Page 107 of Soulgazer

His lips touch my back next, and heat pools in my thighs. “Clever girl.”

I swallow. “I wanted it in case we failed. I wanted a way to lock the curse away myself. But…if it’s not a curse, or a danger…” I reach back and tap the top of the tattoo. “Then this is all that’s standing between us and the Isle of Lost Souls.”

Faolan’s breath hitches once. Escapes in a slow, uneasy stream. “Death-cap ink ingrained into your skin. Right. Dermot’s made it easy for us, hasn’t he?”

I twist until I can see his face. Bite my lip until it almost bleeds.

“You could burn it off with your knife.”

Faolan jerks back, brows snapping low. “You want me to brand you?”

“Aye.” I wait to regret the words, or for an uneasy lurch in my stomach. But for once, it’s as steady as a rock. I reach into the satchel beside us and remove two other glass jars, a length of cloth folded around herbs. “The caipín baís have few natural antidotes, but I brought them in case. Something to quell the pain, a salve for healing—I wasn’t sure what we’d face. That’s why I went into my cottage before we came.”

Faolan’s touch slides down my jaw, turning my face back to his own. “This is a damn lot of trust to be putting in my hands. You’re sure you’re ready for it, Saoirse?”

I meet his gaze, bright even in the darkness. Rather than sinking, it makes my body feel like floating on the warmest summer sea. The thought of losing that feeling—of losinghimbecause of a lock on myself I never asked for in the first place—is intolerable.

“Aye. Caipín baís are temperamental—they only grow in the deepest caverns, which is why our island is sinking as it is. I don’tthink the ink will withstand heat. And a brand would disrupt the pattern locking it in place. At least…” I reach for the vial of ink and hesitate only a second before uncorking it to pour the contents into the fire. Instantly, the flames flare white, then silvery black and finally gray—spitting and consuming it until after only another second, they’ve returned to orange. “I hope so.”

My hands shake as I cork the bottle and drop it to the ground. “A salve should do the rest.”

Faolan only stares. For a long moment I think he’ll refuse. That I’ll somehow have to do it myself, shoving a blade in the fire and hoping I hit the right spot on my back. But then his hand curls back into my hair, and he drags my face forward until his lips settle on my forehead.

“You’re the bravest fecking woman I’ve ever met. You know that, right?”

I don’t, but I’m powerless to do anything except linger in his arms until he slowly sits back, wiping the sweat from his brow. “All right. Ah—here.” He tugs the leather sheath free of his belt and passes it to me. “Bite down on this, and don’t dare let up until I say it’s through.”

My hand only jerks a little as I reach first for the enchanted willow bark, chewing until a delicious sort of ice has coated my insides. Faolan fishes the box of Bruidin flame from his pouch and cracks three more leaves into the fire. Then he slides his dagger into the flames, resting it just over the embers until it glows cherry red. His gaze flicks to mine as he takes it out, turning it this way and that to inspect the metal—make sure it’s clean.

“Ready?”

I slip my hand into his, leather and skin warm against my palm. “Ready.”

I bite down on the leather and lock eyes with him until he moves behind me, searing the tattoo away with a press of his blade.

The fire pops, disguising my muffled cry as a white-hot chill strikes my body with the violence of lightning. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt—painis familiar. This is something else entirely.

Another wave hits, brighter and hotter than before. My back arches as the leather sheath absorbs my groan and Faolan grasps my hand tighter, his thumb easing the fingers apart.

Faolan.

I see flashes of him as a wee lad in a seaside pub, soaking up stories like they alone sustain him. In a village as a youth, wearing plain wool, restless and desperate to know the sea himself—scrawny surrounded by royals at court, then caught and chained shortly after. He’d told me Kiara spared his life, but I couldn’t fathom what it was like when they were both younger. Hungrier. She offered a leash in exchange for the noose, and Faolan has felt like her lapdog ever since.

He wants to be free to make his name. More than jewels, more than life, more than anything.

“Why—” I stare at our hands, panting as the leather drops to my lap. “Why did you marry me?”

Faolan nearly drops the dagger, swearing as his pinky meets the still-hot blade. He tosses it into the dirt. “You know why.”

“No, I don’t.” The pain is more bearable now, though my skin crawls with sensation. I take up the pot of salve and hold it out to him with shaking hands. “You said you’d planned to kidnap me if I refused to seek the isle. So why did you agree to the marriage?”

Faolan runs a fingertip along my earlobe, then dips it into the pot. “Maybe I like a bit of trouble.”

My skin warms as he eases the salve along my wound, coolingthe branded flesh until my shoulders unwind. Yet still I hold my tongue. In all these weeks traveling together, I’ve learned it’s the silence he can never stand.

Only a moment or two pass before his sigh ruffles my hair.

“You were dressed as a magpie.”

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