Page 6 of Stars Above the Never Sea (The Last Faeyte #1)

Chapter three

Selene

“ T his water is cold.”

It sloshes around me as I recline back in the deep iron tub with a sigh, my head resting against the hard rim. I dip my fingers into the water as if I’m not immersed in it, lifting them up and rubbing them together. My body shivers, but I have no intention of removing myself until I’m forced to.

The open window isn’t helping, but it’s not hindering, either.

The air here varies from baking and stuffy during the day to a warm balm at night, and the breeze offers more than the water as it dances across my exposed skin.

My eyes slip to the open window, the panes of glass pushed out to let as much air in as possible.

Night sky stretches out in endless, starless black.

A single ship sits in the harbor. The sails are down, as they have been for the last twelve nights.

Tomorrow, they might unfurl.

And I will have missed my chance.

The air teases me, slipping so easily between the world outside and this room. I shift my legs, and the chain attached to the cuff on my ankle clanks where it connects to a hook buried deep in the wall.

I return my attention to the woman with her back to me.

Across the room, Tieren meets my eyes in the tarnished mirror with a single, raised brow, a sardonic expression on her reflection in the cracked glass. Her movements are still graceful, even as she wipes off the thick mask of her performance. Probably more graceful than my own would be.

She plays me better than I could play myself.

Tieren tugs off her white wig, tossing it carelessly onto the dressing table we share and revealing the pitch black tightly braided hair beneath. “My apologies, your majesty, that your precious bath isn’t up to standard. I’ll get right on that for you.”

My lips press together as I reach for the soap. “I only meant that if you wanted to wash off—”

But she’s already stalking into her own bedchamber, the connecting door to our shared dressing space slamming shut, taking her usual irateness at having to pretend to be me with it.

Sighing, I take the bar, lathering my hands until they’re filled with fresh-smelling, lemon-scented suds and scrubbing at my arms.

My legs. My stomach. My face.

Lower.

Behind me, the creak of a floorboard has me pausing. It’s followed by a rough, hacking cough, as if he’s bringing up the full contents of his lungs in the middle of my bedroom, and my face twists as I stare down at my soap-covered hands.

I left him asleep. Passed out, with heavy, harsh snores filling the air. Along with sweat and sourness, and something else that makes my stomach curl in revulsion as I begin the scrubbing anew.

With my ears focused on the bedchamber behind me and my eyes facing down, I almost jump out of my skin at the words that come from the opened doorway, the one to the main hall. “He’s gone. Did he pay?”

I don’t look at Boralas. My finger points over my head to the sideboard behind me, the evidence of my evening activities scattered across the scarred wood in pieces of silver. “Of course.”

“Good.” His eyes linger and I pull my knees up in instinctive response, the rest of me hidden beneath layers of soap-filmed water.

Not that it matters. There’s no part of me that Boralas hasn’t thoroughly inspected over the years.

“Johan is here. Finish off and get ready. Wear the silver robe this time.”

Heat sweeps over me, heat and cold that battle for dominance inside my chest. Straightening my shoulders, I pin him with a look . One that sometimes works, but is more often dismissed. Familiarity breeds control under this roof. “I’m done for the night.”

He bristles, and I know which way it’ll land this evening. “You’re done when I say you’re done.”

When I don’t move, Boralas waves a hand, stepping inside as the door swings closed with a soft thud, sealing me in with him. His eyes sweep over my exposed ankle. “Hurry up. He’s waiting. You’ll use the azure rooms, since yours need to be cleaned. I’ll take you.”

The azure rooms. Boralas’s attempt to recreate the ocean inside a room. There’s so much silk inside from floor to ceiling that one could lose themselves in the layers without even trying.

Fine . I nod. “But I need to speak with you. Tonight, when I’m done.”

“About what?” My acquiescence received, Boralas is already heading back for the door, ready to fetch the deep-pocketed merchant who has enough money to pay for regular sessions with his favorite pet, before he returns to lead me to him like an offering.

Two customers in one night is unusual. Boralas must be delighted.

It’s nights like these that I wish he’d put me back on the stage.

I may have hated the sweltering heat when I was there, the leers, the bawdy shouts—but I didn’t know what sweltering meant.

Not until I was pinned beneath the bulk of an awkwardly thrusting male, his hands gripping my wings and his breath hot in my ear.

Given the choice, I would choose the stage every time, and Boralas knows it. But I make him far more money here.

All of my performances are conducted in the back rooms, these days.

While Boralas plays on the rumors of an Asterian faeyte to pull wide-eyed, curious viewers in through the front door, I’m reserved for the gaze of those with only the deepest pockets.

Or those who Boralas needs to keep happy, the ones who can grease the palms of the Terrosan officials to look the other way when presented with evidence of our treatment behind the walls of the Murenger.

I learned that the hard way. A little money, a little sex, and most will look the other way no matter how many depravities take place under their nose. “I have the money, Boralas. For my indenture.”

He pauses at that, his fingers already curled around the doorframe. The breath stills in my lungs, my hands pausing in their lathering. His silence continues, and I brace myself. “It’s legitimate. You agreed to the price, and I have it.”

His ruddy face holds no sway as he turns back to me. “Did I, now?”

My stomach turns over again. “Boralas. You promised .”

“Maybe.” His head tilts to the side. “But that was when you were on the stage, Selene. Now I have much more to lose, if you leave. Prices are increasing everywhere, you know. I’m not sure the price we negotiated years ago is fair.”

My fingers begin to shake.

It’s taken me eight years of scraping, of gathering up coins tossed in my direction, of my so-called visitors stealing enough pleasure that they threw money at me without thought for how I would use it.

Of fighting to hide it from Boralas, even from the rest of the men and women behind these walls—all of us trapped by Boralas’s insatiable thirst for more money, more power, more.

Always more . “It was what we agreed. And the amount is more than fair, even now.”

Five hundred Terrosan crowns.

It’s a fortune . Enough that I could set myself up on my own, without need for any man to dictate my days or nights. Enough to buy my solitude, and some gods-damned peace . But I’ll give him every single one of those crowns in exchange for an open door that I can walk through without looking back.

I’ll take nothing with me, my shoulders lighter for it. I’ll shed this place like a snake sheds its skin, leaving the hollow husk behind without a second look.

But even as I think it, the possibility fades. My shoulders curve inward at the look on his face.

You fool, Selene. You should have picked your moment better.

No. I should have known better. Known that Boralas was only humoring me, tossing out a number to keep me quiet. He’ll not allow me to leave.

Not when the price he can sell my body for lingers in his eyes. Not when the sheets are still dirtied in the room behind me and he waits to take me somewhere else to earn his coin for him for the second time in a single evening.

“Very well.” Slowly, I return to washing, rinsing myself off with the now-icy water. Although I’m not sure it’s the water making me tremble. “Perhaps we could speak on it again tomorrow.”

He eyes me at my acquiescence, his expression torn between relief and suspicion. “You know how much I value your work, Selene. I don’t wish to be at odds with you.”

My lips twitch. A lie, and a truth. Boralas doesn’t give a damn about being at odds with me.

But he values my body enough to at least attempt niceties.

He’s worked out over the years that politeness buys far more with me than his brutishness.

And damaged goods are worth less. “You don’t need to waste your breath on pleasantries.

I’m not going anywhere this evening, it seems.”

When I stand, cold water cascading away, the chain clunks. The copper band around my ankle tugs awkwardly as I climb out. “I’ll need a few minutes to prepare for Johan.”

Another night. Another body. Another cage.

It makes no difference to me, not really. My lips firm. “But I would speak with you again, when you’re ready.”

I have the money to pay for my freedom from this wretched place, and he will take it.

Boralas lingers as I shake out my wings, the familiar, burning pull against my spine a mixture of pleasure and aching pain.

Water scatters the ground around me as I stride to the dressing table and spread them out behind me as best I can to dry.

I glance at him in the cracked mirror, our eyes meeting in the space where my right wing curves inward. “Do you need anything else?”

My muscles stiffen as he moves closer. Boralas lifts his hand, running it over the membrane of my wing without asking.

He traces the bend before moving to my hair and tugging it from the clip, sharp fingers pulling free of my scalp and sending heavy strands tumbling down my back. “Wear it down.”

We both stare at my reflection in the mirror. Boralas fusses with my hair, drawing it forward.