Nevermore (The Never Sky #2)

Chapter 17

17

T he door to the Hollow swung open with a boom, and Jasper ambled in, carrying a massive pot in his arms. Several of the Salt rushed forward to help him, but he brushed them off, laughing, and insisting that he could do it. He tripped over the loose tie of his apron, but caught himself at the last minute, causing a wave of laughter through the cavernous room as people watched the clumsy cook. Despite everything, despite the danger lurking in every shadow, despite a class of people that looked down their nose at the Salt, they seemed to find joy in simplicity. And with that came a shred of respect for Thorne and his crew of thieves. Because I was certainly no better, and likely, more guilty than all of them when it came to acquiring finery.

Jasper’s eyes met mine, widening in surprise as if he’d forgotten I was there. His cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of crimson as he quickly straightened and hustled back to his kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “You lot can thank Miss Harlow for your stew tonight.”

I didn’t want to know where she’d stolen the pot from.

“You see now?” Harlow asked, sliding up beside me.

“I see.”

“The prince would see us all hanged before he allowed the Silk to help the Salt. But I’d rather be dead than sit on my perch and look down at people that were born to this world the same as I was. Their blood is the same color as yours and mine.”

I was sure it was foolish to show how little I knew, but I couldn’t help my curiosity, and maybe showing a little vulnerability to Harlow would pay off.

“Why do they call them the Salt? And you the Silk?”

“A long time ago, this kingdom and some of its surrounding settlements used Salt as currency. The poor would mine it, the rich would confiscate it, and on and on it went until the rich converted their currency to coin, thus taking away the endless supply for the lower class, and creating a large divide. Those that worked the mines became the Salt, and those that profited, buying things of luxury to drape over their bodies became the Silk.”

A little boy came barreling out of the kitchen full of laughter as Jasper chased him with a wooden spoon. Soon, two more children joined in, running circles around the old cook as he spun back and forth, pretending to sword fight them all with his spoon. My heart ached. Because maybe I’d have grown to be a Silk in this world, but I would have been born a Salt. I had more in common with both sides of this divide than any of them knew. But I never had a group of well-intentioned people putting themselves between me and starvation. I only had the Maestro. And he used me and my power to build his empire. He collected people, and I was the hunter. Willing to do whatever it took to ensure my next meal.

“How many Silk are there? To help?”

“They call us the Fray. It’s a small number. Definitely not enough,” she said with a sigh.

“How does it work? I don’t know anything about Willard, but I know you … take things. Yet, we’re going shopping for dresses?”

“Archer and I inherited our wealth when our grandmother died. Our parents passed away when we were young, and Grandmother Bramwell raised us. She’d likely be rolling over in her grave if she knew where we were spending her fortune. We have to walk a fine line though, making sure we keep up with the Silks, while doing everything we can to care for the Salt. Most Silk, they sleep on their fortunes. They don’t notice when things go missing because they live and breathe in abundance. But sometimes a necklace is the difference between those kids eating for a month or the group of us, standing in black around an unmarked grave.”

I teetered on the edge of my next words, wondering if I should ask. Wondering if she would tell me about the Lord of the Salt. How was a warehouse full of poor people the beginning of my path home? And with a rebellion group out here, where did the Lord of the Salt come in?

If the prince hated him, he’d certainly be one of the Salt. But if Thorne also hated him… I’d seen the fury in his eyes when he spat the name to the prince. What kind of common enemy would the prince and my fictional husband have? I decided not to ask. I couldn’t risk it. If they knew I was looking for him, as it seemed everyone else was, they’d try to intervene at the very least. And I didn’t need that.

So, I asked a different question. Something far less important, but enough to make me seem interested. “What do you do with the pieces you steal? How do you turn them into coin when they are so easily recognized?”

She smiled, her first genuine smile of the day. “That information is on a need to know basis, and right now, you don’t need to know that.”

“You talking about Alastor?” Archer asked, plopping down beside us.

“Gods, Archer, can you not keep anything to yourself?”

He shook his head. “I left my rebellion rulebook at home today.”

“You’re terrible,” she said, standing from her seat. “We have to go if we’re going to make it on time. Where’s Will?”

Archer pulled his favorite coin from his pocket and flipped it into the air, catching it without looking. “Heads he makes it on time, tails he bails.”

Harlow drew back. “He left?”

“I guess Wee Willy had something else to do this afternoon. He said he’d meet us.”

She nodded slowly, smoothing her hands down her dress as if it were habit. “Okay, well that’s fine. We can go then.”

The smile on Archer’s face faded as he took in his sister’s disappointment. “Har?—”

“No. It’s fine. He’s a busy man. I can’t imagine what his daily schedule must look like.”

Archer stood, hanging his arm over his sister’s shoulder. “We were born eleven minutes apart. You think I can’t tell when you’re upset?”

Her eyes flashed to me. She turned, slipping out of his hold. “I’m not upset. We should go.”

We followed her slowly out of the door and just before we got to the carriage, Archer showed me the tail emblem on his silver coin.

We rode through the streets at a casual pace, until the buildings grew wider apart and the streets smoother. Until the glass on the windows of the shops was clear and the people had shifted from somber and freezing Salts, into a world of Silks. Women with long gowns peeking beneath their wool coats carried bags from shopping and leaned in to whisper to one another. There was static in the air. Something buzzing from the people as they hurried around, speaking as if they all had secret news to share. But that was the way of people with no cares in the world. Holding secrets was a form of currency. Everyone could buy the finery, but whispers had no price.

The carriage stopped, and we crawled out, Archer taking each of our hands to assist, as a gentleman would be expected to do. Because even in the small company I kept, there’d been a transition on the journey. Long gone were the leather clad twins, breaking into the Maw. Harlow and Archer were Bramwell’s now. And judging by the stares, that was a very important name to carry. The curiosity on the faces that stared at me was easier to decipher. They knew me only as Thorne’s mysterious bride and the Paramour from last night’s event. The cutting glances and hurried whispers told me all I needed to know as we followed Archer toward the large glass doors of a nearby shop.

I raised my spine until, no matter their height, I looked down at everyone. My pace quickened and even my breathing changed when I slipped into the role of the woman they meant me to play. No one was authentic here.

“This is Tulles. You’re to find some things to start replacing the clothing that was stolen by the Lord of the Salt on your journey here. I suggest you consider the season. The winter will soon be over and spring will be in bloom. Darker colors for the rest of winter, something lighter, maybe floral for spring,” Harlow said, giving me the reasonable excuse I’d need for shopping if I were to procure several things.

The world seemed to pulse with her words though, as if the mention of each season was a reminder of the giant clock hanging above my head. I couldn’t consider the seasons changing. Not when I’d been here for possibly weeks and that felt suffocating. I had sixty-five days, if I was lucky. I didn’t want to fall into a routine. I didn’t want to accept how things were here. I only wanted to learn enough to find my path out. I could smile at the right people and scowl at the others, if that’s what was required.

The single step leading up to the store was covered with a thick layer of ice. Harlow tsked, shaking her head as she pushed inside and let out a huff.

“You’re trying to kill your patrons with that step, aren’t you, Thalena?”

“Save it. She’s not in yet.” A tall, skinny man walked around a beautifully dressed mannequin, black hair falling into his eyes. “But I’ll see to the step before she gets here.”

“Thank the gods.” Harlow said, shoulders falling. “I’ve got to prepare myself before I deal with her. Marik, this is Paesha Noctus, Thorne’s new bride. She was robbed on her way to Stirling. She’ll need a full wardrobe, but we won’t have time to fill it today. Get her some new boots and a dress and a few sleeping garments to get her through until we can do something more substantial.” She turned to me, eyes narrowing. “Such a tragic thing that happened to all your pretty gowns. But Marik is a member of the Fray and he’ll get you squared away. Come, you must see this piece by the window. I’ve been eyeing it for weeks.”

“I won’t be needing the sleeping garments,” I told the lanky man with a wink. “I do like some give in the soles of my boots, though, if you can manage it.”

The second we were far enough away, she leaned in to whisper. “Consider every word and every movement when Thalena gets here. She’s got an eagle eye and she will gossip. It’s her favorite pastime. Your job is to make sure she’s fully convinced. Marik is one of ours. Willard got him this job months ago. He’ll do as he’s told and help buffer, but he can’t know the whole truth. No one can. You’ve got the inner circle. That’s me, Archer, Will and Thorne. Only the four of us know about your fake marriage. Then you have the Fray. That’s every Silk helping the Salt. They only know what they need to know. Understand?”

“Don’t tell the thieves I’m a murderer that escaped the Maw. Got it.”

The corner of her mouth lifted, and a gleam lit her pretty blue eyes. “Precisely.” Lifting the sleeve of a gown resting on a dress form, pretending to be interested in the fabric, she continued. “And not that I need to defend myself, but proper thievery takes an immense amount of practice. We won’t ask you to do it. Just do your best to fit in here.”

Pulling my hand from my pocket, I tossed her the coin bag she’d been wearing only moments ago with a sultry smile. “That little murdery thing with the Cimmerian was an accident, but I have my own skill sets.”

She swiped the bag back, eyes wide in surprise. “How did you… When?—”

She was interrupted by a gust of freezing wind as the door pushed open and a busty woman with too much rouge and a drawn on mole strolled in.

“That’s Thalena,” Harlow mouthed. “Try not to mess this up.”

“Oh, my darling. No need to worry about me. I was born to perform.”