Page 56 of Stars Above the Never Sea (The Last Faeyte #1)

Chapter thirty-five

Selene

T he pain has no beginning, and no end.

It does not ebb, nor flow.

There is no mercy here.

Help us.

Help—

I bolt upright, my hands clawing at my skin as if I could tear free the sensation of my skin burning, flaking, ripping .

The pain vanishes as easily as it overtook my dreams, dimming in the cool darkness of my bedroom as my harsh pants fill the air.

But the heaviness remains. My breathing does not ease as I throw the covers back and stagger to my feet, my eyes searching the room. Beside me, the lantern Esme lit before I went to sleep is dark, the oiled wick long since burned to nothing.

Only shadows and furniture greet me. I’m alone, and yet—

I still feel it. That tug, pulling me down.

My swallow is painful, my throat dried by pain I can no longer feel but still remember. I run trembling hands down my shirt, my fingers gripping and twisting into the material as if trying to anchor myself.

“Just a dream.” The words barely slip out, my whisper vanishing before it begins. “That’s all.”

My feet barely hold me as I make my way to the bathing room beside my bedroom, my eyes finding the way easily as I pour water into the basin and thrust my hands into the cold water, reaching for Callan’s soap and scrubbing my hands in increasing desperation.

Yanking the shirt over my head, I run the cloth over my shoulders, my breasts, scrubbing as if I can remove the slick feeling that has settled over my skin.

When I finally throw the cloth down, gripping the wooden counter tightly, I bend my head over the bowl. My nails dig painfully into the wood, splinters forcing beneath them.

What is this?

This is not the cloying, drowning feel of Terrosan mud that I’m used to battling with. This is something worse. A thousand burning slashes across my skin. My hands scrabble for my back, gripping my wings. Tension softens at the familiar sensation of silk beneath my touch.

But only a little. My breathing is still audible as I raise my head. The glass propped against the counter is murky, but enough that I can see the sweat that still lines my brow, the usual paleness of my skin leeched far beyond my natural complexion. Even my lips are white and bloodless.

My legs still shake, and I twist, sliding down until I’m seated on the floor.

Perhaps I am approaching my fertile time. Heat creeps across my face at the thought. It has been years since I had any sign at all, but the gripping fist in my abdomen, that tugging , feels almost familiar.

Or perhaps I am losing my mind. Maybe being here, in Asteria, has finally pushed me over the edge I have battled with for ten years.

Closing my eyes, I search for the maegis. I can feel it lingering, but it takes long minutes before the glow appears and the cavern opens up in my mind.

What is this?

It pulls back. My thoughts chase it down, pinning it in a dark corner. Do you know?

It feels as though it’s avoiding the question. But it stays silent, refusing to engage no matter how I try to phrase the chaos inside my mind.

Irritated, I let my eyes slide open again. Cool air dances over my limbs, and I shiver as I pull the shirt back on. Warmth lingers within the linen, and I catch the faint hint of Callan’s spice, buried deeply within the worn material.

Hesitating, I glance to the door.

It’s late. Far too late to have any sort of rational explanation for why I might knock on his door. I don’t even know where he sleeps

When I ease the bedroom door open, a single pair of scarlet eyes glimmer at me in the darkness, making me jump back before I recognize him.

Rio sits facing my door, a sleeping Esme curled against his chest. He scans me, the loose lines of his body tensing. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” I hold up my hand to stop him shifting as Esme stirs. My eyes flick between them. Taking in the way he cradles her. “You should bring her inside. I didn’t realise you were both out here.”

His lips lift. “Someone is always out here.”

They had mentioned watching me, but something tightens in my chest. “I was—do you know where his room is?”

He doesn’t ask who. Rio nods his head to the door beside mine. His quiet amusement grows at my bemused expression. “As if he’d have you anywhere else.”

And yet he still sits out here, even though Callan’s room is next to mine. The laughter in his eyes softens. “You both need rest. He won’t sleep otherwise.”

His gaze lowers to my hands, lines creasing his forehead. I force my nails to stop, even as my wrist itches.

Rio nods at the door. “Go on in. He won’t mind.”

But I still hesitate. “I don’t want to disturb him.”

He studies me for a long, silent moment. “I think he would be more disturbed that you needed him and didn’t ask. His door is unlocked for a reason.”

When he looks down again, I step back, pulling the door wider. “Please. Bring her in. I won’t be sleeping any more tonight.”

Dawn cannot be so far off. And I would rather be tired than face the nightmares again.

His smile is crooked. “If you go and talk to Callan about whatever has that look in your eyes, I’ll take her inside.”

My nod is jerky. I slip out into the hall, watching as Rio flows to his feet. He makes the movement look easy, even as he lifts Esme with him. Her face buries into his chest with a small complaint as he waits.

My hand hesitates over the handle, before I steel myself and slowly turn it. Rio smiles at me in encouragement as I slip inside. I catch him stepping over my own doorway as I push the door closed and turn, holding my breath steady in my chest.

Callan’s space is a mirror of my own, and equally as bare. No rugs line the floor, and few belongings sit on the dresser across from me. But my heartbeat settles in my chest at the scent that fills the room, the quiet rasp of steady breathing.

No difference, aside from the male sleeping in the bed.

I stay where I am for several minutes. Watching the way his back gleams in the light from the still-lit lantern beside him, spilling amber light across an expanse of golden skin. Callan is sprawled on his stomach; his arms wrapped around a pillow and his face hidden from my view.

Already, I feel steadier. Even as my chest settles, eases , my embarrassment at the thought of being caught like this—staring at him in the middle of the night, has me reaching for the door handle.

He shifts. The linen wrapped around his hips moves, and blood rushes back into my face fast enough to make me dizzy as I turn away.

This is enough. Just… seeing him is enough to chase away the last of the darkness that haunted my waking steps.

My hand turns—

“Going somewhere?”

The high-pitched yelp that escapes my throat as I whirl around may be the least elegant noise I have ever made. “I thought you were asleep!”

“I was.” The rough tone gives credence to his words as he twists, pushing himself upright and giving me a glimpse of rumpled hair and sleep-heavy bronze eyes before he stretches out a muscled arm for his trousers, carelessly discarded on the floor.

My flush grows as I toss my eyes up to the ceiling.

“Though my dreams made me wish I were not. What’s wrong? ”

I focus on a small, discolored patch on the ceiling. “Nothing.”

I need a glass of water. My throat feels as though it has dried completely.

“ Selene .”

Oh, gods. I need him to stop talking like…

that. There is a rasp to his voice—almost a growl—that I haven’t heard before, and it turns my stomach to a twisting, gnarled mess as I try to swallow and my words get caught in my throat.

A small noise of apology slips out as I turn away, my hand twisting the handle to escape—

He moves so fast, I barely feel the shift in the air before the heat of his bare chest is only an inch away. He slowly pushes the door closed, his arm beside my burning cheek.

Perhaps it’s not me, but him. All I feel is heat, with him surrounding me, chasing away the lingering chill.

His low whisper brushes against the shell of my ear, and I cannot decide if I’m burning or ice-cold. “Tell me. Are you still feeling unwell? I can go for Matthias.”

As I search for the words, Callan’s eyes sweep down my body. They pause, and I know what he’s found. His fingers are gentle as he lifts my wrists, inspecting them.

“I could not sleep.” I whisper the admission into his neck. It feels easier than looking into his face. “My dreams were not pleasant either.”

I wonder what he dreamed about. Callan exhales, the rough pads of his fingers still tracing the broken skin at my wrists.

I wait for the assurance. For the soft words intended to ease my passage back to sleep, although I know his efforts will be in vain. But I want them anyway.

I don’t want to talk about the letter. Or the Never, or Petyr, or any of it. I don’t want to think .

He steps back, and I feel the loss of that warmth as though the sun has vanished behind a cloud. But he keeps my hand, dropping one and lacing his fingers through the other. Our eyes collide, only to dance away.

“A bath,” he says hoarsely. “Would you like to visit the springs? Or the pipes would work, if you’d prefer to go back to your room—,”

My thrumming pulse steadies as I shake my head. “I’d like to go to the springs.”

I don’t want to return to my room. But I can’t voice the need lingering on my tongue. “Besides, my room is occupied. I told Rio to take Esme inside. She was sleeping.”

“Ah.” I feel him studying me. “The springs it is, then.”

I lift my foot, running it over my lower leg. The words tumble out. “You’ll come?”

A light squeeze of my fingers. “You’re not going down there alone.”

For some reason, his answer draws a frown to life between my eyes. But I say nothing as we slip out into the plain hallway, Callan holding the lantern from beside his bed. The silence of the early hours hovers over us as we reach the stairs and begin making our way down.