Page 6 of The Curse of Gods (The Curse of Saints #3)

Josie had always been drawn to nature. She observed it with an artist’s eye.

Where one saw a field of green, her mind easily provided a canvas of nuanced shades: basil and emerald and pine and juniper.

But as she stood on the starboard side of the ship, the Anath Sea stretching as far as she could see, there were no discernible shades.

It all blended together beneath her gaze, a jumble of sea and sky, a mess of blue she couldn’t be bothered to sort through.

Not when she had so many other thoughts ricocheting through her mind.

Over three weeks they’d been at sea, and there had been no sign of Kakos pursuing an attack. They’d stopped at Milsaio’s third island to gather supplies and tend to their wounded, and to ensure it remained uninvaded by Kakos.

All had been calm.

Kakos remained in the capital on the second island, and they had not made a move since Milsaio’s strategic retreat.

Josie was not well-versed in war, not like Aidon, who breathed strategy and maps and formations.

But even she knew they were fighting something different.

Something strange and sporadic and deadly.

They had no idea the numbers behind their forces or the reasons behind the attacks and retreats and stays.

Fighting a war with Kakos was like battling a demon in the dark.

And now, they were doing it without the one person Josie trusted to lead them through it.

“You did not come to dinner.”

That space between Josie’s shoulder blades tensed at Aleissande’s voice. She’d managed to mostly avoid the general, save for mandated training on the main deck. Even the hours of wielding her sword were not enough to dispel the thrumming beneath her skin that had been there ever since Dunmeaden.

Ever since she’d learned Aya was missing, and Aidon—

“You need to eat.” Aleissande took up a spot at her side, her toned arms resting on the worn wood of the ship’s edge.

“I’m not hungry,” Josie muttered. She kept her gaze fixed on the smooth waters of the Anath, even as she felt Aleissande’s stare boring into her.

“I did not ask if you were.”

Josie bristled, her teeth biting the inside of her cheek as she held back a bitter retort.

That thrumming had manifested itself in irritability on more than one occasion over the last few weeks.

She already owed Cole an apology for snapping at him earlier.

She wasn’t looking to add to her list—not that Aleissande was deserving of a single ounce of her remorse.

Not when she’d sent Aidon away.

“You’re angry,” Aleissande observed in that stoic way of hers. It had Josie’s fingers curling against the lip of the ship, the blisters on her hand chaffing against the wood as she squeezed.

“I’m worried,” she bit out. She tore her attention from the ocean, finally allowing herself to meet the general’s stare. There was a new scar marring Aleissande’s neck, a slash of pink across golden skin. It cut across her collarbone before it disappeared beneath the edge of her fighting leathers.

Josie had her own scars from battle: a jagged cut that looked like a raised lightning bolt against the umber-brown skin of her forearm, the screams that followed her into sleep and haunted her nightmares.

The war had barely started, and yet it was already taking its toll on all of them.

Aleissande’s showed more than most.

Hollowed cheeks. Jutting jawbone. Her full lips thinned in an ever-present terseness.

Aleissande’s gaze swept over her. “When is the last time you slept?”

As if she could do such a thing. It wasn’t just the nightmares that pulled her from sleep; it was the endless questions that circled in her mind while she was awake.

What had happened in that throne room? Where was Aya? Was Aidon dead?

If he were dead, Kakos would have claimed it.

It had become a mantra of sorts, a prayer for a woman who needed solace but had never found it in the Divine.

If Aidon had not escaped Dunmeaden, surely, they would have heard before they left port.

They had, after all, learned of Aya’s disappearance.

Gianna’s death in the throne room. Tova’s as well.

And yet a second, more insidious voice loved to remind her that she’d been ship-bound save for Milsaio, and news there was sparse. It was plenty of time for someone to discover his body and her not to have heard.

“Am I not in the hammocks every night with the rest of the force?”

“Do not be a child,” Aleissande snapped. “You need rest.”

Josie did not want to rest. She wanted to return home , where she could wait for news of her brother and ensure his throne was ready for his return.

Because he had to return. His people needed him.

She needed him.

“How do you expect me to rest when my brother could very well be dead?”

“You underestimate him if you think he could not survive—”

“I have never underestimated Aidon,” Josie hissed. “I have always known he would make an excellent king. I have always known that he was what our people deserved. And now, thanks to you, he is gone!”

Not dead. Not dead. Not dead.

“Finally we get to the bottom of your ire.”

No , Josie thought. They were nowhere near the depths of her anger.

She stepped toward the general, her chin lifting as she glared up at her. “Have you considered what it looks like to these soldiers that their king has fled? What it will look like in Trahir when we arrive home without him—?”

“As I’ve told you,” Aleissande interrupted. “If Aidon does not beat us to Trahir himself, we will say he has continued on in Tala to aid—”

“This elite Visya force knows that to be a lie!” Josie barely refrained from shouting as she gestured to the ship.

“This elite Visya force,” Aleissande retorted through gritted teeth, her cheeks flushing pink, “has sworn to stand beside their king. I have ensured that.”

She had. Aleissande had gathered the elite unit before they’d ever set sail from Dunmeaden, and had made one thing clear:

Anyone who did not stand with their king was not welcome aboard their ship.

“These soldiers fought and bled beside him,” Aleissande continued. “They will not forsake their vow.”

Josie held the general’s stare. “And yet you bid him to run anyway. What do you expect will happen when stories of Aidon’s power spread to Trahir?

No one questioned us when we left, but you saw to it that we fled promptly.

And then you delayed us with that stop in Milsaio.

” Aleissande went to argue, but Josie continued before she could utter a word.

“Do you not think it will further suspicion when we arrive without Aidon? Do you expect the Visya guard to kill anyone who questions the king?”

Aleissande stayed as unmoved as ever, a perfectly carved statue, from her tightly plaited bun to her firmly crossed arms to her evenly braced feet. Always steady, always prepared, always anticipating a fight and knowing she would win.

“The chaos of battle is enough to make even the steadiest of warriors misconstrue what they see,” she finally said evenly. “We will claim any rumor about Aidon being Visya as a lie.”

“Where was that confidence, General, when you ordered your king to flee?”

“What was I to do, Josie?” Aleissande demanded, her arms swinging wide in an uncharacteristic show of emotion.

“We were in the most devout realm of the kingdom. Half of the Dyminara were attacking their own. It was better for Aidon to disappear and let rumors stay rumors. Better him alive than murdered in the streets!”

“If he is not already dead—”

Aleissande closed the distance between them, anger flaring in her eyes as the setting sun haloed her in shades of orange.

Mango and rust and tangerine.

“I made the best decision I could,” Aleissande ground out. “That is what your brother trusts me to do. That is what any warrior is required to do in the midst of a battle. You would do well to learn that.”

Josie did not balk from the way Aleissande glared down at her, the tips of their boots touching. She met her anger head on, matching it with her own. She could feel the heat of Aleissande beneath her leathers, her chest brushing against the general’s as she sucked in a breath.

“Am I dismissed, General?”

A good warrior knew how to make decisions in battle, including a retreat. It would not bode well for Josie to give in to the itching in her fingers, which longed to curl around the pommel of her blade.

Aleissande blinked and took a small step back. “Fine,” she muttered. But then her lips were parting once more, a sound dying on her tongue as she stared at Josie, something shifting in the blue of her irises.

Sky and powder and steel.

“You can trust me, you know,” Aleissande finally insisted.

Josie had been given such a promise before. It had been pressed into her skin through soft kisses and gentle hands and a love that turned out to be a lie.

War proved to be a worthy distraction from her heartbreak, but it did not erase the valuable lesson Viviane had taught her.

“I can’t trust anyone, Aleissande,” Josie muttered as she shouldered past the general. “That’s exactly the problem.”