Page 62 of Soulgazer

“Please leave. Both of you.”

I see the fear in their eyes. Their concern. But whether it’s for me or Faolan, it doesn’t quite matter. If he dies, my father will come for me—or Maccus, or both. Kiara won’t protect us. So there’s only one solution: Faolan has to live.

I return to the bedside and rake a hand back through the pirate’s sweaty curls, biting my lip at the burn of his flesh. But burning is good. Burning means he’salive.

As Tavin and Lorcan leave the room, I bend over and press my lips to Faolan’s temple. Taste whiskey and salt as I make one more promise, just between us.

“I won’t let you die.”

Twenty-Three

Two sleepless nights pass beneath a pitch-black sky as Faolan’s fever and the toxic gold threads recede—but it’s painfully slow. An agonizing ritual of packing the wound, grinding more scales, adding boiled water to the dregs of an old bottled elixir, and praying it will revive the mixture enough to work.

I peel back the latest bandage, my poultice cracked along the edges where infection has seeped between the paste and kelp. Twelve open punctures remain.

“Dammit, Faolan.”

I massage the pink, puckered skin between my thumbs until each hole weeps a drop of milky fluid mixed with gold. Sweat trickles down my shoulder blades as I repeat the process, over and over, until all they release is blood. And the whole time, I wait for a vision to strike—practically beg for one beneath my breath to prove that he’s alive and healing. That he’ll return to me soon.

No magic arises. I turn to the mortar and pestle once again.

“You still haven’t slept?”

Brona hovers in the doorway, shoulder propped against the wooden frame. Heavy afternoon sunlight streams down the hall behind her, illuminating her skin so she resembles the bronze statueof a small, particularly vengeful god. I must look corpselike by comparison.

“There hasn’t been time.”

“Right, because Faolan demanded you chain yourself to his bedside should he ever get injured. I forgot that bit of your wedding vows.”

“I’m sure he’d argue it was promised between the lines.”

She laughs, and I smear a fresh batch of paste over the wounds, my fingers stained yellow with the stuff. It clings to my skin alongside the kelp, reluctant to release me. Reminding me of my grandmother’s grip.

A shiver wracks my limbs as I tie a fresh bandage off and lower Faolan’s arm to the bed. He doesn’t stir, save for the slow rattle of his chest rising with every breath. It’s bare and flushed, sprinkled with reddish hair and scars, roped by muscle. I’m certain he’d tease me for looking if he ever woke up.

Please wake up.

“There’s a decent breeze tonight.” Brona curls her lip as I wipe off my hands. “It would do you some good to breathe air that’s not tainted. Eat something—hell, maybe even have a drink.”

“It wouldn’t be right to leave him like this.”

“Because fretting at his bedside is going to keep Faolan’s sorry arse alive?”

I drop the cloth—gasping as fear folds me in two.

“Feck. I told them not to send me.” Brona curses, swiping it from the ground. “Faolan’s not going to die. He’s too bloody stubborn for it. And anyway, that’s not why Lorcan sent me. He just thought…”

“Thought what?” My voice tilts off-kilter, eyes locked on Faolan’s chest. Brona releases a hard breath.

“He thought that maybe I could talk sense into you, becauseI’m the only one willing to say it. Saoirse, there’s no prize for being a martyr.”

I whirl on her, my mess of a braid falling to pieces when I do. “Amartyr?”

She lifts one shoulder, but her eyes aren’t dismissive. If I had to guess, the look in them is something like concern. “You don’t owe him penance. Faolan was an eejit for jumping into the water, and the fact he got hurt isn’t your fault. In fact, it serves him right for being so careless with that dive. But you don’t have to feel so guilty—”

“I don’t feel guilty, Brona, I’m just—terrified he won’t wake up!”

The words catch us both off guard. Her jaw slackens as I sew mine tightly shut, and all the while Faolan lies on the bed in a horrible, unending stillness. Again, I wish for the magic’s terrifying, reassuring tug.

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