Page 65 of The Sea Witch (Salt & Sorcery #1)

for shelter. I slipped away through the foliage and made my way back to where the cutter was beached. I saw the Sea Witch raise anchor and sail out of the bay to ensure that they weren’t damaged on the shoals or rocks during the storm. Moments

later, the squall hit, and I used it as cover as well as harnessing its power to sail off as quickly as I could manage.”

“Surely the witches went after you,” Warne insisted. “They have an abundance of magic at their disposal to aid in their pursuit.”

“By the time the squall had passed,” Ben said, “and they gathered their resources to retrieve their crew from the island, I imagine that it was only then that my absence was discovered.

They were assuredly faced with a choice whether or not to pursue me.

At that stage, I was likely closer to the Jupiter , which meant that if they did give chase, they would find themselves within dangerous distance of this ship. Even when the

Jupiter had only the leviathan as escort, that would certainly deter them from getting close. And so,” he concluded, “it appears

they let me go.”

Silence fell, broken only by the sounds of the crew going about their duties and waves slapping the hull. Ben held himself

still as he endured Strickland’s penetrating stare. It was the admiral that Ben had to convince. Gray, Warne, and Oliver mattered

less, yet even they needed to be assured that Ben’s story was genuine.

Finally, Strickland straightened, unfolding his arms as he approached Ben. He stood directly in front of Ben. He was within

striking distance.

Do it , a voice in Ben’s head whispered. Draw his cutlass and run him through.

Warne or Oliver would slay Ben within moments of striking the admiral down, and he couldn’t kill one without also eliminating

the other. Both were equally responsible for his father’s murder.

Ben had another objective: protecting Alys and eliminating the Royal Navy’s escalating threat to the Caribbean.

And so, he held himself still and returned the admiral’s gaze, strangling his own need for vengeance.

A minute passed. And then another.

“Welcome back aboard, Mr. Priestley,” Strickland said gruffly. He clapped a hand on Ben’s shoulder, and Ben barely managed

to keep from lashing out at the admiral’s touch.

“It’s good to be back, sir.”

“You showed exceptional resourcefulness and courage,” Strickland added.

“And now you must use the knowledge you gained during your captivity to tell us where to find Tanner and her harpy crew. We’ll show that upstart woman and her company of shrews that they cannot trifle with the Royal Navy.

Not now, when we have so much power at our fingertips, and can erase any trace that they ever existed. ”

Needles of fear wove beneath Ben’s skin. Between the manpower and firepower of the Jupiter and the strength and might of the leviathan and the kraken, the Sea Witch could never survive an engagement.

“I need a map of this region, sir. That is, if we have any left, after the witch’s destruction of my charts.”

Strickland shot Oliver a pointed look, and the lieutenant scowled but stalked from the cabin. A few moments later, he returned

with a chart.

“We managed to replace some of the maps and books of charts,” Oliver grumbled as he laid it out atop a table. “At considerable

expense, I might add.”

“I won’t accept blame for something I had no hand in,” Ben replied.

“If you hadn’t chased that Tanner cunt aboard the Jupiter ,” Oliver fired back, “she wouldn’t have deemed it necessary to set half the ship on fire.”

“You—”

“Enough,” Strickland clipped. “Arguing like fishwives when we could be learning important intelligence.”

“Yes, sir,” both Ben and Oliver muttered.

Ben bent over the map. He resisted the impulse to look in the location where Alys and the Sea Witch were located. Instead, he pointed in the opposite direction.

“Here,” he said decisively. “They were sailing toward Hispaniola. I believe they intended to wait for a merchantman en route

to Spain, and relieve that vessel of its cargo of gold and jewels.”

“They may be witches.” Warne chuckled. “Yet to the last, they’re nothing but thieving piratical scum.”

Ben would never tell the mage, or anyone in the navy, about why Alys and her crew raided ships. The Royal Navy didn’t care.

“Excellent work, Mr. Priestley,” Strickland said.

“The state of your clothing is disgraceful,” Oliver barked. “You need a shave, and must change immediately.”

“I will gladly do so, Mr. Oliver,” Ben said calmly. “I assume everything in my quarters is still where I left it.”

“It is,” the lieutenant said through clenched teeth.

“Will you excuse me, sir?” Ben asked the admiral.

“Dismissed, Mr. Priestley.”

Ben saluted again and backed out of Strickland’s quarters, closing the door behind him. He briefly lingered at the door.

“Not sure we can trust him.” Oliver’s voice was muffled by the closed door.

“He has no reason to lie to us.” That was Strickland.

“Maybe the Tanner bitch ensorcelled him,” Warne’s jeering voice threw in.

“Were he anyone other than Priestley,” Strickland mused, “I might believe that. But the sailing master cares only for navigation.

Nothing else is worth his interest.”

“He is fond of his charts and maps,” Captain Gray noted.

“Keeps to regulation and order,” Strickland went on. “Whatever wiles that pirate witch might possess, they would find no purchase

in the soil that is Benjamin Priestley’s heart.”

“The vulnerable organ I’m thinking of isn’t his heart,” Warne said, a smirk in his words.

“Fine,” snapped Strickland. “Go and speak with him, Mr. Warne. See if there’s anything more you can learn, any flaws in his

tale.”

“Aye, sir.”

Ben hurried away from the door, keeping his footsteps as light as possible to avoid detection.

He made his way to his quarters, which he shared with two lieutenants.

The other members of the crew were currently not in their cabin, so Ben was alone as he pulled out his sea chest for a fresh coat and waistcoat.

As he laid the garments on his berth, Warne entered his quarters. The mage leaned against the bulkhead and watched Ben without

speaking, all the while his long pale fingers plucked at the black sash around his waist.

Ben discarded his tattered coat and waistcoat. As he did so, he shot Warne a wary glance. There had always been a strain between

Ben and the mage, so he didn’t have to feign warm camaraderie with Warne now.

He pulled out his shaving equipment. The straight razor was an odd weight in his hand. Lighter than a cutlass. And yet, there

was a time not that long ago, when all he’d wanted was to be given some means to shave himself.

He went to the small mirror hanging on the bulkhead. The man looking back at him wasn’t the sailing master, wasn’t Bloody

Ben. He was someone else. A man without a place in the world.

He whisked soap into foam and lathered his cheeks.

“An anomaly,” the mage said, his voice almost disinterested. “A ship crewed and captained entirely by women. And not merely

women, but witches.”

“Indeed,” Ben answered with just as much disinterest. It took some time to shave, his cheeks and jaw slowly revealed with

each stroke of the razor. After wiping his face with a towel, he stowed his shaving gear.

He slipped on his fresh waistcoat and did up the buttons. It was looser in the abdomen now, and snugger across the chest.

“Not many have had the opportunity to observe that many witches so closely,” Warne continued.

Ben made a noncommittal noise as he shrugged on his coat. He kept his expression neutral, though he preferred the ornate and

dramatic pirate’s coat he’d worn at Lambert’s refuge. This plain naval coat was now tight in the shoulders and arms.

He turned away and discreetly pressed a hand to the center of his chest. He felt Alys there most.

Removing his hand from his chest, he faced Warne. “You seem to think I’ve information on the habits and practices of witches,

but the majority of my time was spent confined to the brig.”

“And what of the time you spent on deck? That precious half hour where you had a degree of liberty.”

“Witches haven’t the luxury of formal schooling,” Ben answered. “Compared to what mages are capable of, they’re hardly a threat.

Although...”

He leaned closer to Warne and lowered his voice. “I overheard two of the witches talking when I feigned sleep. There was talk of cursing me.”

“Unsurprising,” Warne said. “An underhanded and unscrupulous lot, women who use magic. They’ll exploit anything to gain the

advantage and keep men in their power.”

As opposed to decent and upright mages, who subjugate creatures against their will?

“They mentioned something about placing markings upon my skin,” Ben continued. “Some kind of patterns and shapes.”

Warne lifted an eyebrow.

“Naturally, I was terrified of such a thing,” Ben said, attempting to imbue his words with as much unease as possible. “I

wouldn’t even know what such markings could do to me. They must be a common practice amongst those who wield magical power.”

He waited, hoping Warne might take the bait.

“Likely something only done by witches.” Warne’s expression shuttered, but not before a flicker of some recognition glinted

behind his eyes. “Such a practice isn’t done by mages. Not that I’ve ever heard. You had a narrow escape, Priestley, if the

witches didn’t execute their plan and put such cursed markings on you.”

“Narrow, indeed,” Ben answered blandly. He had always been careful to make certain no one observed him whenever he came in contact with seawater. Warne had never seen his markings, nor had anyone aboard the Jupiter .

He feigned a yawn.

“Apologies,” he said. “I cannot recall a moment where I had a decent night’s sleep, and after the tumult of the last few days,

I find myself unable to keep my eyes open.”

“I’ll leave you to your slumber, then.” Warne gave him one final glance, icy and assessing, before quitting the cabin.

Once he was alone, Ben stretched out on his berth. It was narrow, hardly capable of holding two people, and yet his arms ached

to hold Alys. They had never had enough time together. Always, they had been interrupted by the creatures roused by his awakening

magic.

Warne had been unsurprisingly chary in giving Ben any information regarding his markings or what they truly signified. If

anyone knew what the markings meant, it would be Warne.

Now, though, Ben had another crucial task to undertake. Here, in the heart of the ship that had become his newest prison.

He closed his eyes, and fell asleep, praying his plan worked.