Nevermore (The Never Sky #2)

Chapter 2

2

I wasn’t a saint. Not a god or a conqueror. I was likely closer to the villain than I was the hero. But I was never reckless. Calculating at times? Yes. But foolish? Never. Except now, apparently. When everything that would happen from this point forward was a matter of life and death, not just for me, but for all existence. And it all boiled down to one precious little girl that needed me to find a way home.

Still, as I stood cast into a world that wasn’t my own, stuck in the aftermath of a foolish bargain with a god, I was lost for the first time in my life. I added a new title to my growing list of things I’d found myself becoming.

Desperate.

Bits of wind and ice lashed my face as I studied a boy peddling his wares. Deep brown eyes keen and his fingers nimble, he wore a wool coat that was far too small and a hat that smothered his ears. But he reached expertly into his patron’s pockets without their knowledge. I’d watched him for hours, chatting with passersby as he tried and failed to sell them things. But his fingers were quick and nimble. No one suspected a child. A fact I’d also learned at his age.

Mostly, children were innocent, untarnished by the complexities and poisons of reality. But watching the adept little thief from my spot in the shadowed alley, I realized some things were universal. Hatred. Love. Desperation. Even hunger.

I was no different than the boy. In a matter of three hours, I’d stolen a cloak, a letter opener, and half a bottle of liquor so potent it’d probably keep me warm for a solid week, even in these frigid temperatures. It wasn’t shelter. Or food. But those would come.

“Four silver! Get your mask. Fifteen silver! Get your invite. Might be real, might not.” The boy brushed messy, brown hair from his face, the frozen locks of ice leaving a trace of dirt behind. “Salts invited too. Four silver! Get your mask!”

“Travers McKinney, you get your ass inside and stop trying to scam these good folk outta their wages. Tithe’s coming.”

“They could be real tickets, Ma! The Silk man said?—”

Puffy cheeks reddened as she leaned so far out the window, I thought she might fall. Perhaps they were immortal here, too. “You’ll catch your death on the word of the rich, you fool.”

Guess not.

The boy’s face turned sour as he held frozen fingers up to his mother to show her his coin. “Least I’ll have a coin for safe passage to Death's Court.”

I’d chosen him specifically. Kids were smart, and they knew things without knowing they knew them. They watched. They listened to obscure things. But if I waited to approach him any longer, the woman hanging outside of her window would likely coax him in.

The bitter fingers of a frozen breeze wrapped around my neck, blowing strands of chestnut hair across my face. I lifted my shoulders for warmth and stepped out of the alley, moving toward the boy. The moment my feet hit the bricks lining the street, a tug on my cloak pulled me back. I spun, eyes falling on another child.

“Don’t do it,” he said, his sunken cheeks and lack of color to his skin haunting. “The tickets aren’t real. I heard the Silk man say it.”

“I’m not interested in tickets.” My eyes flashed to the hand still gripping my cloak as I wondered what a Silk man was.

The gaunt boy, who couldn’t have been older than ten, followed my glance, but didn’t pull away, instead digging his fingers into the fabric tighter. “What you want from him, anyway?”

He glared across the street until I saw it. The jealousy in his stare. The hint of envy souring his face. The eyes of a child were the unyielding sentinels of truth, and in my most desperate days, they rarely steered me wrong. But to pit the boys against one another, to lean on a suspicion was risky in a foreign world. One where I didn’t know the laws or what made people tick. Still, I had to try.

“He promised me he knows where the Hollow is. I’m just visiting, you see, and I don’t know exactly how to get there.”

“Oh.” He adjusted his round cap with a small brim in front, no doubt made of wool and the only thing keeping him warm. “Well, I could help you. I been there once.”

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother and I’m sure your friend over there can manage.”

“No, it’s not a bother. I wouldn’t even make you pay.” Something foreign crossed the boy’s face, something that should have been a warning had I been less trusting of children. “Give me a story instead.”

“All right, that sounds like a fair deal. What kind of story would you like to hear?”

His dark green eyes narrowed, a victorious smile crossing sunken features. “Tell me about a time you fell in love.”

A handsome face flashed into my mind, followed by immediate heartache, mourning, and then a feeling of regret. I opened my mouth to speak, to tell him of the man I’d loved and lost and recently reunited with. But as those words came to me, as I grappled to hang onto them, the feelings, the memories, anything tangible… vanished, fading like a dream hours after waking. I stumbled backward, searching and searching my mind until I realized I must have been mistaken. There was no man. No mourning. No regret. Nothing.

I’d never been in love.

But…

No.

I pressed my hand to my chest, pulling away from the boy. “I’m so sorry. I think I’ve only been in love in my dreams.”

His smile widened until it edged on the side of unnatural, causing the hair on my arms to stand and my heart to plummet in discomfort. “Thank you for your story, Huntress.”

Ice cold shock slammed into me at a title that I owned but hadn’t shared in this world. “But I didn’t…?”

He stood a little straighter, like a dancer before the curtain raised, the gray color in his cheeks turning pink and vibrant. “There’s an inn at the end of this street. You’ll go past it, turn left toward the Parlor. Walk until your feet hurt and you see a big stone bridge. Follow Grimwater River east a little. There’s an old green cart that sits outside the Hollow. But don’t tell no one you’re going there. It’s a secret. I’m supposed to tell you to find the Lord of the Salt if you want to find your path.” He spun on a heel, and tore off down the street, so quick it wasn’t worth the effort to chase him down.

That arrogant god had promised a path home, and apparently riddled it with creepy children to mock and guide me. At least I’d given nothing away with his bargain. Hadn’t even had a story to tell him. But he’d called me Huntress and I couldn’t help but circle the burning question as I started toward the Hollow.

What other secrets about me had this meddling god revealed to his pawns? And why?