Page 78 of A Curse of Salt

‘Maybe you should try harder,’ I breathed.

His smirk was fleeting, the weight of his gaze growing heavier. We both knew I didn’t want that.

Gods, this was getting dangerous.

He sighed, dropping his arm from above my head. I swallowed, missing his touch the moment it was gone. Sebastien backed away and pulled open the doors to the navigation room. Light flooded out, illuminating him as he stood there, watching me with an unreadable expression.

‘Coming?’

I sighed. Obviously.

I brushed past him and hurried inside, the ice of the outside world releasing its hold on me. The room was warmly lit with oil lamps that eased the chill from my skin. I strode towards the table, circling it slowly. Beneath the clutter, that ancient map was still spread across the surface. I traced a finger down to the forgotten isles clustered at the mouth of the Channel.

‘That’s it, isn’t it?’ I asked quietly. ‘Your home.’

Sebastien approached me from behind. ‘Aye,’ he said, pushing my wet hair aside and kissing the top of my shoulder. My heart skipped, as it did at every mention of the Sinking Cities, every crumb of new information I gleaned – every time he touched me, too.

I studied the map for a moment longer, trying to ignore the heat of his fingers as they trailed down my arms, wondering how it had all slipped away. His kingdom, his people . . . what had become of them? Centuries had passed and still he roamed the seas. Why? What had the sea gained by taking it away?

I turned to face Sebastien, leaning back against the table. ‘Do you miss it?’

He didn’t meet my gaze, eyes focused on his hands as they traced the curve of my bodice. ‘Every day.’

Every day, for three hundred years.

I caved, leaning in to cup his face in my hands. His lips were there to meet me and I tasted the centuries of longing twined in his fervent kiss.

I didn’t let go until it felt as though my lungs might burst, burying my face in the curve of his neck. It was still damp from the sea and I inhaled, breathing in rainstorms and wind and salt.

‘You smell like poetry,’ I whispered.

Sebastien laughed. ‘You’re definitely drunk.’

I wasn’t drunk. At least, I didn’t think so. If I was, I wouldn’t have felt everything so vividly. Wouldn’t have noticed the slight crook in his nose, the pool of shadows between his collarbones, the way the sunspots on his chest seemed to spell my name.

‘I wished I could be happy like this again.’

The words escaped me before I could stop them, before I could stop my soul from baring itself to the Heartless King. The rum urged them from my lips, telling me his skin was a safe place to bury secrets.

Maybe I am drunk.

His hand found my chin, lifting my gaze back to his. For a long moment, he seemed to mull over his words, sifting through those too dangerous to say aloud.

‘You will be,’ he said finally. ‘I promised you freedom. The moment this is all over, you’ll be home.’

Disappointment settled heavily in my chest. I shook my head, forehead pressed to his sturdy chest. ‘You’re so convinced I’m going to make it through this at all.’

His rough hands slid back down my arms, sending shivers up my spine. ‘You’re stronger than you realise.’

I fought the urge to laugh. Strong? I was soft, gentle. Weak. Even Father had known I couldn’t handle the truth about my own identity.

Sebastien threaded his fingers through mine. ‘These hands,’ he murmured. ‘You think you’re weak, but these hands killed a monster most would cower before. These hands pulled me from the depths of the sea when they should’ve let me drown. You don’t think there’s strength in that?’

I looked up at him, finding admiration in his eyes where I’d only ever expected to see darkness. Before I could reply, Sebastien’s gaze shifted to something caught in my hair. He reached up to draw it out, bringing it between us. A single, withered petal.

I glanced up at the vines wreathed through the limbs of the chandelier over our heads. The wine-red rosebuds were browning, the leaves gnarled.

I opened my mouth to ask him what was happening to them, when something flashed across his gaze, something almost like pain, and my lips fell closed again. He was always hurting – always. For once, I didn’t want to press.

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