Page 63 of Soulgazer

“I thought you didn’t like him much.”

A laugh burbles up from my chest. “I don’t. He annoys me like no one I’ve ever known.”

“Then why—”

“Why did I marry him?”Don’t say it.The warning clangs in my head like a funeral bell, but exhaustion and fear pull at me like the tide. “I used to dream of the Wolf of the Wild. Back when I was small enough to crave stories about a boy barely four years older than me. My favorite was the tale with the murúch, even though everyone says it’s impossible for a person to be half fish.”

She drops onto the edge of the bed. “You were one of those girls, were you?”

“Aye.” I can’t bring myself to try to deny it. Not when tears pool at the corners of my eyes. “I dreamed of Faolan like I dreamed of growing wings. He was flight and freedom—the sort of person I could never be. And all my life, I wanted nothing more than to become one ofyou.”

Brona’s silent as I swipe at my cheeks, regretting every unfettered word that slips out.

“But I wasn’t stupid enough to think it would ever happen. Not until the Damhsa, when I learned about your search for the Isle of Lost Souls and—gods, Brona, I’m not a martyr. Not even close. I—” The tattoo stings as my emotions swell, blanketing the magic with ice. “I…”

I can’t tell her. Shecan’tknow yet—none of them can.

Not until Faolan wakes up.

Loathing pours through my veins in a rush, and my entire face crumples as it turns on me as well. I start to bury it in my hands until Brona captures my wrists, jerking me to my feet without warning.

“You’re an idiot for marrying your hero.” For a split second, I think Brona will embrace me. Might even want her to? Instead, she grabs the cloth and swipes it at my fingers, the edge of my jaw where some of the paste found a home. “And I wish you weren’t a fecking royal, because if Faolan dies, we’ll all pay for him taking you on.”

“I’m sorry.” They’re the only honest words I can give. “I’m so sorry.”

Brona stops her sharp movements long enough to meet my gaze full-on, one thick brow arched high. “Would you choose different, if you could?”

Everything in me wants to nod and swear I’d have chosen to be selfless, heroic, and kind. That I should have locked myself away along with the magic and spared everyone the risk of taking me on.

But I can’t. And Brona knows it.

“Then save your apologies, and come on deck.” She gives me a light shove toward the door, and I steal one more glance atFaolan’s face, as placid as the sea at dawn. “Besides, if anything will inspire the bastard to wake up, it’s that. He hates missing out.”

—

The deck is pure chaos as Lorcan, Tavin, and Nessa toss dice and coins in a circle while others of the crew work a cork from a small barrel, peppering the air with a scent of whiskey and aged wood. A roar of laughter emerges from the game, Nessa slipping a coin from her pocket to toss among the rest.

I stop at the entry, transfixed by the sight. “How can they all be so calm? Faolan isdying.”

Brona sighs and taps my arm until I move again. “They’re not. This is just how we deal with it. Look.”

I do, and it’s only then I see the shadows beneath their eyes, the lines in Tavin’s brow. Nessa laughs again, but it’s too bright, false-bottomed and ready to cave in at any second. “Oh.”

Brona nods and whistles as we get closer, sharp and high. Every one of their eyes falls on us.

“Oi!” She scowls. “What are you playing at? Drinking and gambling on the job—you lot are a disgrace.”

Lorcan looks at her like she’s just spoken the sweetest poetry he’s ever heard, but Nessa only snorts.

“If we cared about decency, we’d be working on a different ship. Shall I deal you in?”

“Not yet. Lorcan? I need you.”

He clambers to his feet at once, towering over us all—catching hold of the nearest rope when he does as the warmest smile spreads on his face. “Anything. Is it to do with the captain?”

Brona shakes her head, jostling my arm with her elbow. “His wife.”

I fight the urge to shrink back, tugging Faolan’s coat closerinstead. I’ve worn it since his fever started, and haven’t had a good enough reason to take it off. “Brona, what are you doing?”

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