Page 102 of Soulgazer

I don’t. I can’t.

Brona laughs weakly. Wipes her face on her sleeve. “I want to believe in you, Saoirse. I know you’re not Dermot’s daughter—not in the way I accused. I just…I need you to look me in the eyeand swear you’re not lying. That it’s not some grand story from Faolan? I need you to tell me you really think you can find the Isle of Lost Souls.”

Her words paralyze me. She wants me to swear by faith in myself—the one thing I’ve never been able to manage, though loathing comes as easy as breathing. Only days ago, I thought this magic was a curse—a harbinger of death and destruction. And even after I saw the seventh goddess speak about how prophecy is not a punishment, and those of us who see are not responsible for what comes to pass, it’s still hard to believe.

“I—”

My gaze drifts across the garden and locks on Faolan standing at the end of the path, his curious gaze on the cottage I called home for seven years. I swear I feel the sun dip a little lower in the sky to mock me with its passage of time.

Faolan is going to die, and I have to pretend he’s not. The only path forward is to find the Isle of Lost Souls. Ihaveto believe in it—to chase it with everything I have—because without it, I’ll end up with nothing and no one.

“I swear it, Brona.”

No matter how much I wish I didn’t have to.

Brona studies my face for another long moment, then releases a tight smile and squeezes my hand before letting it go. “Okay. Then I’m behind you.”

Gods.

“It makes a sort of sense, actually.” Brona rubs her nose on a sleeve, then parts her hair into three sections with her fingers. “That we’ll be finding the Isle of Lost Souls now when the last time Muireal cradled the moon between her palms, the isle sank into the sea.”

My arms go limp. “What are you talking about?”

“Muireal.” Brona nods to the clouded sky, then shrugs, halfway through her plait. “Some called her a siren, others a whisperer of fate or collector of stars—caught in her own pattern forever when the sea eventually tired of her song. The constellation’s on its way to peak right at the next full moon. Hasn’t happened in five generations, if you listen to my mother.”

The next breath I take puts me back in the water, faced with my grandmother’s bones.

“They say when she holds the moon in her hands, even the staunchest skeptics believe faeries walk the earth again and anything is possible.” Brona rolls her eyes as she ties off the braid. “A bit trite, all that, but the timing makes sense. Don’t you think?”

Aye.

Far too much.

Before I can ask anything else, Faolan whistles my tune as he strolls up the garden path—a wistful three-note trill—and then smiles as though we haven’t spent the last few days avoiding each other. “Ready, Saoirse?”

“A-aye.” I’m still gaping at Brona, but between one blink and the next, she’s off to join Nessa by the path’s end. “I’ve just got to—why do you have a pack?”

My voice falls sharply enough to stop him mid-step, but then he shrugs and adjusts the traveling cloak slung over his shoulders.

“I’m coming with you, of course.”

The leather bag creaks beneath my grip. “No. No, we decided it would only be me. I know the land around the castle, know the ways in and out—you agreed, Faolan.”

“That you’d risk onlyyourlife, aye.” His smile belongs to a sea demon. “But then I got to thinking on what Kiara said at the handfasting. Something about our paths being struck together, and how we’re not to abandon each other. Isn’t that right?” He scoops therucksack out of my hands and loops it over one shoulder. “Your life counts as mine now. So I’m coming along. Need anything else from the cottage before we set out?”

He glances over my shoulder, and for a heartbeat I think of letting him inside to see the space that’smine. Would he tease me for the dozens of socks stored in the trunk? Find the stars I carved into the walls at seventeen, when I dreamed one day the Wolf would appear and take me away?

I glance over my shoulder at my cottage—my sanctuary.

My prison.

I know the precise curve of the walls and the places it’s bent with age, doorways sliding to one side and plaster sagging to reveal patches of stone. I know how cold it gets in the winter no matter how much wood is piled on the fire, and what corners the spiders like to claim as their own. It’s the only place left in the world that truly knows me, and it’s terrifying to think of letting Faolan inside.

I don’t move from the entrance. But I don’t close the door either. “Damn you and your tricks.”

His eyes soften, hand brushing mine. “Is that a yes?”

I draw my own cloak tight, digging my fingers into the wool. “We’ll have to get extra gills. I was going to swim up the old ferrier’s entrance to get to the family crypt. You can’t make it by boat any longer, so no one keeps watch.”