Page 31 of Wicked Sea and Sky

He swallowed, his throat working as he agreed. “Obviously. There’s only one sensible choice.”

The air thickened, and the night seemed to go still, holding its breath while waiting for my answer.

“Naturally. I’d pick… endless wishes.”

Gavin chuckled and dropped his head against his chest. “You’re brutal, Mare. But I can’t argue with that.”

I handed him back the compass, and he looped it over his neck. The jungle settled along with the rest of the camp. Reid snored on the other side of the campfire while Cass and Bowen grumbled in their sleep. And right before I drifted off, I asked Gavin the same question.

“What would you wish for?”

He was silent for so long; I didn’t think he’d answer. Our fingers were almost touching in the grass. His thumb moved—slow, almost imperceptible—toward my hand. Inearly missed it.

The sound of his voice was a husky rasp in the night air. “A feast of lamb, caramelized vegetables, and a loaf of freshly baked bread, still steaming from the oven. Bowen’s cooking is atrocious.”

I hid a small smile and inhaled a shaky breath, wondering if either of us was telling the truth. “It’s truly terrible. Goodnight, Gavin.”

“Goodnight, Mare.”

His voice faded.

The memory slipped away, and the cold rushed back in. The pearl dropped from my fingers as I collapsed against the coral bars. I didn't want to remember. I wanted to forget. That he existed. That I trusted a witch. That the stories I loved had led to my downfall.

But a life sentence was long.

And I had nothing but time.

Chapter 11

Three Years Later

Time didn't stop inSaltgrave prison, even if the life I thought I was living had.

The seaweed gurgled in my bowl. I stared at it—my sworn enemy—and rubbed the sting in my wrists. The guards had secured the chains too tightly on my last trip to the mines, leaving the skin raw and burning.

My nails were chipped and ragged, my palms scarred. But other scars ran deeper. I tried not to think about those.

“Today’s meal is especially foul, isn’t it?”

In the cell opposite mine, Sirena stuck her pert nose between the bars and wrinkled it with displeasure. Her melodic siren’s voice carried the faintest thread of longing.

“Didn’t you say you used to drizzle honey on your breakfast before this place? What does honey taste like? We’ll all be dead soon. I want to imagine it before I salt the earth.”

I ran my tongue over my lips.

Before this place.

The memory hit harder than I expected.

I forced myself to swallow a bite of the seaweed. The slimy texture always made me gag, and it tasted sour, like spoiled milk, curdled into thick, gummy strings. I wasn’t sure honey could’ve made it better, but it was worth imagining.

Swishing my tail through the sand, I brought myself closer to the bars. The passage was free of guards, but they’d be here soon to take us to the mines.

“You would love, honey,” I murmured, keeping my voice low enough not to draw attention. “It’s achingly sweet, but in the best way. It has a rich amber color that’s thick and sticky. A silken syrup you can savor on your tongue. And the taste lingers. The sweetness is like… a golden memory.”

“That sounds delicious,” Sirena said, her eyes closing with a dreamy smile. “I wish I could taste some.”

Me too.