Nevermore (The Never Sky #2)

Chapter 26

26

T horne stumbled through the doorway, his face pale and his jaw clenched tight with pain. Blood dripped from his left arm, staining the floor with crimson splatters. The fabric of his shirt was torn, revealing a deep gash across his bicep that oozed steadily.

“What happened?” I rushed forward to help support his weight. He leaned heavily against me, his breath coming in short, pained gasps.

“Later,” he managed through gritted teeth. “Not here.”

Understanding dawned as I glanced over at the wide-eyed children huddled together, their gazes fixed on Thorne’s injury with a mix of fear and morbid curiosity. Nodding, I guided him towards the kitchen, away from their prying eyes, as he put very little weight on his left leg.

I helped him into a chair and quickly gathered supplies, clean cloths, a basin of warm water, and a needle and thread. Thorne watched me through half-lidded eyes, his face drawn with pain.

“Take off your shirt,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

He quirked an eyebrow, a ghost of his usual smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “If you wanted me undressed, all you had to do was ask.”

“I’m not playing with you. Do as you’re told.”

“It’s just a scratch.”

“Prove it.”

Thorne huffed out a pained laugh as he struggled to remove his shirt with his one good arm. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

I stepped forward to help, carefully peeling the blood-soaked fabric away from his wound. He hissed. The gash was deep and jagged, starting at his shoulder and trailing down to his bicep. It would definitely need stitches. And fortunately, I’d seen Elowen do this enough times, I felt confident. After dipping the cloth in the warm water, I cleaned the wound, my brow furrowed in concentration.

Thorne watched me work, his dark eyes following my every move. “You’re surprisingly good at this. Patching up wounded men a common occurrence for you? Back in Misby?”

“My old boss liked violence.”

He nodded, hissing again as I dabbed the gash. “Is that why you ran? Why you won’t say where you’re really from?”

“No. He died.” Twice actually, but that was a story for another time. Or perhaps never at all. “Now, hush. I’m trying to concentrate.”

I threaded the needle, my hands steady despite the weight of Thorne’s gaze. As I stitched the wound closed, he remained silent, his jaw clenched against the pain. The only sound in the kitchen was his measured breathing and the soft slide of the thread through his flesh.

I tied off the final stitch and Thorne let out a long, shuddering breath. “Thank you.”

I met his gaze. “You’re welcome,”

He reached out with his uninjured arm, his fingertips grazing my cheek in a feather-light caress. I froze, my heart stuttering at the unexpected touch. Thorne’s fingers lingered on my cheek. For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of us, the kitchen fading away as I lost myself in the depths of his dark eyes. They held a vulnerability I hadn’t seen before, a rawness that made my breath catch. He never lost control. Never rose to take the bait. Whatever had happened, rattled him. Which bothered me more than anything. This man had been unbreakable. Stoic. Studious. A rock. And he’d been shaken.

“Thorne, I…” My voice trailed off, the words stuck on my tongue.

He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting across my lips. The air between us crackled with tension that set my nerves on fire. I could feel the heat of his body, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my fingertips as they rested on his chest.

Time seemed to slow, stretching out into an infinite moment as we hovered on the precipice of something dangerous. But then the kitchen door swung open with a bang, shattering the spell. I jerked back, my cheeks flushing hot as Willard strode into the room. If he noticed the charged atmosphere, he didn’t show it. His brow was furrowed with concern as he took in Thorne’s bandaged arm. “How bad is it?”

Thorne straightened, his mask of cool indifference slipping back into place. “Just a scratch. Paesha handled it.”

“The arm is taken care of, but what happened to your leg? You were limping.”

“It’s just a bruise. I took a hard kick to the thigh.”

The faint lines around Willard’s brown eyes deepened. “I’ll never be able to repay you for this.” He pointed to his stitched arm. “If you hadn’t gotten there, I don’t know what would have happened.”

Thorne clapped a hand over Willard’s shoulder. “I saw what you did, Will. When those Cimmerians cornered Harlow in that alley, you didn’t hesitate. You threw yourself between her and them, shielding her with your own body.”

Willard ducked his head, a flush creeping up his neck. “I did what anyone would have done. What you did for us.”

But Thorne shook his head, his grip tightening on Willard’s shoulder. “No. You fought like a lion. And thanks to your masks, they never saw your faces. Never discredit quick wit.”

“I’m just glad we all made it back in one piece,” Harlow said from the door. “But we need to take this upstairs with less prying eyes. The rest of the Salt are starting to trickle in. Anna’s asking for you, Thorne.”

“I had Jasper bring our stuff inside. Will, would you mind getting me a fresh shirt? I need to discuss something with my wife.”

“Sure, boss.”

He waited until the kitchen door shut completely before limping over to me, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face, and lifting my chin until I was staring into eyes that were becoming far too comfortable. “Farris is getting more dangerous by the minute. Desperate even. He’s not happy that he can’t have full control and he’s collecting magic users.”

“I gathered that,” I whispered, too aware of his thumb on my chin.

“I pulled you into this because I thought I was saving you from something. But now, I’m wondering if I didn’t damn you instead. He’ll never stop, Paesha. He’s going to push and push until his father is dead and he’s sitting on the throne. And then he’ll turn into a conqueror, spreading his wings and burning down cities all over this world. Men like him… they will never have enough. They’ll never be happy.”

My gaze shifted between his. Confused. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because you need to leave.”

My heart dropped. For a second I thought he was telling me he knew. That he was to be my guide out. But I was wrong. He only meant him. He wanted me to leave him.

“I’m not?—”

He raised his voice, anger flaring as if that would get his point across. “This isn’t a life you signed up for. I damned you that day, don’t you see it?”

Pressing my hands to his chest, I shoved. “I don’t care that you’re hurt. I don’t even care that you’re trying to be fucking chivalrous. If I wanted out, I would just walk out the door. You don’t get to say my decisions are my own and then turn around and tell me to leave. I can help you. Let me.”

He used the counter to balance himself, putting no weight on his bruised leg. The fire burning in my soul was, again, confusing. Was I fighting to be here because I had to get home, or was it because I actually had something to offer this realm before I went back to mine?

I wanted to ask him. The words were sitting right on the tip of my tongue.

What do you know, Thorne? What are you hiding?

But I couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not while he sat on the very brink of forcing me out the door. He needed to need me. Only then would he trust me enough to help. And only then would I feel confident enough to ask for it.

“Come on, Fingers, It’s just a game.”

I lifted a brow to Archer. “Fingers?”

Sitting across from me at the giant dinner table planted in the center of the Hollow, he held up two hands and wiggled every finger. “Because yours are sticky.”

I didn’t blink as I slowly shook my head. “Absolutely not.”

“Aw. Come on. It’s the perfect name.”

“Fingers is not a nickname. How’d you like it if I called you a random body part?”

Willard circled the table, filling my cup with a sweet red wine. “Anything’s better than Wee Willy.”

“Wee Willy is also an excellent nickname,” Archer said, shuffling his deck of cards. “Now who’s in?”

I glanced at Thorne leaning against the door to the kitchen reading a book, lost in his own world. As if he’d felt my eyes on him, he looked up, eyes locking with mine, stealing my breath. Gods I hated him for that power of his. A slow, lazy smile curved his lips as he closed his book with a soft snap and pushed off the doorframe, his movements fluid and graceful despite the slight limp in his step.

As he sauntered towards the table, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the way his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, the fabric clinging to the hard planes of his chest. Heat bloomed in my cheeks and I quickly took a swig of wine, averting my gaze.

“I think I’ll sit this one out,” Thorne said, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine. He slid into the chair beside me, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

Archer grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Suit yourself, boss. More winnings for me then.”

Thorne leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. “My money’s on you, Paesha darling.”

I looked over at the children sitting before the fire, listening to Lianna read them a story. “You can’t use money here. It’s not right.”

“Don’t worry, we never play with real coin in the Hollow. It’s all in good fun.”

I turned to face him, our noses almost brushing. Up close, I could see the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes. “Archie boy here seems to play a lot of cards. You think I can beat him?”

I knew I could. The question was, how much of myself did I want to give away? But I couldn’t help the desire to wipe the cocky grin off his face.

Thorne’s lips quirked up at the corners as he whispered. “I know you can. Archer’s overconfident. He thinks he’s unbeatable. But you…” He trailed off, his eyes roaming over my face. “I’ve studied you. You’re clever. Quick. You notice things others miss. Use that to your advantage. Don’t get lost in his reactions. He’ll try to bluff his way to a win.”

I turned to Archer. “All right. I’ll play. But I’ve never done it before, so you’ll have to teach me.”

Archer slammed the cards down on the table, eyes lighting with excitement as he fanned them out. “Excellent. We’ll play Maid Marian. It’s really simple. See this card here?”

I nodded as he tapped on the card with a woman on it.

“There are four in the deck but for the sake of this game, we pull the others out. She’s the goal. We’re trying to rescue her. Each player is dealt fifteen cards. The rest stay in the draw pile, including the Maid Marian. High card wins. We both put a card in the middle and flip them at the same time. Whoever has the highest card wins that round. You take both the cards you won and put them to the side and since you won, you get to draw a card from the draw pile. Your goal is to draw Maid Marian. She’s worth fifty points. The cards you’ve won are worth their face value. Once Maid Marian is drawn, the game is over and whoever has the highest number of points wins. Simple enough?”

“I’m a learn-as-you-go kind of player. I think I’ve got the gist of it. Just go easy on me.”

He winked, gathering the cards. “Beginner’s luck will carry you through the first game. Don’t worry. Anyone else want to join us?”

Willard spun his chair around, resting his arms on the high back. “I think I’ll watch this time.”

Harlow pushed away from the table, collecting the leftover plates. “I’m going to help Jasper in the kitchen. Join me, Will? An extra hand with all these mouths is so helpful.”

His eyes flicked back and forth between her and the end of the table where we’d perched. “You sure you need another person in there fumbling around?”

“If you don’t want to?—”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll come help.” He hopped up from his seat, spun it back around, and nudged me. “Good luck.”

“She won’t need it,” Thorne said, wrapping an arm over the back of my chair. “I have a feeling she’s going to be excellent at cards.”

I turned to Archer with a smile. “All right, Toes, deal me in. But first, may I?” I held out my hand for the deck of cards.

Archer’s brows lifted in surprise, but he passed them over readily enough. “Be my guest, Fingers.”

I ignored the nickname and shuffled, the cards moving deftly between my hands, the worn edges soft beneath my fingertips, the faded images blurring as I mixed the deck with quick, practiced movements.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I thought you said you’d never played before. Did I just get tricked before the first card is dealt?”

“Ruthless,” Thorne echoed with a chuckle, his finger blazing a trail of fire along my neck.

I smiled sweetly at Archer as I finished shuffling and dealt out the cards with a flick of my wrist. “I said I’d never played this particular game before. But I know my way around a deck.”

Archer narrowed his eyes, studying me intently as he picked up his cards. One of the little boys came to sit beside him and he flashed the boy his hand. “This’ll be interesting.”

The boy nodded, sharing a missing-toothed grin. A few of the others gathered around the table, some taking seats, some just standing back to watch.

“This is when you’d normally place a bet,” Thorne said. “You’d evaluate your hand and put as much in the pot as you wanted based on your confidence or lack thereof. Then, you’d play out the game and whoever wins would get the pot at the end.

I tapped my fingers along the stack of cards I hadn’t peeked at yet with a smile. “I’ll bet you dishes for the rest of the time we’re here that I’ll win.”

“You can look at your cards before you make a bet,” Archer said, moving around the cards in his hand.

“No need,” I grinned. “Beginner’s luck. Right?”

He hesitated, eyes lingering on his cards before swiping a hand through his hair. A tell, maybe. Was he nervous? Or setting a bluff?

“All right. I’ll take that bet. I sure hope your hands aren’t sensitive to soap and water.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine.”

He huffed a laugh. “You hope.”

I gathered the cards from the table, fanning them out for show. Watching. Waiting. I couldn’t see his cards and he couldn’t see mine, but I knew the Maid Marian card was eight down from the top of the deck and this was about to be a very short game.

He plucked a card from his hand a second before I made my choice and for the first flip, he counted down. “Three, two, one.”

The smile vanished from his face as he laid eyes on my five. Archer’s plan was immediately obvious. He’d played a four, testing whether I’d play a high card or a low card out of the gate. He certainly hadn’t expected me to play in the middle just like him.

“So, that’s nine points for me? I add the four and the five and I also get to draw. Is that right?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“You’ve got it,” Thorne said.

I drew my card, knowing it was a nine before I slid it into my hand. “Ready again?”

Archer made his choice and I made mine. Again, we flipped them.

“Oh hey, good job,” I said. sliding the ten and the one toward him.

Ten was the highest point card, and he’d only won a single point with it. Still he smiled, though I could see the tension in his shoulders as he drew his card from the deck and showed the boy. “Maid Marian is hiding.”

The little boy pushed his dark hair from his eyes and leaned on Archie’s arm. “Plenty of time to whoop her.”

“There’ll be no whooping,” I chided, waiting for Archer to select his next card.

Archer’s brow furrowed in concentration. The boy looked at him, made the exact same face and pointed to his pick. I could practically see the gears turning as Archer tried to predict my next move.

We flipped our cards in unison, the sound of the worn paper snapping against the wood. Archer had played a seven, a respectable card. But I had played my nine.

A collective gasp rose from the onlookers as I scooped up the cards, adding them to my growing pile. Archer’s mouth pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing as he studied me intently.

I met his gaze with a serene smile, the picture of innocence. “Beginner’s luck, right?”

He didn’t respond, instead drawing his next card with a sharp flick of his wrist. The little boy patted his arm in consolation.

We continued to play, the tension mounting with each flip of the cards. Archer’s pile remained small as I won round after round, my stack of cards growing ever higher. I’d given him a couple of small wins. On the seventh rotation, with Maid Marian next in the draw pile, I took my time, sliding my hand over my cards, pretending like I just couldn’t decide what to do.

“What happens if you run out of cards before the Maid Marian is found?” I asked, knowing that wasn’t going to happen.

He forced a smile. “Then the game is over, and you win by default.”

“Well, that’s not as fun, now is it?”

Archer huffed but said nothing back.

Thorne hadn’t offered an ounce of advice. Hadn’t weighed in or made a single sound as we played. For a man that lived to tell other people how to function, his silence was almost unnerving. His gaze was heavy on my profile, watching my every move like a hawk. Was he trying to read my tells? Gain some insight into my strategy? If so, he would be sorely disappointed. I had perfected every mask I wore long ago, showing calm indifference no matter what cards I held. And that was probably the biggest thing he and I had in common.

I finally selected a card, holding it between my fingers as I waited for Archer to make his choice. He hesitated, his hand hovering over his dwindling options. He licked his lips nervously. The little boy leaned in close, whispering something in his ear.

With a sharp exhale, he plucked a card from his hand and held it ready. We locked eyes across the table, a silent challenge passing between us. Then, as one, we flipped our cards. Archer had played a nine. A strong card, one that would have bested most others. But I had played my ten.

A shocked silence fell over the room as I moved the cards to my side and selected the top card from the draw pile. I gasped, putting on a show as I laid the beautiful woman face up on the table. “Maid Marian! I win!”

Archer stared at the Maid Marian card laying face up on the table, his expression a mix of disbelief and grudging admiration. Slowly, a rueful grin spread across his face. He shook his head. “Well played, Fingers.”

The little boy clapped his hands in delight, his eyes shining with excitement as he echoed Archer’s gracious loss.

Archer stood from the table, gathering up the cards. The dim candlelight caught the silver of his rings, and with a flourish, he presented the deck to me, bowing low in a gesture of respect. “I concede defeat to a worthy opponent. The dishes are yours to command, my lady.”

I accepted the cards with a gracious nod, the corners of my mouth twitching with a suppressed smile. “You put up a valiant fight, Toes. Have fun with the suds.”

Just as Archer was walking into the kitchen, Jasper walked out, nearly running into him. The old cook wiped his hand across his brow and laughed, stepping to the side to let Archer through before walking to the table to collect a couple bowls. I immediately jumped up to help, gathering the rest of the empty dishes.

“You’ll have to excuse my state,” the old cook said, gesturing to the dusting of flour down his shirt. “I’ve lost my apron.”

“Again?” Thorne asked, taking the dishes from me, though I hadn’t asked for help.

“Did you see it this morning, Miss Paesha?”

I handed Thorne the last two cups and spoke without thinking. “It’s under the sink next to a bunch of glass jars.”

The second the words were out of my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake. There was no way I could have possibly known that. The old cook didn’t question it for a second as he raised a finger into the air. “That’s right. I meant to put it in the washing pile and tucked it down there with the soap.” He swept back into the kitchen.

It wasn’t the cook I was worried about though. It was the man at my side that never missed a single red flag. “Paesha darling,” Thorne asked, hovering over my shoulder, his curious tone walking down my spine. “How could you have known that?”

I spun to look at him, panicking, but holding my practiced neutral face. “You heard him. He meant to put it in the washing pile this morning. I was helping him.”

He shook his head, leaning closer. “I don’t think that’s what he said at all.”

“Next time, I’ll be sure to reiterate every word verbatim. Just for you.”

Thorne’s brow furrowed, clearly undeterred by my brush off. He opened his mouth to press further, but I quickly cut him off.

“Why are you making a big deal out of this? So I saw him stash his apron earlier. Who cares?”

“He had that apron on before he started cooking dinner and you haven’t been in the kitchen since.”

I held my stance. “You sure you didn’t get hit in the head earlier? Might want to find that healer and have them check it out.”

I tried to step around him, but Thorne’s hand shot out, gently grasping my elbow. I froze, my skin tingling where he touched me. He leaned in close. “I know there’s more to you than meets the eye, Paesha darling. And I intend to uncover all your secrets. One by one.”

“So ominous. Have you been practicing?” I patted his chest. “Good luck with that.” I said, and then promptly walked to the kitchen, Thorne’s scrutinizing eyes burning into my spine as I left.