Page 5 of Stars Above the Never Sea (The Last Faeyte #1)

Chapter two

Callan

“ T his place smells like a latrine.”

Ignoring Esme’s grumble, I eye the ruddy-faced barkeep glaring at our salt-crusted clothing and the marks on the faces of those around me.

My fingers tap out a rhythm against the small, aged wooden table. It wobbles even beneath my light touch, and I press my foot down against the leg to hold it steady as he thunks down several iron flagons overflowing with golden beer.

His expression is surly as he points to a sign on the wall. “We’ll have none of that maegis in here, you know. There’s a rule.”

“We have no intention of breaking your rules,” I say, tossing him a crown that he snaps up in one meaty, decidedly grubby-looking hand. “Advance payment to cover us for the evening. Any change is yours to keep.”

His surliness sweeps away, replaced with an attempt at a smile. I think I preferred the scowl. “Glad to hear it. Owt else for now?”

“Food, if you have it. Anything will do.”

The thick woolen material of my cloak threatens to suffocate me as I glance over my shoulder, taking in our route to the open doorway.

I didn’t need the cloak at all, not when we’re buried underground in what feels like a damned furnace, but it covers a multitude of sins.

Notably, the weapons that would draw more attention than I’d care to attract this evening, but not enough to go without.

I’d rather be seen as eccentric than a threat, although we seem to have blown past that already, judging by the hard stares of the men dotted around the place, paid to put down any trouble.

My hands flex in response, before they wrap around a brimming flagon and drag the beer toward me.

Everywhere around us, the low-ceiling room is increasingly descending into what promises to end up as full-blown debauchery.

Hot, sticky air fills with music, raucous laughter and something more primal, as partners find solace in each other—if only for a night.

The walls around us are carved out with curtain-draped booths, figures slinking through the brightly-colored silk to take advantage of whatever time they’ve paid for.

Beside me, Riordan seizes another flagon, passing it to Esme and the third to Sol before taking the last for himself. He sniffs at the liquid before gingerly taking a sip.

Despite myself, I pull my eyes from our surroundings to watch. Rio swallows, his mouth twisting before he shrugs and goes in for another. “Eh. It’ll do. Not sure about the food, though.”

“Speak for yourself.” Esme pushes the iron flagon away with a wrinkled nose and a single, offended finger. “I’m not experiencing such dire thirst that I’ll drink the equivalent of Terrosan piss to dampen it.”

“Then I’ll have yours.” Rio swipes the drink from her, and I return my attention back to the stage as they fall into the familiar, bickering pattern.

A thump beside me has my lip twitching. Riordan yelps, pushing himself up with a theatrical sigh and heading back over to the bar, weaving through the throng of people.

Beside me, Sol’s words are quiet. “You think she’s here ?”

There’s disgust in his words, and I can’t say I blame him.

I tip up one shoulder in lieu of a response. “We’ll find out. The entrance fee certainly wasn’t because of the drink.”

The music grows louder. A few rows of tables ahead, half a dozen silk-clad dancers spin and whirl on the wooden stage for the amusement of the slack-jawed audience.

Fluttering, sultry butterflies, each of them representing a different jewel as they stream around each other in surprisingly intricate movement.

My eyes flit over them without stopping, lingering instead on the heavy, masking shadows on either side of the stage as Rio throws himself back down and passes a new drink over the table to Esme.

“Get that wine down you, Smee. I picked the good stuff, and we’re not spending our last night here sober. ”

She snorts but takes the drink without further complaint. “Did you hear anything?”

He nods. Rio turns to me, a slight crease between his eyebrows belying his jovial appearance.

It wipes away as he leans back in his chair, his shoulders too broad for the narrow back.

The wood creaks beneath him as though it’s thinking the same.

“They said she’s coming on soon. Looks like Grim’s source was legit, Cal. ”

My pulse quickens at that.

Sol tilts his head, skepticism on his face. “I still think we would have heard about it sooner.”

“Doesn’t matter.” My jaw tightens as I fold my arms. “We’ll check it out, and we’ll leave.”

We can’t linger in Terrosa any longer than we already have, not when I’ve stretched the time we can spend here to the limit. Petyr will already demand an explanation for the delay.

Although with tonight’s visit, I can give him a genuine one. I take a sip of the beer. Esme wasn’t wrong. Terrosan piss would probably taste better. “At least we can say we followed up the lead.”

One single, solitary lead. Not that this is our purpose here—and certainly not mine—but since he made the request, we have little option but to try to fulfill it.

“There are no faeytes left.” Esme runs a hand over her short hair, exasperation written across the strong features of her face. “We all know it.”

Rio lays his arm across the back of her chair, using it to balance himself even as he nods in agreement. “Even in Terrosa. Gods, especially in Terrosa. This is a fool’s errand, Callan.”

Maybe. But the rumors that reached the dockmaster, Grim—a thick-set male with a penchant for easy money and the rattish looks to match—were enough to bring me here anyway.

Murmurs of a female dancer with eyes of starlight and wings of darkest night pushed me to drag most of my crew into coming out with me under the pretense of celebrating on our final night. .

Our attention sharpens as a male strides out onto the stage, the dancers behind him slipping away. Bowls slide onto the table, courtesy of our new friend the barkeep, but if the smell is any indication, I’d rather focus on the stage. Beside me, Esme’s quiet retch makes Rio snort.

The master of ceremonies—the owner of this tavern if I had to guess—looks far cleaner than most of his patrons.

An ample Terrosan with a shaved head and silk clothing that tells me he lives well from whatever he earns in this place.

The navy-blue silk waistcoat falls open, exposing his pale belly.

His smile of greeting is a sleaze-filled, crawling thing with too many teeth on show, but it draws a cheer from the crowd around us, no doubt familiar with the act.

“Good evening, my doves. Our next performance needs no introduction. Are you ready?”

He raises his hands, and the lanterns on the walls around us are doused, sending us into darkness. Sol’s muttered curse has me reaching into my cloak, my hand wrapping around the handle of the blade I slipped inside before we left Volatus .

All of us wait, none of us breathing, but there’s no trap. Only part of the show. A build-up to the main event, and a chill skitters across my back.

Frowning, I twist to look around. My eyes search the darkness around us.

One single, flickering flame bursts to life at the back of the room.

Another, then another, creating a slow route that amps up the enthusiasm around us as the stage slowly illuminates with warmth.

The master reappears in shadowed light, his smile spreading as he moves to the side and silently extends an arm.

As the slow, haunting notes of a vielle ring out, the hair on the back of my neck prickles. A silhouette, unusually shaped, slips onto the stage, and my body tenses as I lean forward, blade forgotten in sudden urgency.

Maybe —

The tension releases from my body in a rush of air as I sit back. Around me, murmurs of displeasure ring out. It seems that the crowd around us has been duped as much as we have.

Not a faeyte, then.

Just a performer. Heavily made up. A badly stitched white wig to mimic the legendary hair, wings cobbled together with a mixture of bird feathers and silk as she spins and whirls.

The moon phases dabbed across her skin are a little too rough-looking.

One is smeared, as if she ran out of time before needing to go on stage.

Graceful enough, but not real .

Rio sighs as he drains the last of his beer. “Consider me shocked. That’s that, then. Another?”

“Wine,” Sol mutters. “I’m not drinking any more of that piss, and you shouldn’t either. I’m not hauling your ass back to the ship.”

Riordan’s response is lofty as he flows upright with a fluidity that might surprise the men around us, gathering the cups in one hand. “I may not have your bulk to ease my way, Solomon, but I’m perfectly capable of holding my liquor. Also, Es will carry me. Won’t you, Smee?”

“Like fuck I will.” Her response is tart as she pokes at the food, her face morose. “If we’re not absconding with a faeyte, can we at least go somewhere where the damned food is edible? I’m sure I saw this pigeon on the dock earlier. It has the same eyes.”

***

Esme’s swearing drowns out the sound of our footsteps against the cobbled stone as she hauls a beer-riddled Rio down the street, deftly avoiding the puddles from those who came before without an irritated female to hold them upright.

“I swear to Caelum, walk straight or I’ll leave you in a puddle.

Not one of your own, either. You didn’t have to drink enough for all of us, you eejit. ”

Sol’s small snicker is drowned beneath Riordan’s indignant words. “I can— hic —walk, Smee.”

“Fine.” Sol’s snicker turns to full-blown laughter as Esme promptly drops him. “Prove it. Your ass is heavy.”

Rio staggers, throwing his hands out to brace against the sand-brick wall of the low building that runs alongside us. But he pushes himself upright, his expression somewhere between righteousness and illness as he turns. “See?”

The three of us pause. Sol’s words are tinged with his amusement. “Not found your sea-legs?”

“Pfftt.” Rio waves him off. “’m fine. See? In fact, I think I’ll have another before we turn in.”

Esme raises her eyes to the sky. “Riordan.”

“ Es-mer-ay .”

His drawling response has her scowling. “Don’t call me that.”

“Gods, you’re no fun.” He spins away from her, missing the flash of hurt that ripples across her face. “Callan? Another? Maybe we’ll find your faeyte amongst the taverns. Or the market.”

Shaking my head, I wave him off. Sol does the same, sidestepping when Rio tries to throw an arm over his shoulder. “The only place you should be heading for is bed.”

Rio points, but it’s somewhere to the left of Sol’s head as he squints. “That’s exactly what I intend to do. Eventually.”

Esme turns without another word, stalking back in the direction of the ship with tense shoulders and leaving silence behind her.

Rio glances over his shoulder for a moment, his smile wavering before he turns. His words are more subdued. “I’ll be back before we cast off.”

“You’ll be back for dawn.” My response is curt. “If I have to hunt through the pleasure rooms of Terrosa for you, Esme will be the least of your worries.”

He hesitates for a moment, but nods. Sol and I watch as he slopes off in the direction we came from, his hands slipping into his pockets.

“Maybe we should go with him.” Sol frowns as he runs a hand over his face. “He’s bloody tankered.”

I consider it for a moment before shaking my head and turning to follow Esme. “He can control himself. And he hasn’t had that much. He was baiting Esme more than anything else.”

Certainly not enough to need a helping hand. And his footsteps were steady enough as he walked away.

Sol sighs. “I’m heading to the market before I turn in.”

“For Matthias?” I twist, considering the warm light in the distance that stretches into the sky, a map to the hundreds of stalls that make up the market. This city—one of many that make up the endless territories of the red lands—comes alive at night.

Sol is already strolling away, his head dipping in a nod. “He wants some supplies. Herbs, instruments, you know.”

I do know. Things that will be far out of our reach by this time tomorrow. “Get some extra curcuma . I’ll head back and check on Merrick. It’s not like him to be unwell.”

His hand lifts in acknowledgment, but he doesn’t look back. “Already on the list.”