Page 56 of The Sea Witch (Salt & Sorcery #1)

Alys was torn.

Torn between hunting down whatever it was that Little George had hidden here in Lambert’s refuge... and pulling Ben into

a corner to kiss him.

He’d been coming slowly undone over the course of the last few weeks. A lost button here. A scruff of beard there. Little

by little, he’d changed from a naval officer into someone wilder. He was freer, too, a scoundrel, all bravado and boldness.

Now, to see him clad in the clothes of a pirate, ornate coat and tall boots and loose hair, watching him strut and swagger

around Lambert’s estate as if he owned the place, well... She almost fanned herself.

Suspicious looks were aimed in Ben’s direction, but they gave way to admiration and, in several cases, pure lust.

Who could blame someone for desiring Ben? He was in every way delicious. Like a knife coated in honey. You wanted a lick,

and it didn’t matter if you cut yourself in the process.

Yet she was the captain, damn it. The responsible one.

“Magic’s going to surround whatever Little George has hidden here,” she said for Ben’s ears alone. “I’ll call to it, using

my own power.”

“Lambert seemed disinclined to any displays of your magic,” Ben answered lowly. “And mages surround us. Surely, they’ll know if supernatural power is afoot.”

“Hard as it may be to believe,” she answered with a smirk, “I can be subtle when I have to.”

“No one else here is subtle,” he added when a tankard flew past his head. Ben snatched it from the air, and then held it out

for a passing servant to fill with ale.

Alys slipped behind one of the large potted palms that dotted the edge of the chamber. Ben stood in front of her, sipping

from his tankard as he watched the room.

Alys closed her eyes to block out any distraction from the wild feast. She searched out the blazing spark of magic within

herself. It always burned, and now she encouraged its flame to rise higher. Once it gleamed more brightly inside her, she

urged it to locate all other sources of magic that dwelled on Lambert’s estate.

At once, her magic quivered with awareness, finding each of the mages carousing both within the manor house and elsewhere

on the grounds. It was a sprawling estate, abounding with frolicking mages such as Braga and Moreau. She had to play a careful

game, locating the mages without alerting their supernatural senses to her own magic, but she let her power dance as lightly

and loosely as a spark on the breeze.

She exhaled when none of the magic users became aware of her. That, at least, she could manage.

But what of the fail-safe? Or was something else here that would lead her and Ben on to another step of their quest?

She searched for more of the magic that had encircled both the clue at the Weeping Princess waterfall as well as the magic

that lingered in the parish register at Domingo. It shivered and shone, just at the edge of her awareness.

Yet when she reached for it, her senses glanced away, like light reflecting off a mirror, unable to find purchase. Again and again, it happened. She grasped it, but then it slipped away. She pushed against whatever shielded it from her, only to fall back, repelled.

“Damn and hell.” She opened her eyes.

“Not here?” Ben asked.

“It’s here. But Little George placed a barrier around it. A strong one.” Frustration tightened her voice. “I don’t have enough

power on my own to break it.”

His brow furrowed. “We can bring someone from the Sea Witch here, add their magic to yours.”

“One witch is the limit for Lambert. Can’t ask a mage, either. They’d find out what we’re after. But... there’s another

way.” She placed her hand on his chest. “You.”

A startled laugh escaped him. “Surely you’ve better sources of magic than my carcass.”

“Your markings. There’s more to them than either of us truly fathom. I’ve seen illustrations of them in two magic books. That

Redthorn, he recognized the markings when they appeared on your skin.”

“Before I killed him.” Ben exhaled. “If my markings were in mages’ books...”

“They’ve got to be magical, somehow.” She peered at him when a crease appeared between his brows. “Disgusted?”

“Confused...” He shook his head. “It’s as though I’ve heard other people sing but never carried a single note. And then

suddenly, I’m on stage at the opera. But I don’t know the song.”

“Magic can be a gift,” she said softly. “If you let it. I’d be half the person I am without my magic.”

“Even if you were stripped of your magical ability, you would still be extraordinary.”

She’d been in the midst of a pirate feast before, and had seen every kind of outrageous behavior, shamelessness and immorality

in abundance. There wasn’t a single human act she hadn’t witnessed and grown jaded to.

For all that, her cheeks heated.

“We’ve got to bring forward whatever magic you possess,” she pressed on. “And that happens...”

“When you and I are... close.”

“Our kiss at the waterfall,” she said. “And in that room at the inn in Domingo.”

“And when the Redthorn threatened you.” He scowled. “I don’t want anyone here endangering you.”

“There’s a much better way to get your magic going.” She looped her arms around his neck and pressed her body to his. At once,

he tossed the tankard aside and his hands clasped her waist as his eyes darkened. “Objections, Bloody Ben?”

“None at all.” His voice had gone rough. He backed her against the wall, and one of his hands cradled her jaw. Her pulse was

urgent beneath his touch.

She lifted onto her toes, straining into him with her hands on his shoulders. His lips found hers.

They didn’t waste time with beginnings. Their mouths opened at once to each other. She met his tongue with her own, twining

against him.

She forgot everything but the feel of Ben and riding the waves of desire that rose and crested and crashed.

A bottle smashed near them.

They broke apart with a gasp. He still held her, and she continued to cling to him. Their panting breaths intermingled in

the narrow space between them.

Her fingers traced the dark markings now climbing up his throat and twisting across his chest, revealed by the open neck of

his shirt.

“Glad my theory’s correct,” she breathed.

“That voice in me, the notes yet to be sung,” he said, low and urgent. “They’re searching for a way out.”

She wove her fingers into his hair. “The spark of your magic. I sense it, too.”

“It’s... strange,” he said slowly. “Different.” At her nod, he went on, “Is it enough? Can you use it?”

With her own magic, she reached for his. The power inside him rose up, tentative. Unsteady. She didn’t back down, instead

stretching toward him with careful patience. Slowly, his magic glowed brighter. Awakening like a creature that had long slumbered

at the bottom of the sea and now swam to the surface. Meeting hers, growing more vivid, stronger.

She inhaled sharply. Joining her magic with other witches had always filled her with power and joy, to be part of something

greater. Yet this was surging and vital, encircling her and Ben, taking each of their strength and becoming fiercer. She’d

been complete in herself, but this lifted her higher. She could touch stars.

“Ben,” she gasped. “It’s...”

“Strange. Wonderful.”

She wanted to explore every corner of the sky with him, from Polaris to Pegasus, and swim through the hidden depths of the

ocean, to the coral reefs off Cozumel to deep water caves of Bermuda.

Again, Alys felt for magic Little George had left behind, hidden behind a blockade. She summoned the light-gathering of a

prism, collecting her and Ben’s power, concentrating it and aiming it toward the barrier.

The blockade shuddered and shook. Yet it held.

She focused her and Ben’s magic even more, strain pulsing through her body.

Suddenly, she felt the barrier shatter into fragments like tiles liberated from their mosaic.

She moved away from the wall of the large hall, nudging him to follow her. Walking along the edge of the massive noisy chamber,

she would stop and start as she searched for the magic’s origin.

Ben kept pace beside her as she stepped toward one of the dancers. Gold shimmered on the woman’s ankle as she twirled, and Alys went closer. Yet as the dancer spun, Alys moved away, still seeking.

Swirling music pulled on her, and she strode toward a gathering of performers. They banged on drums and sawed at fiddles.

A man shook a tambourine.

Yet magic wasn’t here, either.

She turned away and faced the long table running the length of the hall. At the very end, a roast was being carved by none

other than Lambert himself in a display of flamboyant hospitality. In one hand, he held a fork with long tines. His other

hand gripped an ornate gold-plated carving knife. Patterns and words were engraved into its blade, and small holes dotted

its surface.

“A golden holy key you seek to open the gates,” she whispered to Ben.

“Not holy ,” he answered, understanding dawning in his face. “ Holey. ”

“The golden key to the fail-safe—it’s a damned carving knife.”

Ben watched with Alys as Lambert cut into another hunk of roasted meat. Servants carried the slices to waiting guests, and

additional staff brought out more platters bearing meat waiting to be carved.

“There’s no end to the parade of food requiring Lambert’s attention,” Alys observed grimly.

“People have to sleep at some point,” Ben said.

“Or pass out.” She eyed the casks of drink being rolled out to serve thirsty pirates.

“We’ll have to outlast them.” Ben turned away to feign interest in the music. He grabbed two tankards, handing one to Alys,

and they both took distracted sips as they scanned the large chamber.

A cluster of pirates gathered around a dancer.

They clapped and called out encouragement as she whirled.

The men ranged in age, but judging by their weathered skin, all of them had been on the sea for a long while, and they tipped their chins in silent greeting as Ben and Alys joined them in watching the dancer.