Aravin felt sick. Fantoom’s words kept echoing in his head.
I know another Soultaker.
I know another Soultaker.

For the past five years, he had searched all across Faux for a safe place for Mart. Somewhere other Soultakers lived, somewhere he could hide. He hadn’t heard a single whisper, not one rumor. And now this arrogant bastard told him, as if it were nothing, that he knew a Soultaker? That if Aravin had asked a year ago—rather than tearing the clothes off Fantoom—he might already have found a solution?

He drew several deep breaths, but it still felt like someone was crushing his throat. The walls seemed to close in on him, so he pushed himself up and stormed out of the lounge.

The corridor was narrow. He slipped between the railings, past the other cabins, until he could go no farther and stood staring out at a vast no man’s land of waving grass and scattered rocks. He gripped the top bar of the railing. The steel was cool beneath his palms, grounding him a little. But the calm shattered the moment he heard footsteps behind him. He knew it was him; the hairs on his neck prickled.

“A skyship isn’t the best place for hotheads.”

Aravin squeezed the rail tighter and refused to turn. “It’s not like you’re giving me any other option.”

He could feel Fantoom standing close behind him. If he leaned back even slightly, he would brush against him. That proximity ignited the storm inside him all over again, and he clenched his teeth, cursing inwardly. He swore he could feel Fantoom’s breath on his neck. Every nerve in his body was on edge.

“Tell me honestly—did you suffer serious loss from what I did?”

“Maybe not financially. But in terms of dignity? Absolutely. Someone has…” He broke off sharply. As if Fantoom would care. “Just go away.”

“This is my ship.”

“So what? That doesn’t mean you have to stand right here.”

Irritated, he turned. Fantoom was close enough that their coats brushed against each other.

“I’m here because I believe you can help us find one of those cursed dragons. Not because I was dying to see you again.” He snorted and tapped the mask. “As much as you ever let yourself be seen.”

Fantoom raised his brows just above the mask’s edge. “Trust me, you don’t want to see what’s underneath.”

Aravin frowned. He had assumed the mask was just an accessory, part of his flamboyant style. It had never once occurred to him that Fantoom was hiding something. Only now did he realize he had never seen him remove it, not even in bed.

“What’s under it?”

Fantoom looked away. No answer. Of course. Secrets defined him.

“How many Scions have you robbed?” Aravin pressed.

“I have no idea. Every Scion I came across, probably. I’ve got quick fingers.”

He placed a hand against Aravin’s chest. His ring and middle finger were copper, wrapped in fine spirals of brass. With his thumb—flesh and warm—he brushed the stiff collar that rose from Aravin’s breastbone. His red eyes locked with Aravin’s, and Aravin caught his breath without realizing it.

“You intrigued me. You still do.”

His fingers traced the collar up to his throat. The moment his thumb grazed bare skin, a jolt of fire raced through Aravin’s body. His knees felt weak. He closed his eyes, tangled in desire, torn between shoving him away or not.

“I’ve never taken anyone to my shipi before, you know that? I think I wanted to impress you. And I’d say it worked.”

Aravin’s mouth was dry. He’s just saying whatever he wants. He’s wrapping you around his finger all over again. But his body didn’t care; heat flooded through him, dragging old memories loose. Satin sheets under his back. Fantoom’s lips brushing his throat, his strong hands everywhere, the searing heat of his mouth—

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” a sharp female voice cut in.

Fantoom stumbled back a step. Saxa stood beside him, fury blazing in her eyes. She grabbed his shoulder and shoved him aside, then fixed Aravin with a glare.

“I swear—if you let him between your legs again, I want a piece too. Served on my plate.” She spat at his feet. In one fluid motion she drew a half-length sword and pressed it against his groin. “And I mean it. I’ll cut the damn thing off.” Her jaw tightened as she turned on Fantoom. “Don’t forget who you are. You’re betraying your own kind. Betraying me. And you know damn well what I do to traitors. Even you.” With a flick of her wrist, she snapped open one of his trouser buttons, which clattered to the floor. Then she slid her blade away. “So, what’s the plan?” she asked Fantoom in a neutral tone. “How long do we stock up for?”

“A week, to start. Take the girl with you.”

“Why?”

“To pay.”

“Hm.” She seemed fine with that and marched back to the lounge.

Aravin stared after her in confusion. “She’s… intense.”

Fantoom chuckled. “That was nothing.”

“Ah.” For all her hostility, he was glad she had interrupted. At least now he felt like he could breathe again.

“Ever had one?”

He blinked. “Hm?”

“Grilled sausages. Or meatballs.”

Aravin stared at him. What kind of ridiculous question was that? He couldn’t tell if Fantoom was serious. Of course I haven’t. He kept his first reaction to himself, trying to mask his indignation. “Why? Need cooking tips?”

A grin tugged at Fantoom’s mouth. “Depends if it’s one of those things you’ve got to taste at least once in your life.”

“I wouldn’t know. But I’d bet you’ve sampled the raw kind more than I have,” he muttered.

Fantoom laughed. The sound sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.

“Yours was exquisite, raw. And I take Saxa’s warning very seriously, so if you ever want—”

“No thanks,” Aravin cut him off. The sooner this conversation ended, the better. “You had your chance.”

“You don’t believe in second chances?”

Their eyes met, and his breath caught again. He had barely been on this ship an hour and already he was tied in knots. He knew he should just brush past Fantoom, but a part of him couldn’t help feeling flattered by the attention.

“It was a mistake. Then. I don’t normally do things like that.”

“Didn’t feel like it.”

Heat crept up his cheeks again. He ignored the chord Fantoom so easily struck and forced himself to be clear. “I’m not interested. I’d appreciate it if you respected that, considering we’ll be stuck with each other for a long while.”

Fantoom lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Crystal clear. I’ll keep my inappropriate thoughts to myself.”

Aravin doubted that, seeing the provocative gleam still in his eyes, and thought the words themselves skated dangerously close to the edge.

“Why did you walk out?” Fantoom asked just as Aravin turned back toward the lounge. “Apparently not because you feared you couldn’t restrain your lust for me.”

Aravin wondered if he had really believed that. He wouldn’t even be surprised. “I’ve been searching for a Soultaker for five years,” he muttered. “How do you know one?”

“Through an unfortunate accident.” That was all he gave.

Aravin doubted he’d ever get a straight answer, but he still tried: “How do you know Mart is one?”

“I’ve got good sources.”

It felt like his lungs were being crushed. He clenched his fists. “But no one—”

Fantoom grabbed his wrist and looked him dead in the eye. “Hey. He’s safe here. My crew can be trusted.”

Aravin yanked his arm free. “Because you’re the embodiment of trustworthiness, is that it?” he snapped. He drew a sharp breath and strode away, toward the lift. He jabbed the button three times, impatient when it didn’t rise.

“You have to haul it up,” the colorful boy beside him piped up. His smug tone made Aravin want to punch him. He yanked the lift upward with sharp, jerky pulls.

This whole reunion with Fantoom was cutting deeper than he had expected. Of course he had felt humiliated, found naked in the trash. But it was more than that… They hadn’t just slept together. They had spent two evenings talking, playing cards, laughing. Around him, Aravin had managed to forget everything—Vince’s corpse, Mart, the worker who had died in his place, the secret gnawing at him, the loneliness, and the constant shadow in his soul born from Mart’s suffering.

It had been more than just physical attraction, and deep down, beneath all his anger, he knew it was still there. And if he wasn’t careful, he’d let his heart get trampled all over again.

At last the lift rose, and he stepped inside. His eyes burned, his throat tight. He missed his friend. By the dragons, he missed his best friend so damn much. He had for five years, but now that he was free, now that he was close, the ache was sharper than ever.

For a moment, he imagined them leaning on the railing together, watching the land slide by beneath them as they plotted strategies for their mission and laughed over his frustrations with Fantoom.

When the lift opened, it wasn’t Mart stepping out, but the boy. Cami, if he remembered right.

Aravin walked away from him, ducking behind some crates where no one could see. No one but that irritating brat, apparently, who hopped onto a crate and swung his heels against the wood.

“Want me to play for you?”

Only then did Aravin notice the instrument slung over his shoulder, with keys, strings, and an array of buttons.

“Please don’t,” he muttered.

“My sister always calms down when I play. It helps Fantoom and Lux too, when they’re feeling… low.”

“Fantoom? Low?” Aravin asked, mocking.

Cami nodded. His fingers brushed the strings, sending a clear, gentle note into the air that wasn’t as awful as Aravin had expected. “Yeah. He has days like that. When all he can see is a bleak future. When he’s afraid.”

Though his fingers left the strings and pressed the keys now, the sound still lingered.

Fantoom? Afraid? Seeing only bleakness?

Aravin leaned his head back, staring at the gray sky. What could he possibly be afraid of? It felt like Cami was talking about someone else entirely. The real Fantoom, maybe. Whatever his name truly was. Someone Aravin, deep down, wanted to know.

He listened. The music was light and pure, bright tones chiming over deeper notes. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine a whole orchestra playing. The boy was such a prodigy that it suddenly made sense why Fantoom kept him aboard.

“How long have you been on this ship?” Aravin asked after a while. Cami had revealed more about Fantoom than Fantoom himself ever had, so maybe he could coax out more.

“Five years.”

So he must’ve been around ten when he came aboard. Strange, taking someone on at that age. Especially since there didn’t seem to be any other crew. Or were they simply staying hidden?

“There’s just the four of you?”

Cami nodded, still playing.

“From the start?”

“No. There was someone else. Adelaide.”

A shadow crossed Cami’s face, and Aravin recoiled from pressing further. He kept silent, letting the information sink in.

“Did you sign a contract too?”

Cami’s mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Yeah. My sister had to stay aboard for three years in exchange for a mechanical leg. Lux made it for her. After that, we just stayed.”

“Where are you from? Koperhaven?”

“Spit.”

“And your parents?”

“They’ve been dead a long time. A mining accident.”

Aravin had been to Spit twice, disguised as a beggar. A filthy, poverty-stricken place. The miners there clawed for dragon bones—the very material he used for his tinctures. Accidents were no surprise. They came with the work.

“Is that how your sister lost her leg?”

Cami shook his head. His hair seemed duller now, and the notes he played sounded sadder. “No. It was just the two of us left. I was three. She took care of me. When we were on the brink of starving, she sold her leg. It kept us alive for a while… but after that, she couldn’t work anymore.”

Bile rose in Aravin’s throat. A sharp pain twisted through his gut.

“Why didn’t you go to Tranendal? You could have ended up in a Cradle. A family might have adopted you. And if not, you’d at least have had food and shelter.”

“And how were we supposed to get there? Tranendal’s surrounded by mountains. We probably wouldn’t have survived the trip.”

Aravin pressed his lips together and lowered his gaze. “Why are you here playing music for me? Don’t you hate me—for being a Scion?”

Cami shrugged. “What good would that do me? Would it give Saxa her leg back? Seems smarter to keep rich folks as friends.” He flashed a mischievous grin.

Clearly the boy had lived a hard life, but his spark hadn’t dimmed one bit. Aravin found himself giving him a faint smile in return. Some of the weight on his chest eased.