The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea by Katherine Quinn

Chapter Thirty-Five

Bash

Bash wantednothing more than to take back every word he’d spoken. He didn’t want Margrete to leave, and he certainly didn’t want her to leave with the Count.

Hours after he’d left Margrete’s chambers, Bash rounded the corridor leading to the Adiria Cavern. The soldiers he passed avoided his stare. Adrian planned to meet him below the palace soon, but until his friend arrived, Bash would be free to dwell in the darkness and clear his head.

Bash unlocked the door to the cavern, grabbed a torch, and began his descent, the air growing colder with every step he ventured. The light of his flame ate away at the shadows surrounding him, but he didn’t feel an ounce of dread.

There were far worse things to fear than the dark.

He halted right beneath the apex of the vast cavern. A trickle of sunlight filtered through the small chasm in the ceiling but was devoured by the eternal night that thrived in this place. Since he was a child, Bash would come here when he needed to be alone and think. The Soul of Azantian spoke to him, welcomed him into its numbing obscurity with open arms. Here, his mind would go blissfully quiet.

But not even the Adiria Cavern could still his thoughts now.

Bash sat on a stone, his torch flickering as it fought with a gust of cold air. The chilled breeze grew stronger, and his meager flame sparked and popped in response, struggling to reignite.

It lost its battle.

Bash was left alone in utter darkness as his torch fizzled to nothing.

“Of course,” he muttered, cursing, though he wasn’t worried. He knew this place like the back of his hand. Instead of hastening to find his way out, Bash tucked his knees to his chest and breathed in the nothingness that enveloped him. There was the comforting staccato of water as it dripped from the rocky walls. The faint murmur of wind. The smell of salt and the sea.

The smell of home.

Bash shut his eyes, though it hardly mattered, and dropped the useless torch to the ground. His heartbeat, which had thudded in his ears seconds before, quieted to a gentle drumming. Without his sight, Bash was forced to delve within himself, to glimpse a mind that was anything but collected and calm. He certainly wasn’t a man who had control over himself, let alone a kingdom.

A hiss of vicious energy sliced across the rugged stones.

Bash opened his eyes with a start. The flare of violet crashed into the sides of the cavern with the fierceness and strength of lightning, brightening the space with an unnatural glow. Bash sucked in a mouthful of air.

The cavern only came alive two hours before midnight. It had been that way since the beginning of Azantian.

And yet—

Another bolt, this one brighter than the last, fanned across the rock until it collided with the dead center of the cavern floor and crashed into the stone with a fizzle of electricity.

Bash jumped to his feet as chunks of rock loosened, his hand rising protectively to his face. Ignoring his instincts that screamed at him to run, he rose instead and walked toward the center, drawn by the remnants of light that still simmered.

He dropped to a crouch and trailed his fingers across the stone, the ground still warm. Flattening his palm, he pressed it against the hard earth, shivering as tingles raced across his skin. His body seemed to sigh in relief, almost as if the current of energy invigorated him. He couldn’t explain it, not even to himself, but it felt familiar in a way he couldn’t describe.

Bash jerked away with a start, seconds before another round of lightning crashed mere inches from where his hand had rested.

Gods, what was that?

“Bash?”

He twisted his head around at the sound of his name, which seemed to come from everywhere as it echoed off the stones. The voice called his name again, though this time, Bash recognized who it belonged to.

The soft glow of a torch came into view, and Adrian’s footsteps were heavy as he exited from the tunnel.

“What are you doing under here without a damned torch?”

Bash was nearly too stunned to reply, but he pushed up from the ground, finding his voice.

“It went out,” he said, warily scanning the walls of the cave as though expecting the shadows to reach out and grab him.

Adrian’s face contorted with concern. “I suspected things were dire when you asked to meet here.”

Those closest to Bash knew he sought out the Adiria Cavern whenever the weight of his crown was too much to bear. Whenever he missed his father or thought of the mother he’d never known. She’d died giving birth to him, but it didn’t stop him from conjuring a vision of what she might have been like.

“I needed the quiet,” he admitted. “I hate waiting for the scouts to return. You know I get restless.”

His friend rubbed a hand across his tight black curls. “They should be back soon, and once we know where Wood is, we can proceed.”

“Let’s just pray the gods have mercy on us, and the scouts deliver good news,” he said, though he didn’t believe it for a second. Mercy wasn’t something the gods bestowed.

Adrian sighed, clearly exhausted from the past few days. “In the meantime, we should continue with the feast this evening. People might suspect the worst should we cancel, and it would be the first time in a thousand years it wasn’t held to honor the moon goddess.”

Adrian was right. If they called the feast off, then his people would worry Bash had already failed. It didn’t help that they were superstitious and feared displeasing any of the gods, especially Selene, who commanded the tides.

“Will you be escorting Margrete?” Adrian asked. The mere sound of her name was devastating.

“I don’t think I should.”

“And why the hell not?” Adrian scoffed. “I’m not blind. I’ve never seen you look at another living soul that way before. Even when you look in a mirror.”

Bash shoved Adrian’s shoulder, though his friend’s jibe did little to lift his spirits. “She’s been through a lot. Once this is all over, she should find happiness with someone who can put her first. And that’s something I can never do.”

“You’re a fool.” Adrian shook his head. “That woman cares about you. You’re only protecting yourself by pushing her away. You’re using what the count said as an excuse, and you know it.”

He wasn’t doing that. Bash was being selfless.

“No, if the count is telling the truth, then he’s a decent man. He didn’t have to come for her, and he did. She belongs with someone who’d risk it all to be with her.”

Adrian bristled. “No, Bash. She belongs with whomever she damn well chooses. She’s well aware of what she’ll get when it comes to you and your crown. You’d be a spineless fool if you take that choice away simply because you’re too afraid of getting hurt.”

Bash cocked his head. He’d never heard Adrian raise his voice. Margrete had not only found a place in his heart, but in his friend’s as well.

“She’s had enough of her life decided for her, don’t you think?” Adrian continued, undeterred by his king’s silence. “And you—” He raised his finger, shoving it into Bash’s chest. “You are the most decent man I know, king or not.” In a whisper, he added, “You’ve never given yourself enough credit.”

“I’m hardly a good man.” He tried to shake off Adrian’s hand, but his fingers only bit harder into the muscle of his shoulder.

“You’re a good man because you care about doing what’s right, even if it has cost you your own chance at finding happiness.”

“You’re just fishing for a raise.” Bash attempted to joke, but Adrian wasn’t having it.

“You’re my brother, Bash. Always have been, regardless of blood. I love you.” Adrian glanced at his boots. “I only wish you carried that same love for yourself.”

Bash didn’t know what to say. Adrian’s passionate words struck a chord deep within him. There’d never been the time to focus on himself, not when he had a kingdom to run, but when the nights grew long and sleep wouldn’t come, loneliness crept up, and that was when he turned to the bottle, drowning out his doubts with drink.

An image flashed across his mind. One of her…on his arm. At his side. His partner.

Them. Together.

As usual, his commander had made a fair point—it was Margrete’s choice what kind of life she wished to lead. Him making that decision for her only made him the coward Adrian likened him to.

“Tell her how you feel at the feast.” Adrian jolted him from his thoughts of the life he could have, a life he hadn’t dared envision before. “We may not be able to save the island, or the world, in time, but you do have control over what you say and do before it all goes up in flames.”

The night she drugged him, she spoke of sharing the burden, the weight crushing him, but he never believed that she might actually wish to endure the responsibility alongside him. He barely desired to carry it. But Adrian was right. Margrete should decide her own fate. And tonight, Bash would give her the chance.

Him or Count Casbian of Cartus.

He always did love a challenge.