Page 2 of A Spell of Bones and Madness (Nostos #2)

Chapter One

Katrin

“ I t’s impossible,” Katrin whispered to herself, flipping through each letter again and again in Ander’s quarters aboard The Nostos , trying to make sense of his words.

You are nothing, like I was nothing to you .

The words she wrote mere weeks ago were an imprint in her mind, a mirror of what he had written her in one of these letters.

Hers had never been sent—she made sure of it.

No more than a way to write down all of her feelings and hatred that were bottled up inside, never truly meant to see the light of day.

It was burned in a fire, she witnessed it with her own eyes, the way it blackened in the corner, furling in on itself and turning to ash before it disappeared in the night’s wind.

There was only one way he could have read those words, and Katrin’s lungs gave out at the thought—both because she felt ill knowing Ander had to face her vitriol alone, but also because it meant what she could not even admit to herself was true.

Only a Fated could do this.

Crumpled pieces of parchment scattered about the floor as Katrin knelt at the center of Ander’s quarters aboard.

Teardrops fell from her face, splattering against the ink and causing it to blur in places.

Each letter was marked with the same harsh curves of Ander’s script and she couldn’t help but picture him sitting there at the worn, wooden desk, pondering every word he might write to her to explain.

Gods, did she long to have him here, to look into those sea-tide eyes once more and apologize for ripping away her trust so quickly.

Apologize for trying to burn the ship—the man—that had rescued her time after time.

Why had she been so fickle with her emotions?

Why did she not give him a moment to explain before sending him to his death? Why was she always so quick to judge?

Was he still breathing? Was he lying dead somewhere in the forest of her isle?

Merely a body cast out to sea? No—he couldn’t be.

Not when a warming fog swept through her thoughts, protecting her, easing her, calming her.

Not when his voice silenced the beckoning call of night and the horrors that came with it.

It wasn’t your fault, that simple voice trailed along the walls of her mind again.

It was all she could do to not break down—imagining Ander’s voice in her head so clearly it was as if he stood behind her, his breath tickling her ear as he spoke.

Picturing him as he pressed against her, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist until the starlit fire within her lulled.

White linen shirt unbuttoned, leather trousers hugging his thighs, a half-curved smile on his lips, faint crinkles framing his eyes as he looked at her.

Being back aboard this ship without Ander, sleeping in his quarters again, with his clothes still folded in the wardrobe, the books he used to give her still stacked along the wall, was surreal.

Olive oil, lemon, and the salt of the sea after a heavy rain lingered in his sheets as if he’d just stepped outside for a moment.

Katrin would wrap herself in them, wishing for the simple touch of his fingers along her skin, the graze of his lips on her cheek as she drifted to sleep.

But the warmth of his body never came at night, only the chilling fear of what fate Alentus now held for Ander.

Debilitating—the only way to describe what it was to miss him.

The days back in Alentus were a blur of regret, shame, and alcohol-induced emptiness.

Not once had she allowed herself to miss him, let the seriousness of it all sink in, realize how she really felt, consider that each of his lies had been to protect her.

She loved him.

Katrin Drakos loved the Prince of Nexos.

She was not sure when it happened—if that flicker of desire and kinship sparked the day she took shelter in his cabin in the woods of Alentus, or if perhaps it was when he challenged her to a sword fight aboard this very ship.

Ander never underestimated her, never saw her as less than for being a woman, always pushed her to be her best, most powerful self.

Although it took her time to realize, those were the things that true love was made of.

Not duty and honor, not protection at the sacrifice of freewill.

It was all-consuming, soul-crushing, fate-defying love and she’d never had the chance to tell him .

Darkness crept through the small window in the side of the ship and Katrin moved from the floor to wrap herself in the blankets on Ander’s bed, inhaling what scent of him lingered as her eyes fluttered shut, preparing herself for what was to come.

It was always the same place she would go to. It was always him.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Water splattered on the floor, shadows swirling around her body.

The dungeon was colder than usual, an icy aura swirling in a breeze that should not be there so far below ground.

Across from her lay Ander, and no matter how many times she screamed his name, no matter how many times she tried to run toward him, she remained soundless, motionless.

He struggled against gold cuffs attached to short chains, binding his hands and feet to the floor below.

Blood pooled down from the cuffs where the sharpened metal had dug deep into his skin.

Bruises scattered along his jaw, tracing up to his right eye that was swollen shut.

Long scars from thin blades ran up both his arms, a black substance seeping from them, bubbling over like boiling water.

The door to the dungeon flew open, and Ander’s ragged breaths grew shorter, more forced. He dared to look up as two figures slithered into the room. Ander’s gaze was weak and distracted, floating just over the figures’ shoulders.

“It will all be over soon,” one of them said with a cackle, flipping a dagger in his hand, stalking over to Alexander and shoving the knife—

Sweat covered Katrin’s body as she flung the covers off the bed, bolting straight up from where she had fallen asleep.

A preternatural tingle crept up her limbs where she imagined thin swords cutting into flesh, peeling away layer upon layer of skin.

This time had been different. Not once had she heard one of the men speak—seen them move about, torture Ander, sure, but the only sound that ever filled her nightmares was piercing screams. She tried to block them from her mind, the way they rang in her ears like the rumbling of thunder during a treacherous storm.

Her heart would clench and shrivel and dry up, no blood left to pump life into her veins or breath into her lungs.

That voice—the voice of King Edmund—was so much worse, because it made it seem real.

One week. It had been one week since Katrin escaped the clutches of that northern king, since she sailed away from the man who continuously gave everything to save her, since she saw the last bit of her home flicker out on the horizon.

Normally, Katrin would not have been able to eat, the swirling of bile settling in her stomach when the nightmares consumed her.

But Ander always willed the life back into her with food and chatter and books about a better world and she would not let that be in vain, so she forced herself to take small bites of the leftover cheeses discarded beside her bed, hoping they’d mend the pang in her stomach.

The nauarch sat in Ander’s chair across from her, his brows furrowed as he watched her nip away at the bits of food, though this time he did not move closer to comfort her.

Katrin wondered if Leighton was more pained about leaving Ander behind then she was.

If it haunted him just as much while they sailed across the high seas.

A muscle in Leighton’s jaw feathered as they sat there in silence.

He had not spoken, at least not to Katrin, since he pulled her aboard The Nostos a week ago.

Everyday it was the same routine, a light knock on the door, a brief smile—though it never reached his ears like it used to. He would sit in that same chair, picking away at his nails until the deep umber of his skin became streaked with pale scratches and crimson.

The first night aboard the ship, she awoke in a fit, thrashing in the sheets, clawing at her arms and wishing it was her in the dungeons of her nightmares.

Leighton had been there, his feet propped up on the footboard like Ander's had been on the very first morning aboard The Nostos . Pushing up from the chair, his lips had been tight in a line, eyes wide. The glint that always sparkled there was gone. She’d never apologized for blasting him with her starlit fire the day Kohl found them on the seas, but it had not seemed to matter.

With tears to mirror Katrin's, he’d walked over to the bed and settled next to her, reaching out his shaking hand.

Leighton had not left her side since then.

Someone else took his place to captain the ship—to where, Katrin did not know.

Lesathos? Skiatha? Nexos? Eventually they would need to decide.

Eventually someone would come after them—if King Edmund's men weren't already.

Eventually they would need to talk, but for now, as Katrin picked away at a piece of fish the cook made for her, she did not mind the silence.

Because silence meant she did not need to bring up Ileana.

Did not need to tell Leighton that his beloved sister was not only alive, but married to the enemy.