The Beast of Salt (Saga of the Gods #1)

10. Avina

10

AVINA

September 19th, Year 100, 9th Era

Treland Arena

T he crowd roars as Beast deals his final blow to the combatant Face.

Avina pales as the dead man’s identity curdles her stomach. He was one of Rendel’s men who happily participated in Rendel’s abuse.

She shivers, wishing those haunting memories would remain as lifeless as her late husband.

She glances at the two Timber Viscounts in her box, who have been whooping and hollering throughout the fight.

“I can watch Beast dismantle trash all day.” One of them raves as the entire Arena chants his name.

“My Arena guard friend told me Beast beat Face nearly to a pulp. The Arena Masters pushed their fight up two weeks to have it out now.”

“Based on this display, I think one of them slept with the other’s woman.”

“That is the rumor. I heard Face shared some story with Beast, and Beast attacked him! Broke every bone in his hand.”

Did they share a lover?

She cringes at the thought of what type of person sexually involves herself with both a personal guard of Rendel and Sigvid Thordsson.

Avina watches the dusty oval field from her reserved low box seat. Sigvid made quite a mess of Face, forcing a trio of cleaners to rush in and mop up his body.

Several weeks had elapsed since the council and her father forced him to fight for his life. Avina has not physically seen the warrior since she visited him in the Scarwood dungeon. She has shamefully touched herself to his memory more times than she can count.

And she loathes herself for these releases. The Salt Prince would perish in the Arena, and she would wed another version of Rendel.

Deep in the darkest corner of her soul, Avina relished their war. During that time, they each became an all-consuming obsession for one another.

A hateful obsession.

The unforgettable night in the Sapphire Palace simmers in the outskirts of her thoughts at all times. With time came reflection, and she had once written off her stranger as a womanizer seeking her as a conquest.

Now, she isn’t so sure.

“I find you the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.’” Sigvid’s momentary devotion remains the only proof that someone could desire Avina.

She returns to her lodgings at the inn attached to the Arena. Even before she reaches her locked door, she hears Nellie's frantic scratchings.

“Nellie Bee!” She announces to a responding chorus of chirps.

Technically, animals are not allowed in the inn, but Nellie is hardly an invasive creature and a perfect travel companion. And no one has chastised Avina yet.

She decides that a nap with Nellie is more important than witnessing another match.

Avina curls on her bed in time for the black cat to leap up and settle under her chin. Purrs reverberate against her chest, and she relishes the creature—the most cherished being in her world and the only creature that loves her in return.

Two Months Ago

Year 100, 9th Era

Scarwood, Timber Province

“ H e is violating the law.” Avina shakes with a fury she didn’t know she possessed.

“Then there’s no reason your Council will not be on your side. It’s just the Hound Master, after all.” Bertie shrugs from her desk, where he sits with one leg over the other, clutching a glass of wine. He appears to be the paradigm of sophistication. “I truly want to know how the Timber folk drink this ghastly swill they call wine.”

“I happen to like sweet wine.” She pouts, stealing the glass from his hand.

“Hey!” Bertie protests. “I am still going to drink it.”

Her shaky hand brings the glass to her mouth, but her quivering sloshes the red liquid onto her baby-blue bodice. “Shit.”

“I got you, Shadow.” Bertie leaps to his feet, walking from her study into her bedchamber.

She sets the now empty glass beside her map of Treland. Tiny red flags scatter the Timber and Salt provinces, indicating battles fought with Lord Commander Thordsson.

At this moment, he and his Drengr are marching closer to Scarwood. Many in the city are panicking, but not Avina.

She has a plan to trap him, a thought that leaves her on a high cloud while also reminding her that the slightest misstep will cause her world to crumble.

Her obsession with the Salt Prince has reached new levels. A reality she has not confessed to anyone.

“Shadow?” Bertie shrieks from her bedroom in a tone suggesting he just discovered something gruesome. She hears him rustling in her armoire for a new gown, yet his actions pause.

“Yes?” She taps the tiny nautilus shell on the map representing Sigvid.

“What in the unholy Abyss is this?” Bertie pauses, and it takes her a moment to realize what he has uncovered in her armoire.

“Oh my Goddess, there’s a note, too.” Bertie is aghast, and suddenly, reality sets over Avina.

“Bertie!” She squeals, running to his side. She is too late as he is staring at the Salt Prince’s most recent gift and corresponding letter.

“What the actual shit is this, Avina?” He shrieks again, so loud that she is sure all of the North Tower heard him.

Goddess, I am in trouble if he referred to me by my given name rather than my nickname .

“‘Once I take Scarwood, I will use this to lock you down.’” Bertie throws the leather collar at her, and the tiny metal tag jingles around the ring.

Her fingers trace the rough engravings of the runes. Heat burns her cheeks and neck like she has never known before.

“Explain.”

“Lord Commander Thordsson sent-”

Bertie holds up a hand to stop her. “Let’s acknowledge I know the rumors about your sick gift exchange with that Beast. I want to know why you kept that item specifically.”

She shifts her weight, focusing her gaze on the collar. The craftsmanship is lovely, with delicate Salt runes engraved along the brown leather. Her research said they represent protection and ownership.

“I keep all of his gifts.” Her voice is barely audible.

“Your Majesty.” A guard leans into the room with a bow. “The Council is ready for you, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” She returns the collar to her armoire, much to Bertie’s apparent chagrin. “I don’t need your judgment. Although I can use help selecting a new dress to confront the Council.”

“Cousin, if you want to wear a collar for someone? I support you. But if you want to wear a collar for Sigvid bloody Thordsson.” He shakes his head, hands on hips with that disapproving glower. “No, ma’am. That's like a pig walking into a slaughterhouse begging the butcher to turn him into pork cutlets. That beast–I refuse to call him a man–cannot get his own throne in Salt and has settled on yours. Wearing his handmade collar is beyond insane. There, that’s all I have to say.”

Avina imagines what the mysterious Salt Prince would look like, buckling the collar around her neck.

No one has intentionally maintained communication with Avina. She never yearned for physical things, but something about his letters and, at least, thought-out presents made her feel unique—someone special.

Perhaps she is still naive. However, the tone in every letter, sometimes a detailed account of Sigvid’s day, felt intensely private—as if she were the only person receiving his attention.

Bertie helps her find a new forest green gown with matching emerald accessories. Once she dresses again, they descend to the Timber Council chamber.

She steels herself, inhaling and exhaling what little confidence she can muster.

I do find championing others easier than myself.This should go well.

“You got this.” Bertie opens the door for her and follows her inside.

If only she has his faith.

“I am doing my job.” The Hound Master’s oily voice greets her. He stands with his back to her in black leather overalls and a matching apron.

Like any other person born of a woman, he has a name. But monsters don’t deserve their names uttered in polite company.

When she enters, he turns his wispy head from the fence to glower at her as if she is the source of everything amiss in the province.

“Your job is to train the hounds.” Avina sweeps inside to stand beside him, meeting the Council. Her breath is stuck in her throat as she prepares to counter the monster whose scathing attacks have shaken her over the last few weeks.

Bertie keeps to the back by the door. His silent support means everything to Avina.

“Nothing in your job description states you are entitled to torture cats, Hound Master.” She settles behind the other pulpit, preparing to counter anything the horrible man sought to throw her way.

“Scarwood’s cat problem is significant, as I have told Your Highness through a dozen correspondences. My solution keeps the hounds fed at no cost to our citizens.”

She simmers with rage. His ‘method’ of feeding live cats to dogs is despicable.

“Queen Avina,” Count Borg, Lead Councilman, addresses her, “the Council recognizes your delicate constitution, and we cannot deny the rationale of our Hound Master. With all due respect, Your Majesty, your current fixations are a bit unnecessary when you should be looking for a Timber husband to produce heirs.”

Is he serious? Am I being scolded for not marrying a man right now?

“You mentioned this to me while I sought permission to build a school for young women or my attempts to feed the homeless. It sounds like the Council would rather I abandon the needs of our city in favor of finding a man to rule. Why would it not be better for me to continue these projects while searching for a husband and for us to share power?”

Had Timber not notoriously been known for their misogynistic tendencies, she would have been stunned by the Council. Their words are more than distrustful of her because she is a woman. This is blindly turning away from the needs of their citizens. Sure, the cats aren’t people, but their attitude extends to her attempts to help anyone in the city.

The Council glances at one another, and she catches the whispered exchanges.

This meeting is not going well .

The Hound Master clears his throat. “Esteemed Timber Council, all I request is to be left alone to continue training and breeding hunting hounds for the lords.”

Count Borg stands. “Hound Master, continue your work per usual. Queen Avina, you have been officially silenced on this matter. We will view any further interaction as harassment.”

Ruffling and raised conversation emanate from the dais as the Council exits. The Hound Master steps over to her with a slimy smile before leaving.

“Explain why you have zero power in this shithole?” Bertie questions.

“Antiquated laws to protect the Manchineels after the necromancer Queen. They fear a woman without a King.”

“How has this Province not fallen apart yet?” Bertie follows her out of the chambers.

After spending the midafternoon and early evening plotting her revenge mission against the Hound Master, she and Bertie slink out through the secret passage she constructed to quickly escape Rendel. Black trousers and tunics shroud their bodies, allowing them to blend into the cloudy night.

Avina hyper-focuses on their task. She has quietly considered enacting this job since she learned how the Hound Master houses and feeds the hunting dogs.

The Hound Master’s hut lies outside the city wall, nearly into the Great Forest. Whines and howls sicken her stomach as they creep closer. Rendel appointed the monster to his post, and had she not been a woman, the Council would have accepted her many pleas to evict him.

The forty-some hounds in his care are skeletal, panting among piles of bones—remains of other animals and malnourished dogs. The poor creatures lie about a fenced-in area behind his shack. Around the front are twenty crates in stacks along his porch. Even as they approach, she can hear the frantic meows of the cats he has trapped throughout the city.

“Bertie, do you see this horror?”

No matter how sick the scene makes her want to retch, she must remain controlled. These animals live in her province and her city. They count on her to keep them safe. And since the Council overruled her efforts, she will take matters into her own hands!

They slowly move, placing their boots flat on the ground to quell their footsteps toward the gate. Avina releases the latch. The dogs near her don’t growl, but a few stir at the change in environment and investigate the open door.

As much as she hates not to escort every hound to safety, she and Bertie turn their attention to the cats.

They creep along the side of the shambled home, careful to dip below the murky windows. Cries and meows sound in a chorus when they approach the captives along the front.

Bertie tosses her a blade, and they begin slicing open the crates, releasing the screeching cats onto the grass. Her heart breaks seeing all sizes shoved into that tight space. Tabbies, black cats, white cats, chubby and starved, elderly and kitten.

“Shoo. Go on now!” Bertie’s strained whisper does little to dissuade one of the younger cats who rubs against his legs, purring loud enough to wake the Timber Army.

She glances around the side of the hut to see ten dogs have left the fence. They are almost halfway through the cats when she hears the back door slam open.

Both she and Bertie halt. Her heart stops beating.

“Get back in here, you mangy mongrels. Get!” She hears his foot collide with one of the dogs, and the poor creature’s whines twist her insides.

“Shadow, we need to go now!” Bertie urges her away from the hut, but she adamantly shakes her head. Not until she can free as many of these helpless animals as possible.

The sudden shutter of the building intensifies the cats' fervent cries. “We go when they’re all rescued.” She opens another crate, chasing away those inside.

Bertie sighs loudly. “I was afraid you would say that.” He returns to his half-open box when she pauses.

“Do you smell that?” Her nose crinkles from the smoke now billowing from under his front door.

“Goddess be, it is on fire!” Bertie leaps back, his hands tangled in his hair.

“No! We cannot leave them!” She opens a box to find a pair of newborn black kittens. Their eyes barely open.

Fire engulfs the porch, catching along the crates with a crackle.

“Here, Bertie!” She reaches out with one of the kittens when the front door bursts open, shaking her legs until she stumbles. “Go, ready the secret path! I’ll meet you inside!”

Bertie tears off into the night.

“Come on, babies.” She scoops the first kitten, the smallest, into her arms and is about to go for the second baby when the Hound Master grips her hood and shoves it off.

Smoke and heat choke her lungs from his shift in the direction of the fire.

“What do you know?” Fire coats his body like he has become the Abyss monster he tries so hard to embrace. “Fucking bitch just can’t stay away. If you were anyone else, I would skin you alive and feed you to all these shits you think need saving.”

She lunges toward the open crate, ignoring the searing pain of the flames licking at her arms. The second kitten squeals as her hand tightens around its tiny body, lurching it from the fire.

“I got you.” She kisses its tiny head while stumbling away with both babies clutched in her hands.

The Hound Master laughs. “I will burn my whole damn house to spite you. Mark my words, you come at me again, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

Her feet pound into the earth, and the lights from the North Tower twinkle like beacons of hope. The tiniest of heartbeats flutter against her palms.

Do not give in, sweet ones. We are almost to salvation .

Glowing slivers illuminate a square opening as they near the door. When Bertie appears, she allows herself to breathe again.

“Shadow!” He runs out to meet her, untangling one of the kittens from her hands and nearly shoving her inside. “Are you well? Are you hurt?” He examines her burned-off sleeves and most of her right arm hair. A few licks from the flames along her arms would heal in time.

But not the animals they lost that night. Either to the fire or to him, it did not matter. Because of the Hound Master, their lives were unnecessarily taken or left to his wicked maltreatment.

She and Bertie set the kittens on a dusty, old armchair in the deserted servant quarters, and then she collapses to her knees. The one she grabbed just as the Hound Master accosted her lay still. Haggard exhales emit from someone, and it takes her a moment to realize it is her.

“No, little kitten, come on.” She strokes her palms along the length of its limp body.

Gods, hear my prayer, please, do not let them die for nothing.

Her sight becomes increasingly clouded the longer she stares at the breathless kitten. “I will take care of you, I promise. I will give you a happy life.” Tears drip onto the little corpse.

She feels arms wrap around her shoulders as Bertie settles to the floor at her back. “Shhhh. Shadow. You have done more than anyone else has for these creatures.”

She continues to brush the kitten’s hair with her two forefingers. “I failed them.”

Her head falls into her hands.

They were living beings in her care as Queen, and because she is not courageous or fast enough to take on the Hound Master, their lives ended too abruptly.

Because she let them down.

The other kitten wiggles with a little grunt. Bertie pulls away as her palms scoop the black kitten into her hands.

“Bertie, find me some milk and a hot towel!” The words barely leave her mouth when he runs out of the room.

“Hello.” More tears roll down her cheeks. “Hello, little Nellie. I promise I will never let anything happen to you.” She kisses her head.