A drop of resin in the fire snapped, sending a small spark wheeling into the air. Maren leaned forward, opening her mouth to speak, and flinched in surprise. She pulled back the strap of her dress, fingertips brushing the curled edge of a paper, disbelief widening her eyes.
I watched as she tugged it out. “What’s that?”
Salt water had fused the edges together, but she peeled it apart with care. It crinkled as it separated, creases dried and hardened in puffy squares like the patches of a quilt. Ink streamed from letters and symbols written in Rivean, though it looked to be legible.
I ducked around the rocks, mouth parted as I sat beside her, my lips moving as I translated the words in my head. A master of foreign language, Hadrian would’ve been able to read it out loud. My Rivean was just rusty enough to require more time.
A list of features describing Maren sat on the page along with instructions to keep her whole and intact. And to kill anyone she’d been found with.
“It’s Kriska’s letter,” I thought out loud, eyes shifting back to her.
Maren cleared her throat, staring at the red seal hanging from the edge. She smoothed a fingertip over the hardened wax. Worn from Kriska’s pocket, it looked like it might have been an eight-pointed star once, though small chunks of wax had fallenaway, leaving it mangled. “I’ve seen this before,” she murmured, almost as though voicing a private thought.
My brows jumped. “Where?”
She glanced at me, realizing she’d spoken out loud. Then shook her head. “I can’t remember.”
Firelight stroked her face, highlighting a fresh cut along her temple and summoning a twinge of guilt to my chest. It hadn’t been there before I’d climbed onto the cliffs. My hands itched to sweep a lock of hair behind her ear, so I could see it clearly. Purple knots had formed in a line along her cheekbone. A relic of Burian’s knuckles.
Somewhere inside me, anger sliced through the guilt.
She made to draw her arms around herself, and I reached for her hand. But by the time my fingers wrapped around hers, my mind emptied of thought, leaving me stranded and at the mercy of her piercing midnight irises. Fuck.
I couldn’t hold her gaze. My vision dropped to our joined hands. Her knuckles were cold, and I slid my thumb over them, calming the small simmer that her touch lit under my skin.
“We’ll be back beforeScorreo.” I hated that I couldn’t hide the doubt in my own voice. My brows laced, chest deflating as we listened in unison to my failed attempt at confidence. “Once we're in Calder, I'll see that you're released from Thaan. Even if I have to have him hanged.”
Something in her face twinged before she schooled her thoughts into hiding.
I tilted my head. “Unless I’m misunderstanding things, and you care about Thaan’s safety.”
Maren snorted derisively. Warm satisfaction flared through my veins. “No. I’m just not sure you understand Thaan’s position at court. He’s untouchable.”
The warmth died.
“No one is untouchable except the King.”
Her gaze sobered. She took her time studying me, and I pressed my palms into my thighs to keep them still under her scrutiny. Nothing sent my blood churning like her sparkling eyes focused on me.
“Are you stupid?” she asked softly.
I huffed a laugh, though I hadn't expected such a blunt question from her. “Well. Sometimes.”
Maren didn’t smile. “Hadrian asked me what claws Thaan has in your father’s hide. You both said you didn’t trust him. If you think it will be easy to charge him for his crimes and put a rope around his neck—”
“I didn’t say I’d hang himlegally.”
“Don’t.” Her voice cut into me, something like fear in its depths. “Don't try to fight Thaan.I’lldeal with Thaan. I can fight my own battles.” She gave my fingers a small squeeze, though it only sent a fist into my stomach.
I couldn’t blame her for being unwilling to confide in me.
I’d known Maren for only six months, and I’d done little in that time to deserve her faith. I wasn’t even sure where we stood. Partners, lovers, allies? We might have been married against our will, and we might be willing to climb into the same bed—or at least, wehadbeen before the pirates stole us from the beach.
But I’d be remiss to think she considered me a friend. A confidant.
I fought to keep the burn of disappointment at bay. She still didn’t trust me. And perhaps I didn’t completely trust her either. Perhaps the events leading up to our wedding—the glares, the threats, the way we’d pushed each other, hoping the other would break—hadn’t faded enough from memory. I suppose that meant we didn’t have to share our secrets.
Though I was certain I’d never craved someone else’s secrets the way I wanted hers.
