Page 16 of Soulgazer

The pain ebbs. My shock takes over.

“My grandmother?”

“Gráinne.”

The name shivers across my aching muscles, stirring memories that don’t feel as though they belong to me. A fading sensation of skin like crinkled silk passing over mine. Da claimed she took ill when we were small and was sent away for her health before she died. Neither Aidan nor Conal remembered her well, but…she used to hold me, didn’t she? Aside from my brothers, she was the only one unafraid. And there was a song. One that lit up her eyes.

Eyes the color of…

Pain spreads at my back, clouding my mind. The memory is gone as quickly as it came.

“I don’t remember her. Da always said she died when I was wee.”

Mam shakes her head, silver-threaded hair tumbling against her cheeks. “She wastherethat night, Saoirse. Mad—she had been mad for years, and kept under guard. That’s what your father refused to tell you. He was only trying to protect you. But Gráinne once held a soulstone too.”

My jaw goes slack. “What?”

“Gráinne gave the guards the slip. It was the night of your birth celebrations—everyone had been drinking. She sneaked past your nanny and then took you out to the shore.” Tears flood my mother’s eyes, painting the colors thin where they’d been stroked bysummer before. “She believed that if she bled you into the sea, it would break her own curse. She—stop shaking your head, it’s true! By the time Dermot and the nanny found her, she already had your head underwater and a knife to your throat.”

The torc clatters to the ground as I wrench my arms away. “What are you—”

“Your father saved your life. He wrestled you from Gráinne’s arms, and while he was trying to make sure you could breathe, she attacked the nanny onshore. The girl was dead by the time Dermot reached her, her soulstone sitting on the sand. A-and as Dermot went for your grandmother, you…”

I stare at my fingers like they might unearth some new truth. “I picked it up.”

The knowledge hangs between us, noxious and empty. Changing nothing.

“It was all Gráinne’s fault,” Mam says, rocking herself slowly back and forth. Her own prayer charms tinkle together at her wrist. “That’s why Dermot sent her away after—and why he must have made the amulets. It was to protect you. Wasn’t it?”

Oh.

I close my eyes, sinking unsteadily to the ground. “Mam…”

“Your father just wants to protect us. And the gods have been so quiet—of course he used the caipín baís. It’s hard to understand, but they’re made with the goddess’s blood, after all. He still believes. The magic is still their blessing.”

My hands are clammy as I bury my face against them, tucking my knees tight—hissing when my freshly scarred back touches the wall.

“He’s always known best which path to take, Saoirse. He saved the island from ruin—he’s kept you alive.” The desperation in hervoice is palpable. “It’s a miracle. A cure. You won’t be dangerous, or feel the pain any longer.”

I won’t feelanythingany longer. I will be nothing.

Is that what they both want?

I curl inward as tight as I can, until her rambling becomes prayers and then songs to the gods who died long before they could hear them.

Six

When I was a girl, I thought that veils were enchanted things—woven of birch, fox fur, and snow to make the world winter-quiet. I imagined the relief of sitting among dozens of people with their countenances softened, their voices reduced to a hush.

The reality is a jarring web of shadow and light that clings to my lips every time I take a breath.

I bow my head low, combing my fingers through the mound of rich golden petals perched precariously in my lap. It threatens to collapse every time a breeze slips beneath our awning. Made of driftwood and finely spun cloth, the awning is one of several sheltering the royal families as our matriarchs and patriarchs gather into their Ring of Stars. It is they who will decide which marriages to bless or reject, what trade laws to pass or punishments to deliver.

It was their verdict that wrapped this iron torc around my throat.

“To the first match of the season!”

I tilt my head until the heavy lace shifts, creating a small window between one design and the next.