The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea by Katherine Quinn

Chapter One

Margrete

Margrete Wood had been lockedinside her father’s iron contraption so many times that she should have been used to its rusted spikes, pungent rot, and the absence of light once he shut the door. It was her penance for misbehaving, he claimed. A way to cleanse her soul. But it was no more than a coffin. A vicious device he used for control.

When her father slammed the door, trapping her where dreams went to die, Margrete prayed to all the gods she could think of. Arios, the God of Spring and New Beginnings, and Delia, Goddess of Wisdom and Protector of the Pure of Heart. She even prayed to the wrathful God of War and Vengeance, Charion.

Yet only when she envisioned the sea, wild and unapologetically savage, did she receive any kind of answer at all. Trapped in the dark with nothing but her sinking hope, she chased after the elusive sound of the waves. It was soft at first, nothing but the gentle thrum of the waters meeting the shore.

Margrete closed her eyes and held on to that melody like a lifeline. Soon her body trembled and her heartbeat slowed, and then the song swelled.

The moment the waves became a roar in her ears, she released her prayers with a heart-wrenching hope. She wished to be far from her father. Begged for a life that was not her own. Pleaded to be free.

When the door to her box opened hours later, her father’s wicked face staring back at her, the ethereal song came to an abrupt end. While he’d done his best to weaken her, to rob her of her courage, Margrete left that day clinging to a scrap of hope her father couldn’t touch.

The sea had whispered a reply, a single, haunting word.

Soon.

It had beenfive days since Margrete emerged from the box and left her father’s study. Five long days and still her body buzzed with apprehension and promise.

Almost as if the God of the Sea had truly heeded her prayers.

Now, she was being called back to the study, urged on by Adina, her lady’s maid, who snapped at her heels like an anxious hound. And hurry she did, for every wrong Margrete committed, each act of rebellion, would not only be her punishment to bear. Not since her father turned his attention to her younger sister, Bridget, or Birdie, as Margrete fondly nicknamed her.

A thin layer of perspiration dampened her skin by the time she arrived. Lifting a closed fist, she knocked on the heavy wooden door, biting her lower lip as she awaited a reply.

“Come.”

Margrete flinched, her father’s voice unusually light. Pushing inside, she found the notorious sea captain of Prias lounging in his chair, his booted feet propped against the mahogany desk littered with maps and trade records. His short, flaxen hair and matching beard were sprinkled with age, white streaks interwoven throughout the strands, his square jaw prominent and masculine.

But it was the cutting edge of his gaze that could fell a man with one look.

“Daughter, sit.” He waved her over to one of two plush blue seats before him. A devilish smile curled his thin lips, a malicious twinkle sparkling in his steel-gray eyes that promised nothing but torment.

Margrete had always been told that her hazel eyes and golden skin came from her mother. If only she could have met her.

Hesitantly, she slid onto the cushion, her muscles tensing as her father’s gaze swept across her body from behind his desk, his forefinger and thumb pinching his graying beard in thought. Uneasy moments ticked by before he spoke, but when he did, she had to grab hold of her chair to keep from falling over.

“You’re to be married here, at the keep, in two months’ time.”

Margrete couldn’t help it when a small gasp left her lips, her mouth parting as though a silent scream wished to escape. It was her only reaction, the obedient words she usually reserved for the captain dissipating like dust in a windstorm.

“I see you’re quite thrilled with the news, then?” He leaned back in his seat, pulling his muscled legs from the polished wood. “I’ll give you a moment to process.”

Tiny beads of sweat formed along her brow, the air in the room suddenly too hot, too stuffy. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, a tumultuous staccato that sounded like angry raindrops during a squall.

“W-who?” she managed to ask, fearful of the answer. Knowing her father, her marriage was to procure some elusive business deal. She would be used for his purposes, however vile they may be, and her opinion on the matter was irrelevant.

“Count Casbian,” he said.

“Of Cartus?”

“One and the same.” The captain grinned, enjoying the obvious discomfort playing across her features. “Cartus is Marionette’s greatest asset for defense, and the count’s military position will do well for us. I’m told he’s also a favorite amongst the king and queen.”

This was about influence. As if conquering the seas wasn’t enough, the captain now wished to gain the favor of Marionette’s rulers through the count.

“And he is quite young,” he added, “which is lucky for you. Meaning you won’t soon be made a widow.”

She didn’t allow her bewilderment to show, but the truth was that she’d believed her reputation suffered too great a blow for any man to look her way after what happened two years ago. Then again, her substantial dowry might persuade suitors to overlook her past indiscretions.

She swallowed down the tears at the memory of her father’s young guard, Jacob, who’d been foolish enough to fall in love with her. They’d been caught in the act by the captain himself, and to her horror, her father had thrust his dagger into the very heart that had once belonged to her. She was to remain pure until the captain found a match for his daughter that suited his needs, but thanks to Jacob, any purity vanished.

And yet now, none of that seemed to matter.

Pulling herself together, forcing her chin to lift, Margrete addressed the man who relished in misery with an icy calm. “I see,” she began, sitting up straighter in her chair. “And this has already been decided? The count has agreed to this as well?”

“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate.

“And you didn’t consult me.” The words were out before she had a chance to rein them in.

Storm clouds brewed in his eyes. “Consult you?” He let out a mirthless laugh, his eyes drifting to the corner of the study where his sick contraption hid behind a silk screen. The unspoken threat was obvious. “You should consider yourself lucky I’ve given you this opportunity.” He seethed. “I was never awarded such a thing.”

The captain didn’t speak of his past, of his parents, except for once, five years ago. Margrete woke in the middle of the night and crept down the stairs, only to overhear him arguing with a man. She hadn’t recognized the voice, but before he kicked the stranger out of the keep, her father had told him, ‘You can slither back into your hovel and tell our dearest parents I’m merely showing them the same kindness they did me.’

The captain caught Margrete that night, and without a word, dragged her to the box and shoved her inside. Only when dawn came did he open the door.

They never spoke of the man again.

“Don’t make this hard on yourself, daughter,” her father said, shaking the memory from her thoughts. “I’d hate for you to receive another lesson so soon after the last.”

Margrete shut her eyes, and just like that, she was back inside the confines of the box. Its metal spikes poked at her skin, the smell of her blood fresh in the air. Her breaths quickened as shadows closed in on all sides. Sometimes he’d leave her in there for hours. After Jacob, she’d been trapped for a full day.

What would he do if she refused him now?

Margrete cleared her throat and opened her eyes, willing away the images that haunted her every waking moment. So many thoughts rushed into her mind that she couldn’t think clearly, but one stood out amongst the rest.

Perhaps she didn’t need to refuse her father. Marriage to the Count of Cartus would change her life, change everything. For better or worse, she couldn’t say, but it was a way out of this keep and a way to flee her father’s control.

There was just one problem.

“If I’m to marry Casbian, who will watch over Birdie? You’re frequently gone, and the keep is no place for a young lady to live alone.”

Birdie’s mother, Margrete’s stepmother, had died four years past, and the poor girl still suffered the loss. She needed her older sister now more than ever. Birdie’s sweet disposition would never endure under their father’s merciless thumb.

“Bridget will remain here,” he said. “Under her governess’s supervision.”

Where she would be his latest victim.

Margrete’s stomach clenched, a nauseating ache forming. She couldn’t let that happen. She had to be brave now, had to find a way to shift this situation to one of advantage.

And she knew precisely how.

“I never ask much of you, Father,” she said, nearly choking on the word, “but I will ask this of you now. One final gift you can give me as a farewell.”

He cocked his head, eyes narrowing as he awaited her proposition.

“I would like Birdie, and her governess, to come to Cartus when the count and I set sail for his home. I cannot bear for her to be isolated and far from family.” She paused for a single heartbeat. “And surely it would benefit you to have her stationed in Cartus.”

Many influential men and their families settled there, and while Birdie was only seven, her early presence might be advantageous for a power-hungry sea captain—though Margrete had no plans to ever allow her little sister to be used in such a way. Her father highly underestimated her if he believed otherwise.

The captain considered, stroking his trimmed beard as he let time stretch thin. She waited, unmoving in her chair. This was a fear tactic he enjoyed using on his adversaries—silence—but she wasn’t in the mood to play his games.

“You actually make quite a good point,” he said, relenting, though his jaw ticked. “I will strike a bargain with you then. Marry the count without delay and without any of your theatrics, and Bridget will be allowed to leave with you to Cartus.”

Margrete nodded, though she hardly felt herself move. The fact that her father conceded to her request so easily had her wondering what else was up his sleeve, what other little secret he kept close to his charred heart.

“Thank you,” she said, hating the words. “If that is all, then I will leave you to your work.” Margrete knew better than to leave the study without his permission, and she waited for him to wave his hand in dismissal, that malicious smile still twisting his mouth.

“Oh, and daughter,” he interrupted before she was halfway to the door. She stopped, glancing over her shoulder. “You’d do well to remember the teachings of last week, because if you disappoint me…” He paused as her heart thundered madly.

Teachings. It was what he called his punishments.

“Oh, I never forget, Father,” she said, gathering her long skirts and abandoning the captain to his plans.

I will never forget. And one day, I hope to make you pay.