The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea by Katherine Quinn

Chapter Thirty-One

Bash

Bash couldn’t getMargrete’s face out of his mind. The way she’d looked upon the count as he was dragged below deck. She’d nearly married the man, though she claimed she hardly knew him. And yet the sight of her face as Casbian was hauled away had Bash’s heart thumping wildly in his chest. Did she regret not marrying him? Did a part of her wish she’d gone through with the ceremony? That she was far from Azantian and Bash and danger?

Danger he had put her in.

Bash slumped in his chair; the captain’s quarters was finally empty of bodies. Atlas had just left, likely still bristling from their argument. While the warrior was likely too headstrong for her own good, she was a fine soldier. Bash respected the hell out of her, even if she constantly questioned him.

He had to get his head on straight, to focus on the larger picture. Perhaps deep down, they always knew the captain wouldn’t come, even if they skirted around the possibility. However, his absence coming to fruition had Bash feeling all sorts of hopeless.

A failure.

Hours had passed. He needed to speak with Margrete, as he’d promised, but the thought of her looking at him with disappointment was nearly worse than letting down his island.

Bash wasn’t a monster. He wouldn’t torture an innocent man, especially if it was a man Margrete had…feelings for. A man who might be better for her in the long run than Bash would ever be.

He swiped his hands across his desk, sending papers flying to the floor. His stomach twisted into knots as he stood, running his fingers through his hair in an effort to rein in his overwhelming regret.

Bash marched toward her cabin, ignoring how the weight of his emotions, his own damn insecurities, suffocated him. How his chest grew taut with doubt and heavy with fear. Fear that he was right, and that Margrete would be better off without him. It was selfish to wish for anything else.

At her door, he knocked hesitantly.

“Come in.” Bash sensed her frustration, and it caused his steps to falter as he went inside. His eyes drifted immediately to the woman who’d stolen something irreplaceable from him. Something he’d never get back, even if he wanted to.

Not that he did.

He approached slowly. “Princess.”

She sat perched on the side of her cot, her hands placed delicately on her lap, but her eyes were fierce, brimming with distress.

Bash ignored the pang of hurt in his chest and took a seat beside her, his thigh brushing against her warmth. He could smell the lavender in the air, a scent that followed her like a summer breeze. If he could breathe nothing else but her, he gladly would.

“Tell me why you took him.”

He shifted to face her. She didn’t recoil from his nearness, but her features were tight.

“If Casbian is working with your father, then I couldn’t let him go. You know that.”

“But if he isn’t?” she pressed.

“Then I will set him free.”

“You promise?” Her eyes softened.

He had the urge to cup her cheek, to feel the softness of her skin and pull her into his embrace.

He resisted. Bash had to know where her heart lay.

“Yes. I vow it to you.”

She nodded. “I do understand, you know. Why you took him. Just promise me you won’t…torture him. He came for me when no one else did. I couldn’t live with myself should I be the cause of his pain.”

Once again, her goodness floored Bash.

“I would never allow you to carry such a burden.” Bash glanced at his boots. “If his intentions are indeed honorable, then I won’t harm him.” He flinched when she entwined her fingers with his, squeezing tightly.

“Thank you, Bash. I know this wasn’t what you planned, but we will find the Heart and right this wrong. I won’t rest until my father’s crimes have met justice.”

Bash wanted to laugh. What chance did they have now? Even if they managed to locate her father, it was likely too late. Ortum’s time and magic were running out. He wouldn’t be able to hold the gates any longer, and his once vivid coral eyes were clouded with dusk, the exertion taking its toll.

Margrete scooted closer, shifting so her head rested against his shoulder. Without her eyes on him, he had the courage to ask what had plagued his thoughts for hours.

“Is there more to your relationship with Casbian? Do you care for him?” The question came out in a voice he didn’t recognize. It was deep and full of glass.

Margrete craned her head to look at him, eyes narrowed into slits. “If you’re asking me what I think you are, then you’re a fool.”

A rush of relief coursed through him. He tugged her against him and ran his fingers through her hair. “I had to know. Had to hear it from your lips.”

Margrete bristled, but she lifted her palm to his chest and rested it above his heart. “After all we shared, I shouldn’t have to speak the words for you to know,” she said, a hint of hurt in her tone.

But Bash had to make sure. He’d never been in such a predicament.

He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and then forced himself to stand.

“I need to head up and meet with the crew, but try to get some rest. I’ll see you tonight?”

Because he knew he’d be back once night fell, eager to wrap himself in her warmth where his nightmares couldn’t reach him.

“I’ll be here.” She gave him a wry grin.

It was the sight of that, how her face lit up at his promise of returning, that had Bash believing that the gods weren’t as cruel as he’d believed.

Even with hope in his heart, Bash couldn’t seem to rid himself of the foreboding he felt deep in his marrow.

He knew all too well that hope was a dangerous thing to have.