Page 71 of House of Salt and Sorrows
“Not for First Night,” Ligeia said. “Cassius won’t even notice whatever Camille comes down in.”
I sputtered. “That’s not what I—”
“Just put on the dress, Annaleigh,” Lenore said, pushing me toward the stairs.
“We, the People of the Salt, come together on this special night,” the High Mariner intoned, “to give our thanks to mighty Pontus for his great benevolence, blessing us with a season of bountiful plenty. Our fishermen’s nets—filled to bursting. Our winds—strong and sure. And the stars—clear and true. Now he churns the waters, changing the season over to a time of rest, replenishing the sea, taking care of us as he has for thousands of years.”
“Pontus, we thank you,” we echoed together.
We sat at the long table in the great hall, waiting for the ceremony to end and the seventh course to be served. Papa and Morella were at the head of the table, and my sisters and I were sprinkled among the guests. Unfortunately for me, Ivor sat at my left. I’d caught him sneaking looks down my neckline twice already.
The High Mariner stood behind his own table. Across it lay an assortment of items. I recognized his abalone chalice, filled once again with seawater. A conch rested on its wicked points, showing off its polished pink core. There were urchins, purple and spiny, and great sea stars, long since dead but preserved and buffed till their orange arms glowed.
“We, the People of the Salt, come together on this special night to commemorate the souls of those snatched too soon from us, who now rest in the waves’ powerful embrace.”
He meant sailors lost in storms or fishing accidents, but as I glanced over at my family, I knew we were all thinking of our missing sisters.
“Dear ones, you are commemorated.”
“We, the People of the Salt, come together on this special night,” he repeated, bringing home his oration, “to remember who we are. We who make our homes on the Salann Islands are a proud people, ruled over by a proud god. We are born of salt and starlight. Let us now drink to that, to remember where we come from and where—Pontus willing—we shall return.”
This was the only part of First Night I hated.
Everyone took up the small snifter nestled inconspicuously among the water goblets and wineglasses. Cassius, across from me but two people down, delayed his response to the High Mariner’s invitation. He was clearly not an islander.
I tossed back the thimbleful of salt water and swallowed fast, trying to keep the brackish taste off my tongue. It lingered, tart and biting. I set the snifter back down with a grimace, as did most of the table. Cassius wiped his mouth with a napkin and appeared to spit the water into it. He caught me staring and put a swift finger to his lips, warning me to keep his secret. I nearly forgot to say the last of our lines.
“We remember.”
“And now we, the People of the Salt, celebrate!” the High Mariner exclaimed.
Perfectly timed, the doors opened and four butlers entered, hoisting a tray high above their shoulders. A sailfish, almost ten feet long and roasted, was on the silver platter, propped up on its pectorals. The navy dorsal fin fanned wide, showcasing Cook’s talents. The silver body gleamed, and for a moment, everyone could imagine this great predator in the wild, flying out of the water with muscular grace.
Cook came out to take a little bow. Once Papa had carved out the first ceremonial fillet, Captain Bashemk pantomimed challenging the fish to a duel, striking its long sword with his butter knife. Wine flowed freely all evening. The women sipped with restraint, but the men were already a little worse for wear, and we still had six courses to go.
Father placed the fillet on Morella’s plate with a loving look. Offering her the first piece was a sign he esteemed her above everyone else in the room. Camille’s lower lip pushed out, dangerously close to petulance. She turned toward Cassius and muttered something that made him laugh.
Cook carved up the other servings as everyone exclaimed over the fish’s beauty. It was a complete extravagance, roasting an entire sailfish for a party of just twenty-four. I knew the remainder of the fish would be served to the staff for their First Night celebration later that evening, but looking at the proud beast, I was sorry he’d been caught. He should have been out in the Salt, not between gleaming vegetables and fruits.
As the High Mariner sat down to eat, the table’s conversation picked up again.
“Some of your girls had a birthday ball recently, eh, Ortun?” Regnard asked, swirling his glass of wine with unnecessary panache.
“My triplets,” he said. “It was a lovely party. We were sorry you missed it.”
“We ran into a squall coming back from Antinopally. Damned storm took us three days off course.” He peered down the table. “You’re all, what now, fourteen?”
“Sixteen, Uncle Regnard,” Rosalie corrected, flashing him a smile.
“Sixteen! And all still at Highmoor?”
His voice held a note of teasing, but a prickle rippled down my spine all the same.
“None of you are spoken for, then?” Jules asked, shooting a quick glance at Camille.
Ivor raised his eyebrows, looking me over again.
Sterland chuckled. “Ortun, you need to marry these beauties off before they run you out of house and home!”
