Page 59 of Stars Above the Never Sea (The Last Faeyte #1)

Chapter thirty-seven

Selene

M y hands tremble as Callan escorts me toward Petyr’s rooms for dinner.

Distracted, I barely notice as he turns a corner. Not until the musty scent of uncleaned floors fills my nose, darkness enclosing us as he yanks a door closed behind us. Some sort of cleaning cupboard, although it doesn’t smell very clean at all. His voice is low. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“I’ll tell him you can’t go.” Callan’s hand lands on the wall beside my shoulder. “You don’t have to go to his rooms. But something is wrong. There are no—”

The words snap off, as if hastily tossed out. Grateful to be pulled from my racing thoughts, I focus on him. It’s surprisingly easy. “No what?”

It’s not difficult for me to see his face. But Callan shouldn’t be able to see mine, yet his bronze eyes fix on me with unerring accuracy.

This close, I can feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt. Callan’s fingers brush against my bare arm, as if by accident in the small space, sending a shiver through my body. He leans forward until our noses almost brush.

“Your eyes,” he murmurs. “When you’re unhappy, or in pain, the stars in your eyes go out. Did you know that?”

A warm hand traces my cheek, cupping it. I’m suddenly fighting a war with my own body just to take a breath. It comes out shaky. “I… yes. I did know. I don’t give it much thought, truthfully.”

And my hands—my traitorous hands have landed on his chest. Not pushing him away. No. Instead, my fingers curl into his warmth, silently seeking more.

More comfort. More of him. This is too much, and not enough at the same time.

“Well,” he says gruffly. Gods, there’s something in his voice that vexes my senses. The hairs on my arm stand on end at the low rasp. “I seem to be giving it an awful lot of thought. I don’t particularly like it.”

We’re so close that our breathing mingles.

His scent—that faint spice a level deeper than the layer against my own skin—and heat surround me, and it feels as though I’m losing my footing.

I force out a response between hitched breaths.

“You don’t have to like it, thankfully. Just don’t think about it. ”

The pads of his fingers pause a hairbreadth from my cheek. And gods, I nearly lean into them. “I don’t think it’s possible to not think about you.”

I cannot breathe. What is wrong with me?

My head nearly bangs into the wall as I pull back. “Is this another game?”

His eyes widen infinitesimally. His hand falls away, the lithe muscles in his torso flexing beneath my touch as it pulls back.

I almost follow, but his voice stops me. “Please. Tell me what’s wrong. Am I making you uncomfortable?”

I drop my own gaze to the floor, unwilling to look into his face even as I shake my head to answer the question. “I read the letter. Yesterday, when we arrived back from town.”

His inhale is sharp. I pull the faded parchment from the deep pocket stitched into my dress and hold it out.

“It’s too dark for me to see.”

Flushing, I push it back into my pocket. “Of course. It was from the Mother.”

Lucia . I had stupidly never considered her name before. To me, she had always been so far above us, distant and so sad that I never tried to look closer.

Her grief, whatever caused it, made me uncomfortable enough that it was easier not to.

And yet her body is still splayed on the gates to Hala’s temple, while I have dinner with the male who bears at least some small part of the responsibility for her being there.

I shift past him, pushing open the old creaking door out into the corridor. My wings rustle behind me as I stretch them out, but only a lingering ache still remains from my flight to rescue Leo.

I should be practicing flying. There are so many things that I should be doing that I am starting to lose count, and my breathing deepens.

I don’t look at Callan. “We should go.”

When we reach the corridor that leads to Petyr’s quarters, I glance around, my mouth tightening.

While the rest of the temple has been left bare, these walls now hold large, intricately-woven tapestries, bright and vibrant against the white walls and stretching from the floor to the very edges of the carved wooden arches above our heads.

Each tapestry holds a golden crest, a crown with three stars above woven into every image.

Beneath my feet, the scuffed wooden floor has been polished and oiled to gleaming honey.

Of course he would have chosen these rooms.

This hall, these rooms , once held the living quarters of the Three, and that fact only puts me more on edge. But I nod in response to Callan’s raised eyebrow, and he bangs on the set of honeyed double-arched wooden doors. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right outside this door.”

The door is opened by an unfamiliar member of the household guard, wearing the same metal armor as Rio. He gawks at me before pulling himself together and stepping aside.

I catch Callan’s tense expression as he steps back before the guard pulls the door closed. The thought of him waiting outside settles some of the uncertainty that tightens my chest as Petyr’s voice reaches me. “Well met, Selene.”

Inclining my head, I step forward. “Well met.”

I have never set foot in here before, but I can’t imagine that it holds much similarity to when the Three lived here.

What would once have been a basic, clean space has been overrun with things crammed into every possible corner.

The scent of beeswax and citrus hangs heavily in the air, drifting from dozens of elegant, tapered yellowed candles.

They sit in lustrous metal candelabras set at regular intervals on top of dark wooden sideboards laden with brightly-colored displays of everything from oversized metal lanterns to a bowl of some sort of opaque jewel that glints in the flickering candlelight.

Petyr timed his invite for the cover of darkness, the windows outside showing only the night sky. The implied intimacy makes me… uncomfortable.

Callan is outside.

Steeling myself, I turn my attention to his brother.

Petyr rises from the head of a large circular table made from that same dark wood. It must have come from Boreas, for it’s not a material that I recognize as native to Asteria.

Every inch of the table is filled with yet more ridiculous platters of food, freshly steaming, rich and opulent. I grit my teeth at the waste—yet again—before I catch his eyes on me.

I swallow down my disapproval, remembering his words from the fog that overtook me last night. I’ll give him no reason to lose his temper this evening. “Thank you for the invitation.”

“It was overdue, since we have not had a chance to speak properly. I apologize.” He pulls out the chair beside him. Petyr’s eyes drop to my feet, and he raises an eyebrow in clear judgment. “Do you have some sort of aversion to shoes?”

“My boots did not go well with my dress.” And truthfully, I’m so used to going without that I hadn’t even thought of it. My feet are scarred enough that I can walk across most terrain without blinking.

He laughs quietly, tugging on the sleeve of another intricately braided surcoat, this one a deep maroon with silver thread woven in twisting patterns. “I had not thought of that. We can provide you with shoes, of course. We have some talented peristi casters here.”

“Thank you.” Esme’s face runs through my mind. “But that’s not necessary.”

I wonder who sacrificed a memory for his beautiful coat. He shrugs. “Let me know if you change your mind. They’re very useful in a land with limited resources.”

As he pours beer into my glass, I jolt. The male opposite slips into his seat, purple eyes whirring and shifting.

Pale, almost blue skin stretches a little too far over his face, creating a shiny effect as he reaches for a half-full glass I hadn’t noticed.

Otherwise, I find it hard to describe his features at all.

As if nothing about him stands out, aside from his eyes.

He wears no Caelumnai mark on his face to identify his casting tier.

Even his voice sounds oddly flat, the words fading away as quickly as they appear. “My apologies if I startled you.”

I steady my breathing, my hands gripping the arms of my chair. “Not at all.”

“Wendlyn would also have joined us,” Petyr says, settling back in his chair. “But she has overexerted herself, so she’s resting. She informed me that she might call on you tomorrow, to introduce herself properly.”

“Of course.” I glance at the male again. “Forgive me. I don’t believe we have been introduced.”

“This is the Metallurgist.” Petyr takes a sip of his beer. “He has a truly phenomenal talent for metalwork, as well as fulfilling his role as my royal advisor.”

From the way the male stares, I would wonder if he was intentionally trying to make me uncomfortable.

As it is, I’m certain my smile is perfectly bland.

I spent many years holding discussions with men who looked at me too closely.

Although he doesn’t put me on my guard the exact same way, my skin still crawls.

“I was very appreciative of the pipework in my bathroom. Your work, I understand?”

His head tilts to the side. Brown hair, I realize. Only to frown, when it seems to shift to blond and darken once more. “Yes,” is all he says.

I’ve never seen anything quite like him. Discomfited, I raise my glass in a silent toast. “Then you have my thanks.”

“How is work on the Never?” Petyr sounds mildly irritated, and I turn back to him. He lounges back in the chair, his fingers tapping haphazardly on his arm as he looks between us. “Have you made any progress?”

I take a breath. “It has been barely a day. I’ll need some time to try to understand where I might even begin such a vast task.”

“But we do not have time.” Petyr smiles to soften the sting, and I would prefer he hadn’t. “My people are starving, Selene.”