Chapter 21
21
“ H ow do you sleep at night?” I asked Thorne, hovering over the toilet as he held my hair back. “How do you close your eyes without feeling the weight of the lives you’ve taken?”
“Don’t fool yourself. There’s no sleep for the wicked.”
I lifted the glass he handed me to my mouth and swished the water around before spitting. “Are you wicked? Truly?”
“To some,” he answered honestly, before lifting me off the floor.
He’d cleaned my mess while I hugged the toilet, consumed with guilt and fear and memories that would never leave me. But he hadn’t left either. He’d stayed. With little effort, he put me back into the bed, pulling the blankets up to my chin. “Sleep now. Don’t dwell on the darkness.”
“There’s horror in the daylight, too.”
He walked back toward the door and for a moment I thought he’d leave, and I’d be left to my own misery, my own poisoned thoughts, but instead he grabbed the chair and hauled it back to the bed, sitting beside me.
“I think I can manage without a sitter,” I said, evoking the most annoyed tone I could muster, though I didn’t mean an ounce of it.
He pulled the gold frame glasses from his nose, carefully folded them and set them directly beside my stolen teacup. “Yes. You probably could. But I didn’t open that for discussion. For both our sakes, go back to sleep, or by next week we’ll be deliriously tired. There’s only so much nighttime screaming a man can take.”
“Well, that’s not true at all,” I answered with a faint smile.
He didn’t indulge my humor, choosing instead to cross his massive arms over his chest and close his eyes. “Go back to sleep, Paesha darling.”
When I woke, he was gone. The chair was placed back in the exact same spot and angle it’d been, and the little teacup was replaced with a matching one, sans the chip.
“I liked the chip in my teacup,” I said, strolling into the kitchen after dressing, noting he’d set the table in here rather than the dining room this morning.
He was already at the stove, back turned to me as he cooked in a five-piece suit as if it were just casual wear. “Last time I checked, that teacup was mine.”
Everything was in its place, just the way he liked it. I sat at the table and poured myself a cup of tea, careful not to touch anything else. He was expecting me to, though. I could tell by the way his shoulders stiffened, how he paused just before flipping the eggs. He was waiting for something.
I smiled to myself, letting the steam from my tea warm my face. He brought the plates over, setting mine in front of me. I didn’t move a thing. Instead, I took another sip to hide the smile, though I could feel his eyes on me. I lifted my fork and began eating.
He stared longer than necessary. His gaze flicked to the salt, then back to me before saying, “You didn’t touch the salt.”
I drew back, palm to chest, feigning confusion. “Why would I? Afraid your food is too bland?”
He frowned. Clearly he was waiting for me to move something, hide something, anything. I paid him no attention, taking another drink before setting the teacup back onto the small plate, spinning the handle to mirror his setting exactly. Right where he’d placed it this morning.
He sat in his chair, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table. “No comments on the table setting? No urge to move the sugar bowl today?”
I meet his gaze, smiling innocently. “Everything looks perfect. You’re in a weird mood today, aren’t you?”
He stared at me hard. The confusion on his face, the narrowing of his eyes was comical, like he was sure I was up to something, but he couldn’t figure out what. I took a bite of my toast, savoring the way his jaw tightened just slightly. Adorable, really. In an aggressive, know-it-all, annoying man kind of way.
He leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “No temptation to… rearrange anything at all?”
I shook my head, letting my smile widen. “Why would I ruin such a perfectly organized breakfast?”
“I’m glad we can agree on that question,” he said, though his scrutinizing gaze lingered. Without breaking his stare, he lifted his newspaper, peering at me over the top of the fold. “We have a meeting late this afternoon. I’ll be leaving in an hour. Can you manage here on your own for a while?”
I smiled, letting him think the worst. “I think I can manage just fine.”
His knuckles turned white. I thought for sure he’d rip the pages as we danced around his reluctancy. But instead, he slowly lifted the paper, covering his face. And though we sat together for half an hour, he never turned a single page.
The front door clicked shut quietly, but the turn of the lock was far louder. As soon as the echo of his departure faded, I ran down the stairs, threw my coat on and stood at the window, watching him disappear down the winding road that stretched in front of his house.
The world outside was a palette of grays and whites, monochromatic proof of winter’s grip. I fucking hated it here. But it’d be no different back home. Maybe a bit more wet, but still freezing. Bare trees stood tall and stark against the gray sky like skeletal sentinels, their branches swaying slightly in the biting wind, casting faint shadows on the empty flower boxes sitting beneath the windows on the expensive homes on the street.
I waited until I couldn’t see him anymore before unlocking the door and letting myself out. I prodded the sleepy power within me, but still I couldn’t lock onto Thorne. I even tried his coat to no avail. So I followed the direction I thought he’d gone until I saw his bulky outline in the distance. A sharp left turn, then two rights and another left. He was zigzagging through the city with a purpose only he knew.
On high alert for the Cimmerians, I carefully followed Thorne for ages, turning in nonsensical directions, wondering if he was hunting the Lord of the Salt and if so, why had he so casually mentioned a meeting with him the day before. Nothing made sense, not the sharp corners, the winding stairs, not the way I watched him duck into alleys for seemingly no reason. He was easy enough to track though. He’d stopped to chat with a man standing outside of a tobacco shop for a few minutes and even lingered outside a bakery, watching as the baker set out trays of fresh buns.
He was quick to move when he remembered whatever his task was, and I was happy to follow, learning the streets, marking the buildings as we went. He made a sharp turn around a distant corner, and I waited just a moment before following. Except when I did, he was gone. I walked further, sure there was only one way to go, but he seemed to have vanished. I checked for doors along the street, but there were none in the alley.
Thorne’s golden pocketbook warmed against my thigh. I’d forgotten I’d even brought it, but as I slipped the book from my dress pocket and opened the page, I went rigid.
Lost, Paesha darling?
I spun slowly, staring up into Thorne’s handsome face. “I’ve never been lost a day in my life, thank you very much.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the building. “That’s a bold claim. Anything in particular bring you all the way over here?”
He knew I’d been following him. Of course he did. All the turns and confusion were simply to bait me. His version of my game. But I couldn’t and wouldn’t give in to his upper hand. I’d figured out the lay of the city well enough to know exactly where I was, save a few of the outlining streets. “I should think it was obvious.”
He smirked. “How so?”
I snapped the book shut and slipped it back into my pocket. “The Hollow is right up there. I was going to see if Jasper, I think that was his name, wanted a hand, since there’s nothing for me to do at the house.”
His lips twitched. “But why are you in the alley? The next street would lead you straight there.”
I lifted my hood. “Because the closer buildings block the wind and it’s cold.”
He moved in closer, pulling my hood further forward. “I hate to break it to you, but the wind is northbound today. It’s pushing through this alley faster because there’s nothing here to block it. You’d have been warmer on the main street.”
“What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Just waiting for my wife to catch up.”
“I’m not your… I wasn’t…”
He held an arm out for me. “Shall we then?”
“I hate you,” I said, taking his arm. “I’m probably going to have a public affair with Jasper and rock your perfect world, Mr. Noctus.”
He strode forward, pulling me along. “Please consider anyone but Jasper. I’d hate to have to fight the cook.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
While Thorne went upstairs to do whatever he needed to do, I sat near the giant hearth in the old building, letting the small bit of warmth seep into my bones. The Hollow was quiet, with a few people sleeping on cots along the far wall, all sharing the same cough. A woman, a doctor of some sort, based on her care of the Salt, went from bed to bed, checking temperatures, making small talk and changing bed linens. A burly man followed her. He carried the blankets and handed her things as she asked for them, and though he remained silent, he held a smile as they moved.
“I really could be helpful,” I whispered for the third time as they passed. She swiped her curly red hair from her face and shook her head. “The last thing we need is more people coming down with the illness, right Tuck?”
The large man nodded, and thanks to the light of the fire, I could just make out the faint trace of a scar cutting through his brow and ending at the height of his cheek. “If you really want to be helpful, we could use a new pot of tea,” the man said, his low voice calm.
I was in the kitchen with less than a thought, rummaging through the various containers to seem helpful, when really I was searching through their things for signs of a portal. I knew it wasn’t here. Something told me it wasn’t, but still, I hoped. I sank into the pantry, only to find baskets of dried food and fruit. The cabinets were full of boring, standard kitchen utensils, pots and pans and the like. There was absolutely nothing indicative of a secret society, even. Just a damn kitchen. With food. Annoying.
I found what I needed for tea, aside from a missing kettle. Instead, I warmed a pot of water on the coals in the stove and did my best to steep the loose leaves. Upon delivery of the cups, Thorne had returned, along with Willard, Harlow and Archer. Willard had an arm wrapped around Harlow’s shoulder and she looked as if she were settled there. As if that’s where she believed she was meant to be. Archer, on the other hand, seemed less than thrilled, maintaining his distance while Thorne barked out orders.
“It’s important he be there no later than four. We can’t have another incident like yesterday, Will.”
“Understood,” the shrinking man said.
The door to the Hollow slammed open and Jasper strolled in, carrying a towering stack of wooden bowls. He swayed to one side, and the stack followed, threatening to fall. With a chuckle, he over-corrected, going in the opposite direction, tripped over his feet and landed in a heap on the floor with all the bowls crashing down around him.
Harlow rushed forward, grabbing his hand and heaving until the clumsy cook was on his feet again. “Are you okay?”
He lifted his apron and swiped it across his forehead. “I had a feeling that was a bad idea. Did you, uh… hear the news?”
I didn’t miss the way his eyes flashed to me before Thorne.
“I did.”
“What happened?” Harlow asked, returning to Willard’s side.
“The Lord of the Salt was almost captured last night. They say he was trying to break into the castle and the prince caught him. He’s being held in the Maw.”
“How long until we think he escapes this time?” Archer laughed as he and I collected the bowls from the floor and set them on the long table.
My ears were burning, trying to collect every morsel of information without seeming too eager. If the Lord of the Salt was trapped in the Maw, could I get to him? I knew where the secret entrance was. But did I have it in me? Unless… was this a set up? Nearly all of my present company had been there the day I escaped. Were they waiting for his capture? Would they help free him? At what cost?
“He’s already free,” Thorne said. “There’s word he was out before the gates were locked.”
Jasper’s eyes twinkled. “Slippery little thief, isn’t he?”
“Are we sure today’s a good day?” Harlow asked, tucking closer to Willard’s side.
“Yes. Paesha meets him now.” Thorne’s eyes swept over me. “She’s curious and curious creatures cause all kinds of chaos when left to their own devices. Don’t they, wife?”
“Did you just… is there a reason you’re using alliteration? Are you having a stroke?”
Archer barked a laugh, slipping a hand over my shoulder. “I’m with Thorne. Let’s just get this done.”
I’d never been so grateful for a man in my life. I couldn’t seem eager, but beyond my mission, my curiosity was piqued. They clearly knew how to find the Lord of the Salt, but they’d also made it blatantly obvious they weren’t fans. He’d stolen the man from the dress shop’s entire life from under him. Whatever this crew wanted with him, it couldn’t be good. I thought back to the dead bodies in the Maw, to the ones in the alley yesterday. There were no lines, no boundaries for Thorne. He was ruthless when he needed to be. The problem with that was my bargain. I needed the Lord of the Salt. And if that meant I had to stand between him and the Fray, then that’s where my loyalty would lie.
Thorne casually strode forward, lifting Archer’s hand from my shoulder. “Let’s think about the way we’re presenting ourselves to outsiders, Bramwell.”
Archer took a step back. “All yours, boss.”
“Actually, no. I belong to no one,” I said, walking away from all of them. “Are we doing this or what?”
I didn’t miss the way Thorne’s jaw tightened as he nodded, gesturing toward the door. “After you.”
We melted into the hustle and bustle of the city just as we’d done the days before. Keeping our eyes down as we passed the Cimmerians lurking in the alleys and along the streets. We wound our way back toward the Silk side of the city. Beyond the shops and small street vendors, we turned only when the wall of buildings stopped. The entrance to our destination appeared as if out of nowhere, set back from the street, where the other buildings had practically sat on top of it. Passing the four pillars that seemed to reach toward the sky, we walked over the brick drive, worn from years of carriages and horses passing through. It seemed as if this place didn’t belong. Even among the elite of Stirling, even with a castle looming in the distance, it was grander somehow. Different.
“There’s no way the Lord of the Salt is here,” I said, mouth open as we shuffled toward the door. “He’d be too easy to find.”
The others said nothing, as if speaking outside would damn them. As if the Lord of the Salt would hear their thoughts and target them. We stepped through the doors, and had I not seen it with my own eyes, I might’ve believed we’d crossed into a different world. But then, I hadn’t been inside many of the Silk buildings yet. Maybe this was the standard. The space was full of chattering people. Their secrets traveled through the curls of cigar smoke. Dark wood paneling, rich and polished, circled the room, illuminated by the warm glow of golden sconces.
Luxurious, tufted leather couches in deep burgundy were scattered about the floor, inviting guests to sink in. To let go. To get lost in a place that promised luxury and scandal in a single card game. The floor, smothered in richly patterned carpet, muffled the soft murmurs of scattered conversations. It reminded me of home. Of a place where deals were made with a handshake and fortunes decided with the turn of a card.
Above, a grand balcony overlooked the main room, its railing intricately wrought in dark iron. This was clearly a sanctuary for the city’s elite, a space of indulgence and intrigue where every glance and every gesture carried weight, where power played in silence and whispers.
Archer pulled a stack of chips from his pocket and sat at a table with ease, the dealer acknowledging him with a nod before sliding a card across the table.
Harlow grabbed my hand and squeezed. “Keep an open mind,” she said before slipping away, tugging on Willard who followed her toward a group of Silk sipping on tiny glasses and scrutinizing every move in the room as they whispered among each other.
Keep an open mind? I would absolutely not be doing that. But the warning settled into me all the same, probably having the opposite effect of her intention. What the hell were these people up to?
Thorne continued on, pulling me through the room, his grip on my hand tightening as we passed a few card tables poised for play and a bar lined with dark mahogany holding bottles of liquor reflecting like jewels in the low light.
Although some looked his way, most kept their eyes on me as we climbed the stairs, walked all the way down the rich wooden balcony, and disappeared down a hall smothered in tapestries. All the textures and carpet could only serve one purpose, a fact the Maestro learned long ago. Whispers never carried through well-insulated spaces.
Thorne rested his hand on the knob of the only door at the end of the hall, his posture growing stiff. “Beyond this door, there’s a line. Wherever your loyalty lies, consider the line. Consider the lies you’re willing to tell and who you are. If you thought the streets were dangerous before, this will darken everything. The edges of danger will sharpen. I know it seems like I made this decision for you, but it’s your choice now.”
There could be no choice for me. Not really. I needed this introduction. And though I could feel the reluctance like fingers around my throat, though I knew the man beyond the door was friend to no one, I needed him. And starting now, I’d have to figure out why. But there was still a role to play with Thorne. A place at his side until I didn’t need him anymore.
“Tell me why it matters to you if I meet him.”
“Dead Cimmerians lead to questions and there are four now. In this city, no matter who you are, everyone has to answer to someone. Unfortunately for us, that someone is sitting on the other side of this door.”
I nodded. “Okay then. I’m ready.”
He twisted the knob and swung the door open, gesturing for me to enter the dark room. I stepped in, unable to see much beyond the faint outline of a huge wooden desk and a leather chair facing the wall behind it.
I waited, letting my boots sink into the plush carpet as Thorne closed the door behind me, walked around the desk and sat in the godsdamn chair. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Paesha darling.”