Salt Storm: The Salted Series: Episodes #31-35 by Galvin, Aaron (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

knocked unconscious in the stables by a Silkie slave, I believe. Does that story carry any note of truth with you, horse-lord?”

Rupert grimaced, neither agreeing or disagreeing to the claim.

Malik grinned wider. “Silence is an answer in and of itself, my friend. A word of warning though - with all these trials to come, it would be a shame if any further royal names were added among the list of traitors to king and crown, wouldn’t it, Master Bowrider?”

“It’s Lord Bowrider to you, vermin,” said Rupert. “And you would be unwise to name me traitor again.”

“I’ll name you as I like, boy,” Malik continued forward, even as Rupert reached for his sword. The Blackfin stopped within an inch of him, smiling down on Rupert and Sydney both. “And if you ever think to stand or swim in the way of my orders again, horse-lord, I assure you that a traitor’s trial will be the least of your concerns.”

Malik reached around Rupert, then, their stares never wavering from one another. He took hold of Sydney’s trembling arm and pulled her free of Rupert’s shadow. “Come, Princess,” he said gaily. “We mustn’t keep your father and the crowds waiting.”

What game is he playing at? Sydney wondered, even as the Blackfin’s thumb needled into her arm, warning her to obey or else. He knows the king is not my real dad.

Malik led her back to the threshold of the doors, but stopped before crossing over. He turned back to face Rupert once more, whipping Sydney around with him. “By the by, horse-lord, whatever where you two lovebirds singing about to one another in this cold, dark place? Hmm? No doubt the king will find it most curious you went out of your way to stop my seawolves from carrying out a royal command. I wonder . . . what answer would you have me give to the king for his daughter’s untimely arrival?”

Rupert’s response came without delay. “Before the princess was taken, the king gave his daughter a most special gift – a seahorse of royal stock.”

Malik laughed. “A seahorse?”

“Aye,” said Rupert. “A Tiger-Tail thoroughbred. With all the time the princess has been away, I thought she might wish to know how the seahorse fared in her absence.”

Malik snorted. “Quite well, I’d assume, considering the beast is a gift from the king himself and housed in the royal stables.”

“Indeed,” said Rupert. “Still, I knew the princess would wish to know. They’re quite close, as any true rider should be with their mount.” He looked to Sydney. “Is there anything you would wish for her, Princess?” Rupert’s eyes flashed. “A special ball of that shrimp-paste cocktail you often gave her for a treat, perhaps? A ride around the city to your favorite locales?”

The message, Sydney understood by Rupert’s tone and the way he looked on her. He wants to know what message to give Quill . . . where to look for him.

Sydney cleared her throat, her mind racing for what to say and not give herself away to Malik. “No special place,” she said in answer to Rupert’s question. “Just tell her that I miss her very much and I’m sorry that I’ve been away.” Sydney tried to buy herself more time with the non-descript response, all whilst trying to think of a truer message for Rupert to pass on if finding Quill. “Tell her . . . tell Roselani that I hope to see her again very soon.”

And please understand that when I say Roselani, I really mean Quill . . . she thought to herself.

Rupert nodded. “I will indeed pass along your message, Princess.”

Malik clucked his tongue. “Run along, then, horse-lord. You have your orders. I have my own,” he said in such a way that set Sydney to shivering all over again. “And the traitor trials await.”

Then, he was marching Sydney away once more, bound toward the clamoring crowd awaiting them at the tunnel’s end.

11

LENNY

Huddled in near darkness inside one of middle train cars, Lenny Dolan rocked back and forth with the train’s movement as it sped through the underground tunnel toward the station of Bouvetøya. Lined in a row with several other Selkies, Lenny and each of those with him had manacles placed around their wrists in blatant signal of their prisoner status.

But the locks of Lenny Dolan and his fellows were for show alone.

Not for the first time, Lenny toyed with the unlocked, broken ends of his manacles to ensure the lock catches of both remained free for the ambushing plan of attack awaiting them. His freedom reassured, Lenny’s hand drifted to the dual hidden blades in his Selkie pocket too, nudging the hilts of both with his fists.

In front of him, Tom Weaver’s little friend, Vasili, stood as tall as he was able, his shoulders back and Baikal Seal hood drawn in the event he needed to morph his Salted form.

Behind Lenny, the shadowed outline of the former tavern owner Jemmy T, lingered over him in protecting watch. Other than the few times Lenny had asked to be alone with his thoughts, his father’s friend had refused to leave Lenny’s side. Then, as now, Jemmy T gave Lenny a comforting nod when finding himself glanced back at. “Everything be fine, little brudda,” he whispered. “Jemmy T be your guardian angel, mon. Aye, him be watching over you always . . . but keep them blades handy, yeah?”

“Will do . . .” Lenny replied, feeling for the hilts of his hidden daggers once more.

The train wheels screeched beneath him, the cabin shuddering in tandem.

Lenny’s heart thundered against his chest as he turned back to face the bolted, wooden door in front of him. Where the wood slats had rattled with the train’s constant speed, the sound of it had lessened in the wake of the Sailfish train beginning to brake.

From the forefront of the train-car’s locked doors, a hulking shadow growled. “Steady, lads,” the brogue voice of Brutus commanded from beneath the visored guard of the