Page 45 of Soulgazer

“Are you afraid of me, lass?”

“Y—” The word dies on my tongue. Is this fear? Sensation pricks across my skin as though it were a lyre, aching to be played. I can’t catch a proper breath. My fingers clench hard on the wheel spokes—but the urge to run is nowhere to be found. “No.”

His smile against my neck casts a shiver down my spine. “Good.”

A sharp whistle interrupts us from the starboard, where Brona stands. A pulse seems to sweep the deck, drawing the crew to awareness and Faolan to his full height as dawn teases the horizon.

I lean forward until my fingers wrap over the wheel spokes just beneath Faolan’s. The ship slows beneath our feet, dragged by wind or anchors or perhaps the sails and their ever-shifting rhythm on this ship.

All but one are furled now, and in only seconds I understand why. Massive formations of black-and-white marbled rock tower on either side of the ship, leading to a narrow passage. They are rough and misshapen, full of pocked holes, and they emerge one after another from the angry sea.

The Teeth.

Seventeen

The sky is threaded with rose and gold as the sun climbs over the Teeth’s rotting maw. Shadows flicker back and forth across the deck with each new monolith we pass—the ancient jawbone of a voracious sea monster, if Faolan’s story is to be believed.

“The goddess Róisín was no warrior. Her fingers branched like tree limbs, nimble and many-jointed, her feet sculpted of pure glass. But when the oilliphéist came, she went out to greet him among the waves.” Faolan’s hands curl over mine on the wheel, steering his true love safely through. “Her voice coaxed new stars into existence and commanded others to fall—the only weapon she needed against a creature so fearsome as that.

“One word, and the first star fell directly into the oilliphéist’s eye. A stream of them, and the sea serpent was left writhing on the ocean floor. She was clever, but not quite wise. Fair Róisín turned her back before the job was done, thinking the beast parted from this world.”

A chill brushes my face as the next shadow passes over.

“It cursed her with its dying breath. The channel Róisín’s people sailed, the currents and the tides. Any who dared disturb itsbones would risk death—by storm or sea, the oilliphéist would have its due.”

I don’t miss the tattered remnants of a shipwreck caught between every other tooth and the next, nor the way tension knots Brona’s shoulders as she studies the map in her hands. But it’s not until I see the first spirit lingering beneath the water’s surface that my heart sinks a little, banishing any heat lingering from Faolan’s story.

The farther into the Teeth we sail, the more the dead will come.

“What are we doing here?” I whisper, shying closer into his arms. “Be honest.”

He sighs. “There’s something here to help us find the Isle of Lost Souls.” Faolan eases the spokes along with a touch until the ship vibrates beneath our feet. “But it’s best to discuss that part belowdecks.”

Ten other questions flit across my mind as Faolan whistles a whirling little rhythm. His first mate—Nessa—glances up from a conversation with two of the others, and I startle at the sight of her smirk. When she walks over, my jaw goes slack.

“You whistle for your crew like…dogs?”

Nessa must hear, because she cackles as she takes hold of a thick rope, swinging around to face the wheel.

“Believe me, Wolf Tamer, if it was anything like that, we’d have chucked the captain overboard a long time ago. No, we all keep our own signals. Saves us having to shout.”

“We’ll be needing to find one for you next.” Faolan tugs a lock of my half-dried hair, and I have to blink hard. Not because it hurt, but because it’s been so long since anyone teased me like that. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. “Ness, we’re going below tochange and talk over the next steps. Tavin’s busy, so can you get us through to the bay all right?”

“Aye,” Nessa says, already nudging us out of the way, but my heart has forgotten how to pace itself.

We’re going below to change. Together.

My feet are moving, Faolan’s hand spread on my shoulder. I’m aware of the wet fabric chafing between my thighs with each step now, the way my shirt must cling. But the full weight of Faolan’s words doesn’t sink in until he’s left me in the doorway to yank his shirt overhead, casting it to the side.

“W-what are you doing?”

Faolan pauses with a finger hooked through the knot at his waist keeping his trousers up. His eyes spark like wildfire just before he grins with full abandon. “Does a nominal marriage mean I’m not allowed to change in my own bloody cabin now? Or are you afraid you won’t be able to resist me?”

My blush would hint at the latter, so I roll my eyes instead and start to turn my back. Only to stop. If I change, he might see the tattoo. I can’t allow that to happen, not after the incident with the bones.

Pivoting slowly, I tuck myself closer to the window where a tapestry hangs—a gift from one of those lovely girls at the Damhsa enamored with his stories. If I had to wager, nearly half the items in this room must be gifts, marked with the colors, materials, or techniques scattered across all six islands. My favorite is a basket of colorful wool and thin bronze needles that would be better replaced with wood.

It’s a ridiculous hoard. And a lovely one, even strewn across the cabin as it is now after the storm.

---