Page 86 of Soulgazer

Faolan’s fingers slide into my hair, and for the briefest moment, I am someone treasured. Safe.

Then he pulls my hair to the side, allowing air to rush over my bare shoulders and the cruel tattoo between them.

“What the feck are these markings on your back?”

The world shudders to a stop. I scramble to get away, but Faolan’s hold tightens—shifting from my hair to my shoulders,thumb finding the edge of one spiral. I can’t hold back my scream. The ink from the caipín baísburns, as though Father’s apothecary is digging his wicked needles beneath my skin even now.

Faolan snatches his hand away, staring at me openmouthed as I tremble and gasp. Still, he does not let me go. “I thought they were scars, the first time I saw them. You acted embarrassed and kept them covered up. But they lit up silver the second your vision started, and then—skies, it was like the more your eyes shifted, the brighter the tattoo burned. Is that…” His face contorts, concern morphing to suspicion. “Is that why you’ve avoided using it? Are they blocking the magic somehow?”

“Faolan—”

“Tell me what they are!”

I can’t speak. Words spill into a sob as I grab on to his shirt, water pooling around our legs. “W-we have to go. The island is sinking, remember?”

He ignores me, accusation shifting to something else in his face. “Those markings cause you pain, don’t they? You were writhing on the ground—crying.”

I’m crying now. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Like hell it doesn’t! Who gave them to you, Saoirse?” This time when Faolan touches me, it’s like the lightest pass of a candle flame. He cups my jaw, and I cannot look away from the bottomless blue of his eyes. He is too beautiful, too clever. I was an idiot to think I could hide it for long.

My resolve crumbles, and he must see—why else would he lean closer? Whisper, like it isn’t just us in this room.

“Tell me who hurt you, love.”

As though the answer were simple. My father is the one who ordered the ink made, his apothecary wielded the tool, Mam held me down, but I—I’d wanted it too. Perhaps not quite in the waythey’d planned, but enough not to rebel or push their hands away. Enough to stay as they tried it a second time. Faolan wants an enemy to fight, but I cannot give it.

There is no one else alive in this world who has hated me more than I hate myself.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s not an answer, and we both know it. Faolan starts to protest when water rushes in from the cracks in the walls, rising from the ground itself. He slides an arm beneath my trembling legs, jaw clicking as he bites down. “Do you know how to get out?”

Blinking past white spots that dance in the air, I point to the wall behind the demolished throne.

Faolan half carries, half drags me through ankle-deep water out the same gilded passage I opened earlier with my own blood. It absorbs us and spits us back out under the open sky. He doesn’t slow as we pass the sellers packing the last of their wares, all anxious eyes locked on the horizon while waves lap farther onto the shore.

When we arrive at the currachs, Faolan stands a bit straighter—throwing out a hand before Tavin or Nessa can say a word as he scoops me into the nearest boat. “Leave it. We’ll catch up to him.”

I double over until my forehead touches my knees, my arms wrapped tight below my thighs. “Who?”

“You didn’t tell her?” Nessa asks.

“We were a wee bit occupied. Just—get back to the ship, will you?” Faolan shoves the boat until it glides, then tucks himself into the opposite end. I stare at the gold-dusted soles of my boots and feel invisible hands crush my throat all over again.

Faolan knows. Or at least he’s guessed some small piece of it—enough to suspect me of suppressing the magic his crew stillknows nothing about. I trace the wolf tattooed at my wrist, pressing a finger over its heart.

Shame is my oldest companion, and it tastes vile on my tongue.

“Lass.” A heavy warmth surrounds me and I know without looking it’s Faolan’s coat. He grabs the oars and pulls against the water until we’re well away from the land and any keen ears, but I feel his gaze locked on me. It doesn’t falter once. “Saoirse, look at me.”

I do, stomach twisting all the while.

My husband is a preener. He cloaks himself in color and texture like a fine-feathered bird most days, priding himself on his storytelling and ferocity. He’s generous with laughter, quick to act, and I’ve yet to understand how many shades of gray make up his morality. But however solemn a situation or furious he might be, Faolan has never once faced a problem without humor.

His smile is all wrong when it comes. Hesitant and weak as he folds the oars across his lap and loosens the cords of his leather glove.

“You have secrets. Stars know I do as well. As long as you can tell me what you saw down there, I…don’t have to know the rest.”

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