Page 85 of A Curse of Salt

‘I know,’ he said, catching a droplet that rolled down my chin with his thumb.

‘If you want me to go, I’ll go,’ I whispered. ‘Just not like this. Not without knowing why.’

He took a deep breath and let it go, sending a billow of steam towards me. ‘Then give me tonight. One more chance . . . I’ll explain everything.’

My heart skipped a beat. ‘Everything?’

Sebastien’s voice was thick. ‘No more secrets.’

He slid a hand behind my head, fingers brushing the damp curls at the nape of my neck, and I pressed my forehead to his. Eventually, I nodded, the water rippling with my movement. If this was his way of fighting for me, I’d give it to him. One last chance.

‘No more secrets,’ I agreed.

Sebastien offered me something too grim to be a smile.

I watched from beneath my wet lashes as he retreated, turning back in the doorway.

‘Meet me on deck in an hour.’

The grand doors towered before me, ornate wood carved with swirling rose briars and jagged thorns. It wasn’t fear pushing the air from my lungs but a breathless expectancy, the promise of what lay beyond.

Of the truth, at last.

I opened the doors and stepped out into the cool evening air. The dying sun glowed, casting light over everything: the towering masts, the blood-red sails, him.

Sebastien stood at the centre of the snow-powdered deck, tall and proud, dressed in a fine white shirt and dark trousers, drenched in the last light of the day. A smile twisted at the corners of my mouth. He looked, I thought, like a king.

His lips parted at the sight of me. I knew what it was – knew why the coal of his eyes had never burned quite so hot, why he was staring at me as though I could eclipse the horizon itself.

I looked like a pirate.

The dark, untamed waves of my hair tumbled down my bare shoulders, over my soft blouse. From the brown leather of my corset spilled layers of fine-spun crimson, skirts of ruby silk that whispered over the steps as I descended, footsteps echoing like shadows in my wake.

But it wasn’t my clothes that Sebastien gazed at with all the intensity of the sun. He was looking at me, his eyes devouring the light of my own in their reflection, pulling me in – a surging maelstrom of darkness. He must’ve told the crew to keep below, for there wasn’t another soul in sight. Just us, and the waking stars, and the sea.

I crossed the planks towards him, irked by the lingering bloodstains on the wood. They’d disappeared far more quickly after the battle with Cullen’s crew.

When I reached Sebastien beneath the branching limbs of the mainmast, my heart sank into the pit of my stomach. The truth of what this was shone clear as the night in his eyes, in the skies of pain that swirled within them. This wasn’t just about answers; this was a farewell.

‘You can’t stay here,’ he murmured, answering my unspoken ache. His eyes were still glued to my face, still filled with wonder. ‘Even if we had a chance of killing Bane and his army . . . If Oren ever heard you were here, you’d never be free.’

I exhaled slowly. Was it really King Oren he was afraid of? Or me?

My eyes burned at the idea of leaving, of him thinking it was what I wanted. I’d tried to tell him the truth, tried to show him that this life was the only kind of freedom I wanted. But I couldn’t say more without betraying everything I’d left behind. Without failing my sisters, who I’d sworn I could protect.

The star-sown blanket of night unfolded above us. Dying petals descended around us, as though the Blood Rose wept in tears of crimson.

He reached for me and I folded, my arms circling him as he pulled me into a strong embrace. When he kissed me, it felt like my very soul splintered. It tore me, all the way through.

Sebastien broke away first, pressing his forehead against mine as I gasped for air, struggling to remember that there was more to living than the feeling of his body against mine.

He was right. We’d destroy each other.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘What for?’ I murmured.

Sebastien laughed humourlessly. ‘For everything. For making you a prisoner, for keeping you here so long. I was being selfish, I thought . . .’

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