I don’t answer. Because right now, standing in the ruins of his fortress surrounded by his wounded people, I can’t see how.
EIGHTEEN
AVIORA
The day passes in a blur of tension and useless planning.
Fifty-five thousand gold. We don’t have twenty-eight hundred. The flooded treasury held maybe five thousand before the water claimed it, and salvaging that would take weeks we don’t have. The Wrecktide is full of treasure—centuries of shipwrecks, countless fortunes lost to the reefs—but diving it safely requires time and preparation and numbers. We have a few days and five able bodies.
I pace the Great Hall while Zoric and Thorne review what’s left of their resources. My fingers find my knife hilts without conscious thought.
The memories come whether I want them or not.
Years ago. A ship called theMaiden’s Rose, loaded with cargo worth a small fortune. Finn at the helm, that crooked smile on his face, telling me this was it—the score that would set us up for life. No more scraping by on salvage jobs and smuggling runs. No more looking over our shoulders for creditors and rivals. Just us, and enough money to build something real.
I believed him. Wanted to believe him so badly that I ignored the weather signs, pushed for speed when caution would havebeen smarter, took the shorter route through waters I knew were dangerous.
The storm hit at midnight. Came out of nowhere—or came out of somewhere I should have been watching. The waves were mountains. The wind was a living thing, tearing at the rigging, screaming through the masts. TheMaiden’s Rosewas a good ship, solid and well-maintained, but no ship was built to survive what hit us that night.
I remember the moment she started to break apart. Remember the sound of timber splintering, louder than thunder. Remember Finn’s face in the lightning flash—not afraid, exactly, but resolved. He knew. We both knew.
“Swim.” His hand on my arm, pushing me toward the rail. “Get to the surface.”
“Not without you?—”
“Aviora.” My name, sharp and final. “Swim.”
The deck tilted. Water rushed in. I saw him go under—saw his hand reaching for me, his eyes wide in the darkness—and then I was swimming, kicking for the surface, my lungs burning and my heart shattering into pieces I’ve been picking up ever since.
I made it. He didn’t.
And Gyla Murker lost twenty-five thousand gold on a venture that was supposed to be safe, and she’s been hunting me ever since.
“Aviora.”
Zoric’s voice pulls me back. I blink, realize I’ve stopped pacing, that I’m standing with my hands fisted at my sides and tears burning in my eyes.
“Sorry.” I scrub at my face. “Got lost.”
He crosses to me. Doesn’t say anything—just pulls me against his chest and holds on. I stiffen for a moment,old instincts screaming that comfort is weakness, that letting someone see me vulnerable is the first step toward getting hurt.
Then I let go.
I press my face into his shoulder and breathe. He smells like salt and smoke and something underneath that’s just him—a scent I’ve started associating with safety, with warmth, with things I shouldn’t let myself want.
“Tell me.” His voice rumbles through his chest. “Whatever you were remembering. Tell me.”
So I do.
The words come slowly at first, then faster—the venture, the cargo, the route I chose and the warnings I ignored. Finn’s face in the storm. His hand on my arm. The terrible moment when I kicked for the surface and felt him slip away.
“I let him die.” The admission scrapes my throat raw. “I swam, and he drowned, and I’ve been running from it for years.”
“You survived.” His arms tighten around me.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing the tears I hadn’t realized were falling. “I’ve made choices like that. Left people behind because staying would have meant dying with them. It doesn’t make you a murderer. It makes you a survivor.”
“And if surviving means Gyla destroys everything you’ve built here?” My voice cracks. “I can’t do that to you. Not again. Not to someone else.”
