Page 69 of Soulgazer

I resent my brothers. And my parents, for favoring them over me. I resent my father’s “protection” and my mother’s submission, and everysinglereminder of how unloved I was. How little they trusted me, and how much I owed them for keeping me alive.

My jaw aches until I release it, setting the bowl of fishbones to the side. It does nothing to stop the pounding in my head, left from Faolan’s touch and the tattoo’s attempts to block whatever it was he felt.

Thank you.

Another resentment.

Nessa’s cackle is sharp enough to draw my full focus, her face flushed a deep red thanks to the celebratory drinks passed around once I’d announced Faolan was awake. “Right—here’s the best damn advice I ever got. My mother, holiest o’ creatures that she was, said the only man worth keeping is the one willing to go on his knees and worship you proper! Words to live by.”

Worship? The entire crew erupts into howls, and I snap my mouth shut, knowing whatever I was about to ask would only incite more. The men swap knowing looks and even Brona’s eyes glint as she smiles.

Irritation swallows whatever confusion and frustration are left.

They’re all so familiar with this world I’ve barely explored, their bodies safe havens for their own hands and others to explore. It’s a world I’ve spent a lifetime denying myself, only to experience the smallest taste of it a few scant hours ago. My legs still tremble when I think about it.

Itrynot to think about it.

“Oi, what’s this about mothers?” As if summoned by the mere memory, Faolan leans against the doorway that leads belowdecks. He’s paler than I’ve ever seen him, but grinning just the same. “ ’Cause I’ve a fair number of stories from me own. A healer she was, born to the guardians of the Spring of Leigheas. If she were still alive, she’d do a right sight better job tending to my poor arm than a certain glorified carpenter.”

Lorcan sits up at once on the railing, letting Brona’s dark braids slip through his fingers where he’d been gathering them to tie in a high knot. “It was your wife who fixed up your arm, you scut.”

I nearly melt myself into the shadows, certain what we did is written all over my face.

But Faolan’s eyes find me without delay. He blinks, bewildered, then grins. “O’ course it was. You know what else wives are bloody good for? Keeping a man warm—would you just look at this wee beauty?”

To my horror, Faolan pulls the unfinished scarf from his pocket as if he’d waited for exactly the right moment and wraps it around his neck. It’s too short by at least an arm’s length, and the ends hang in long, uneven strands.

Brona’s dry voice cuts the silence. “You look ridiculous, Faolan. It’s all coming undone there at the ends.”

“Shut your damn mouth about my wife’s work—it’s feckin’ gorgeous.” Faolan lifts the end of it, studies the way the stitches are already coming undone, and then catches every strand, knotting one after the other until it’s bound together again.

Stars.

A stubborn pang of affection sweeps through me, nesting in my heart where it has no right to lie. His eyes meet mine again, and I swear I’m about to—

A bell clangs from the crow’s nest above, and like the sudden shift of wind before a storm, every smile drops. The lookout waves a scrap of red fabric, and all the hazy warmth that had settled in my heart drains away at once.

Red means bloodshed.

“Brona, where are we?” Faolan’s voice is crisp, lacking any hint of its usual charm as he searches the horizon for what they’ve spotted, but the air is thick with fog. His fingers run an incessant rhythm along the railing.

“Just past the Isle of Unbound Earth.”

“Shite.” I’m not sure who’s said it, myself or Faolan, but when our eyes lock I know we’re thinking the same thing. Rí Maccus is not a man of mercy, and Kiara must have failed to soothe his wounded pride. I reach on instinct for my amulet and charms and find nothing but my own bare skin.

Brona looks between us sharply, her lip curled back. “You said Kiara would take care of it! We’ve never had a problem sailing through their waters before, and you were out like a light. Summer storms are coming, and we’d have been crushed by the Teeth if we’d stayed—I had to make a call.”

Faolan’s jaw is tight, but he nods. “Understood. Tavin!”

The quartermaster is halfway across the deck when a drum starts up across the choppy waves, vibrating through the air into our very bones. The slide of metal chases the sound, and I glance over my shoulder to see that nearly every member of the crew has drawn a weapon, their eyes fixed on the fog past the bow. They’re preparing for a battle.

I am already sick with guilt.

The drums pound through the boards of the ship and rattle my teeth, growing closer together into a near-continuous bellow all around us. Rolling, one note on top of the other, like thunderclouds cut by lightning.

Until it stops.

For the span of a single breath, I can pretend I haven’t risked the life of every single person onboard.