I scan the deck, feigning indifference even as my eyes hunt. Where is he? That pull, that magnetic ache deep in my chest, seeks him.
“Where is Daedalus?” I ask idly.
Zyphoro's grin sharpens. “Speaking of scandals,” she purrs, tongue sweeping over her teeth, “he’s with Solena below deck. It’s that time again.”
My brows knit, a flicker of unease twisting in my gut.
She softens then, leans her elbow on her knee, and smiles with something almost like affection. “His sigils, of course. I believe she’s inking him as we speak.”
I glance over my shoulder, eyes lingering on the door that leads to them.
I imagine him stretched out on that table, shirt discarded, Solena’s hands gliding over his skin. A flicker of something sharp catches in my chest. Not jealousy. Envy.
There’s no bitterness toward Solena. I believe her when she says I have nothing to fear. But I wantmyhands on him. My fingers tracing the heat of his body, his firm flesh slick with sweat beneath my touch. Our breaths tangling, melting together in the humid haze of the cabin.
Something stirs low in my belly, hot and undeniable. A need. A hunger I’ve denied for far too long.
“You’re still here?” Zyphoro asks, one brow arched as her gaze flicks to the door.
A slow smirk curves my lips. I say nothing.
I turn, stride to the door, grip the handle and push it open without hesitation.
Daed’s eyes flick up from the table, a dark strand of hair falling over one half-lidded eye. Solena glances up too, standing beside him, a fine-tipped needle in one hand and a small cup of black ink in the other.
“Amara,” she says gently. “Is everything alright?”
Daed lifts his head. “Is it our daughter…?”
I shake mine. “She’s fine. Everything’s fine.” My gaze lingers on the ink. “I just thought… maybe you could show me how to do that.”
Daed’s brow draws together. “Really?”
I nod, swallowing the knot in my throat. “If that’s alright.”
Solena offers a soft smile. “There’s a great deal that goes into runeweaving, but I’m nearly done. You can finish the last lines.”
I step toward her, feeling Daed’s gaze settle on me like heat. Solena steps aside, pressing the needle into my hand, her fingers stained black.
“Just trace the edges,” she instructs, holding out the cup. I dip the tip of the needle into the ink, tapping it lightly against the rim.
Then I turn to him.
Daed’s back is lean and taut, his skin glistening with sweat and streaked with dark sigils, some still seeping blood. My hand hovers, the ink dripping from the needle’s tip. I can see the tremble in my fingers.
“Nothing to worry about,” Solena murmurs. “The runes are marked. You can’t change them now. It’s just finishing.”
I nod to steady myself. Then, I lower the needle.
“Good,” she says. “Now, prick. Quick and steady.”
I exhale, then press.
The needle resists. The sensation startles me, and for a heartbeat I falter. But I close my eyes, breathe deep.
No. I want this.
I press again.
