Page 68 of A Sea of Fate and Starfire

It hadn’t escaped my notice that she’d neglected to mention my father.

“I’m sorry I hit you,” Pheolix said softly.

Motion around me faltered. Then froze.

Halfway through handing Aitne her tea, Kye paused, arm outstretched. I could almost taste their attention, focused on Pheolix and me like worried old women watching their grandchildren toddle too close to the water’s edge. My brows kissed. “When? You haven’t hit me.”

But Pheolix opened and closed his right hand as though the memory was still there, an afterburn in his muscles. “I sent you backwards. Broke the chair underneath you.”

My mouth parted as I remembered what he was referring to. In the captain’s quarters of the Aspire, and the minutes leading up to my signed contract, I’d challenged Thaan through clenched teeth. And found myself lying on the floor the next moment, stars dancing in front of my eyes.

A cold heat brushed across my forehead. I curled my fingers around my cup, aiming my eyes away from him. “You remember that.”

Pheolix swallowed. “Some things, I’ll always remember, even if I sometimes forget the rest,” he murmured. I wonder if he could sense that they had all halted, that our conversation had moved to a well-lit stage, the Naiads around us like stone statues in the wings.

I cleared my throat. “That wasn’t you.”

“No, not me. But I wanted to say sorry anyway. Have wanted to for a couple months, now.” He slanted his face in my direction, mouth crooked. “I’ve never seen someone manage to get under his skin so quickly. Not since—” He waved an idle hand in what he must have assumed was Selena and Cebrinne’s direction. I followed it, and as my eyes met those across from me, they quickly glanced away, returning to their tasks.

“Seen?” I tilted my head. “Can you see when he’s…”

“In me?” Pheolix finished. I cringed. Something about the question felt rude. Invasive. Thaan had taken control of my mind before, and I remembered everything.

But I wasn’t blind.

“It’s…funny,” he said, scratching at the dark stubble under his jaw. “I can, but only when he’s with me. Like he’s borrowed my body, but I’ve borrowed his sight. It’s torture, as you know, when he claims our blood that way. But sometimes I almost miss it. Seeing more than shapes and shadows and light. I miss reading. I miss watching the rain. I miss Selena’s face.”

The fire spit softly, one of the branches cracking. No one spoke, and I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I snaked my arm out from under my furs to take his hand. He angled a brow at me mischievously, as if he hadn’t just chiseled a knot into the base of my throat, and waited for me to speak.

I wondered what Pheolix would have become, had Thaan not stolen his body so much that he’d destroyed Pheolix’s sight. Where he and Selena might be now, if they’d both lived as free Naiads.

“Well,” I whispered so that no one could hear. “She hasn’t changed. She’s beautiful.”

He laughed gently, just once, and gave me a squeeze. “I know.”

31

Maren

Dawn blazed across the sky in strokes of blue, the sun not yet climbing over the distant hills. Something warm and soft cradled my cheek, a slow pulse beating against my skin. Kolibri.

My breath fogged, and I pulled my fur higher over myself, eyes roving our group. We’d slept in twos and threes curled together like hounds. Nori, Olinne, and Aitne shared a fur across from me. Not far from them, Aegir and Pheolix sat sharing quiet words and poking a budding fire. My brow lifted at the sight of Diara and Hadrian, invisible under a thick pelt except for the long red curls escaping across the winter grass, Hadrian’s hand twined softly in the strands.

Kye squatted next to Pheolix, stirring something in the pot over the fire. Selena sat beside him, arms crossed, a vague look in her eyes as though someone had just asked her how to solve advanced arithmetic.

Cebrinne met my stare and held it.

We hadn’t spoken since leaving the house of shadow, but her words had rippled across my consciousness more times than I could count.

You deserve time to be angry with me.

Except I wasn’t sure I was angry now. Confusion warped me instead, stretching my thoughts into long, invasive vines that tangled together like a creeping jungle. Why was it so easy, so natural, to be angry? Anger was warm and safe, a fortress with stone walls and guarded shadows, a shield and a sword forged into one. It sharpened my corners, defended my blind spots, alerted me to lurking danger.

But it had left me—abandoned me—before I even realized it had gone. What had taken its place threatened my walls like an anxious tick. Suddenly I felt too vulnerable, too exposed as I stared back at Cebrinne. I sat higher, arching my spine, dropping my gaze.

Coward, a voice taunted inside my head.

Rocks crunched nearby, and Selena leaned down to me, offering a steaming cup. “Good morning,” she said.