Page 80 of Soulgazer

“I thought the only sióga-blooded lambs exist on the Isle of Painted Claw—and their numbers dwindle each year. How did you find enough to fashion these?”

A raspy laugh echoes from behind her scarf before she tugs the thing below her chin. I hesitate, then do the same, nudging my hood back as well so I can see her more clearly. “Look around you, girl. The world’s a damned sight bigger than any of those crown-wearing fools want you to think.” She winks, then goes still.

Staring at my eyes.

Gods. When did I stop hiding them?

Something turns in my stomach and I glance over my shoulder for Faolan or the others, but all I see are legs, cloaks, hoods. I tug mine back up, setting the bear down regretfully with the others.

“They are extraordinary, but I have to—”

“I know a song about speakers of the sea. Do you?”

I falter halfway to my feet, my knee catching in the folds of my skirts. “I’m sorry?”

“There were many names for them. People with the knowledge of the sea in their eyes. People like you.”

My pulse quickens as sweat breaks out down my back. But as she tips her head deep to one side, I see the tattoo on her neck marking her as one of the sirens of the Isle of Painted Claw—a branch of the seanchaí. Women trained from the age of seven to master the songs of our lands, our histories, and our slaughtered gods.

Slowly, I settle to the ground once more. “People like me?”

She smirks, and all the while her fingers poke a bone needle through patches of shimmering thread. “You see anyone else round here with eyes that shift as yours do?”

Instantly, I jerk my hood lower until it shades my face again, my ears burning with the knowledge anyone could’ve heard her. Could guess what I hold inside me. “What does that have to do with speaking to the sea?”

“Everything.” She laughs again, easier than before, but her eyes are curious. “All our lives come from the sea and the land she’s birthed. Every life that’s ever winked into existence bears her mark in the salt their flesh weeps beneath the sun, butyourflesh—your people’s—it knows better than most. You’ve got the ocean in your blood. I’d bet my whole collection on it.”

My face is scarlet. I’m burning from the inside out, desperate to know more yet so aware she could be casting tricks. “That’s a pretty sentiment.” But a lie.

She levels me with a gaze and I wince. “We’ve the history of the world in our songs, lass. Stories of the gods, epic love, and raging storms—so why not of you?”

I clench my fingers so hard the nails dig into my palms.

Why not me?

Because I am wrong inside. Broken and unnatural, cursed with magic that killed one brother and might lead to the other’s death someday if I can’t get rid of it. Because my father terrified me and my mother looked away. Because Faolan’s kisses made my whole body sing, and if she’s right it means he only embraced me for the magic I possess and not the person I am beneath it.

Because I am the daughter of Dermot, once betrothed to the Stone King, wife of a legend, Wolf Tamer, Ocean Eyes, Trouble—Saoirse.

And I have no feckin’ clue who that is anymore.

“If you’ll just listen, lass, I think—”

“I can’t.” It’s more bark than speech, and all I can manage as I push to my feet. “I’m sorry, but you’re mistaken.”

Her eyes narrow. “About the magic?”

My stomach twists so sharply, I have to hold my hand against it. “About me. I don’t have any—”

“You don’t see things as they ought to be? Feel what’s to come—in living dreams or communion with the deep?”

Communion? I can’t help an ugly laugh, one that fractures halfway through when there’s another tug on my gut—not sickness, but a demand for attention. “I don’t feel anything.”

She is wrong. So horribly wrong. This magic is not patient or invited—it is a madness. A compulsion.

“It’s there in your eyes, girl. They’re churning even now.”

“It’s just a trick of the light.” Where is Faolan? I turn on my heel twice, but he’s nowhere in the crowd of shuffling figures. None of the crew is.