Nevermore (The Never Sky #2)

Chapter 8

8

T he moment one of the prince’s guards pulled a pair of pliers from his pocket and handed them over, I knew what was going to happen. I’d seen copious amounts of torture and severed limbs in Requiem. No one died at the hands of my old boss, but plenty broke.

I couldn’t look away. From the fear thrumming through my veins, the viciousness of this world, or the biting cold that held me frozen in place, I wasn’t sure. But I watched, as still and silent as the rest of the crowd. The protester trembled on his knees.

“Prince Farris,” he managed, “Please.” The regret in his voice was clearer than the chill in the air.

A Cimmerian grabbed the sides of his head at the temple and squeezed until the man turned a dangerous shade of purple. “You will address His Royal Highness properly.”

My stomach turned when he screamed in agony.

The prince smiled down at him. “Petulant children must be taught a lesson in justice, isn’t that right?”

A dark stain spread across the front of the victim’s trousers. The sight of his humiliation was both pitiable and terrifying, an indication of the merciless grip the prince had on his people. The prince laughed, arching his eyebrows while reaching into the man’s mouth with the pliers, brutally stretching his tongue as he pulled it further than it should have been able to extend.

Farris’s eyes, cold as the stone beneath my feet, scanned over the crowd, each person a potential participant in his next act of brutality. It was a game to him, a spectacle of power and pain that left no room for mercy. This wasn’t about justice; it was about terror.

There was a difference between the prince and the Maestro. My old boss would see an act done and never dirty his hands. He wouldn’t revel in it. The prince leaned over and whispered in the man’s ear, then turned to the crowd with a sinister smile. He even waited, tapping a toe as the man cried out in pain. Only when he silenced, only when I was sure I could see no more, did the dreadful prince draw his blade and slice the tongue from the man’s mouth, splattering the bricks with rich, dark blood. For a single moment, the world remained still, shocked. But as if that horror was no worse than everyone’s plight, the people began moving forward again, and the prince walked casually back to his tent.

I was shoved closer and closer to the head of the line. I’d slowly made my way to the side, nestled behind the woman with the apron that’d spoken so kindly to me. Another commotion at the center table halted everyone as a woman cried out. Searching beyond the plump woman before me, I was still not close enough to see all the tables, but I did catch Archer again, his face tense as he held onto the shoulder of a black-haired child. They both scanned the crowd. I turned slightly, hoping to keep from drawing attention to myself as I caught his comrade across the way, reaching into the pocket of another onlooker.

“You there,” a collector called, pointing directly at me. “Come forward.”

I swallowed my heart back down my throat as every nerve came alive. Tucking my arms closer to my sides, I meant to step to the man’s table, but he shouted again. “In the apron there holding the child, Tilly Page, don’t dally.”

“Gods help me,” the kind woman whispered as she shuffled forward, surrounded by children.

Looking down, afraid to watch the woman’s demise, I edged forward until the tips of my borrowed boots scraped a massive golden circle inlaid into the cobblestone streets. Squished between all the people, I managed a quick glance around the outskirts, noting we’d been shuffled into a giant city square, encircled by more of the towering buildings I’d come to know as the staple of Stirling. But this place, this golden mark, was special. Just a hint of knowledge that might be useful to know, should I ever get out of this.

I took a sharp elbow to the back, reminding me to move. Forcing me to be next in line. To give my name. A name they would not find. To pay coin I didn’t have.

“Please,” the woman in the apron said to the man with the ledger. “It must be enough. That's all I have. What good can come from depleting your own orphanage?”

“Your Grace!” the collector shouted over his shoulder, though his eyes remained glued to Tilly Page.

She called out, nearly falling to her knees as she stumbled over a child. “Please.”

I didn’t breathe. The children didn’t stir. The world buzzed with fearful anticipation as that royal fucker stepped out of his tent again, another smile on his hideous face. He gestured for the man to move to the side and slid into his seat, running a gloved hand over his giant book. The prince slid a finger down the page of the ledger, stopping beside a name and tsking. “Seventy-two coin. Last time, you were given respite for three days, Tilly.”

“Yes, Your Grace. And my dear husband Atticus trekked all the way across the city to pay on the final day.”

I swallowed my gasp. Atticus. Did she know? Oh gods, had this poor woman just learned of her husband’s death?

“As he should have. Do I look like I deal in charities, Mrs. Page?”

“N—no, Your Grace.”

The tremble in her old voice was gut-wrenching. His dark eyes narrowed, causing my ears to ring with fear for her. She’d been kind, in her simple words to me. The children surrounding her, children from an orphanage, were quiet and just as strong as she was. Yet we would all witness another tragedy this day, it seemed.

I forced myself to breathe.

To think.

But as the prince rose, I knew there was nothing I could do. “Stocks or prison, Tilly, I’ll be generous and let you choose since your husband isn’t brave enough to stand in your place this day.”

“No,” she cried out again, reaching for the small girl clinging to her skirts. “You mustn’t. Atticus he?—”

“I’m not interested in your excuses.”

Because you know he’s dead, I wanted to say.

The prince lowered his chin at the two Cimmerians as a commotion broke out beside us. “Stop. Wait. Stop.” The boy that’d been standing with Archer cut through the crowd, his tousled black hair a mess as he pushed through the people in his way, not at all bothered by the danger as he shoved past me, nearly knocking me over and ran up to the prince, dropping the red coin pouch on top of the giant ledger. The pouch with the stolen coin…

“I’m not so good with my numbers yet, Your Grace,” the boy said with a formal bow and panting breaths. “But I think all the coin is there.”

“Convenient…” The prince scowled, dumping the bag to scan the wares. “Eighty-four. I’ll consider the extra a bonus for my trouble.”

“But—”

Tilly’s hand slammed over the boy’s mouth. “Mind yourself, Ruben. Of course. Thank you, Your Grace.”

She rushed the children away. Distracted by her timely rescue, I’d forgotten one very important thing. I was next in line. And the prince was staring straight into my soul.

“Hello lovely,” he crooned as I was shoved forward. “What a glorious treat. May I have your name?”

Every muscle in my body tensed, my mind racing frantically, searching for a way out, but I was paralyzed, trapped in the nightmare unfolding before me.

His creepy, dark eyes shifted between mine, studying them. Did he know? Had they seen my eyes?

“I’ll need your full name, of course.”

My name. Paesha. Paesha Vox. But he wouldn’t find that within his ledger. I stopped breathing as my final seconds of freedom swallowed me whole.

“Cat got your tongue, beautiful?”

Panic. Panic had my tongue. And fear.

I opened my mouth to speak, to squeak, to force out any word I could manage, but I was interrupted. A long, heavy arm slid across my shoulders, wrapping around me as a man two heads taller than me plopped a brown leather bag onto the books. He leaned in toward me, speaking so quietly, only the prince and I could likely hear. “You wouldn’t believe how long it took me to find you. Sorry, darling.”

Every nerve in my entire body shot to life, trembling beneath the stranger’s touch. I’d never felt so trapped, and I’d been magically bound to a crime lord. I slowly turned, careful to school my face as I realized who’d planted himself beside me. The large man that’d come with Archer and Harlow.

“You… you two know each other?” the prince asked, staring only at the massive stranger that’d taken my side.

“I hope so, considering we’re married, Farris.”

Ice shot through my veins.

“Your Grace,” the prince corrected, though I’d hardly heard it above the sharp ringing in my ears.

Did he just say married? No.

Hell no.

I bit the inside of my cheek until my mouth filled with the metallic tang of blood. This was a game of pick your poison. Death by a prince or murderous stranger.

The man’s voice lowered to a dangerous degree. “Right. Your Grace.”

But my wrist bore no magical band. I carefully adjusted my sleeve, keeping my eyes locked forward as my reality twisted around me. They stared at each other in silence for what seemed like ages, a pissing match if ever I’d seen one. And though I had no idea who the stranger was, I still would have chosen him over the prince, and that was enough to hold me as a silent witness to their unspoken war.

Eventually, the prince spoke to another man beside him. “Bring the Silk’s ledger from Nightshade Row.”

Somehow, the stranger beside me grew taller. “I’m surprised you have time for this production. What with the Lord of the Salt still on the run?”

I choked on my gasp at the mention of the man I was to find, bringing the attention back to myself. The stranger pulled me closer as the prince scowled. “Those of us with many important jobs find a way to manage it all, Thorne.”

A heavy book was dropped onto the table. The prince dragged his finger down the ledger, searching for the name. I found it a millisecond before he covered it with his hand. “I can’t help but notice you’re not wearing a wedding band, beauty. You wouldn’t be trying to trick me, now would you?”

The air between them crackled with barely concealed animosity. Thorne chuckled. The sound was warm but edged with something dangerous. “You saw me three days ago wearing that cloak, did you not? Certainly, you know I have better things to do with my time than claim strangers.”

“Perhaps you should keep better track of your wife then,” Farris bit out. “But that doesn’t explain the ring.”

“I left it on my bedside table,” I lied, speaking for the first time, yet still feeling insignificant in the conversation.

With a slight tug on my shoulder, Thorne guided me to turn to him, sliding his thumb under my chin, forcing me to stare into hazel eyes, framed with simple glasses. My entire body relaxed at his touch. He was handsome. Stunning even, with dark brown hair peeking out from his oversized hood.

Flashing a small golden band, he lifted my frozen fingers to his lips and held eye contact with me as he kissed each one. “May I?”

This was it. The moment I solidified my choice. As if I’d had one at all. I swallowed the lump in my throat, though it did nothing to conceal the tremble in my voice. “Yes, of course.” I hadn’t blinked, but something within me stirred to life.

He slid the ring onto my finger, holding my attention for another moment before we turned back to the prince and he said, “Satisfied?”

“Just one last thing, Miss.” He dipped his quill into a frosted inkpot. “Name? For the record, of course.”

Thanking the gods that I’d been quick enough to spot his surname, I answered. “Paesha Noctus.” Thorne’s grip faltered on my shoulder, and I knew without looking that he’d hated this moment as much as I did. He’d stepped in and helped a stranger, but now, in his mind, he’d be bound to me forever. Anger rippled from him. But watching the ink bloom across the paper made me feel the same. All consuming regret immediately followed, caging me in as I felt my heart beat like the ticking of a clock. Another roadblock. Another problem. Another prison.