Page 29 of Stars Above the Never Sea (The Last Faeyte #1)

Emryn and Leesa would have loved this story. Would have listened, agog, before asking a hundred questions and begging to hear it just one more time from the beginning.

And the pain begins to creep back in.

He is your enemy. The small voice whispers at the back of my mind as we watch each other.

Enemies is too strong a word. The faeytes did not have enemies. We had friends, companions, sisters.

They are all your enemy. They made it so.

Callan’s brow furrows. “Your eyes.”

I focus. My words come out as a croak. “What about them?”

He shakes his head, his own eyes still bright from the casting. “It doesn’t matter. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Rio calls out from behind us. “All of us are fine. Thanks for asking, Cal. Excellent steering.”

Callan lifts his eyes up, as if asking Caelum for patience. When I follow his gaze, my own widens. I was so entranced by Hala’s moons, by the memories they invoked, that I did not notice what sits above them.

There is no sky. The sky is around us, surrounding us, below us, but not above.

Above us roils an ocean, waves churning and swirling, tipped with white foam and stretching as far as I can see.

I can even smell the faintest tang of salt, feel the mist against my face as I lift it to better take in the deep, dark depths.

Within those waves, lightning flickers and crashes, illuminating the water in patches.

My mouth falls open as a jagged flash reveals the silhouette of something impossibly large and sharp-tailed, swimming through the water.

“I always think I’ll get used to it eventually,” Esme murmurs as she joins me. She’s staring up too. All of them, even Callan. “But how do you ever get used to that?”

“Welcome to the Never Sea,” Callan says quietly. “And the Sea of Stars.”

Pulling my attention from the waves above us, I cross to look over the railing once more. My stomach tilts and shifts as I rapidly back away, my palms pricking with sweat and my head spinning.

“Yeah,” Rio says heavily. “Gives a whole new meaning to the term overboard .”

Leo skips past me, craning his neck as he gets closer to the edge. Striding forward, Merrick snags the back of his shirt and drags him back, out of danger. “Absolutely not. You know the rules.”

“I just wanted to look,” Leo protests. He sighs. “But I know the rules.”

“No going near the edge,” Esme explains to me. “For Leo, but truthfully, we all try to stay clear. You go over, no rope will be long enough to save you.”

Rio’s shudder is half-theatrical, half genuine. “You’d just fall. Forever, as far as we know.”

Esme’s face grows darker. She touches her fingers against her temple. “ Gehenna . Would your soul even reach Ellas from down there?”

Bile touches my throat at the thought.

Rio tilts his head in Leo’s direction. “Other than that, there’s just the wraiths.”

Leo’s eyes flick toward the railing again. He edges toward Merrick. “Wraiths aren’t real, Rio. They’re just stories.”

Rio wriggles his eyebrows. “I’ve seen them, you know.”

“For the love of Caelum,” Esme rolls her eyes. “You were asleep!”

“I was not sleeping, I was resting my eyes—”

“Enough,” Sol snaps. They stop bickering in an instant, everyone turning. My heart pauses, sputters, before beating a little faster.

Callan’s nose is bleeding. Not just a trickle, but a flow as Sol presses an already saturated cloth against it. Callan grunts, pushing him back and keeping the cloth in place. “It’ll pass.”

“That’s the heaviest I’ve seen it,” Sol says tightly. “Go and lay down.”

“I can’t—”

“You can.” Rio steps up beside him. He and Sol swap resolute gazes before he turns to Callan. “You can do what you need to do from the hammock, Cal. Rest, before you fall and take the rest of us with you.”

Callan forces out a breath, his nod tight. “An hour, then.”

“The rest of the day at least,” Esme snaps. “Don’t be so stubborn. You’re glowing, Callan. You’re spilling maegis like it’s water, and we have neither to waste. It’s another two days at least, even at your quickest.”

“Fine,” he snaps irritably. His eyes flicker to me briefly, and then away, leaving cold air in their wake. “Somebody needs to keep watch. You never know what might come crawling out of that abyss.”

“We have it,” Sol assures him. He catches me watching him, the concern in his eyes wiping away and replaced with familiar derision. “What are you looking at, murderer ?”

“Solomon,” Callan snaps. “Pack it in, for Hala’s sake. Missing Matthias is not an excuse for you to be an ass. Selene, ignore him.”

I flinch back at the word. Murderer.

A label I’ll wear forever, thanks to Boralas. Sol storms after Callan, and I turn back to the others. My hand slips down, scratching at my unbandaged skin on the underside of my wrist. “What do we do now?”

Esme shrugs. “Honestly? We wait. We made it over the edge, and now we pray to Ellas that Callan can hold the pretium off until we reach Asteria. There’s little else to do, truthfully. We’re off the water, and the sails will stay down until we get back.”

“We enjoy the final hours of peace before diving back into the chaos.” Rio joins us, tugging a slim wooden box from the pocket of his rough leather coat. He slings his arm around Esme’s shoulders and waves the box. “Anybody for a game of carpo?”

My nails dig deeper. Skin splits and breaks, spilling liquid that drips down my wrist. I feel… oily. Tainted, as if the word Solomon spat at me is soaking into my skin.

Murderer.

And I scratch harder, trying to rid myself of the phantom slick against my skin. Like mud. Spreading. I look down, squinting. It feels almost absurd to see nothing, when I can feel it so clearly.

I shake my head at Riordan’s invitation. The words slip from my mouth, almost desperate. “Who—who do I speak to about some extra water, for washing?”

“In the middle of the day?” Rio looks surprised.

Esme digs her elbow into his side. She hesitates, eyeing me, but nods down to the main deck. “Sol oversees the water rations.”

The thought of asking him for anything is almost enough to put me off. But my breathing is deepening, growing harsher. I back away from their concerned faces.

“Selene?” Esme moves to follow, but I throw out my hand.

“I’m fine,” I force out. “I will speak to Sol.”

Spinning, I almost dart away from them and down the stairs, gripping my wrist to stop from scratching any more. Sol and Callan have their heads together. Sol sees me first, dark brows drawing together when I come to a lingering stop in front of him. “What?”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. My throat threatens to close.

Sol rolls his eyes. “Spit it out. We’re having a discussion.”

But my voice refuses to answer. I can taste it. Taste the mud, the filth, filling my nose, my mouth. Drowning me.

Ask.

“I— I need water. Please.”