Bay of Sighs (The Guardians Trilogy 2)

“It’s a wrap.”

“It’s finished,” he explained.

“I will wrap it for you.”

Pleased, she braided her waist-length black hair back and away. She got to work while he put a pot of water on the stove, poured her wine, drank his beer.

She liked the quiet times with him, and had learned to savor them. There would be more fighting; she knew, accepted. There would be more pain. She would accept that, too. But she had been given a gift. The legs that allowed her to walk out of the sea and onto land, if only for a short time. The friends who were more precious than gold. The purpose that was her legacy and her duty.

And most of all, Sawyer, whom she’d loved before he even knew she existed.

“Do you dream, Sawyer?”

“What?” Distracted, he glanced back at her as he found a colander. “Sure. Sure, most everybody does.”

“Do you dream of when we’ve done our duty, when we have all three stars? When the Stars of Fortune are safe from Nerezza? When there is no more fighting?”

“It’s hard to see that far when we’re in the middle of it. But yeah, I think about it.”

“What do you wish for most, when this is done?”

“I don’t know. It’s been part of my life for so long—the quest if not the battle.”

But he paused in what he was doing, considered. She thought that—the paying attention—was also strength.

“I guess, maybe, it would be enough for the six of us, knowing we’ve done everything we had to do, to sit on a warm beach and look up and see them. See the three stars where they’re meant to be. Knowing we did that. That’s a pretty big dream.”

“Not for wealth or long life?” Her gaze slid toward him. “Or a woman?”

“If I could rub a lamp, I’d be an idiot not to take all that.” He paused a moment, shoved his fingers through his shaggy blond hair. “But the friends who fought with me, that warm beach? That would do just fine. Add a cold beer and it sounds perfect.”

She started to speak again, but Doyle came back through the doors.

Though a tall man, and well muscled, he moved lightly on his feet.

“We don’t have the outdoor training space we had in Greece, but we’ve got a lemon grove we could use, and more privacy than I figured on. Though Bran could add to that anyway. There’s a garden—smaller scale than the one at the villa. And pots of herbs and tomatoes out on the terrace. Big table out there for eating, and that portion’s covered by a grape arbor. Shady, but the bees may be an issue. We’ve got a pool.”

“Yeah?”

“Again, smaller scale than Corfu. It’s right off the patio deal, which is probably why they planted trees on either side of the grounds. They’d want some privacy. Do you care which bedroom?”

“Nope. Take your pick.”

“I will. I’m going to stow my gear.”

As he went out, Riley came in.

“You guys read my mind.” She walked over, slung an arm around Annika’s waist. “Starving. What are we having?”

“Sawyer is making pasta, and I’m making tomatoes and cheese with the oil and herbs. We’re going to eat, drink, and decompress.”

“I’m for it.”

“Your friend of a friend stocked the kitchen,” Sawyer told Riley.

“Yeah, we owe for that. Beer or wine?” To help her decide, she took a swig from Sawyer’s bottle, a sip from Annika’s glass. “Tough choice. It’s pasta, so I’m going for the wine. Bran and Sasha beat me to the master—but there’s two of them in there, so that’s fair.”

“Doyle and I are bunking down here. Two rooms and a full bath. It works.”