Nevermore (The Never Sky #2)

Chapter 25

25

T he walls creaked their lullabies to the night while distant snores spoke of dreams. Though a few adults were scattered through the room, most had gone, giving the children the time to acclimate and grieve. I imagined that choice meant they were sleeping in the alleys. The children, nestled on cots and snuggling on piles of blankets near the fire, deserved more attention than I could manage. No matter how much I’d tried to be present, no matter how many chins I wiped and bedtime stories I read, I’d watched the door like a hawk. Each moment that passed in silence was a burden. I should have gone. I should have told them about my power.

I’d used it, of course. Occasionally, the magic was strong enough to show me clouded visions of spaces and I kept trying and trying to see glimpses as I sat in the Hollow, forced smile on my face so I didn’t rattle the children that had been orphaned twice in their short lives. No visuals of Reuben came to me, but I knew he wasn’t in the Maw, which was my biggest concern. Instead, I felt the pull of magic leading me toward Serene, the Goddess of Lust’s temple. Not specifically there, but somewhere very close. And he hadn’t moved at all.

I hardly had time to talk to Jasper. He managed the kitchen chores, while I had kept the kids entertained with stories about dragons and sword fights and death maidens tricked into marrying the wrong men. I spoke to them of giant beasts with great big wings, and witches stirring their pots. I remembered bits and pieces of my favorite stories and wove them together as much as I could. Until the yawns followed the sleepy eyes and, one by one, they went to bed. One girl, Lianna, had stayed up well past midnight, staring at the fire, knees clutched to her chest, little blonde ringlets brushing slender shoulders. She’d wiped her tears in silence, and I didn’t shove myself in. She was mourning a woman that must’ve been a saint to wrangle all of these children, day in and day out. She’d earned those tears. Deserved the love these children had for her.

Eventually, after Jasper was long gone, Lianna sank to the floor, wrapping herself in blankets before the sniffles faded away and her dreams took her somewhere else. Anywhere else. When I was a child and the days were the bleakest, sleep was always a welcomed reprieve. I hoped she’d find the same.

Though I’d been told of a bedroom upstairs, I kept a cot near the door instead, waiting and watching for any of the crew to come back.

Any luck?

I’d written those two words into the little golden book a while ago, but no answer came. Which was probably for the best. Distracted bait would be dangerous. The moon and the song of the crackling fireplace were my only companion for hours. The fire was little more than charred logs before there was a sound at the door, a scraping at first and then a creak as it opened.

I lay stiff as a board, holding my breath, wrapping my fingers around the dagger Harlow had given me. Squinting through the dark as a shape took form, the first light of day haloed him and my heart sank. It was Jasper. He kicked a loose board and went tumbling forward, hissing and scolding himself. “Shh. Quiet, you old fool. You’ll wake the lot of ’em.”

He straightened himself and froze, turning to watch over the sleeping people until he was convinced he’d been quiet as a mouse. Then off he went, tiptoeing into the kitchen. I didn’t immediately follow. I needed to see someone else walk through that door, but no one did and the twins were nowhere near.

Invisible, but there, the aroma of freshly baked bread drew me in less than an hour later, a symphony of flour, yeast, and sweet buttery notes pirouetting in an inviting waltz. I padded softly to the kitchen, lulled by curiosity and an inability to sleep. Because if I had a nightmare, the screaming would wake the children.

“Well, Miss Paesha, you’re up early.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“An old habit from my previous work as a cook’s assistant at a noblewoman’s estate. Any word from our team yet?”

“I was hoping you’d heard something. Guess not?”

“Not a word.”

“Damn.”

“Care to jump in? Might take your mind off worrying about your husband.” He gestured toward the counter littered with flour sacks, butter pots and eggs still nestled in their straw baskets. “A helping hand is always welcome at the Hollow.”

Rolling up my sleeves, I admitted, “I’m not much of a cook beyond bread and basic soup, but I’m a quick study and I know my way around a blade.”

“In the kitchen, we call them knives, Miss Paesha. Now, I’ve started the bread already. Perhaps you could help with the eggs. One egg cracked is one mouth fed.” He gently kneaded the last bit of dough he’d made. “Our lot may not have much, but we are rich in company.”

I gathered the eggs from the straw basket, careful not to break a single one. I could likely hide in the kitchen and be useful somehow while I snooped around, if I was patient and observant enough. And fortunately, I was proficient in both. Mostly.

“To crack an egg, you must be firm yet gentle. Tap it against the edge of the bowl and give it a soft squeeze.” His large, callused hands moved through the air, mimicking the action.

I did as he said, holding the egg tightly in my hand. The shell shattered under my grip, dropping the yolk into a bowl on the long counter.

My technique drew a hearty laugh from the old cook. “You’ll have to learn finesse, young lady.”

“Hey, now. I was born with finesse.”

He chuckled. “All the best women are.”

From then on, I was at his side whisking eggs into frothy clouds, stirring pots of simmering oats sweetened with brown sugar and cinnamon. Jasper was magical. He took what little there was and made miracles out of it, simple ingredients transformed into hearty dishes that would warm souls as much as bellies.

He’d told stories because he believed I was so distraught waiting for my new husband to return. I had no idea if he knew Thorne was the infamous Lord of the Salt, but he certainly had no idea our marriage was a lie.

The little golden book never warmed against my skin, and I tried not to think about it too much. I mostly smiled and nodded, keeping an ear out for newcomers and occasionally using my magic to lock onto the three of the four I could. Harlow and Willard were together, somewhere near the vicinity of the boy, but Archer was moving through the city. That was all I knew.

We worked through the morning preparing the meager feast for those that would soon wake and some that had already popped into the kitchen to offer to help. Jugs of water boiled for tea while a small bit of bacon sizzled and popped in a cast iron skillet.

“Here’s a funny one,” Jasper said, collecting the spoons he’d dropped all over the floor. “Once, when I was working for the noblewoman, I was tasked with preparing a seven-course feast for her Silk guests. Everything had to be perfect, from the spiced wine to the roast pheasant. To make matters worse, the noblewoman had a temper as volatile as dragon’s fire. It was enough to turn any man into a bundle of nerves.

“I remember it was the morning of the feast, and I had rolled out a massive pie crust on one of her expansive mahogany tables. I had to. There was no other working surface large enough. The flour dusted everything. It turned my arms and apron white, and even settled in my hair, turning my brown locks gray.

“But as I was about to lift the crust and wrap it around the pie dish, a hulking, ornate ceramic deal that looked more like it belonged in a museum than a kitchen, I felt a tickle in my nose. I tried to hold back the sneeze and forgot to pay attention to these clumsy feet, and I tripped on the rug.

“The pie crust blew up into the air like a sail caught in a gale, flour exploding off it in clouds of white. It landed on the chandelier hanging above the table. The kitchen staff watched in stunned silence as my lovely crust hung from those crystal pendants like some strange doughy curtain.”

He paused as he dramatically mimicked his past shock with an exaggerated gasp and wide eyes.

“Naturally, I was horrified. Not at my lost pastry, which had taken hours to perfect but at the prospect of facing the noblewoman’s wrath. I decided to climb up a ladder and try to remove the dough from the chandelier, but just as I reached for it, the noblewoman entered the kitchen.”

While delivering his animated story, Jasper gathered three sacks of flour at once from where they’d been sitting on the floor. I had to snap my jaw shut to hide my surprise as he casually moved them onto the counter. Then I remembered the giant pot he’d carried the first time I met him. He was clumsy, sure, but he hadn’t struggled. No ordinary man was lifting three sacks that were the size of me. Jasper had magic. And he’d used it so casually.

He ripped into one of the bags, spilling flour everywhere as he continued his story. “Her eyes found mine and then followed the path upwards to where my pie crust was hanging. The silence in that room could have curdled milk. She opened her mouth to say something, her face contorted in horror. But, just at that moment, the crust fell straight down and onto her head.”

He paused again, his chest shaking with laughter at his own story. I couldn’t help but share a small smile, the image of a haughty noblewoman wearing a crust hat now imprinted vividly in my mind. Jasper was a storyteller. And gods I loved stories.

“Needless to say, I was fired on the spot. I had to grab my things right there and then, didn’t even get to see how my pastry tasted.”

His infectious energy made our work feel lighter, the anticipation less daunting.

“And now,” he added after wiping tears from his eyes, “I serve this hodgepodge of misfits here at the Hollow. And I wouldn’t trade them for all the fancy cakes and pies in the world. Cooking is a lot like life. Sometimes you have to make do with what you have, and sometimes things don’t turn out the way you planned. But in the end, it’s all about the people you share it with.”

These moments were odd. I didn’t want to care. I didn’t want to understand the people here and feel anything for them. I didn’t want to lay my head on my pillow when I got home and wonder what had happened to them all in the years to come. I wanted my walls. I wanted the distance. I wanted to be selfish. But today, at the height of my worry, I just wasn’t strong enough to keep it.

People were just people, after all. No matter what street they lived on. No matter what fabric they threw over their shoulders, what they valued. No matter the power we hid or the lies we told. And I couldn’t pretend this place didn’t matter or that these people and all their dreams were less important than my own.

I was about to respond when a commotion erupted outside the Hollow. Shouts and the clatter of hooves against cobblestones shattered the quiet space. Jasper’s jovial expression instantly transformed into one of alarm. In a flurry of movement belying his age, he rushed out of the kitchen.

“Children, come quickly! Get the little ones. That’s right.” His arms flailed in the air as he stood near the table, gesturing wildly for everyone’s attention. “Someone’s spotted the prince’s guard. We must hide.”

The children, rubbing sleep from their eyes, stumbled out of their cots. Lianna herded them together like a protective mother hen, her blonde curls bouncing as she moved. Jasper ushered them down a narrow hallway, his large frame nearly blocking out the dim light.

With one of the youngest wrapped in my arms, I followed close behind, my heart hammering against my ribs at the thought of the Cimmerians busting in. Jasper stopped before a nondescript door, yanking it open to reveal a small, dark space. Coats and cloaks hung from pegs, and a musty smell wafted out. A closet.

“In you go, little ones. Quickly now,” Jasper urged in a hushed but firm tone. The children filed in one by one. Lianna, the few adults that stayed behind, and I all helped the smallest ones. Jasper handed out the thickest cloaks to wrap around them. “Not a peep, you hear? No matter what.”

Wide, frightened eyes peered up at us from the depths of the closet, pale faces illuminated by the meager light filtering through the cracks. My heart clenched at the sight. These children, so young and innocent, huddled together seeking warmth and comfort after whatever trauma they’d experienced the day before.

Jasper pulled the adults to the side and whispered, “Stay with them. Keep them calm and quiet. Don’t open this door for anyone but me or the others from our team. Understand?”

“What about you?” I asked.

“I’ll see what all the ruckus is and report back.”

Jasper slipped out of the closet, shutting the door with a soft click that resonated in the sudden, oppressive silence. Most of the adults shifted to the back. I settled down on the floor, cradling the babe close to my chest. The little one’s warmth and gentle breathing were a small comfort amidst the tension.

I couldn’t imagine how scared the children were. After the trauma from yesterday, there would probably always be a part of the older ones that felt a kernel of fear when it came to authority. Lianna held two of the younger ones, whispering soothing words I couldn’t quite make out. A boy, no more than six, had silent tears streaming down his cheeks. I reached out and gently wiped them away with my thumb, offering a reassuring smile.

“No tears today,” I whispered, so faint I wasn’t sure he’d heard me at all.

I strained my ears for any hint of what was happening outside. Muffled shouts and the clanging of metal on metal filtered through, each sound making them flinch and huddle closer together. There wasn’t much I could do, aside from passing the baby to another as I shifted to the front of the pack, placing myself between whatever may come barreling in and a room full of terrified children.

Footsteps grew closer and I pulled the blade Harlow had given me from my thigh, gripping it tightly as I forced steel into my veins. With a sudden whoosh, the door flew open, hinges creaking in protest. Light spilled into the closet, temporarily blinding us after the prolonged darkness.

As the silhouette in the doorway came into focus, I nearly dropped the blade. Harlow stood there, her blonde hair disheveled and streaked with mud and a mask covering the lower half of her face, but her eyes burning with relief. Beside her, clutching her hand tightly, was the young boy that’d crashed into me at Tithe. With a shock of fiery red hair and freckles that dotted his nose and cheeks, I doubted he’d be easy to hide from the prince for long.

“Reuben!” Lianna cried out, her voice cracking with emotion. The boy tore away from Harlow and dashed into the closet, flinging himself into Lianna’s open arms. She hugged him fiercely, tears falling as she murmured incoherent words.

Harlow’s gaze fell on the blade still gripped tightly in my hand. She gave an approving nod, a flicker of respect dancing in her eyes. “It’s safe now. You can all come out.”

The children began to stir, untangling themselves from the huddle of cloaks and limbs. Filing into the hallway, I caught Harlow’s arm. “What happened? Is everyone all right?”

She nodded. “Cimmerians gave chase. They tracked us almost all the way to the Hollow. Thorne and Archer led them off while Willard and I snuck Reuben in through the back. It was a near thing, but we made it, thanks to Willard’s quick thinking. He yanked us into a nearby alcove to hide as the Cimmerians ran by and we were able to follow behind them. Everything is fine.”

“Almost,” I said, watching the door as we walked back into the main room. “But not quite yet.”

“They should be back soon.” She glanced down at the dagger still clutched in my hand and smirked. “Looks like you were ready for a fight.”

“Old habits.”

Harlow pulled her skirt to the side, revealing a lot of leg and a black leather strap holding a dagger. “Same.”

Jasper and a few of the adults helped feed the children. Harlow and I busied ourselves just to pass the time. We took turns staring at the door, her waiting on her brother, me on a man that was supposed to lead me home. Thorne was likely a step on the path, just as the Hollow was, and I knew in my soul this meeting with Alastor was important for me. His part in this couldn’t have been a coincidence. He was a god, afterall.

Time was such a bitch. It dragged like a slow, mournful tune when I begged it to hurry, then quickened to a wild tempo the moment I needed it to linger. And somehow, in this single moment, it did both, until finally the door slammed open and Archer and Thorne limped in.

I stared at both men in shock. Based on Harlow’s tiny gasp, she hadn’t missed the blood either.