Page 64 of The Sea Witch (Salt & Sorcery #1)

The sea was metallic and blinding. The last time Ben had been alone on a vessel, he had yet to join the navy, and had been

a boy sailing his family’s sloop in and around the waters surrounding Port Royal. He’d loved the freedom of it then, the notion

that he could go anywhere and learn new truths about the sea. He wasn’t a naval captain’s dutiful son, forced to become someone

he didn’t want to be.

Instead, he’d become Bloody Ben—the very same name he’d used when playing pirate as a child. But as a grown man, Bloody Ben’s

life was filled with adventure, and a woman unlike anyone he’d ever known.

A sense of duty had always made him return home. To the codes and conventions that tried to shape him into the man he was

supposed to become.

Now, he was alone again at sea.

Yet instead of the soaring joy of liberty, his heart remained aboard the Sea Witch . With Alys. She hadn’t given him the words he longed to hear, yet the anguish in her eyes as she watched him go, her hair

streaming like crimson silk in the wind... those memories he clung to. In the middle of the Caribbean Sea, they were all

he had.

He’d gripped the filaments of her emotions inside him, once a curse, now his sole means of holding tight to the person who’d come to mean everything to him.

They were still intertwined, yet distance made the connection grow faint.

Even so, that it even continued was his sole source of salvation over these past days.

He’d been sailing in the cutter since yesterday, and spent the night on his own. The day was still bright, but night was only

a few hours away.

He followed the course he’d set, his gut churning with apprehension. That apprehension turned icy when the dark shape of the

Jupiter appeared ahead of him. He recognized every line and mast, could name each of the crewmen gathering at the gunwale as his

cutter approached. He discreetly threw all his provisions overboard, in case anyone questioned how an escapee managed to grab

food and water before fleeing for his life.

The kraken and leviathan swam beside the ship, both of them eyeing him pass as unease tightened his limbs. His cutter was

a toy compared to the creatures, fragile and easily broken. His muscles tensed as he sailed closer. The ship’s mage controlled

the beasts, yet it was always possible that Warne nursed a vendetta against him. The bastard had been with Strickland when

Ben’s father was killed. He could turn the creatures into weapons with a wave of his hand.

To be certain, Ben fluttered a white cloth over his head, ensuring that even if they didn’t recognize him from a distance

and with his appearance so altered, someone aboard the ship would realize that he meant them no harm.

Soon, he drew up beside the Jupiter . He stood to squint up at the crew gaping down at him.

“That’s the sailing master,” someone exclaimed.

“Can’t be him,” came the reply. “That bloke looks half feral, and Priestley ain’t wild.”

A bewigged head poked over the railing. “The devil? Is that you, Mr. Priestley?”

“Aye, Mr. Oliver,” Ben called up to the second-in-command.

“Thought you were dead.” Oliver sounded slightly disappointed.

“I’m indeed alive. And ready to rejoin my ship. Sir,” he added belatedly. The word sir sat like a square of metal upon his tongue.

“Get him aboard,” Oliver commanded the nearby seamen.

A ladder was lowered, and in short order Ben climbed up and once again stood upon the deck of the Jupiter , the ship that had been his home for the past five years. Everything was the same, and its very sameness pressed between

his shoulder blades. Order and consistency were the enduring characteristics of the Royal Navy, ensuring their nation’s supremacy

on the sea. What Ben had once loved most about the navy now was a bitter poison. There was no room for dissention, or freedom

of thought: you were inserted into an existing machine and did what you were ordered to do. Otherwise, you were flogged.

Seamen gathered around him in a wary, awed circle, whispering amongst themselves. Ben stared back. Even when Captain Gray

arrived, Ben remained silent. He would reveal nothing. Not until—

“Mr. Priestley.”

Ben stiffened at the sound of Strickland’s voice. When the admiral strode forward, looking every bit as commanding and domineering

as when Ben had last seen him, Ben forced himself to salute rather than slam his fist into Strickland’s red craggy face.

“Sir.” The word came out of him sharp and edged as a dagger. He struggled to breathe, making his inhalations and exhalations

as long and slow as possible.

Standing in front of Ben was the man who had murdered his father. And just behind Strickland loomed Warne, the mage who was

complicit in the killing.

Never had Ben drawn upon more self-control than he did at that moment, his heart pounding, his muscles aching with the force he exerted to keep from wrapping his hands around Strickland’s neck and squeezing until all life left the admiral’s body and his soul shot straight to hell.

“Last we saw of you, Mr. Priestley,” Strickland said, “you’d dived overboard to chase after that witch whore Tanner.”

Ben’s jaw throbbed from the pressure he exerted on it. “I was in pursuit of Captain Tanner, sir. That is true. I found myself

aboard her ship—”

“The one full of witches,” a seaman exclaimed.

Mutters and curses rose up from the assembled men, some spitting upon the deck and others crossing themselves.

“Sir,” Ben ground out, “if I may request that we continue this debriefing somewhere that affords us more privacy.”

“My quarters,” Strickland answered.

“Dismissed,” Oliver shouted at the crew. “Make yourselves useful. Anyone lollygagging or found lingering at keyholes will

receive ten lashes. Twenty if you don’t disperse immediately.”

Sailors hurried in every direction, attempting to show the quartermaster that they were occupied with their duties. Once they

had gone, Ben followed Strickland, Gray, Oliver, and Warne down the companionway to the admiral’s quarters.

The ship that had been his home swallowed him like a prison. He longed to run back topside, jump overboard, and sail the cutter

back to the Sea Witch . Yet he had a mission to carry out, and he’d be utterly useless to Alys if he failed in that objective.

Merely bringing her to mind made his back straighten and his steps decisive. This was for her. Everything was for her. Hazy

as their connection was, it still burned within him.

Strickland strode into his quarters and leaned against his desk, arms folded across his chest, as Ben stood before him. Gray,

Warne, and Oliver positioned themselves nearby. Long ago, Ben had stood in the exact same place, arguing that he should join

Oliver on St. Gertrude. What deity could have possibly foreseen where that decision would take him?

“Give us your account, Mr. Priestley,” Strickland commanded.

“I did follow Captain Tanner to her ship, the Sea Witch ,” Ben said. “Hubris, perhaps, to think that I could capture her aboard her own vessel, but duty impelled me, especially after

she destroyed my charts and maps.”

His words tasted acrid, speaking of Alys this way, yet in order to protect her, he had to continue.

“I was taken prisoner immediately,” he went on. “They threw me in the brig, and there I remained for God knows how long.”

“You look hale enough,” Oliver said dismissively. “Captivity didn’t disagree with you.”

“I was fed,” Ben answered. “And every day I was permitted a half an hour on the top deck for closely supervised exercise and

air.”

“A ship full of women,” Warne sneered. “Witches. They must’ve been panting for cock.”

Ben fought to keep his feet anchored to the floor, lest he launch himself at Warne and slam the mage’s head into the bulkhead.

“No one abused my person.”

Warne snorted. “They all love cunt, anyway. You wouldn’t offer much temptation.”

“I can’t speak to what company the crew of the Sea Witch preferred,” Ben went on, his jaw clenched.

“You were aboard when they took the Ajax ,” Strickland said. “Yet you didn’t prevent them from seizing the ship.”

“I was one man,” Ben answered. “And confined to the brig. There was nothing I could do to stop them.”

The admiral seemed to accept this explanation, which was, in fact, true.

“They treated me with as much dignity as anyone can hope for when held as a prisoner aboard an enemy ship,” Ben continued.

“If your captivity was so pleasant,” Oliver jeered, “why escape? That is,” he added, peering at Ben closely, “if you did escape.”

Ice prickled along the nape of Ben’s neck. “There was nothing about my circumstances that gratified me. I needed to return to my ship, my duties.”

“How did you manage to slip free, Mr. Priestley?” Captain Gray asked.

“As I said, I was permitted a brief period of exercise and air each day.” Since Ben had left the Sea Witch , he’d gone over his story many times, and recited his tale with as much authenticity as he could muster. “I was closely watched,

but I deliberately cultivated the behavior and attitude as a model prisoner. It had the effect I sought, and in time, the

guards were more permissive. They would leave me unattended for a few minutes as they socialized with the other members of

the crew.”

Strickland, Gray, Oliver, and Warne continued to listen, and nothing on their faces seemed to express disbelief, so Ben continued.

“The ship had anchored off the beach of an uninhabited island for reprovisioning. Members of the crew were going to venture

ashore to hunt and search for fresh water. They would take a cutter to navigate the shoals. Through persuasive talk, I managed

to convince the crew that I was adept at finding potable water, and would make a good addition to the party going ashore.

When we did reach the island, it became apparent that a squall would soon be upon us. The group ventured inland to search