“I havewings,” I snap. “I had to make do.”
Callan’s jaw works as he swallows, ducking past me. “Then I’ll find you something of mine. My apologies for any distress that may cause.”
Not for the first time, I silently curse Boralas for his clothing preferences. If he’d chosen anything other than wisps of gauze, I could have scrubbed them and worn them again instead of the material almost disintegrating in my hands when I tried, forcing me to call the far-too-smug bronze eejit for help.
“The top was too small,” I mutter, wrapping my hands over my stomach. “I had to improvise.”
“Ingenious.” His voice is muffled, Callan’s head buried in a chest at the bottom of his bed as he rummages through it. “You have a calling for fashion, it seems.”
The careless words stoke the ever-present burning embers of anger low in my stomach. “I have noCalling.”
His head raises. Callan eyes me as he pulls out a patched white shirt. Tugging a knife from his waist, he flips the material and drags the knife through the back of it in a deep slash to make a space for my bound wings, his eyes flicking over my body in quick assessment. “What does that mean?”
He doesn’t even know.
My chest tightens. “Faeytes receive their Calling when they reach adulthood. There is a ceremony, where we are blessed by Hala. We call it the Ascension.”
He nods slowly, getting to his feet and holding out the shirt. “We used to have something similar when we received our own maegis,if Caelum deemed us blessed. This should fit you better. We can make the slits bigger if needed. I can call Esme if you need help.”
I reach for the shirt, but he doesn’t let go. He tugs it, until I’m forced to step closer or let go. “You’re angry with me. Why?”
My eyes lift to his. My pulse thuds heavily inside my ears as my voice rises. “I never received my Calling, you know. Your peopleslaughteredmine on the day I was supposed to receive it. Perhaps it was fashion, although Hala was not so frivolous. I will never know.”
His hand drops as if the shirt was made of flames. “Selene—”
I whirl and then stride back into the bathroom, gripping the shirt tightly. The door slams closed behind me.
From the bedroom, I hear a muttered curse.
***
An hour later, I follow a still-silent Callan up onto the deck. He said nothing about the wait when I walked back out, only striding from the bedroom without a word. His silent irritation fuels my own, my bare feet slapping against sun-warmed wood as I stalk after him.
Twisting my head toward the open area they use for eating, I catch a hint of something musky, almost spiced. Callan’s scent is built into his shirt, and I swallow the unexpected irritation at the thought. Instead, I escape his brooding presence entirely and move to Esme’s side on the other side of the hearth. She doesn’t look up, the hissed whispers reaching me a moment too late for me to gracefully withdraw.
I pause mid-step. “I’m sorry. I’m interrupting.”
Rio tears his eyes from Esme’s, his lips down before he lifts them in an approximation of a smile. “We were done, it seems.”
“Yes,” she says tightly. “We were. Sit down, Selene.”
Unsure, I glance between them again before sitting on Esme’s other side and stare at the small, square stone hearth. Iron bars hang over it, the visible glow of burning wood beneath erasingCallan’s scent with the trails of smoke that wisp into the air above us before vanishing.
I suppose there’s little risk of fire surrounded by the water, with two vis on board.
Callan throws himself down onto a stool across from me on the other side, pointedly looking away from us. Merrick glances between us both, his brows creasing before he leans forward to stir a bubbling pot that hangs from the iron.
There’s no sign of Solomon or the boy at all.
I offer Esme a small smile of apology. “I couldn’t make the top fit. But the pants are comfortable. Thank you.”
Only a small lie. I bite down to hide my wince as I shift in the far-too-tight trousers. Esme purses her lips as I struggle, her eyes narrowing in focus. “Callan’s boots didn’t fit you either?”
I look down to my bare toes, curling them against the wood. “No. But it’s fine. I’m more used to not wearing shoes.”
“Esmeray.” Rio snaps her name. “See? It’s fine. She’s fine.”
Frowning, I look between them again. Esme turns over the length of animal hide in her hands. She holds it up to show me. “We had some rolls for clothing in the cargo bay. Callan said I could use some of it.”
