Page 18 of Stars Above the Never Sea (The Last Faeyte #1)

Chapter eleven

Selene

I ’ve feigned sleep so many times that I am a master of it.

My chest rises and falls in soft movement, my lips parted, as I watch Callan move around the room through tiny slits in my lids. His steps are light, quiet enough that they wouldn’t wake me if I had truly slept.

We spent the night locked in silent battle. Watching each other and pretending not to. Callan did not move from his chair beside the bed once he eventually came back, having swept up the spilled grain before settling in and propping his boots on top of yet another box.

He did not sleep, either.

The room is still dark enough to be wreathed in shadow as he slips through the door and pulls it closed, only a glimmer of light appearing through the window as dawn breaks.

As the door clicks shut, I slip out from beneath the thick, feathered cover. Cool morning air swirls around my legs as I make my way to the bathing room, my nails already digging into my arm.

There’s barely a dribble of water left in the jug, but I run it over my skin anyway, rubbing it in until it vanishes.

There’s nothing to be done for it. Frowning, I glance in the mirror after pulling on the dress I grabbed from the Murenger. The pale blue silk is ripped, black with filth that makes my skin crawl.

But I have nothing else to wear.

As I step back out into the bedroom, I pause.

The female Caelumnai from the deck looks across at me with violet eyes from the bedroom doorway, a tray held in her hands. My eyes flick up, to the open space behind her, and her lips press together before she steps inside and uses her boot to kick the door closed. “Morning.”

Esmeray. Es-may .

There’s a delicacy to her name that doesn’t quite fit the female in front of me.

She’s petite—likely wouldn’t reach my shoulder if we stood beside each other.

Her face is defined, a strength to the strong lines that has me tensing as she crosses the room toward me.

But there’s a softness in the spray of copper freckles that spread over her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

She doesn’t smile as she places the tray down on the desk in front of the windows before waving a hand. “Table service.”

I stay where I am, tracking her movements as she backs away. She collapses down on the bed, crossing her legs in front of her. Her head cocks. “Don’t get used to it. You’ll be eating with us after this.”

My head dips in acknowledgment as I cross to the desk.

“It’s not much,” she continues. “But we’re eating the fresh stuff before it goes to waste, so at least we get fruit for the next few days.”

The hammered metal bowl contains some sort of oats, mixed into a thick paste, and I tip the small portion of blue and black berries into it before picking up the spoon. “Thank you for bringing it.”

“Welcome.” She has her legs crossed when I turn, leaning against the desk to eat. “So. I have questions, and I’ve been told not to ask them.”

I swallow the mouthful. “Ask what you like. I’ll decide whether to answer.”

A small smile plays around her lips. “A good response.”

I take another bite of my food instead of responding. If she wants to play games, I can play them too. Boralas taught me something, at least. “Who told you not to ask?”

“Callan. Merrick. Sol. So Rio has them distracted while I brought in breakfast.” She studies me. “What happened to your wings?”

“What do you mean?” The oats turn to stodge in my mouth, sticking to the back of my throat.

She taps a finger on the coverlet. “You can answer or not. But we don’t need to waste time pretending. You have metal woven into them.”

I place the bowl back down on the desk, my words bordering on snappish. “Then why waste time asking questions you already know the answer to?”

We eye each other again.

“Can you use them?”

Slowly, I shake my head. Pause. “I don’t know. But I very much doubt it. The last time I tried, I only lifted a few feet.”

A few feet of air beneath me if that, before the pain becomes too much. Boralas knew what he was doing when he pinned me down and had his seamstress work on me with copper thread.

“It hurts.” Not a question. An observation. She would know, since we have the same limitation. Copper works on Caelumnai just as effectively as faeytes, so she moves on. “Can you truly read fates? Could you read mine?”

I pause at that. “I don’t do that.”

“That’s not what I asked.” A small furrow appears between her brows. “You won’t—you won’t just do it? Randomly?”

Interesting. “You wouldn’t want to know? Most thought it a privilege.”

Or they used to. Inritus or Caelumnai, many would travel to Asteria to have their fate read. Some thought it a rite of passage, to face the shadows and know what the gods had in store for them.

But she shakes her head. A grimace tightens her mouth. “Gods, no. I’d spend the rest of my life waiting for the end of it, knowing it was coming.”

Those who follow Caelum and Hala’s passage through the sky, who observe the rites and ceremonies, would disagree. “You’re not a believer, then. Despite your maegis.”

Bestowed by Caelum himself. Handed down to his most ardent followers during the creation, and through the generations that followed.

Esme purses her lips. “Any god who watches their people suffering and does nothing is not one that deserves my respect.”

My fingers twist at my sides, and she grins, her eyes flicking down to watch in amusement. “I’ve horrified you.”

The movement is instinctive, by now. Three flicks of my finger, my middle finger against my thumb, to push away the words. “Hardly anyone in Terrosa follows the old ways anymore. And to answer your question, no. I would never read a fate without permission. In any case, the copper prevents it.”

If I even possess the ability at all.

The amusement slips away as she eyes the shackle around my ankle before looking away. “I’ll unbind your wings, if you like.”

It’s a kindness. An unexpected one. “Why would you do that?”

She studies me intently. “You didn’t ask to be here.”

Gods damn it. I don’t want to lie to her. “I was trying to get on board, but someone found me first. It seems we were of similar minds.”

Her lips part. “Someone on this ship? One of us?”

I lift one shoulder, raising the spoon to my mouth. “I do not know.”

I glance at the door, but there’s no sign of Callan. “Will you be punished for this?”

She snorts softly. “I’d like to see Callan try. No. You’ll find we’re not overly formal.”

Frowning, I study the bowl and rake through old memories of, ignoring the tinge of pain at the faces that accompany them.

All in Boreas who reached their majority and were gifted with maegis were recruited into a military structure for several years, assessed and trained before being released back into society. “I assumed the opposite, actually. Don’t you force your children into service?”

A shadow crosses Esme’s face. “There are very few children left.”

“Esme.” A snappish voice has her immediately straightening, a flush across her cheeks as she glances to the door despite her bravado of only a moment earlier. My back stiffens, my heart thumping faster as Esme scrambles off the bed.

“She was bringing me breakfast.” I address my words to Callan where he leans against the doorway. A slight frown rests between his eyes as he glances between us. “She was just leaving.”

The frown shifts, melting into a slight smile I don’t understand. “Was she now? She looked to me like she was very comfortable lounging on the bed, when there’s work to be done.”

Esme rolls her eyes. Tension bleeds from my body as she strides past, checking him with her elbow. “ Some of us had to share a room with Rio and Sol last night. Both of them snore. I don’t know how Matthias copes. Or you, come to think of it. I can just about cope with one, but both ?”

“Wax plugs,” Callan says promptly. “Warm them and mold them to your ears.”

“Huh—”

“Go on, Smee.” His voice deepens, eyes moving past her. “I need a word with Selene before she starts work.”

Esme glances at me over her shoulder. “See you later.”

“Thank you for breakfast.” I slide the empty bowl back onto the tray, tidying the desk as Callan steps inside.

“You thought I was going to punish her.” The words are light enough, but there’s something more behind them. “You really don’t think very highly of me, do you?”

“I don’t know you.” Shoulders tight, I turn to him. “But would you blame me?”

At my words, Callan straightens. “You’re referring to the Shift, I assume.”

He corrects himself at my raised brow. “The day we invaded Asteria. That’s what we call it.”

The Shift .

Such an innocuous word for such a violent day. “I see.”

He studies me again. I wonder what he sees. “Whatever your thoughts on us, I do not blame you for them.”

My temper threatens to fray from his quiet, soft words, and I turn my face away, picking up the tray.

My response is the edge of a blade, cutting and sharp in the otherwise silent room.

“It is not your place to blame me, or otherwise. Your people may have invaded my home and stolen it from under my feet, but my thoughts remain my own, Edgeborn. And I do not care or wish for your apologies, or wherever this discussion may be heading. What work do I have to do?”

Better to lose myself in menial tasks than be dragged back into memories I have no wish to face. Better to scrub filthy floors on my knees than remember how it felt to drown beneath the salt-filled waves beneath them.

I am going home. Back to Asteria, to fulfil my promise to return.

I have little trust in fate anymore. Whatever the Mother saw when she read me was a different world. A different place, and that version of me no longer exists.

But if Hala will not avenge the ones I lost that day, then I must at least try. And perhaps then I will finally know a moment’s peace .

Callan catches my arm as I try to skirt past him in the doorway. The tray wobbles in my hands.

“You’re correct.” His tone matches mine for iciness.

“I have no right to your thoughts, nor do I demand them. You do not wish for my apologies, but I will offer them anyway, and perhaps one day you will see them as genuine. But make no mistake—the others on this ship are not responsible for what happened that day. They hurt none of yours, Selene. Attempting any sort of revenge would not be met kindly by me. Do you understand?”

I try to yank my arm free. His grip is not painful, but tight. “Let go of me—”

“I do not mess around with my crew’s safety.” Callan leans down, his eyes drowning mine in shimmering, molten bronze that moves like liquid waves. “You are not my enemy, Selene. But if I am to be yours, then know that I will do what I need to do, even if I take no pleasure in it.”

My wings feel tight, my skin throbbing where it meets the copper. My breathing feels heavy around the weight in my chest as I tip my face to his, barely a few inches away. “You’re threatening someone who has nothing left to fight with. I’d say you’ve shown exactly what kind of man you are.”

If I thought the words might flay, I was wrong. His eyes narrow. “You don’t strike me as somebody who has nothing left to fight with.”

“This is ridiculous—,”

“You forget,” he says softly. “That I can tell truth from lie. And you’re lying, Selene.”

I empty my face of any expression at all, but it’s too late.

Callan crowds me further, pressing me against the doorframe but keeping several inches between us.

The empty wooden bowl slips from the tray, clattering to the floor.

I shove the tray into his chest, but he doesn’t move.

Irritated, my words come out in a snarl.

“I gave you my word, and I will give it once more. I will not intentionally hurt anybody while on this ship. Is that honest enough for you?”

He tsks. “You’re a quick study, aren’t you? Most don’t learn to word things carefully at all.”

I keep my lips closed. There’s no point in arguing further.

His eyes tighten. “On this ship, then.”

Slowly, I nod. “Enough for me to live?”

At my caustic words, something resembling amusement fills his eyes, warring with the concern I can still see. “For now. This will be an interesting journey.”

My breathing speeds up. He’s so close. And I can’t… I can’t move . Can’t get away.

Callan studies my expression. His jaw tightens before he yanks himself back, almost hitting the wall opposite as he puts more distance between us. His voice lowers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He’s taken all of my air with him. I stay where I am, my back pressed against the wall and trying to pull words from around the lump in my dry throat.

Callan watches me a few moments longer, waiting for my breathing to steady before he rocks back, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Come on up to the deck. Esme will be furious that we’ve left them to get on with it.”

He switches seamlessly from protective to careless, but it only throws me more off balance. Callan turns, heading up the narrow corridor. A low, whistled tune filters back to me.

“Why did Leo ask if you’d weighed me?” I call the words out to him, but he doesn’t turn around.

“No idea.” There’s laughter beneath his words, and it irritates me that I can’t tell whether or not it’s genuine. Which version is the real version. “You look to be in excellent proportion to me.”

I blink.

And then I throw the tray at his head.