Chapter Thirteen
Thirteen
Faolan
Freedom is a siren’s song and it’s clutching me by the feckin’ throat.
I’m getting off this bloody island. Sailing far away from the grannies and caves and crowds. It’s everything I’ve dreamed of for months.
So why the feck does it feel like dying?
Why, every time I look at Saoirse, do my lungs congeal like they’re full of rotten kelp?
“Take the baskets of dried fruit and nuts—and those jars of honey. Leave the dolls.”
Saoirse directs Kiara’s crew with a gentle arc of her hand, the other holding an effigy, one of dozens left at our cave mouth over the last few months.
It’s a hideous creature with a couple of tatty crow’s feathers for hair and broken snail shells for eyes that smells of unshorn sheep and in no way resembles my wife.
But the second Saoirse sets it down, I swipe the wretched thing up and stuff it into my bag, just beside the wee sack of pearls and a glass vial half-filled with bright blue liquid that’s been corked tight.
It’s the last of the Spring of Leigheas, guarded by my mother and passed on to me.
I’d fought Saoirse about leaving it here with her, but she’d insisted, just in case I got hurt.
“Oi!” A scrawny lad startles, dropping Saoirse’s nearly transparent shift back into a basket. His face has gone full red by the time I walk over.
“I was only—”
“Expressing your lifelong ambition to become one-handed?” I give him a shove toward the cave mouth. “Out. Take that sack of grain there with you.”
“A-aye, Captain.”
Gods, I never imagined I’d hate hearing that word.
Trinkets tumble to the ground as another man digs through the pile of offerings Saoirse received this morning.
One of them falls into the bronze knitting needles beside our bed.
He goes on, ignoring it as it rattles back and forth across the rock like it means nothing.
Like Saoirse didn’t once use them to make the most beautiful scarf I’d ever seen.
The scarf now rotting on the seafloor.
A lump swells in my throat, bitter and hot, as I take the needle in hand.
This isn’t right.
None of it.
“Out.”
The sailor’s pale head lifts. “Sir?”
“I said out. Everyone—now!”
He leaps back like I’ve taken a swing at him, then scampers for the cave mouth.
The rest quickly follow. I snarl as the last one leaves, then drop the knitting needle to drive a hand through my hair, fingers shaking, though I honestly can’t tell if it’s because I’m furious, or terrified of what comes next.
“Saoirse.”
She doesn’t say a word.
I whirl on her, an argument ready on my tongue—then freeze at the sight of her face. She’s not uncertain or regretful or even mad. She’s just…calm.
So feckin’ calm.
My insides wrench themselves into a knot as that lump breaks, pure misery bleeding down my throat as Saoirse stands there like a sliver of the moon’s broken off: alluring, poetic, and entirely unreachable.
But still, like a fool, I reach.
“You told me not to leave you.”
Her eyes flicker, dusky gray shifting to a stormy blue. “I know.”
I walk closer, every step casting shadows across the cave walls until the two of ours twine together, her body a breath from mine. “You begged me not to run again.”
“I know!”
Her lip quivers as I sweep a lock of hair from her cheek, black silk shot through with red when the sunlight hits it just so. My heart shatters all over again as I bow my head over it, lips brushing the strand.
“So why are you sending me away?”
Her chest catches as she breathes in sharp bursts, hands landing on my shoulders—not to push me back but to clutch my shirt like she might never let it go. Her own forehead lands over my heart, and I wonder if she can hear the broken pieces rattle.
“You’re not being fair,” she whispers, and I can’t help an empty laugh.
“How many times do I have to tell you, woman? I’m a pirate.”
“Gods.”
A sob breaks through her laughter—swallowed all too quickly as she straightens up.
Searches my eyes with a desperation I haven’t seen since the summer, when we were at the Scath-Díol and she was determined to walk through that pillar of rock.
“Is there anyone else you would trust to do this? Hunt the gods’ relics without turning their back on us? ”
My teeth grind together as I slowly shake my head. “No, but—”
“Then there’s nothing else we can do.”
Saoirse sniffs, releasing my shirt, and I have no choice but to let her go, hair slipping through my fingers like a tempting, fickle wind.
I stare at my empty hand stupidly, at the thin pink scar left by our handfasting, only just starting to turn white at the edges.
She turns to pack my things—shirts and trousers of the plainest fabric, boots still stained with both our blood from the night Maccus attacked—and I flex my fingers so the mark of our union stands bright and clear.
“ ‘I pledge myself to you for as long as we both desire.’ ”
She stops midway to the trunks. Her back goes stiff.
I take a step closer.
“ ‘Should a dagger strike toward your heart, let it be my body that meets it first.’ ”
The arm holding my clothing loosens, shirt slipping to the ground.
I catch it and toss it aside.
“ ‘Should another cast slander or cruelty your way, let it be my words that are a balm to your spirit, my fists that enact your revenge’—Saoirse.” My hands go to her hips without commanding them to, and for a second I fear she’ll pull away.
But then she melts back against me with a quiet groan, a hand flying up to cover her face.
I press mine into her throat, nuzzling the sweet pulse above her collarbone.
“ ‘Should your body cry out of loneliness,’ ” I whisper, fingers sliding over her belly. Arms encircling her waist. “ ‘Let it be mine that offers relief sweet as—’ ”
“ ‘Honeycomb.’ ”
The word shakes as it leaves her lips.
I breathe deep at the curve of her jaw, laying a necklace of kisses across her throat. “I made vows, love. Whatever the circumstances, whatever lies ahead, I gave you my word. Do you mean to have me break it?”
“No, but—”
“Then come with me.”
Her arm goes taut over mine. “You know I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. I’ve been working on a solution—we could figure it out.” I try to pull her closer, but Saoirse untangles herself, spinning to face me with an incredulous bend to her brow.
“Maccus has a relic, Faolan. Possibly more than one. He has every reason to kill us and seize power, but he hasn’t. I need to find out—”
“Feck’s sake, why is that your job?!” I snap before I can control myself, then lurch back toward the offerings and the trunks.
I dig through the nearest one, unearthing the neatly folded clothes.
“You’ve done enough, Trouble. More than enough—more than anyone could ever ask for.
Why do you need to put yourself in danger again? ”
“Because I made vows too!”
My hands go slack, linen and leather dropping to the ground. Soft footsteps pad across the dried ferns until Saoirse crouches before me, the dying sun limning her body in gold.
Awe and agony weigh down my shoulders as I slide to the floor.
Saoirse touches my temple. Slips her fingers into my hair. “ ‘You will be bound to the dead, releasing their souls and tied forever to this land.’ ” A tear lands on the rock below me. I’ll be damned if either of us could tell whether it’s hers or mine.
Saoirse sighs. “Those are the terms of my bargain with the lost goddess. Even if your tricks worked for a while, something vital in the magic would break. So I…I can’t leave.”
I pull her closer on instinct, fingers digging jealously into her back.
“We could try. Just try—and if it doesn’t work, or you feel something shift, we could turn around and—” The words falter even as I fight to make a promise that I know damn well I cannot keep.
Instead, I clutch her closer. Press my lips to her collarbone and hold her as she lets out a shuddering sob. “Let me try.”
But fate’s a cruel creature, and Saoirse knows it better than most.
“I can’t go.” She whispers the ugly truth of it against my neck.
Frantically, I shake my head. “Saoirse—”
“I can’t go, Faolan.” She pulls back, flattening a hand to my chest until I’m forced to meet her eye. “And you can’t stay.”
Her words carve me open cleaner than a knife ever could.
My hands go numb. Muscles seize.
I open my mouth to deny it—to swear I’ll never leave her side—but the corners of her eyes dip lower as a sad, soft smile touches her face, and I know she sees the truth of me.
Know it, and hate it, and ache for it like I’ve done nothing else in the whole of my life because pathetic as it is, I want to be Saoirse’s hero again.
The legend who set her starry-eyed and whisked her halfway around the Crescent.
I want it badly enough to leave her for it.
Which makes me a bleeding coward, just as Aisling said.
“I…” Sweat breaks out along my back as I cover Saoirse’s hand, tracing the wolf’s-head ring. The handfasting scar on her own palm. “I can’t—”
A knife twists in my guts when she shakes her head. “You will. You have to.”
Whatever fight was left in me vanishes. I wipe Saoirse’s tears away, careful of the sooty lashes and fragile crescents beneath her eyes. When they open again, the color is luminous—aquamarine shot through with emerald, the exact shade of a magpie’s feathers.
Stars damn me, I’ll take the sight to my fecking grave.
“I love you.”
Her nails dig into the flesh over my heart, and I lean forward into the touch, inviting her to carve whatever’s left of it out. It’s hers, anyway. It’s been hers from the moment she swam fully clothed into the sea.
“I love you,” I say again, voice trembling like it’s only done once before.
And just like that night, kneeling by the soul pools screaming at the sky, Saoirse smiles.
“I know. That’s why you have to go.”
A wounded laugh curls up my throat. “Bullshite.”
She shakes her head, pressing closer—pushing me until I’m lying flat on the makeshift bed.
A curtain of black hair sweeps across my cheek as I try to summon the will to fight her, wayward strands blotting out the world save for the brilliance of those treacherous ocean eyes.
“Do you remember the only thing you asked of me? After you gave me your vows?”
The hands I’d lain over her waist to lift her off stop, knotting in her skirts instead.
“Does it make any difference if I deny it?”
“You asked for your freedom.” Her eyes search mine, cutting through the dying light. “To explore the sea?”
“I have.” I sit up, hooking an arm around her waist so her body stays flush to mine. “Saoirse, I’ve done it. For thirteen years I moved as I pleased—don’t shake your head, I did.”
“Under Kiara’s command. You said so yourself. This is your chance—”
“To the shade’s realm with chances, I want to be with you!”
Saoirse goes quiet then, a streak of silver crossing her face.
Her palm lights and dims.
That smile fades.
“Saoirse—”
“Go.”
The command brooks no argument, but I’ve always been a stubborn bastard.
I open my mouth to push back—to find some way to convince her that one way or another, we can’t be apart—but she lays her fingers over my lips.
Chases them with a kiss so godsdamned sweet, it’s like the sun’s burst through winter and I’ll never be cold again.
I cling to my wife then, our need a more powerful master than want. My fingers tear apart her laces, tongue laving her tender skin. She bites down on a cry as we roll across the crackling ferns until her body’s sprawled out beneath mine.
“Go,” she says again as I trail my fingertips between her thighs—higher, deeper, until her knees draw up and toes curl against my hips.
My mouth drags a furious path over her breasts, teeth scoring the unsteady weight before nipping, gently, at those hardened ends.
Her sob breaks between us, stifled by layers of linen we shed without wasting time until finally, our bodies slot together.
An ocean of soft, rose-tinged skin wrapping around my own.
“Go,” she whispers one last time, panting as she brushes kisses across my forehead, my eyelids, my cheeks. “Go, and then come back to me.”
“I will.”
My promise is buried in the sweet curve of her neck as I tip her head back and murmur my vows again.
“I pledge myself to you, Saoirse.”
I guide her thigh higher with a gentle nudge of mine.
“For as long as we both desire.”
She cups my cheek. I kiss her palm.
“Should your body cry out of loneliness—”
Her gasp echoes in my bones as I drag her hand between us.
“Let it be mine that offers relief…gods, relief sweet as honeycomb.”
She drops her head back as a moan rattles her chest, fingers swirling at the place our bodies join. I tuck my face into her shoulder so she can’t see it crumple. Drive a knee into the bedding and force myself to slow down until both our bodies are trembling, a hundred pleas tangled on her tongue.
“I’ll come back,” I swear, and taste salt on her glistening skin. Wait for her back to arch, her thighs to clench tight. Over and over, I say it, rocking with her until I feel Saoirse break beneath me in the most beautiful storm.
“I’ll come back to you.”
My love. My wife.
“I’ll come back.”