Nevermore (The Never Sky #2)

Chapter 10

10

T he home before us nearly touched the sky, a show of both wealth and power. The front step sat almost directly on the cobblestone road before it, and the giant door with a golden lion knocker welcomed us into Thorne’s home.

My icy fingers thawed in response to the sudden change of temperature when we stepped inside. It was a different world in here. A grand staircase wound up from the foyer, its carved wood railings polished to a rich sheen. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, casting rainbows on the marble floors beneath. I’d only ever seen one place this exquisite. And the crime lord that owned it was long gone. I shuddered at the thought, hoping I hadn’t just attached myself to a man worse than that.

“Go up the stairs, turn right, follow the hall all the way down. You can stay in the very last room until we figure out a plan for you.”

“Let’s get a few things straight, shall we? First, I don’t take commands. You can take that one and shove it right back up your ass because that’s clearly where you pulled it from. Number two, I don’t know who ‘we’ is, but if you’re scheming something that has to do with me, I will sure as hell be a part of that conversation. And number three, likely the most important, so pay attention, don’t forget that you need me to be here. You need the little lie you told to your prince to stand, and while I’m sure that wasn’t the first mistake you’ve ever made, it doesn’t make it any less foolish. I’m not your wife. I’m not your comrade, and I’m certainly not your friend. You will watch how you speak to me, or I’ll march my happy ass right back out that door and leave you to answer for your own lies.”

He reached for me and I flinched. His mouth curved into a dangerous smile as he unclasped the cloak at my neck. “All bark and no bite is so disappointing, Paesha darling. Had my friends and I not found you broken and dying in the Maw, I’d almost believe you. Now go wash up. You stink.”

As he dismissed me, his gaze already wandering to the next matter of importance, I stood my ground for a moment longer, locked in quiet defiance. He might have had a point, but that didn’t mean I was about to roll over and become his obedient puppet. With a huffing breath of frustration, I turned on my heel and began my trek up the grand staircase.

At the top, I turned right as instructed, finding myself in a long hallway adorned with artwork and lined with rugs of intricate design. The hall seemed to stretch out infinitely before me. The very last room nestled at the end of the hall was far from boring. It was palatial, layered with silks and velvets in jewel tones, an enormous four-poster bed dominated one side of the room with heavy curtains drawn back revealing plush pillows and ornate blankets. Was he expecting the king for lunch? Gods.

But what surprised me most was not the opulence or taste for extravagance displayed here. It was the massive bathroom. I walked inside, studying the intricate stained glass window before my hands reached out to touch the cold metal sides of the bath. The finish was so smooth. Maybe I should have given it a few minutes, let this reality sink in around me, made a plan for escape… something. But eh, I wanted a bath. I deserved a bath. And one could think in hot water just as well as they could curled up on that giant bed.

I shrugged off the heavy cloak and began peeling my worn clothes away from my sore, weary body. The clothes fell in a heap on the floor, revealing smooth skin not marred with bruises or cuts from the whippings. If I ever saw Archer again, I’d have to thank him.

I turned on the lavish bronze faucet and watched as the bath filled with steamy water that carried the scent of lavender and jasmine, as if even the simplest thing here was wrapped in luxury. How was that even possible?

I eased myself into the water, relishing the heat that pricked my frozen skin, my stiff muscles unfurling slowly under its coaxing. For a moment, I closed my eyes and let the luxuriant serenity wash over me like a balm. The silence of this place sank into my bones.

Alone and hopefully safe, my composure shattered like glass. I dragged my knees to my chest, laying my head down, and sobbed. I could only be strong for so long. I was human. Mostly. And the very faint trace of a god’s power running through me was insignificant here. Just as I was. I hadn’t been insignificant in a long time. Most knew I was the Huntress, but if they didn’t know that, they knew I was a dancer. The Maestro’s diamond. Beautiful, graceful, and guarded. I could stand before anyone and coax their desire forward in minutes. I could reach into their souls and drag their envy, their lust to the forefront of their minds. I’d been trained my whole life to do so.

None of that mattered now. Not as the clock ticked down and I was no closer to Quill than I had been when I’d made a foolish bargain with a god I had no business dealing with. What a fool I was. If his intention was to break me, he mastered it.

I sat in the bath until the water turned cold, the suds from washing and rewashing had long gone, and my body shook. I had no more tears to cry. Still, I couldn’t be bothered to get out. This was the safest I’d been, even if it pained me to admit that I’d needed it. I rested my neck against the cold rim of the metal bath, ignoring the sharp chill that raced down my back. Cold was fine. Cold meant that I wasn’t numb. That I was still breathing. I’d survived.

There was only one thing that could have pulled me from my frozen stupor. And as the smell of something rich and savory filled my room, I closed my eyes and sighed. The temptation of food was too strong to resist. With a sigh, I heaved myself out of the bath, my skin still glistening from the cold water.

Frozen to the bone, I padded out of the bathroom and toward the door, standing with my hand on the knob for several moments. Something was wrong, but my mind was sluggish. Only when I looked down at the puddle on the cold, stone floor did I register that I was naked. Any other time, I wouldn’t have cared. Dressing in a warehouse filled with hundreds of people night after night gave one a skewed sense of modesty. A different kind of numbness. I’d danced on stage with little to no clothing, conveniently blocking my bottom half with props, but only for the audience. And even then, the Maestro would encourage a prop slip from time to time, depending on his goals. Which rats he was trying to catch in his trap.

Eyeing the dress and cloak, I couldn’t bring myself to put them back on. I didn’t care if I never wore either of them again. So I gathered the plush blanket from the bed, wrapped it around myself, and swung the door open.

I was prepared to walk all the way down the hall and find a kitchen if I needed to. The way my hunger gnawed at me now was painful. I’d had little more than rain water for days and days. It was a wonder I had any energy left at all. But then, I supposed I didn’t. I’d been running on adrenaline.

A tray sat in the hall next to a pile of folded men’s clothing. I listened intently, waiting to see if he would return, or at the very least discover where he spent his time in this place. When only silence filled the space, I let a tendril of magic loose, seeking the man that’d been my savior.

Nothing happened.

I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut, trying again. No visions came, no string of power connected us. There was absolute silence on the other end of my power. Strange. But I was so tired, and all magic came with a cost. The first being a drain to my energy. I’d try again later.

With the blanket tucked around me, I gathered the tray and kicked the clothing into the bedroom before shutting the door with my hip. Each step was a burden as I slunk across the room to the bed and lifted the lid, forgetting about the clothes.

Thorne had delivered a feast fit for a queen, laid out neatly on a platter of polished silver. Tender roasted meats, fresh bread, buttery vegetables, and rich sauces to pour over them all. I began with the meat, tearing through it with an animalistic ferocity, my primitive hunger overpowering any semblance of manners. The warm juices trickled down my chin and I didn’t care to wipe them off. I devoured the bread, dunking it into the rich sauce and stopping only to moan.

The flavors were incredible, vibrant and layered. Every bite was a symphony of taste that danced upon my tongue and filled me with a sense of warmth that began in the pit of my stomach and spread like wildfire throughout my body. I’d known what it meant to be starving at a young age. I knew if I ate like this, I’d be sick. Slow and steady was always the rule of thumb after days of no eating. But the flavor was so rich, I didn’t care.

I’m not sure when I fell asleep, but I’m sure it was with a buttered roll in one hand and a chunk of tender meat in the other, still halfway through a bite I could no longer force down.

My sleep was fitful. No matter how I tossed and turned, I couldn’t escape the feeling of a Cimmerian’s hands on me. Couldn’t forget the sound of my skin ripping beneath the lash of a whip. I couldn’t escape Quill’s cry and Atticus’s old song, growing louder and louder until it drowned out everything and shattered the worlds.

When I woke, drenched in sweat, muted starlight filtered through the stained glass panes into my room. The moon was fat and luminous outside, its gentle glow coaxing me from my nightmares. The tray of food was gone. And, buried as I was in several blankets, it was clear the master of the house had sent someone in.

The dress and cloak I’d left in a pile on the floor were gone and the clothes I’d kicked into the room had been folded neatly and placed on a carved wooden armchair. Slowly, almost painfully, I rolled out of bed and made my way toward the pile. The coarse material was stiff in my hands and smelled faintly of leather and soap. My first instinct was to reject it, to return to the comfort of the bed. But I couldn’t hide here forever.

The clothes were far too big. I didn’t even bother with the pants. The shirt fit like an oversized nightgown and even then, I had to roll the sleeves a ridiculous number of times to use my hands.

Standing at the door, I tried again to use my magic to find Thorne. Darkness wrapped around my mind, blotting him out of the mental map I’d begun to build. There were other things, though. The book I’d touched from the man on the sidewalk was somewhere far north. The string of magic attached to Archer vibrated slightly. He was moving somewhere to the west.

But Thorne was somehow immune. I’d never met a person immune to magic, but maybe that was his power. I opened the door as quietly as possible, listening for voices or footfalls, or anything to indicate he was awake, but was only met with silence. Padding down the hall, I peeked into room after room, scanning the spaces for anything of use. Because unfortunately for my new husband, I had no intention of sticking around.

The upstairs, full of bedrooms, was useless to me. Stepping quietly, drawing back only when the steps creaked, I began to hunt. The ground level held a simple layout. A long narrow corridor from the front door, with rooms on either side, much like the hall upstairs.

One door stood out among the others, half-opened, as if inviting me into its secrets. I stepped inside. This must have been Thorne’s study, full of books and a large desk in the center of the room. A single shaft of moonlight streamed down, lighting an extensive map spread across one wall. The name Wisteria was inscribed in gold, as if crowning this world’s existence. Stirling, the city I’d found myself in, was emblazoned at the southern tip of the map with surrounding towns dotted like loyal subjects at its borders.

I traced the threads marking boundaries and paths in my mind. I couldn’t use my power to get there, since I hadn’t been, but hopefully I’d remember as much as possible. The map was full of tiny push pins with numbered flags. Trying to find a key to them, I turned to the desk and began moving through the stack of papers. Most of it was financial transactions, records of sales and purchases, having no immediate relevance. Buried in the heap was a sheet of parchment. Ink faded at the edges but still legible. The Hollow was written in faded ink across the top. But what was even more curious was the list of transactions. He wouldn’t have this if he wasn’t directly associated with whatever the Hollow was. On the second page was a list of names, starting with his, followed by Archer and Harlow and a line of others. At the very bottom, nearly imperceptible and crossed through with a thick line, was the Lord of the Salt. No name, just the title.

But why was he removed? Had he died?

I put the papers back the way I’d found them, trying to remember what Thorne had said about the Lord of the Salt to the prince. Was he hunting him also? Maybe everyone was hunting for him.

Clearly, Thorne knew about the Hollow. And the Lord of the Salt was on the list, which meant he was involved with it somehow. If I stuck around a little longer, maybe Thorne would let slip what he knew of the place. But where did the Lord of the Salt come into it?

As the questions circled my mind, forcing me to debate my escape plan, I continued picking through the room. A golden quill sitting on Thorne’s desk was tempting me. If I could find a buyer, I could probably guarantee myself room and board for a week on that alone. But it felt too obvious. He’d know it was missing and likely turn me over to the prince’s guards as soon as he could. If he went that far, he’d probably also tell them I’d killed the guards just to spite me.

Leaving the quill behind, feeling like I’d passed some sort of arbitrary test, I began to really dig, shuffling through discarded papers with no idea what I was actually looking for. It’s not like he was going to have a thousand answers to all my questions written out in a nice little explanation letter addressed to his future fake wife, but considering I knew nothing, everything was added knowledge.

Something strange was going on with Thorne Noctus. First of all, who randomly claims some stranger in the streets as their wife with absolutely nothing to gain from it? Second, and the most concerning was why… of every person I’d ever come across, was he immune to my power?

His book collection was boring, but probably useful. I preferred stories of fiction rather than tomes of a kingdom’s entire history. But again, knowledge. I picked a random book and held onto it. I had to start somewhere and likely it wouldn’t be missed. It was of no real use to me anyway once I’d read it, so honestly, I was just borrowing it and that was not the same as stealing.

Further along the inky darkness of the room, an old wooden filing cabinet beckoned me. Scars and dents from its years of service were proudly displayed on its surface. I opened the top drawer, revealing a sea of documents, letters, and maps, documents dated older than me, letters that bore crests, maps that depicted lands I didn’t know. Which wasn’t saying much. Based on the collected dust, I bet he never looked in here. This was likely one of those inheritance situations where the wealthy man’s annoying son just swept in and took over.

The second drawer was less populated than the first, but a curious oblong object nestled in the corner caught my attention. It was wrapped in cloth so fragile and old that it seemed to partially disintegrate at my touch. I picked it up carefully and unwrapped it.

Though bound in gold, the treasure was nothing more than a blank notebook. No bigger than the size of my palm, with a matching pencil tucked into the binding, it took everything I had not to shove the book under my arm and run for it.

“Find something to your liking?”