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

The sky was a vast blue void as we set out for the little islet on the far side of Salten. The sun hadn’t been seen in over a week and now drenched down in radiant splendor, as if apologizing for its long absence.

While Fisher manned the small craft, I peered across the expanse of open water, counting sea turtles. The giant beasts were favorites of mine. In the springtime, females hoisted themselves onto our beaches, laying their eggs. I loved to see them hatch. With powerful pectoral flippers and giant, wise eyes, the little turtles were perfect miniatures of their parents. They’d burst free and work their way down the beach, already drawn to the sea, just like the People of the Salt.

“Look!” I pointed to a great leathery hump breaking the surface yards away. “That’s twelve!”

Fisher used the moment to pause, lowering the oars. “Biggest one yet too. Look at the size of its shell!”

We watched it take a gulp of air, then dive below the waterline. The wind tousled Fisher’s hair, highlighting the sun-bleached streaks, and I was struck again by how much he’d changed since leaving Highmoor. His eyes fell on mine as he smiled lopsidedly.

“It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” He raised his chin, gesturing to the island behind me.

I glanced back at Highmoor. Its four stories rose steeply from the top of the rocky cliffs. The stone facade was a soft gray, covered in ivy. A pretty pattern of blue and green shingles dotted the gabled roof, sparkling like the prize jewel in a mermaid’s crown.

My eyes drifted to the cliff walk. “It looks like nothing bad could ever happen there, doesn’t it?”

His eyebrows furrowed as he nodded. “I think I walked into something I shouldn’t have earlier.”

“That makes two of us.”

His silence felt like a gentle prod for more information.

“I had something I wanted to discuss with Papa, but he and Camille were locked in a battle over that nonsense about the curse, and I never got to tell him. And now he’s left for the capital, and who knows when he’ll return.”

“Is it really so urgent?”

“It felt like it this morning.”

“And now?”

I shrugged. “I suppose it will have to wait, whether it is or not.”

Fisher slid his fingers over the oars but made no motion to continue rowing. “You can talk to me about it, whatever it is. Maybe I could help?”

I ran my hand over the pocket watch but did not withdraw it. “I…I think Eulalie might have been murdered.”

His eyes narrowed, the amber darkening. “Mother said she fell from the cliffs.”

Tucking flyaway strands of hair behind my ear, I nodded. “She did.”

“You don’t think it was an accident,” he guessed.

I dared to look up, meeting his stare. “It wasn’t.”

A heavy wave slapped against the side of the boat, startling us both.

“Why haven’t you said anything to Ortun? You always used to go running to him with any problem.”

“I wanted to but…it’s different now. He’s different. He’s pulled in so many directions,” I said, speaking to myself more than Fisher. “He’s not a widower with a manor full of daughters anymore. He’s a husband again. I just wish…”

“Go on,” he nudged when it became clear I wasn’t going to finish.

My mouth raised into a smile the rest of me did not feel. “I just wish I could let him handle it. It feels too big for me alone.”

He smiled. “It’s too bad we can’t ask Eulalie what happened to her, you know? She was never one for a short story, was she?”

“Never,” I agreed.

Our eyes met, and a spark of shared intimacy warmed me. It was nice talking about Eulalie again with someone who truly knew her. With all the preparations for the ball, it felt as though she’d been somehow forgotten.

“Do you remember the time she…” I trailed off, my throat unexpectedly thick with tears.

“Oh, Annaleigh,” Fisher said, wrapping his arms around me without hesitation.

I pressed my face into his chest, letting him hold me and my heartache. He ran his fingers across the back of my neck in soothing circles, and something decidedly not grief unspooled within me. Against my ear, his heart picked up in tempo, matching mine. I lingered there, counting the beats, wondering what would happen if I allowed him to make the next move. But Hanna’s sharp tsk of disapproval popped into my head, and I pulled away.

He studied me for a long, silent moment before picking up the oars. He worked them against the waves, turning us toward the islet once more.

I bit into the corner of my lip, longing to diffuse the air between us. It was suddenly too heavy, too weighted with unclaimed meaning.

“Fisher? Do you believe in ghosts?”

The words were out before I could even think them over, and though I feared he’d believe me mad, his eyes crinkled, amused.

“Ghosts like…” He waggled his fingers at me, trying to look creepy.

“No, real ghosts. Spirits.”

“Ah, those.”

The waves around us darkened as we passed the drop-off. Gulls roosted in the islet’s nooks and crannies. They drifted above us, scanning for food for their young.

“I did when I was a little boy. I thought it great fun to make up stories and scare the younger children in the kitchens. Once I told a tale so horrid to Cook’s daughter, she had nightmares for a week and finally tattled on me. Mother was less than pleased.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know. I think you get to a certain point in life when ghosts are no longer fun. When the people you love die…like my father, your mother and sisters…the thought that they could be trapped here…it’s unbearable, isn’t it? I can’t imagine a worse fate. Unseen, unheard. Surrounded by people who remember you a little less each day. I would go out of my mind, wouldn’t you?” He stopped rowing. “I’ve been away for a while, but I still recognize that look on your face. Something’s bothering you. Not just the thing with Eulalie. Something else.” He reached out, squeezing my knee. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“Verity has been seeing ghosts.” It fell out in a rush, like a river racing off the edge of a cliff. “Ava and Elizabeth, Octavia and even Eulalie now.”

Fisher sucked in a deep breath. “Truly?”

I waved my hand, wanting to push the conversation aside. “It sounds absurd, I know.”

“No, no, it doesn’t. I just…What do they look like?”

I told him about the sketchbook, about the plague pustules and snapped necks, the splayed limbs and bloody wrists.

“Oh, Verity.” He sighed. “How awful.”

I frowned. “And the thing is…now that she’s told me about them, I’m certain I’m going to walk into the bathroom and see Elizabeth floating facedown in a bloody tub, or see Octavia’s broken body in the study. I can’t get the pictures out of my mind. I’m seeing my sisters everywhere.”

His thumb traced a warm circle across my knee. “It sounds terrible. But, I mean…” He paused. “It’s not as though you really are.”

“You don’t believe me.” I folded my arms over my chest, suddenly cold despite the brilliant sunlight.

“I believe they unsettled you—and that’s perfectly natural; you don’t need to be embarrassed about it. But you don’t really believe Verity is seeing ghosts—do you?”

“I don’t know what to think. If they’re not real, why would she draw such awful things?”

He shrugged. “Maybe they’re not so awful to her. Think about it. She’s been in mourning since the day she was born. When has she ever not been surrounded by grief?” Fisher pushed his tousled hair from his eyes. “That has to affect a person, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.”

He squeezed my leg once more. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. It’s probably just a phase. We all went through odd ones.”

“I remember yours,” I said, an unexpected smile spreading across my lips.

He groaned, pulling back against the waves. “Don’t remind me, don’t remind me.”

“I’ll never forget the way you screamed.” He grinned, but for a moment, I had the strangest feeling he didn’t know what I was talking about. “The sea snake,” I prompted, raising my eyebrows.

Fisher’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that. There’s nothing wrong with screaming when you spot a snake that large. That’s just self-preservation.”

“But it was only a bit of rope!” I exclaimed, laughing at the memory. We’d been combing for seashells on the beach when a length of netting washed up. Fisher had grabbed my hand and hightailed it, hollering his head off about poisonous snakes and our impending doom. We girls left out strands of rope for Fisher to find for the rest of that summer.

“Rope, snake, it’s all the same,” he said, laughing along with me.

The boat struck the black sands of the islet, thudding us from the topic. I hopped from the dinghy and helped Fisher drag it ashore. Farther up the beach, near the rocky outcrops, were a series of tide pools. At high tide, the tiny island was completely underwater, but as the water pulled away, it left behind all sorts of treasures trapped in the basalt. You could always find starfish and rainbow-hued anemones, sometimes even seahorses, stuck until the tide returned. Long clumps of kelp often became entangled in the jagged edges. Tide pools were the perfect place to find more supplies.

“Did you enjoy the ball last night?” I asked as we searched.

“It was certainly the most glamorous evening I’ve ever had. And you?”

“I’m very grateful you were there. None of us would have danced otherwise.”

Realization dawned across his face. “You said your father and Camille were fighting about the curse. People really believe that?”

“Apparently.”

“Your family has had a terrible run of luck, but it doesn’t mean…” He swatted his hand at a fiddler crab, fighting him for a bit of kelp. “I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter quite so much for me. But Camille is the heir now. She’s expected to marry well, and she’s worried she’ll never find a husband if she’s sitting on the outskirts of every ball she attends.”

He cocked his head, musing. “If only there was a way to get everyone off the island…get you far enough from Salann that no one has heard of the Thaumas curse.”

“That’s what I said last night! But she thinks it’s impossible.”

Fisher’s eyes drifted off the island, searching the shores of Salten as if trying to recall a buried memory. “I wonder…” He shrugged, laughing to himself. “It’s probably just more whispers. Forget I said anything.”

“What is it?” I asked, joining him to dump my catch.

“Growing up in the kitchens, you hear lots of stories. And that’s probably all they are.”

“Fisher,” I prompted.

He sighed. “It sounds a little crazy, okay? But I remember hearing something about a passageway, a secret door. For the gods.”

“The gods?” What would gods be doing at Highmoor?

“A long, long time ago, they were much more active in the affairs of mortals. They liked being consulted on everything from art to politics. Some of them still do. You know Arina is always showing up at the opera and theatres in the capital. Says she’s an important muse.”

I nodded.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, it’s not as if they can take a carriage from the Sanctum, you know? They need a way to get to our world. So there are these doors. I remember one of the footmen saying there’s one somewhere on Salten—for Pontus to use when he’s traveling. You say some sort of magic words and they take you to places, far-off places like that.” He snapped his fingers. “But it’s just a story.”

Such a door must be marked as special, and I’d certainly never seen anything like that on Salten. It was probably nonsense. But…

“Did he ever say where Pontus’s door is?” I asked, cringing at the hope I heard in my voice.

Fisher shook his head. “Forget about it, Annaleigh.” He picked up the basket and shook its contents. “This enough, you think?”

“It’s plenty, thank you. Morella will appreciate it, I’m sure.”

We forced the boat down the beach, letting it meet the water. The sun beamed down, warming everything with a golden glow. My eyes fell on Fisher. Studying the way his forearms flexed as he rowed across the bay, I dared to remember how they’d felt wrapped around me.

A splash sounded ahead of us, breaking my daydream. A green flipper caught my eye.

A sea turtle!

Fisher winced, scanning the waters ahead. “Annaleigh, don’t look.”

A red tentacle thrashed out of the water, flailing aggressively. My smile faded. Red like that meant squid, and it looked enormous.

As the boat sailed past, I wanted to cry. The sea turtle was fighting for his life. The squid’s arms wrapped around him, grasping and writhing and trying to pull the shell apart. Squid, even one as sizeable as this, did not eat turtles.

It only went after him for spite.