Page 46 of Wicked Sea and Sky

But there were signs of life, too.

My gaze swept over the newly installed windows, the glass reflecting the first rays of the sun. The shutters, freshly painted a brilliant white, glimmered like pearls. Even the weeds that had once choked the stone courtyard had been carefully plucked away.

Someone else’s hands were restoring my manor, and my heart ached. It should have been me. The finality of that loss hit hard, and I bit down on my cheek to stop the sob from breaking free. I wiped the tears stinging my eyes and forced a smile. It might not be mine anymore, but for someone, this place still lived on.

I crept closer, curiosity winning the battle against the grief twisting in my chest. A gust of wind rattled the terrace door, and it drifted open like the house was inviting me in. I rolledthe sea glass between my fingers, debating whether the owner might be inside. If so, they were probably still asleep, and I’d always had a knack for stealth.

Just a quick look, and then I’d go.

My bare feet were soundless as I walked across the courtyard and slipped through the terrace door. Faint sunlight spilled through the windows, revealing the polished wood floors swept clean of dust and grime. The cobwebs that used to gather along the walls and cling to the brass wall sconces were gone.

The scent of fresh paint mingled with the salty air as I tiptoed down the hall, passing rooms in various states of repair. Long ago memories trailed behind me, and I could almost hear my father’s laughter and the lively strains of his fiddle drifting through the house.

And then, that last day, as he quietly stacked sea glass into a pile on the stone steps. All I had left to my name was tucked into a bag slung over my shoulder—the weight of it pulling at my neck—but my heart was the heaviest thing I carried.

He’d knelt in front of me, his hair windswept and long, weariness etched into the lines of his face. I’d only seen that kind of sadness once before, when we lost my mother. Both times, he knew the end was coming, and he’d tried so hard to stop it.

And like before, he smiled through glassy eyes, tears barely held at bay.

“Our home is our legacy,” he said. “Promise me you’ll get it back.”

I nodded confidently, shouldering the burden without even considering how much it weighed—a child wearing life’s troubles on hershoulders.

And now, here I was, years later, not standing in a ruin I promised to restore, but someone else’s foundation. And that weight? Still with me. Heavier now with the rocks of time and betrayal.

Cursed… but not broken.

With a new promise tucked under my belt.

I laughed softly. One day, I’d learn to ask for someone else’s promise, instead of always being the one to give them.

Until then, I had a shard to find.

Wandering through the halls, I tried to remember the manor’s floor plan and stopped in front of a pair of arched double doors that led into what was once a ballroom. Intricate scrollwork, carved in the shape of waves, rippled across the wood’s surface. My hand closed over the brass handle, but it wouldn’t turn.

That’s strange.

Why were these doors locked? I crouched, studying the keyhole. If only I carried something to pick the lock. But all I had were a few leftover berries, the sea glass, and a dagger I’d swiped from Cass’s stash of knives. The blade was sharp, but not thin enough to do the trick.

“Ahem!”

I went still as someone cleared their throat behind me. The back of my neck prickled, and I slowly slid my hand toward the blade sheathed near my waist.

“What are you doing in here? This is private property.”

I frowned at the childlike voice and released the dagger. When I looked over my shoulder, I found a young girl, maybe eight or nine, peering up at me. I turned to face her, bending slightly with a warm smile.

Her chestnut-brown hair was tied into pigtails, and she worea linen dress beneath an ivory smock streaked with sand. But what drew my attention were the thin leather gloves ending at her wrists. A strange choice for the current season.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was here. I was just admiring all the repairs. But I won’t stay. What’s your name?” I asked gently.

“Annie,” she said, curling a pigtail around her finger.

She reminded me so much of myself at that age. Hair tied back against the ocean breeze, clothes dusted in sand, storing seashells in the folds of her smock. It was like looking into a mirror of the past, and it scraped my feelings raw.

“Do you like sea glass, Annie?”

Her blue eyes lit up as she nodded.