Page 47 of Soulgazer

Faolan’s smile goes crooked. “Darling, I had a whole plan tokidnap you two nights ago if you hadn’t shown up onshore. Give me a wee bit of credit.”

A laugh perches on the tip of my tongue. The memory of Mam’s confession chases it away. “My father said Gráinne was mad. That she—” Tried to drown me. “She’s the reason I’m cursed.”

“And we both know what a reliable narrator he is.” Faolan drops into the chair beside me, woolen socks in his hand. “Gráinne wasn’t a royal, or a descendant of the Daonnaí. Did you know that?”

I don’t know much of anything, it seems.

“Your father’s done a fair job covering up anything to do with her, but the oldest of the seanchaí still remember. I sought them out at the Damhsa, and they told me that before Gráinne met your grandda, she was a regular soothsayer who read bones at every gathering. She was never made queen—his family wouldn’t allow the marriage—but she was known to be levelheaded and wise until her husband passed on.”

The tattoo on my back stings as Faolan leans forward, fixing his gaze on mine.

“They say it was onlyafterhe died that her mind split.”

I grip the mattress. “You think she touched his soulstone?”

“I’d stake money on it.” Faolan tugs on one of his socks. “Dermot all but scoured his mother from the public eye after that. Ran the story she’d gone mad with grief, then tucked her neatly away where no one could see.”

Like me.

My stomach hollows as Faolan stretches the knit so casually over his ankle, like he hasn’t just painted the story of my own life.

“H-how did you meet her, then? If Father banished her.”

“She escaped. Our islands aren’t that far from each other—she could’ve handed a bit of jewelry off and taken passage on a wayfarer’s ship along the coast to reach our docks. Or a fishermanmight’ve pitied her? Hell, maybe she’s like her granddaughter and fancied she could swim.”

My brows snap together. “Icanswim, I was only—” Weak from the tattoo.

A tattoo the apothecary said they’d tried on my grandmother first.

I shake my head. “And where did you find her?”

Faolan loops an arm around the bedpost, one of his knees brushing mine. “At the docks. The poor creature was rambling to thin air about the Isle of Lost Souls, and no one else would go near her. But I was curious, so I took her into the pub and bought her a meal while she spun her tales.” Faolan taps his fingers along the wood, watching me from the corner of his eye. “I never could resist a story.”

I tear my gaze away. “So she told you about the island, and then—what. You left her there?”

“No. At least not in the way you’re thinking.” A thin band of pale skin nestles beside carved bands of gold, where the wolf’s-head ring used to be. “I was only a wean at the time, thirteen at most? She gave me this ugly old ring of hers, then sent me off to show my parents, and…I obeyed.”

A smile flits over his mouth, but it’s all wrong, bitterness catching at the corners. “I should’ve left the stupid thing behind, but I didn’t. And then…” Faolan rubs at that bare strip of skin. “Anyway. I never saw her again.”

My heart sinks. “That must have been at least a decade ago.”

“Thirteen years or thereabouts, but—and this is important.” Faolan taps me once underneath the chin, his smile drawing the light once more. “You’ve married a very smart man. I had a hunch, so before we left the Damhsa, I got Dermot’s head seanchaí alone with a bottle of whiskey and found out whereDermot had his mother sent. Or rather, where the ship holding her went down.”

Blue light flickers across his face, and I glance out the window to see more souls clinging to the pitted rocks outside. Spirits half-formed, tossed in the waters above a wreckage we sail past.

Understanding settles in a tired lurch to my gut. “You think she died here.”

He nods. “Aye. And seeing as you’re cut from the same cloth, I figure finding her bones or soulstone is worth a shot. If the magic is stronger when you touch someone’s skin, what will it be like to hold their very essence?”

The thought of holding my grandmother’s bones leaves a sour taste on my tongue, but as though he senses it, Faolan slides a hand down my arm. “I could be wrong. And just in case, she’s not the only reason we came. Rumor also has it there’s a breed of fish here that can allow a man half a day below the water without needing air.”

I shake my head. Stand to reach a dress folded neatly on top of a trunk. Do anything not to think about the grandmother who, whether mad or misunderstood, had shared the burden of magic with me. “No, that’s the freckled whales. They’ve been gone a whole generation, haven’t they?”

“Aye, the bastards from Ashen Flame hunted the poor creatures to the point they’ve either left the Crescent for good or they’ve passed on to the same realm as the gods. No, I’m talking about a fish bred two generations past by the Isle of Painted Claw for their beauty. Sailors in those parts claim that if you cut out their gills and lacquer ’em in the same kelp we use for the ship, a person couldbreathebelow the waves nearly half a day—sunrise to sunset. If they’re lucky.”

I tip my head back. Release a long, slow breath. “And we’redoing all of this because of the song? The one you can hardly remember.”

He must hear the doubt in my voice, because his hands abruptly fall to my hips and squeeze, sending me squirming back toward the bed. “Oi, ye cheeky wench—aye, it’s because of a song. Most of my adventures are. You’ve just got to work your way through the pretty lyrics and find the truth beneath.”

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