Page 93 of Soulgazer

Questions fill my lungs like water until I’m drowning in them, my chest bound tight as air grows harder and harder to come by. I nearly jump out of my skin when I feel a hand—Faolan’s hand—spread over my back, directly over my own damned secret.

“Breathe.”

I can’t help myself. I strike at his arm, his chest, flailing more than anything in an attempt to get away. Mercifully, he steps back and then collapses to the ground as well, legs folded together and shoulders slumped.

I can’t read him—I don’t want to read him—because another thought floats in to obliterate all the rest.

“You said you’d be honest with me. Youpromised.”

His laugh is hollow. A ghost of its usual sound. “And you said you would use your magic to find the island while hiding the fact you’ve suppressed it. Guess that makes liars of the both of us.”

I flinch. “I’m trying.”

“Horseshite.” Faolan crosses one booted ankle over the other, rubbing at the edge of the glowing mark. “If you want to talk honesty, Saoirse, why don’t you start with telling me about the tattoos on your back?” His eyes flick between mine. “I think we both know by the color where they’re from.”

My stomach convulses as I reach for that spot, then falter. Close my hand into a fist. “You don’t get to do this. You lied—”

“I’m a pirate. And I nevertechnicallylied.”

This time, I don’t contain the spite in my laugh. “No, you’re careful of that, aren’t you? You tell me—everyone—just enough truth to get us on your side and believe in your stories, and then you let the wolf split the lambskin clean off your back.”

Faolan’s lips curl into a snarl. “Call me a beast if you like, darling, but I’veneverpretended to be less than I am.”

“Only more.”

I wait for him to bite back.Wanthim to fight me.

He deflates instead, lips falling into a flat line as he shoves the dark curls from his face. “You hold actual power, Saoirse—magic the likes of which none of us could fathom, let alone hope to everhold in our hands.” His eyes catch mine. “I’ve always wanted to be more, but youaremore. For all my stories,you’rethe one who will find the Isle of Lost Souls.”

Just like that, every bit of fight abandons me.

“What if I don’t?” My voice tilts alongside the world. “What if my magic isn’t enough, o-or the right kind? What if I’m not fast enough, or clever enough, or—”

Free to use it because of the tattoo. The stupid fecking tattoo.

I thought it might protect us. Even half-formed, the caipín baís ink would keep the worst from coming out. But if there is no curse, only the magic within my blood…

Panic nearly chokes me. “Faolan, you’ve put your life into my hands, and I’m not even sure I can access the magic enough to see more than a few flashes of memory. Much less a path to the isle of the lost.”

There is silence. Sick, slow silence.

“Then I figure I’ll go out with a bang, and it’ll make one hell of a final story.”

His words are so flippant, I raise my head to curse him—and stop at the look on Faolan’s face. So unlike anything I’ve seen from him before, so…mortal. He can’t hold my eyes for long, tracing the abalone mark once across his palm before pushing to his feet. A moment later, he has a flask in hand.

The same one he carried the day I wed him.

A cord untethers inside me, allowing a part of my mind to drift from here—to hide—as I try to remember how long he said he searched for me. Eight months? Ten?

“Faolan?” My voice breaks, but he doesn’t look at me. “How long do we have?”

He uncaps the flask, takes a long swallow, and then shoves the cork back in before tossing it to me.

“We have less than a month to find it.”

Air escapes my lungs until I am empty. Numb. I pull the cork free and drink until a touch of heat returns to my belly. “A month.”

“Twenty days, to be exact.” Faolan’s smile is weak as he clenches his fist to hide the mark. “Honestly, it’s really a lot of time when you think about it in terms of hours. Minutes. Sec—”