I can’t go back to the Murenger. Iwon’t—
Never again.
My body stills, resignation settling over my shoulders like a warm blanket as I close my eyes. It will be here, then.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
Nyx. Celeste.
This, at least—this single, critical part of my faeyte maegis—this comes naturally. The small ember in my chest, the ember that has burned low for a decade as I waited and worked and whored for a chance, begins to grow.
The dark corner we’re fighting in grows brighter, as if illuminated by a sudden light.
The person gripping me curses quietly in words I don’t catch. The cloth is freed from my face, clearing my airway, but it doesn’t matter. I was not fast enough, the feverfew dragging me into unconsciousness.
I tried. I’m sorry.
I—
Chapter four
Callan
By Caelum, these docks reek.
The lumpers haul more boxes onto the gangway ofVolatus, cursing and shouting as the wood tips dangerously.
The dockmaster, a stocky, salt-crusted male with more dirt on him than anything else, clicks his tongue as I turn to watch, eyeing them. “I’m not paying for the stevedores to throw my cargo from the side of the dock, Grit.”
Grit coughs and spits in response, the phlegm spraying the ground beside us. “Heavy load, this time.”
“Indeed.” My voice is smooth. “Ensure that it all ends up on board, will you?”
Merrick is frowning as they carry another pallet past him. His burly arms are crossed, his disapproval reaching me from where he stands, just to the right of the gangway on deck. Beside him, barely reaching the older male’s chest, Leo’s brows are scrunched as he inspects a list. His eyes move slowly over thewords as he mouths them to himself, the task undoubtedly set by Merrick.
Leaving Grit to sort out his useless workers, I slide my hands into my pockets as I slip past them. Merrick turns to me. “Where did this come from?”
I shrug. “I went out this morning. Bought a few more boxes.”
“Callan.” The older man sighs. “We haven’t weighed it. We’re already over where we should be.”
My hand opens and closes, flexing reactively. “We can manage.Volatuscan take it. I found some additional space.”
“Really?” He throws out his arms, sweeping them over Leo’s head to gesture at the deck. Sarcasm drips from his voice. “Where?”
He may have a point. All around us, boxes are piled high, obscuring my view of the port side. Sol is directing another set, Esme beside him and both of them wearing matching expressions of disapproval. “Where’s Riordan?”
I swear, if he’s still in the damned pleasure rooms—
“Here.” He appears at my left side, sweat from the hot, humid air dotting his forehead. “Gods, Callan. How are we going to manage this?”
I force myself to breathe. “The same way we always do.”
“We’ve never brought this much back before,” Merrick murmurs. “We’ll add it up, but we’re pushing the deadweight tonnage. Maybe even exceeding it. And you’ve never tested higher than that—”
“We’re taking it.” My tone sharpens. “I know what I can manage.”
“Do you? A few more boxes will not help in the long run, Callan. And if we can’t manage it, then we’re all in trouble.”
