Page 15 of Wicked Sea and Sky

Right. Escape first. Acting on my rioting emotions—never.

Gavin groaned as I disentangled myself from his arms. “I swear, if the marauders don’t get that man, I might.”

I splashed a stream of bubbling water in his face, still trying to recover from the emotional whiplash.

“He has a point, though. At least we made it out with the treasure and our lives. Plus, you still have your embellished story of survival to tell the others.”

“That’s right.” Gavin winked, following me toward the water’s edge. “It’s going to be smooth sailing from here.”

Chapter 6

“To surviving the hunt!”Gavin lifted his glass, his voice rising over the tavern’s lively hum of clinking tankards and laughter.

Reid did the same, leaning forward unsteadily in his chair. “And we didn’t get slaughtered by marauders.”

“Or maimed by a swing blade!” Cass sliced her hand through the air, then slammed her palm onto the table with a loud thwack, startling a barmaid carrying a tray through the crowd.

Our dinner plates rattled against the scarred surface, and her fork clattered to the floor. No one bothered to retrieve it. The utensil was just another casualty of whatever sticky film coated the wooden boards.

“This is a very violent toast.” I wrinkled my nose as I raised my glass.

Bowen rapped his knuckles on the table to claim our attention. He’d barely touched his drink and was the most level-headed of us all.

He cleared his throat and pressed a hand firmly against his chest. “To my friends, who’ve spent the last year by my side, never giving up. Who believed in this mission, put faith in each other,and—”

Gavin’s lips kicked into a grin. “Oh, no. We’re doomed. Bowen’s feeling sappy again.”

“Hey, let him finish,” I said, glaring at Gavin from across the table. “I, for one, enjoy Bowen’s speeches.”

“They are quite eloquent. Even if they are long-winded,” Reid added, trying not to slur his words.

Cass eyed her plate of roast chicken with longing. “But our food is getting cold.”

Bowen pinched the bridge of his nose as if channeling his patience. He muttered something under his breath, then reached for his glass and lifted it into the air with a flourish. “Fine, I’ll keep it short. To good friends… and getting paid!”

“Cheers!” Five mugs of ale clinked together, sending amber liquid sloshing over the rims.

I took a deep drink, relishing the cold brew and pleasing buzz, dulling the aches in my muscles. It had been a long trek back to town, and now we were celebrating in a busy tavern with plans to sail home on the morning tide.

Cass swiped Gavin’s fork with a wink and dug into the rest of her meal while I picked at my plate of chicken. A fiddler played a festive tune, weaving through the patrons and collecting coins as he passed. The air was sweltering and heavy from too many bodies pressed together, all enjoying a night’s revelry. It was a far cry from the dank, isolated cave and perilous traps.

But neither place reminded me of home. I was ready to leave behind the southern isles with their wild jungle peaks, moss-slick temples, and smothering heat, and return to the Kingdom of Ever. A land where it was cooler, and the windswept air was filled with salt and not bat-sized insects.

Bowen dropped a handful of coins onto the table and signaled the barmaid for another round. I shook my head andpushed unsteadily to my feet. Fresh air sounded better than more ale.

Boats and I barely mixed, and a raging headache would only add to my misery. Especially if I got drunk and rivaled the bard with a mournful tune about my final hunt. No need to repeat that mistake. Gavin had enough blackmail material from the last time I drank too much and fell for his dare. At least going home would spare me from scoundrels and their sneaky bets.

Cass had finished eating, and she linked her arm with mine. “See you ruffians back at the inn. Remember, we leave first thing in the morning. Don’t be late.” She cast a sympathetic gaze toward Reid. “And go easy on the ale. I know the hot spring destroyed your journal, but it’s not the end of the world. You can still write your article for the gazette.”

Reid buried a hiccup behind his fist. “It had my notes. A year’s worth of diary entries. And all my sketches! I was going to publish those.”

I sighed, sharing Reid’s grief, especially the loss of his drawings. They were irreplaceable.

“You can try again from memory,” I suggested. “Or we can pose for some more drawings.”

“It’s not the same. Everyone will think I’m a hack. A true scholar would have had scales and dimensions. Weather accounts. Topographical facts. We don’t even have a copy of the map!”

Gavin made a face. “Sorry. The hot spring got my version, too. Next time, I’ll suggest a more water-resistant paint.”