Page 79 of Fearless

Another streak of lightning allows me to see the slight smile gracing his features. “Just for you.”

Kai lets me do the honors of unraveling the sweet dough. The honey coating my fingers has a smile tipping my lips. I forget every chilling wave that tries to tear the ship apart, every fear lodged deep in my throat. It’s this sticky bun I focus on instead, and the memory of every one I’ve shared before.

My eyes flutter shut when I finally take a bite. This dough holds every happy moment I’ve had in this life, and if I am to die tonight, I want it to be with this honey on my tongue. This reminder of my home—Adena.

“It might be a bit stale by now,” Kai starts softly.

“No,” I choke out. “It’s perfect. That’s exactly how I always ate them. Howwealways ate them.”

Thunder roars as we sway on the floor with each roll of the ship. I sink my fingers into the sticky bun, pulling it in half. Kai looks surprised when I offer him a piece. “This is for you. Your distraction,” he says firmly.

“I want you to share it with me. Please.” I wave the dough in front of him in that way Adena always used to do. “I don’t know how to eat one of these alone.”

Graciously, he nods in understanding before plucking the piece from between my fingers. I flinch at the echoing shouts that are quickly carried away on the whipping wind. “You deserve a distraction too,” I say as softly as the stormy sea will allow.

He brushes cool knuckles down the side of my cheek. “You are forever my distraction, darling.”

Water pools around my ankles, and yet, I sit here with my head against his chest. We eat this sticky bun on the floor of my cabin, in the middle of a raging sea, and somehow find tranquility in the violence.

As if I’ve found the eye of the storm within him, and he in me.

I wake to a soft pillow beneath my head.

I certainly didn’t put it there. Nor did I lift my body onto the bed last night. But here I lie, snuggled beneath the covers with hands that are clean of honey.

Blinking my tired eyes into focus, I sweep them over the damp floor and the spot we had occupied last night. We sat there for hours, talking over the storm and bracing ourselves against each shuddering wave. I must have dozed off in his arms before they lifted me onto the cot.

Beyond the porthole is a sky of gray, and beneath is a riled sea, likely embittered by this ship still being afloat.

The ship is still afloat.

A relieved smile settles on my lips as I sit up. I’ve survived my first storm on the Shallows. Whether I live to see the next is a worry for another time.

Standing to my feet, I pad across the damp floor and unlatch my trunk. A heap of neatly folded clothes greets me, though I’m quick to rummage through them in search of something comfortable to wear. Isettle for a pair of fitted black pants beneath a loose blouse.

Pulling my olive vest on, I run my fingers down the fraying seams and stretched pockets. It feels as though I’ve barely worn the gift since returning to Ilya. Instead, I’ve been shoved into gowns that make me think of Adena and how she can no longer make them, even in death, with those broken fingers.

Dipping my hands into the fresh water basin atop the dresser, I banish the thought from my head with a cool splash across the face. With a slight shiver, I pat my skin dry and—

And my books are on the floor.

“No, no, no,” I murmur, rushing over to collect the delicate stories. The ship still rocks enough to have me struggling with my footing, so I drop to my knees before the waves send me sprawling.

I quickly gather the books into my arm, noting their rippled pages from the seawater. Cursing under my breath, I stand and head for the door. The damp spines stick to my palm as I march out onto the deck and greet the dreary sky above.

Wind whips at my unbound hair, sending silver strands to obscure my vision. I fight to free my gaze, only to stop suddenly at the devastation I see. Large chunks have been torn from the railing where the sea has sunk its icy teeth into the wood. Tangled ropes lie strewn across the deck, littering the floor alongside other miscellaneous debris.

The captain’s bellowed commands ensure that no crew member stands idly. The ship teeters beneath me, and I stumble on legs not accustomed to the sea. The sailors surrounding me sneer at the sight before continuing to stride utterly unfazed across the slippery dock.

I straighten my vest and gather what is left of my dignity as I walk carefully toward an unmarred section of railing. The wind cuts through me, stinging and salty. I lean over the railing, watching the water rush below. Its light blue and green coloring is deceitfully inviting, despite thegreat depth beneath its surface. And that is precisely how it earned the name Shallows for itself.

Clutching three of the books tightly beneath my arm, I lift one into the air, letting the pages flutter in the wind. It’s not the most ideal way to dry them, but it will certainly be the fastest.

Snickers behind my back tell me that the crew have taken a liking to laughing at my expense. I ignore them, as I’ve done with every haughty Elite I’ve been forced to live alongside, and switch books.

That is when the boat dips into a wave, spraying water across the deck to thoroughly drench me. More laughter fills the air as I stand there, shivering and clutching the last piece of my childhood against a constricting chest.

“Need some help, darling?”

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