“Ah, I see.” The old woman nodded. She returned to the shadows but kept a wary eye on me.
I’d started searching for the crest on Gavin’s compass not long after joining Bowen’s crew. And I couldn’t stop myself now. It was a hunt without a map, and over the last year, it had become my secret obsession.
He’d been abandoned as a baby, tucked in a basket beneath a lantern at the Ever Wharf. No one saw who’d placed him there; whoever it was had likely vanished with the tide. The compass was swaddled in his blanket, the only clue to his past.
Gavin has spent years chasing down every scrap of information, coming close a few times, only to watch each lead fall apart.
He told me once how he used to sleep in the back of supply wagons, traveling from one town to the next, searching and living out of a satchel. How he stole to survive until he could afford to steal just for the thrill of it.
And he always took the most dangerous jobs, not because he needed the coin, but because no one would miss him if they went bad. That's how he talked about it. Like his life meant less than the relics he hunted.
I couldn’t imagine that kind of ache. My roots were buried deep in a seaside mansion while Gavin was untethered, left wondering where he belonged or if someone had ever loved him enough to prove he mattered.
It was silly, but I often imagined being the one to find theanswer for him, my skills with puzzles helping to solve this very personal one. As if it were as simple as revealing the right shadowed groove, or placing a rune into stone.
Maybe that said something about me, always trying to be someone’s savior. Or maybe I just wanted to replace the cocky smile he hid behind with something real. Something permanent. Because knowing where you belonged anchored you. And finding the people who gave your life meaning did, too.
Either way, I hoped he’d find the truth someday. Even if I wasn’t the one to discover it. Though secretly, I still wished it would be me.
With a sigh of defeat, I looked for Cass, wondering if she’d finished making her purchase. But I spotted Gavin weaving through the market stalls, his gaze searching. He was taller than most and could easily see over the top of the crowd.
My stomach did a little flip as I remembered the way he'd looked at me in the hot spring. How close I’d come to throwing caution into the steam and letting it melt away.
What if I had?
What if I regretted letting the moment slip by, and spent the next few years wallowing in a decrepit manor, staring out to sea?
Ugh, how endlessly tragic.
I blew out a breath and bounced lightly on my toes.Be brave, Nichols.Maybe this time, history wouldn't repeat itself, and I could change my hunting motto to: keep my relics close and Gavin even closer.
A soft laugh escaped my lips, followed by a nervous tremble. This might be my last chance to find out. I could always blame my boldness on too much ale.
Though I wasn’t sure what to say. This wasanotherMarin-leaps-onto-the-rope-bridge-without-thinkingmoment, and before I changed my mind, I lifted my hand to call out to him.
But I stopped cold as a woman I recognized stepped into his path. It was the witch who’d painted our map. Elspeth or some other name that started with an E. Coins for coordinates, or so he claimed.
She settled her hand on his arm with a familiarity that made the flip in my stomach feel like a crash landing. Glittering gemstone rings adorned each of her fingers. A flowing teal tunic of gauze and lace clung to her slender frame, cinched at the waist with a beaded belt. Waves of long black hair cascaded down her back, shimmering like the ocean’s surface in the moonlight.
Her features were classically beautiful, with flawless skin, red full lips, and exotic amethyst eyes. A deep, rich shade, not unlike the crystals in the comb from the treasure chamber.
I swallowed thickly, running my hands down my faded,dust-stained tunic. The scent of tavern smoke clung to my skin. My boots were scuffed and worn, still carrying the trek back to civilization between their treads. My eyes? Just blue. Lips? Chapped from the wind. And my hair—gods, my hair—was bound tight, the strands near my temple frizzing in the sultry air.
Who was I kidding? If I had a regret, it was not sinking to the bottom of the hot spring. That memory was likely muddled by steam and fear, and paled in comparison to the delicate creature currently claiming Gavin’s attention.
And who wouldn’t want that? Fairytales were built around princesses, not women who wore the jungle like it was a cloak and crawled through dirty tunnels filled with spiderwebs.
I was the one you saved from a snake. She was the one who got flowers.
The witch rose onto her toes to whisper something in Gavin’s ear. Her touch strayed to his chest, lifting the chain from around his neck. Jealousy, thick and toxic like the marauder’s blue smoke, coated my insides.
Had he told her about the compass?
My gaze dropped to my boots. His past wasn’t a secret. Here I was, telling perfect strangers and searching their wares, but I couldn’t help the wayherknowing made me feel.
Reason number five-hundred-forty-seven, why I shouldn’t act on what he made me feel. Even when I tried so hard to deny it. Because it wasn't meaningless. Gavin was different. Cass might be able to disassociate and put a single night’s pleasure above all logic where he was concerned, but I couldn’t.
And she claims his belt is pristine. Of course it is. You can’t mark a notch while you’re trekking through the jungle!
