Page 8 of Stars Above the Never Sea (The Last Faeyte #1)

My head jerks up at the sound of a door opening.

I’m out of time.

Tieren stares, her eyes wide and her skin paler than I’ve ever seen as she looks between us. “What did you do ?”

Something that could hang us both, if she does not raise the alarm. And she knows it, too, from the hesitation, the hitch in her breath, the parting of her lips as she looks to the door—

“ Please .”

At my quiet, begging plea, her head turns to me again.

We have never been friends, Tieren and I.

But we have never been enemies, either. Rivals at worst, during our early years.

Boralas found it amusing to set us against each other, both for entertainment and to stop any plotting that might have arisen from friendship.

Reluctant allies at best, during the nights where Boralas’s temper got the better of him.

I nursed her when the fever swept through Terrosa, closing every tavern as we barricaded ourselves inside until it had passed.

She went for help when a customer felt cheated in his experience and took his frustration at my silence out on me with his belt.

And she helped me bathe afterward, both of us silent as my blood tinted the water pink.

“Give me a chance.” My whisper stretches between us. “A few minutes, Tieren. You were asleep. You didn’t hear.”

I hold her gaze, and she holds mine. Both of us have something to lose.

I glance to the doorway. “There is a pouch in the bedroom. It’s sewn into the underside of the mattress. Five hundred crowns.”

Her head rears back. “You think I can be bribed?”

I wait, losing additional precious seconds as she wars with herself. “Please—Johan is waiting for me.”

Her tanned skin ashes over. “He’s here?”

My heart sinks at the panic in her expression. She darts forward, and I suck in a breath as she kneels in the pool of blood alongside me.

“He doesn’t keep it on the hook.” She doesn’t look at me as her hand shoves into the silk, feeling her way with a grimace. “I saw it, years ago. He keeps it – here .”

She yanks out a gleaming, copper key. Our eyes meet above it.

And then she’s gone, into my bedchamber as I shove the key into the lock on my ankle with shaking hands, ignoring the sting of my fingers as I twist it.

It opens easily enough. The cuff falls to the floor, and I take in the sight of my bare ankle for the first time in years. The pale skin is ripped and distorted, scarred beyond any healer’s abilities.

“Selene,” Tieren hisses. She has the money pouch in her hands, shoving her hand inside to touch the coins. “Hurry.”

My heart thunders as I rise, my feet unsteady beneath me as I force them into movement. “The blood—”

“Leave it.” Her brows are furrowed as she pulls out a fistful of coins, shoving them into the pocket of her flowing lilac trousers. They clink as she brushes past me, darting back into her own rooms. “Get dressed, quickly!”

I’d forgotten about my state of undress. Hurrying into the bedchamber with my still-wet hair sticking to my skin, I yank clothes from the closet and curse Boralas for refusing to clothe me in anything other than gauze and silk.

But at least I have a cloak. One left behind last year, a man rushing from my rooms as if an Asterian lupus was nipping at his heels with sharp, lethal teeth.

The merchant had never returned, never asked for his cloak back. As if it was tainted by the hours he had spent working himself against me, grunting and groaning as I lay with my face pressed into the bedding while he indulged his imagination.

It’s too short for me, the dark brown, thick folds lingering at my ankle. I take a quick glance around the room before backing out.

There’s nothing here I would take.

Darting back into the bathing chamber, I seize a cloth and some lemon soap, shoving them into the deep pockets of the cloak as Tieren returns, a woven bag tossed over her shoulder and her own cloak fitting her perfectly.

She meets my surprised stare with a steady look. “I have a home, you know. In the Eastern territory. I have a family. A wife.”

We have never spoken of our pasts. Not once.

She tosses me something, and I catch it in my hands. The bag still feels full.

“I took only what I needed.” She doesn’t look at me as she moves to the window. “Nothing more. We need to leave.”

I join her, staring down at the distance to the empty, cobbled street beneath it. “We’ll have to climb.”

It’s not a small jump. But the brickwork is pitted from years of neglect, crumbling away to leave small holes in its place.

The banging at the door makes us both jump. Yesta, Boralas’s seedy right-hand man, shouts through the wood. “Is Boralas in there? Johan wants him.”

Fear fills Tieren’s eyes.

“Go,” I hiss. “Now.”

She doesn’t hesitate, even as her hands shake. Tieren crawls onto the large wooden sill, pushing herself out into the cool air with stumbling breaths.

“He was here.” My voice is steady as I call out. Cold, even as it rises to meet the demand on the other side of the door. “He left. I don’t know where. I’m bathing, Yesta. Johan is waiting for me.”

A mumbled curse, and heavy footprints stomp away.

When I turn back, there’s no sign of Tieren. She’s halfway down the wall when I look over, her hands and feet agile against the stone. She glances up at me but says nothing as she moves silently.

A few more feet, and she’ll be gone.

I have no more time to waste. I hoist myself up onto the sill, fighting in the small space with the cloak that hides my wings from view.

I have no doubt I’ll stick out regardless, thanks to their shape bulking my figure.

Lowering my legs, I twist and grip the sill tightly, feeling for one of those small holes in the wall.

There.

One, and then another. I push my feet into them, the stone biting into my bare toes with sharp slices that I ignore as I carefully follow Tieren. The stone is warm beneath my grip, a remnant of the heat left behind from the sun.

“Faster.” A quiet hiss in the night.

She hasn’t left yet. I glance over my shoulder, spotting her on the ground. It’s closer than I realized, and relief is a full breath as I let myself drop. My knees take the brunt of the fall as I land heavily with a choked gasp, but Tieren is already hauling me up with a hard grip.

We face each other, and I force my chest to steady. “Where will you go?”

She glances over her shoulder. Our rooms look out onto an alleyway that runs behind the Murenger, filled tonight with the trash and leftovers that will be collected by filth covered inritus before dawn and tossed over the territory walls to rot, the stink barely covered with scented oils that hang in the air.

“My home is in Ustus—beyond the seventh territory. I’ll find a traveling band going in the right direction.

I can dance. They’ll take me, and I can pay my way. You?”

Over her shoulder, the entrance to the alley faces the harbor. I lift my chin. “Home.”

Tieren follows my gaze as she turns on her heel. “Good luck, then, my friend. May your goddess guide you to better fortune than you found here.”

She’s gone before I can respond, only the edge of her cloak visible as she darts around the corner. Glancing up, I listen for shouts, but only silence meets me.

Time to go.

Disbelief lightens my head as I follow Tieren’s lead. I keep my steps steadier, pushing a swagger into my hips as I reach the end and flip the hood of the cloak over my head. With my height and the wings at my back, maybe I could pass for a broad male—the sort one would avoid rather than challenge.

As long as nobody looks down at my feet.

The street is quiet. I move as quickly as I dare, striding out in the middle of the cobbles, pretending that I belong here as I head for the dock.

Only one ship sits in the harbor tonight – although one is unusual enough to draw attention.

A male and female inritus walk past me, hands entwined and their curious eyes on the ship instead of on me.

Deserted. The men who work the dock are nowhere to be seen, only the dark silhouette of the ship greeting me as I walk up to it, glancing over my shoulder. Even the harbormaster’s office is locked up.

And it’s quiet. My footsteps make no sound as my bare feet press against the stone, and I stifle a grimace as something wet squishes beneath my foot. The only noise comes from the water, and my muscles stiffen at the sound of waves gently rolling against the wood.

Strength of will means nothing against the memories that churn my stomach. They force their way in, dizzying my mind with fractured images. Even the salt that fills my nose burns my throat in remembered pain.

But I have to get on. The gangplank is barely wider than me, a single rope strung alongside, and I glance around for any witnesses before slowly stepping onto the wood.

It shifts, my stomach dropping into my feet at the sensation, at the thought of the water below me. Ready and waiting to drag me down, to finish what it started—

My feet hit the deck with a thump louder than I’d like, and I suck in a tight breath around constricted lungs. Waiting.

Nobody comes.

I look across the deck at the mountains of crates, securely strapped in place with rope. It’s far more than I’ve seen a boat carry, and there’s a groan from the ship beneath me as if she agrees.

But all the better for me.

I ease my way through, identifying a passage that leads me to a small door that sits between this main level and the upper deck. Beside it, a set of wooden steps leads up to an area where a rudder stands, alone and unmoving.

I need a space to hide until we’re well at sea—

The footsteps behind me sound just a moment too late. As I twist, my cloak tangles around me, material covers my face.

Not material. A weight, heavy and unexpected, presses over my mouth, cutting off my air. I push back in desperation, attempting to toss my head, but the desperate breath I take brings the scent of feverfew with it.

An Asterian scent.

Caught off guard, I hesitate, and whoever has caught me presses their advantage. The cloth grows tighter as my fingers claw at the leather-wrapped hands bearing it, even as my eyes grow heavy.

I can’t go back to the Murenger. I won’t —

Never again.

My body stills, resignation settling over my shoulders like a warm blanket as I close my eyes. It will be here, then.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Nyx. Celeste.

This, at least—this single, critical part of my faeyte maegis—this comes naturally. The small ember in my chest, the ember that has burned low for a decade as I waited and worked and whored for a chance, begins to grow.

The dark corner we’re fighting in grows brighter, as if illuminated by a sudden light.

The person gripping me curses quietly in words I don’t catch. The cloth is freed from my face, clearing my airway, but it doesn’t matter. I was not fast enough, the feverfew dragging me into unconsciousness.

I tried. I’m sorry.

I—