there?”

His light tone suggested he was teasing, but my stomach writhed in its foolishness. I forced myself to smile. “Yes, well, I’m sure you’ll be able to find your way.” I nodded once. “Good day…” I didn’t know his name, and the farewell felt open-ended. “Sir,” I added, two seconds too late.

As I retreated toward my dinghy, my face burned scarlet. Suddenly I felt a hand slip loosely around my wrist, twirling me to face the handsome stranger once more. I grabbed his forearm to steady myself. He seemed taller somehow, and I noticed a thin, crescent-shaped scar on his temple. I knew I was staring and quickly took two steps backward, allowing for the proper amount of space between us.

“Cassius,” he supplied. “My name is Cassius.”

“Oh.”

He offered the crook of his elbow. “I’d be very grateful for your assistance in finding the marketplace. It’s my first time on Selkirk, and I’d hate to get lost.”

“It is an awfully large wharf,” I said, peering about the marina as if it had tripled in size.

“Will you help me, then, Miss Thaumas?” His eyes danced, his face about to break into another grin.

“I suppose I ought to.”

He led us down another dock, taking a left, then a right, then a left again, drawing out the short walk.

“So you’re a healer?” I asked, skirting a coil of rope. The wharves were quickly filling up with fishermen hauling out for the day. “You said you were here to take care of your friend?”

“My father,” he clarified. “And no. I’ve no special training. Just familial devotion…familial obligation, really.” His smile turned stiff. “This will be our first time meeting, I’m afraid.” He ducked toward me to avoid a catch of lobster traps that had been hoisted onto the dock from a nearby boat. Leaning in, he whispered conspiratorially, “You see, Miss Thaumas, I’m a bastard.”

He said this with a devil-may-care recklessness, intending to shock me.

“That doesn’t matter,” I responded honestly. “It shouldn’t matter what your parents did, just what you do as a person.”

“Very generous of you. I wish more shared your opinion.”

We took a final turn, coming directly off the pier and into the marketplace. Tables and booths were set up under makeshift canopies, shielding the fresh catches from the unforgiving rays of the sun. A light breeze kept the worst of the smells at bay, but there was a sharp underlying tang of gutted fish that no amount of wind could clear.

“Well”—I gestured to the stalls—“this is it. I’m sure any of the fishmongers can show you where he lives. It’s a small community. Everyone knows everyone.”

After the words left my mouth, I saw how true they were. As we wandered into the crowd, eyes fell on us, instantly recognizing me as the Duke’s daughter. Though most of the merchants had the decency to murmur behind discreetly raised hands, I could still hear their whispered accusations.

“That’s that Thaumas girl.”

“Such a shame about…”

“…not even dead a month…”

“…cursed…”

The hairs on the back of my neck bristled at the mention of the curse. It was a foolish rumor, but rumors had a way of morphing into something big and ugly. I didn’t know if Cassius noticed I was too embarrassed to meet his gaze.

“What’s she wearing? It’s not even gray….”

“…make her leave…”

“…she’ll bring their bad luck to us…”

“Hey! You there!” a voice rang out over the murmured buzz. “You shouldn’t be here!”

“I have to go,” I said, releasing my hold on his arm. The urge to run from the whispers overpowered any desire I had to stay with him. “I hope you find your father and he gets well soon!”

“But—Annaleigh!”

Before he could stop me, I turned on my heel and sprinted back to the safety of my dinghy. I needed to be out on the water, out among the waves. I needed the sea breezes to push the building panic from me, needed the rhythmic pull of the ocean swells to set my mind right again.

We weren’t cursed.

Hopping down into my boat, I tried to cast the crowd’s whispers from me. But they lingered in my mind, echoing and growing until the handful of fishmongers became a jeering crowd, then a mob, with torches and knives.

I stood on tiptoes, peering over the planks of the dock to see if anyone had followed me. A small part of me hoped Cassius had, but this end of the marina was quiet. He was back in the marketplace, probably receiving an earful on the Thaumas sisters. My heart sank low as I pictured his golden smile fading away when he learned of the ghoulish passings at Highmoor.

Though the only one to see my foolishness was a little fiddler crab skittering along the planks, my face flushed. I didn’t know Cassius, but I couldn’t bear the thought he might be thinking ill of me.

“Don’t be absurd.” I hastily untied my rope from the dock and pushed off. “He was nothing more than a skilled flirt, and you have bigger things to worry about.”

Out of the harbor, I paused to splash a handful of water over my heated face. There were bigger things to worry about.

What had the inscription in the locket meant? Eulalie, a blushing bride?

It didn’t make any sense. Though she’d had many suitors, none of them had ever proposed.

Had they?

Frowning, I set the oars against the waves. There were only two reasons Eulalie wouldn’t have told us about a fiancé.

It was either someone Papa would never have approved of…

Or someone Eulalie didn’t.

My imagination pounced then, conjuring up Eulalie’s fateful last night. She must have been meeting this would-be suitor, rebuffing his advances, telling him they could never be together. They quarreled and tempers rose, flaring to a feverish pitch, until he shoved her from the cliffs. Had he thrown the locket after her to erase the evidence of his unrequited desire? I pictured her falling through the air, the look of confusion on her face turning to horror as she realized there was no escaping this, no way to go back and make it right. Had she screamed before smashing into the rocks?

A wave struck the side of my dinghy, slapping me back to the present with a gasp. Though it was all conjecture, I felt I was on the right path.

My sister’s death had not been an accident. It had not been part of some dark curse.

She was murdered.

And I was going to prove it.