“What do you have?” he asked, not remembering ever having seen that book before.
“I’m not sure,” she answered. “If I’m not mistaken, I’d say it was some sort of...journal.” She flipped through the text but then held down a page, her eyes widening at whatever she saw there. “I am forgotten. I am nothing when I should be all,” she read aloud, her voice trembling.
Bash felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as his heightened senses picked up the scent of copper and rust.
“Shit,” Margrete cursed, pulling her hand away. The bandage around her palm was red with blood.
“What happened?” Bash jumped to his feet.
“My wound must’ve opened up. I got a little blood—” Margrete let out a hiss of pain and dropped the book to the stone floor.
The ground beneath Bash’s boots trembled, vibrations working their way up his legs. Margrete opened her mouth in horror as the floor tilted and books flew from their shelves and landed in a disorderly heap.
He was halfway to her when the very shelf she gripped began to wobble. Without a thought, Bash lunged forward and wrapped his arm around her waist, propelling them out of the way. The wooden bookcase crashed to the floor seconds later.
Bash cradled her head before it collided against stone, his chest pressing against her soft curves.
Her breaths came out ragged, her eyes creased with fear. He didn’t move, not even as the earth settled, quieting, the beasts below them calming. If anything, he tightened his hold, her hot breath tickling his lips as he fought to regain control.
“Margrete.” He spoke her name like a prayer as pages fluttered down all around them. “Are you all right?”
She was looking at him the same way she had last night, right before she leaned onto the tips of her toes and kissed him, setting his world on fire.
“I’m fine,” she managed to reply, her words coming out on a rasp.
He tensed at the sensuous quality of her voice, a heat building within him.
Her lashes fluttered, hands moving to his chest. She lingered, her parted lips a temptation he wouldn’t be able to resist if she didn’t push him away. Margrete had the vexing gift of being enticing without even trying.
Slowly, she lifted a lone finger to trace the curve of his jaw, his cheek, before mapping out the column of his throat. Bash could feel nothing but her caress, the softness of her as she memorized him, her cunning eyes devouring every detail.
“I’m going to help you, Bash,” she said. Heat pooled in his belly at the sound of his name on her sweet lips. He wanted to capture the sound for his own.
“You’re going to make the trade with my father and get the Heart,” she insisted, and his chest constricted at the thought of her in that monster’s presence. “But if he manages to evade you, I will hunt him down myself.”
She dropped her hand back to her side, her expression fierce and deadly, her mouth set in a determined line. Bash found her hard edges beautiful.
“Together,” he said, forcing himself to his feet. He offered her his hand, and she readily accepted. Even when she stood, he didn’t release his grip. Her hand belonged in his. “We’ll take him down together.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Margrete
That afternoon, Adrian was kind enough to take Margrete to the training terrace where a welcome breeze battled the scorching sun. Still, she found herself sweating by the time Adrian demonstrated how to get out of a chokehold. It didn’t help that her mind drifted elsewhere—back to all the truths Bash had revealed in the library.
Truth he’d trusted her with.
There wasn’t much time until dinner when she returned to her chambers. She found a cool bath waiting and was about to slip into the bathing suite when a flash of red caught her eye. She stopped in her tracks, zeroing in on a leather-bound book placed on the edge of her dresser.
Margrete moved closer to pick up the tome, its edges rounded and worn. Running a cautious hand across the faded cover, she brought it to her nose, shutting her eyes as she breathed in the familiar scent.
It smelled of him.
Margrete exhaled slowly before setting it back on the dresser. She turned to the bathing suite, forcing the book and the meaning behind it to the back of her thoughts.
But it was when she was sinking into the tub, her aching limbs seeming to sigh in relief, that she felt the crushing weight of reality rob her breath.
If her father didn’t trade her for the Heart, and Ortum couldn’t call forth the missing power—that divine essence bestowed to Azantian by the sea god himself—then what would happen to her world? A world she hadn’t even begun to explore, with people she hadn’t yet met and adventures she longed to be a part of.
Bash opened her eyes in the library, making her appreciate how vital his mission was to the realm. Margrete now understood that she couldn’t hinder his endeavors any longer. She would willingly go back to her father—if he made the trade—and she would do so knowing what was at stake.
This acceptance helped her realize something else. Right now, at this very moment, she wasn’t at the keep. Not under her father’s thumb. No. She was here, in one of the most legendary and stunning places known only through books of lore. And maybe she just wanted to enjoy the time she had left, to indulge for once in her young life.
While shadows of doubt followed her as she dressed for dinner, there was also a lightness in her heart, a feeling of peace that came from letting all else go. She breathed in the wonder she’d previously denied herself, and the crushing weight of the things she couldn’t control tumbled from her shoulders. Even as the sands of time flowed to the bottom of the hourglass, she felt...liberated.
It was minutes after she’d finished dressing and mere seconds after she’d put the last touches on her smoothed hair that a familiar voice startled her.
“I can genuinely say I’m impressed by you.” Bay stood by the portal, his hands shoved into his fine blue trousers, a bored look on his face. “Adrian told me all about your little midnight sail. He saw Bash bring you back into the palace, your clothes all wet and your hand bloody.”
Margrete flushed. She hoped Adrian hadn’t seen what else had conspired on the beach.
“I seem rather terrible at escaping.”
“You truly are,” Bay said. “Possibly the worst displays I’ve ever seen, though one has to admire your determination.”
If they were friends, true friends, she might’ve gently smacked his shoulder. Instead, she shook her head and tried not to roll her eyes.
“Well, shall we?” Bay asked. “I bet you want to eat before you try something else tonight. Bash really has his hands full with you.”
She wanted to tell Bay that she wasn’t a flight risk anymore, that she’d made up her mind to stay, but the words didn’t find their way to her mouth. Instead, she smiled and walked beside him to dinner.
By the time they entered the dining hall, Ortum, Nerissa, and Shade were already present, Nerissa tapping her long nails impatiently on the glass tabletop. Margrete took her seat with Bay at her side. Not long after, Bash and Adrian arrived, the former wearing a scowl.
As he lowered himself into his seat, Bash met her gaze. Gradually, his eyes drifted to her wrapped hand. She saw a hint of concern flash across his stoic features, but then he twisted to Adrian, who sat on his left.
Ortum appeared noticeably drained, his shoulders drooping, coral eyes creased. He caught her stare more than once and held it, bestowing her with knowing smiles. The man was born from a god. He was the reason the gates remained strong after Malum’s heart had been stolen. She’d been wrong to feel uneasy around him, though to be honest, her pulse still raced whenever she locked eyes with the ancient man. Margrete told herself it was merely because of what he was.
Surely that had to be why her stomach churned.
Dinner was served while the king and his commander caught up in deep conversation. Not that it mattered much to her. She endured in silence for most of the
meal, occasionally sneaking peeks at the Azantian king. Only once did he catch her, and she quickly averted her eyes to Bay, who proceeded to ask how she liked her fish.
Her mood, the one she fashioned from hope that she was doing the right thing, diminished the longer she was in the king’s presence. He was a living reminder that there were so many things she hadn’t experienced. Whatever was happening between them—the teasing, the flirting, the stolen moments—would come to an end. A week ago, she would’ve laughed at such a thought, that she would possess any sort of remorse over leaving. Now, the idea of never seeing him again left her feeling hollow.
At her side, Bay tried his best to carry their conversation, but she found it too difficult for practiced niceties. While his attention momentarily brought a weak smile to her lips, it faded, replaced with a frown that wouldn’t seem to leave.
Instead, she passed the time by fidgeting with the ring Arabel had given her at the market. The polished band glittered with every rotation, and she thought of the woman and her mysterious words. Maybe Arabel was simply mad, but the ring settled her roiling emotions, and for that, Margrete was thankful.
“I wish you didn’t have to go,” Bay confessed, his voice hushed so no one else could hear. It seemed he’d forgiven her earlier brusqueness and recognized that her silence signified a greater hopelessness.
Across the table, Bash lifted his head, ears perked as he listened. Shade was speaking animatedly about some new vessel being constructed, but Bash’s focus remained steadily on the captain’s daughter.
Margrete willed her thoughts away from the king and responded to Bay’s declaration with a melancholy smile. “I find myself wishing to be anywhere but back at that keep. However, I do not plan on staying long.”
“Bash doesn’t have a choice.”
In sending her home, he meant. In exchange for the Heart.
“I understand that now. Bash explained the importance of this trade, and while I do not look forward to it, I understand why he’s worked so tirelessly to return order. Something I can’t help but commend him for.” She shot Bay a look and, attempting to lighten the mood, said, “But don’t tell him that. Wouldn’t wish to inflate his ego further.”
Even though freely cooperating in the trade was the right thing to do, panic squeezed her lungs at the thought of returning to her father. The captain’s presence always turned her into a helpless girl. No matter how old she was, he had a way of making her feel so small.
Margrete suddenly pushed up, her chair screeching against the polished marble floors. “I’m tired,” she announced, suddenly the target of every eye in the room. “I’d like to retire for the evening.”
All of those eyes shifted to Bash as if asking his permission for her. He nodded, and their heads dropped in response to refocus their wavering attentions to their full plates. Bash shoved out of his chair, hands smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles of his trousers. “I’ll accompany you back.”
Nerissa’s fork clattered to the plate, the sound echoing.
“Adrian can always do that, Bash,” she chimed, her sing-song voice laced with apprehension.
Bash stiffened. “There’s no need.” He gave Nerissa a nod of dismissal, but the seer wouldn’t be silenced.
“Do you really think it’s a good idea?” The room fell into an uneasy hush. “We all see what’s happening here, and as I’ve told you before—”
“Enough, Nerissa,” Shade said. Nerissa shut her mouth and averted her gaze.
Margrete swallowed hard, ready to flee the tension that had swarmed the room. She was thankful when Bay stood up, gave her a quick peck on her forehead, and wished her a good night. Adrian merely bestowed his usual gentle smile, but his eyes flickered to Nerissa.
“Let’s go.” Bash tilted his head, and she didn’t hesitate to leave.
When they were safely in the main foyer, beyond the hearing of the others, Margrete asked, “What was that all about?”
Bash let out a groan. “Nerissa is very…protective of me. She seems to think that you and I are…” A hint of color entered his cheeks. “That we’re getting closer than we should.”
They were getting closer than they should.
Bash closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of the silence deafening.
“I know this isn’t what you want. Tomorrow, I mean,” Bash began, uncharacteristically tentative, “but I trust you will not let him win ever again.” Bash took her hand in his, his warmth wrapping around her fingers. “You have no idea what I would do for my people and the waters I’ve been entrusted to protect. Without you, my legacy, my sacred duty…”
“You no longer have to convince me, Bash,” she promised. He nodded, yet to release her hand.
A long moment passed between them. As if they couldn’t help themselves, they drifted closer, pulled by that cursed invisible bond. Margrete’s chest filled with heat.
“You didn’t count the cutlery.” The words tumbled from her lips without thought, but they had their desired effect.
Bash took a step back. His eyes slowly lit up, the gold flecks swirling with renewed mischief. “Ahh, yes. It must have slipped my mind.” He squeezed her hand, and she could’ve sworn the smile he wore brightened the entire hall. “How very kind of you to remind me.”
“Just giving you a heads up, is all.” She shrugged, her chest loosening. With the moment shattered, she could breathe again.
“Hmm. Well, if you plan on trying to kill me tonight—again, I might add—then at least do me the kindness of allowing me to show you my favorite place on the island. Though, I might be the only one who holds that opinion.”
Margrete’s lips parted. She was torn. If she went with him now, she might find herself liking him even more. A part of her missed the days when it was easy to hate him.
“And if you could wait to murder me until after we get to our destination, I’d appreciate it. I’d hate for my blood to stain the marble floors. They were just polished.”
“I’ll consider your request.” She smirked, shooting him a shrewd look. She nearly faltered when both dimples popped up on his cheeks.
Bash tugged on her hand, sending her feet into motion. “Come on, princess. Let’s go before you get any more ideas about drugging me again.”
As they walked, the quivering flames of the sconces danced upon the glass walls, highlighting the natural beauty of the palace. They passed countless gilded archways and intricate doors, and Margrete speculated silently as to what each one concealed. She was about to inquire what lay behind a forest-green door with intricate silver spikes when Bash abruptly halted. Margrete collided into his muscular back with a groan.
“Ouch.” She rubbed at her forehead, and Bash twisted around to smirk. But he didn’t apologize, and he didn’t let go of her hand.
They’d just descended a flight of stone steps where a set of iron doors loomed at the end of a stretched hall. With a lightness in his step, Bash pulled her along, closing the gap between them and the approaching doors, each footstep echoing.
“Through here.” Bash waved his hand over the lock. The tarnished metal felt out of place amongst the ethereal silver and delicate sea glass of Azantian.
The lock clicked, and a light flashed. The gates swung open a second later.
“I’d ask how you did that, but I have a feeling it’s similar to the workings of my portal.”
“You’d be correct,” Bash replied, ushering her into the gloom and beyond the dim lighting of the corridor. “The magic responds to those who are granted access, but not many have access to this place.”
“I can’t make out a damn thing.” She swore, stepping deeper into the void.
Bash chuckled, the rich sound of his laughter heightened in the dark. “Patience,” he chided, and clutched her tighter.
After many long moments of silence and darkness, Margrete prepared to hassle him for an explanation, but her open mouth soon closed.
A flicker of purple light shined across the rocky walls. It lasted
but a heartbeat.
“Almost there,” Bash assured her, steering them farther into the tunnel’s depths.
If she narrowed her eyes, she could just make out the walkway, but even so, it wasn’t enough to move around without Bash’s assistance. He seemed to know this tunnel as well as he knew himself.
Margrete heard the patter of dripping water, the sound growing louder as they approached. Above, the ceiling rose hundreds of feet high, stalactites pointing threateningly to where Bash and Margrete stood. Every now and again, the ephemeral purple sparks ignited, leaving the jagged walls buzzing with living color. When those playful lights faded, their world was once again cast into obscure darkness.
“Just wait for it.” A beam of light illuminated Bash as he held up a lone finger. His eyes shifted to the center of the cavern’s ceiling, a spiraling roof that escalated to a single apex—much like the inside of a tower.
“What am I waiting for?” she whispered, growing increasingly curious. Something about this place was both familiar and uncomfortably sinister.
“I promise…You won’t regret it.”
Another flicker of violet brightened his emerald eyes which held an unnatural quality. It made him appear wraithlike, a ghost of a soul with a human face.
When nothing happened, she said, “Still waiting, pirate.
“Patience certainly isn’t one of your virtues, princess.” Bash’s face glowed with a boyish smile. Whatever this place was, it meant a lot to the king.
“What is it called?” she asked, her voice low. “It’s…unreal.” That was an understatement for what she was witnessing.
“This is the Adiria Cavern. Roughly translated to the soul,” Bash replied reverently. “Malum stood on these hallowed grounds and forged the island with his lover. Even we Azantians don’t know all the secrets that this place holds.”
Her pulse quickened with anticipation.
“It happens once a day, always at the same time. Most watch it from above, but I like to watch it from down here. It’s like being inside of a starflame.” Bash chuckled. “Just don’t ask Adrian about it. He has way too many theories about this place and will talk about it for hours.”
The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea Page 18