Page 60 of Stars Above the Never Sea (The Last Faeyte #1)

My eyes slip back to the table. I think of the pots, bubbling away over the hearth in the town square. So small, in comparison to what sits in front of us to feed just three mouths. “So I see.”

A noise that might be amusement comes from the Metallurgist. My eyes find him, only to slip away again, as if he is utterly unforgettable.

But he leans forward, making it easier to focus.

I find it better if I look just to the right, keeping him in the corner of my gaze.

“I have some questions about your maegis.”

Petyr interrupts. “No more business tonight. Let us talk about other things. How are you finding my brother, Selene?” His glass hovers in front of his lips as he waits for an answer.

The abrupt shift, as well as his chosen topic, has me frowning. “Fine.”

“Just fine?” His lips twist. “Come now. My brother is not without his charms.”

My shoulders tighten. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand the question.”

From under my lowered eyes, I catch the two of them exchanging a look. Petyr sniffs. “Of course. This curse of Hala’s. I’ve heard about it, but I’ll admit that I’ve never placed much stock in the old tales.”

Spine stiffening, I grip my glass tightly as Petyr reaches for a platter. He begins filling my plate without asking. “Surely you jest? You do not believe in the gods?”

His tongue clicks. The amused smirk he gives me holds an echo of his older brother, and my stomach twists uncomfortably at the idea of making any comparison between them. “I must, for our situation does not lie. But I do not see the gods as you do.”

“And how is that?”

“Infallible,” he murmurs. His knuckles rap against the table. “All things are fallible, Selene.”

I glance down at the table. The cutlery catches my eye, the bluish-white tint unusual.

Picking it up at Petyr’s gesture, I wait for them to begin eating before I follow their lead.

I was hungry before I came, but the salted meat turns to ash in my mouth under the stare of the peristi male across from me.

He examines me as if I’m an insect on the floor.

His eyes rake over my body, and yet when I look up he’s toying with his food.

I swallow, forcing the food down. “That is a bold statement, considering your current situation.”

He barks a laugh. “You don’t flower your words.”

“I see little point in masking them. As you said, our time is short.”

“I can respect that.” He chews on a piece of meat, swallowing before he responds.

His hand gestures at the opulence around us, and I follow his finger to a portrait against the wall behind the Metallurgist, who pays us no attention at all as he continues eating.

A broad, bulky male with similar features to Petyr sits in a throne far larger than the one Petyr has adapted here, brown eyes boring into me as if the painting might come to life at any moment.

“My father was a strong Caelumnai,” Petyr muses. “Had we had the tier system back then, I expect he would have been at least a level eight gerent, possibly a nine. Callan follows him. Ironic, really, considering his parentage. He was always far more my father’s son than I could ever hope to be.”

The touch of bitterness in his words does not surprise me. My body only stiffens further at the mention of his father, and my response comes out edged in anger. “In maegis , perhaps.”

Something glints in Petyr’s eyes. Amusement, perhaps. Almost delight. “Perhaps you are right. But my father taught me well. He taught me that all things have a breaking point. We just have to find it.”

Any appetite I had has vanished. Setting down my cutlery, I reach for my glass. My palms prickle, and I glance down, turning my palm upwards.

The deep red mark across my hand matches the knife and fork I’ve just laid down, and sensation returns in a burning rush as I try to close my hand.

“As I said,” Petyr murmurs. “Everyone has their breaking point. I do enjoy experimenting.”

I stare down at the metal. Not copper, with its deep, almost reddish hue. This is something else entirely. My neck prickles, and I raise my head, meeting the Metallurgist’s gaze.

He smiles at me. A wide smile, disturbing in its brightness. “You haven’t finished your dinner.”

“My apologies.” I take a long, deep breath, steadying my hands and pulling them beneath the table. “I find myself very tired. The work today was taxing. If you will both kindly excuse me, I think I’ll retire for the night.”

My hands tremble, the pain in my palms growing.

Callan.

Callan is on the other side of the door, I remind myself. My heavy chair screeches against the stone floor as I stand, pushing it back even as my knees shake. I can taste metal on the tip of my tongue.

I even manage a smile as both males push to their feet. “I’m sorry to cut the evening short.”

“Not at all.” Petyr bows his head. “I assume my brother is waiting for you? I’ll fetch him.”

He strides across the room without waiting for my answer, pulling the door open. “Selene is feeling unwell. You’ll escort her back to her room, won’t you, brother?”

Callan almost shoves his brother aside as he pushes through the doorway. His hands land on my arms. “Gods, you’re like ice.”

I can’t speak. My gaze lifts to Petyr. He leans against the door, a look of concern etched into his face. But his eyes .

Callan was right—eyes do not lie. And Petyr’s eyes look as though this evening has been some sort of victory, though I don’t understand why. “I’ll leave her in your capable hands, then?” he says to Callan. “The Metallurgist and I have some things to discuss.”

Callan doesn’t even look at him, his nod terse as he steers me through the doors and out into the hall. The iron ring built into the door twists and closes behind us without another word.

“Stop.” My hand burns as I shift away. “Callan, stop.”

“I’ll get Matthias.” He rubs at my arms again, as if trying to imbue warmth into them. “You shouldn’t have gone.”

“I should have stayed longer.” I’ve missed something. The sensation is becoming all too familiar. “He…”

Callan turns to stone. “He what ?”

My heart beats out of time, the sensation almost painful as it speeds until I rub at my chest with the urge to ease it. My hands tingle, the fire-lit scones that line the hallway beginning to swim in my vision. “I need to not be here, Callan. I need—”

My breathing turns choppy and harsh.

I need the sky. Cool air against my face. The walls are closing in, trapping me and dragging me down beneath the ground.

“Help me,” I choke out. “I can’t breathe here.”

But when I tilt, strong hands hold me in place. Callan lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist. Callan’s voice sounds in my ear as his hands smooth down my dress. “Can you hold on to me?”

That's all I can do. My arms wrapped around his neck, I bury my face just above his shoulder, losing myself in the movement of his body and breathing in the scent of his skin as though it’s the air I need.

One hand strokes over my wings, wrapping around my lower back.

The other grips the back of my neck. Just enough.

Enough to hold me together. “Focus on breathing. I’m taking you outside. ”

I can’t stop the shaking. Voices attempt to stop us, and I vaguely recognize Tobias’s. “Where are you going?”

“To the town,” Callan snaps. “We’ll be back tomorrow. Try to stop me and I’ll bring this entire fucking building down around your ears, Tobias. Move .”

My grip tightens, but there’s only silence.

And then blissful, blessed air . I tilt my face to the side, enough that it brushes over my cheek, the other still pressed against him.

“I can walk,” I rasp. Though it is the last thing I want.

“No.” Despite the rough tone, his touch is infinitely soft as he runs his hand down from my neck, over my wings and back up. “I don’t mind carrying you.”

He walks in silence. But his hand doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t stop tracing my back in gentle reassurance as my gasping breaths begin to calm.

By the time we stop, I feel boneless. Drowsy, and my voice almost slurs. “Where are we?”

“I have a home on the outskirts of town,” Callan says quietly. “It’s vastly preferable to being up there, although Petyr hates it.”

I don’t want to think about Petyr. About the victory in his face. But I swallow. “He is… there is something going on, Callan. With him, and the Metallurgist.”

A soft squeeze of my neck. “Tell me.”

As the words roll free, Callan’s body turns stiff beneath mine, until I’m not sure he’s breathing at all. “Show me your hands.”

“It’s fine. It doesn’t even hurt anymore. It was the shock, more than anything—”

“ It is not fine .” His hand shifts, carefully setting me down on cool, cobbled stone. And then my hands are cradled in his, his eyes examining the marks left by whatever metal they used on me.

Behind me, a shift. A wooden door smashes open, banging against a wall, and I hear a crash from inside.

Callan’s eyes don’t glow. They blaze fire and fury. “They gave you cutlery that burned your fucking hand.”

His gaze does not burn me. It warms up the ice that has settled over my skin. My hands find his face, the faintest edge of bristles brushing against my palms. I keep my voice soft. “I’m alright.”

“I was right outside.” He takes a breath, and I hear another crash. “Damn Petyr and his schemes.”

“You’re going to break your house, and I haven’t even had a chance to see it yet.” Something about his anger soothes the rising panic inside my chest. An ebb and flow between us, almost tangible. “I knew you were outside. That’s why I left immediately.”

His eyes begin to settle.

My fingers find the back of his neck, running over the skin there. Callan exhales. His forehead finds mine. “They didn’t touch you.”

“No,” I say quietly. I keep touching him, feeling his body shake beneath my hands. My fingers edge down, beneath the neckline of his shirt. “I would have called you.”