Chapter 27
27
W ith myself, Jasper, Archer, Harlow, Wee Willy, and brooding Thorne in the kitchen, it was tidied in minutes. And though Harlow and Will had their own whispered conversation, the rest of us were silent, apart from Archer’s casual whistle as he dried the dishes.
As we filed out of the kitchen, the main room of the Hollow had been transformed. The long dinner table was pushed against the wall, and in its place, more cots were arranged in neat rows. Sleepy children, their bellies full and their eyes heavy, crawled under warm blankets. The soft glow of the dying fire cast dancing shadows on the walls, and the air was filled with the gentle murmur of bedtime stories and whispered goodnights.
In the corner, a man sat cross-legged on a worn cushion, a battered fiddle cradled in his hands. He drew the bow across the strings, coaxing out a haunting, beautiful melody that seemed to weave itself into the thick air of the exhausted room. The notes rose and fell like the sighing of the wind, a lullaby for the weary souls seeking shelter within these walls.
I stood transfixed, letting the music wash over me. It stirred something deep within my chest, a bittersweet ache. The way each note carried left a pull on my body. A longing to move. To dance. To remember my own lullaby. One of pain and heartache, that always found solace in the long music notes.
“Is that your wife, Mr. Thorne, sir?” a small girl asked.
The child’s question caught me off guard, bringing me back to the present with a jolt.
“It is,” he answered, eyes falling onto me.
The girl gestured for him to come closer with tiny fingers. Thorne leaned down, his dark brown hair falling forward to obscure his face as the little girl cupped her hands around his ear, whispering something that made the corners of his eyes crinkle with amusement.
He straightened, his gaze finding mine. There was a softness in his expression that I hadn’t seen before, a warmth. He made his way towards me, weaving between the cots with a grace that hid his injury.
“I’m told it’s impolite not to ask my wife for a dance.”
It wasn’t a question, but there was a gentleness in his tone that made it feel like an invitation. Slowly, I placed my hand in his. Thorne’s palm was warm and callused as it enveloped mine. He drew me close, his other hand coming to rest on the small of my back. The heat of his touch igniting a spark that danced along my spine.
We began to move, swaying in time to the mournful melody. The rest of the room faded away until there was nothing but the music and the man holding me in his arms. I was acutely aware of every place our bodies touched, the brush of his thigh against mine, the firmness of his chest beneath my palm, the whisper of his breath against my hair.
I let him lead me through the steps with confident ease, guiding me into a slow turn. As I spun back towards him, he caught me against his chest, his hand splaying across my back to press me closer still. My breath caught in my throat, my heart stuttering at the sudden intimacy.
This close, I could see the faint stubble shadowing his jaw, could count each individual lash framing his hazel eyes. Those eyes held me captive now, dark with an emotion I couldn’t name. Or perhaps didn’t dare to. But dancing was a language I spoke fluently. It was nostalgic and felt more like home than anything else. Dancing reminded me of where I needed to go, why I couldn’t stay here.
I lost myself in the music and the feel of his body against mine, letting the rest of the world fade away until there was only this moment, this man. As the final notes of the song quivered in the air, Thorne slowly brought us to a stop. But he didn’t release me immediately. Time stretched between us, the air heavy with unspoken words. I knew he had a thousand questions, but so did I. And somehow we’d found comfort in that space with each other. We were curious, but respecting the walls. What right did I have to push him for answers about his past, when I wasn’t willing to share?
Slowly, reluctantly, he let his hands fall away. I immediately felt the loss of his warmth, a chill rushing in to replace it. Around us, the Hollow was settling into sleep, the crackle of the dying fire and the soft snores of children the only sounds.
But Archer sat at the table, head in hands, watching us with an obnoxious grin. Jasper was on his right, that satisfied look on his face not too different from Archer’s. One of the two assumed we were newlyweds, but the other one knew better. And his grin was almost infuriating.
Leaving Thorne, I walked across the room to sit in front of Archer. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” he crooned.
“You know what.”
“Aw. Don’t give them a hard time, Archie. It’s nice to see the boss in love.”
“We’re n?—”
Archer leaped from his chair, the sharp scrape of wood cutting off my words. “My turn for a dance. Come on, Fingers. Show me what you’ve got.”
I was grateful for his quick thinking, but annoyed I’d almost slipped up. I let him lead me into the space between the cots and the table, as we assumed a far more rigid stance than Thorne and I had taken. A few of the other adults danced, and some gently clapped to the music as we began. Archer was a clumsy fool when it came to dancing. I suppressed a wince as he stomped on my toes, his apologies mingling with the gentle laughter from the onlookers. But despite his lack of grace, there was a warmth in his smile, a genuine joy that was infectious.
As we spun and stumbled our way through the dance, I couldn’t help but laugh along with him, the tension of the earlier moment with Thorne slowly easing from my shoulders.
“Can I ask you a question?”
His head bobbed as he mouthed the count of the steps, trying to lead me, though I was the one in control. “Sure.”
“How do you and Jasper hide your magic from the prince? If having magic is illegal in Stirling.”
“Having magic isn’t illegal. It’s just dangerous.”
“But the Cimmerians can detect magic? They test people for it?”
He eyed me carefully. “Why do you ask?”
I flicked my chin toward Reuben snuggled in a blanket on the floor beside Lianna. “I want to make sure I understand how we’re hiding the boy. And why.”
Mostly that’s what I wanted. Kind of.
“Ah. That makes sense. But it’s a taboo subject. So I wouldn’t go around asking random people.”
“I didn’t,” I said, staring directly at him. “I asked you. We’re friends, right?”
He grinned, showing all of his teeth. “We are now.”
I drew back. “Don’t look so excited. It’s creepy. Just tell me about the Cimmerians.”
“The Cimmie’s have all been burned with immense power during Themis.” He paused at the raise of my brow. “Don’t get me started on that bullshit. But basically, we think there’s something to the marking. Something giving them the ability to find traces of magic if they are close enough to a wielder using it. Because they were regular people, living their lives until Farris started collecting them. As I’m sure you know, the king is a descendant of Themis, God of Justice. Farris’s power… It’s unlike anything this realm has seen, and he’s taken justice into his own hands, quite literally.”
“So he makes laws, then forces people to break laws to survive, and then punishes them for it, building his own army.”
“Not quite. As much as I’m sure it grates his nerves, Farris can’t make laws. Not while the king is still living. No matter how much he walls his father off, no matter how much he wishes he was ruling already, there’s nothing he can do about that. But may the gods help you if you are caught by Cimmerians with magic. They’ll take your name and claim they are testing you. And then they’ll hunt you until you commit a crime, lock you in the Maw until you confess, and then you’re handed over to Farris, whose ultimate punishment is stealing your power and letting Themis bind you to him.”
I gasped, nearly losing my footing. “Farris can steal people’s power?”
Archer’s eyes turned sad, flashing to Harlow, who sat perfectly still beside Willard. “He can take it. He just can’t wield it. It’s like he’s trying to remove all the magic from the world, but we don’t know why.”
“All the more reason to stay the hell off the streets,” I said, mostly to myself.
“You’ll never be on the streets, Fingers,” he said as the song faded to an end. “As long as you keep Thorne’s last name, you’re safe. They say he’s a descendant of one of the first gods. Not even I know what his power is, though. But his family line is deep-rooted. Don’t worry.”
I didn’t want to crush his feelings and let him know that Thorne’s all powerful magic was nothing more than passing notes through a single notebook that occasionally warmed the skin.
“I’ll take the next dance, miss, if’n you’ll have me,” one of the men said, sliding up next to us and pulling the old worn hat from his head to clutch it to his chest. “Promise I’m a better dancer than Archie boy.”
I laughed, dipping my chin as I turned to him with a graceful curtsy. “It would be my pleasure, sir.”
“Careful, Charlie,” Archer said, punching him playfully in the arm. “Thorne’ll have your neck if you get too close.” He jutted his chin toward my brooding husband, staring at us over the top of his book.
“No need to worry about him,” I said, letting Charlie take my hands. “He’s all bark and no bite.”
Charlie smiled sheepishly, sleek brown hair now a mess from where he’d removed his hat. “No offense, my dear, but I think we all know that’s not true.”
“Well, don’t you worry then. I know his weakness.”
He chanced a glance at Thorne and back to me as we swept across the floor, keeping true to his word about being a better dancer. “I think we all do now.”
The sound of the fiddle swept us away, and I let it. Let the music fill my soul, command my body, let the sweat gather at the base of my neck and my breaths grow short as we spun and laughed and made a giant spectacle of ourselves, as quietly as possible. Careful not to wake the children but embracing the song.
“It’s good for them,” I told Charlie when he tried to muffle his laugh. “They need to know happiness exists in every corner of life. In sad places and in unknown moments, there’s still joy to be found. They can’t live their lives, never knowing what it means to let loose of the reins. When you’re a kid, it’s so much better to be woken from laughter than tears.” I yawned, the weight of the long day and no sleep the night before bearing down on me.
“I suppose so,” he answered, letting his smile show. “Guess I never thought of that.”
“Thank you very much for the dance,” I said as the song came to an end. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I’m sure. Maybe you can teach Archer.”
“Oh no, Miss Paesha. I’m on guard duty starting in the morning.”
“Well then, maybe I’ll bring you some breakfast.”
“Don’t burden yourself.”
I shook my head. “It wouldn’t be at all.”
I’d forgotten the new plan. Thorne assigned four men to the roof on rotation to keep a look out for Farris and his men. They were to stay out of sight up there, but report anything suspicious. Every one of the men volunteered, but he’d promised them a wage, regardless.
I couldn’t stifle my next yawn. The day’s events gave way to a bone-deep exhaustion. My feet carried me back to the table where Thorne sat, his book now closed, his stare watchful. I sank down onto the chair beside him, my shoulder brushing his. The solid warmth of him was comforting, grounding.
Thorne stood, his movement commanding attention as he looked over all the Salt seeking refuge, food and warmth from the Hollow. “It’s time for lights out. We’ve all had a long day.”
There was a chorus of murmured goodnights as people began to disperse, banking the fire and blowing out candles while shadows crept in, softening the edges of the room. Archer and Harlow lingered by the door, shrugging into their coats. Thorne joined them. He spoke in low tones and I couldn’t quite catch what he was saying. Willard walked up, his expression serious as he nodded along to whatever Thorne was saying. After a few moments, they clasped hands and slipped out into the night.
Thorne held out a hand. “Come, wife. Let’s get you to bed.”
Too tired to protest the endearment, I let him pull me to my feet.
“I could stay down here. I don’t mind.”
There was no give in his voice. “Absolutely not. There’s one room upstairs. Mine.”
We made our way up the narrow stairs, the wood creaking beneath our weight. At the top, Thorne guided me down the hall with a limp to the room we’d be sharing. He closed the door and lit a small candle on the table, its warm light enveloping the room. It felt wrong to sleep here, knowing there were children on piles of blankets on the floor and sharing cots just below us.
But I knew the rules as well as the roles and there’d be no sense in arguing. Even to those that knew Thorne was a professional thief, we had to maintain our farce, parading as man and wife. Especially because I now understood things I hadn’t before. If we were caught in the lie, if the prince decided that was treason, he would use his power to take both of ours and bind us to him forever. And I couldn’t have imagined a more horrible existence.
Thorne moved to stand before me, lifting my chin until I looked into his eyes. “You mustn’t think of them with pity. Most have too much pride to allow it and the children are safe and warm and together. Believe me, this room isn’t a gift in the winter. The heat from the fire will hardly reach us.”
“Are we flipping a coin to see who gets the bed?”
“No,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt.
“You can’t possibly mean… I’m not getting into that bed with you. And why are you taking your shirt off two seconds after you said it’s going to be cold?”
“I don’t sleep clothed. And if it offends you so much, take the floor. Makes no difference to me.”
I drew back. “I’m not sleeping on the floor.”
“If we’d have flipped a coin, and you lost, would you have taken it?”
I hesitated, caught off guard by his question. “You’re supposed to be chivalrous and offer the bed to me.”
“I’m rarely ever what I’m supposed to be, Paesha darling.”
“Except for being an arrogant prick.”
He walked forward and tapped me on the nose. “Except for that.”
“You’re a baby giant. How the hell are we both supposed to fit in that thing?”
Thorne watched me, his expression unreadable in the flickering candlelight. Slowly, he shrugged out of his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. My eyes were drawn to the expanse of his bare chest, the corded muscle and the scattering of scars. I swallowed hard, turning away, my mouth suddenly dry.
“I’ll sleep on top of the covers,” I said.
I could hear his annoying smile in his tone. “I had a feeling you’d come around.”
He moved to the bed and slid beneath the quilt, the mattress dipping under his weight. I stood frozen for a moment, my heart pounding, before I forced my feet to carry me forward, refusing to look at how low he’d laid the quilt across his hips.
With a sigh, I fumbled with the laces of my dress. My fingers were clumsy, the knots refusing to budge. I cursed under my breath, tugging ineffectively at the stubborn ties. I’d undressed myself a million times, and of all days, of all times to be trapped within, it would be now. With those scrutinizing, know-it-all eyes watching me.
“Had I known you were incapable of removing your gowns, I might’ve offered to help these last weeks.”
The teasing tone of his voice boiled my blood. “Can you please be less… you right now? I can undress myself just fine.”
“Pull the longest string. The one to the left. And then the right. I will release the knot you’ve tied yourself into.”
“Do you ever hear yourself speak and wonder where you get the audacity? When was the last time you put on a corset?”
He sat up on his elbows, staring at me with a grin. “Well, I don’t make it a habit of putting them on myself, but I’ve removed more than my fair share.”
“Oh hey, your lying tendencies are showing.”
“I would never lie about that.”
“Do I need to get you a book to keep track of your lies too? ”
He grinned. “As long as it’s made of gold.”
“Do you talk just to hear your own voice sometimes? Because I think you do.”
“Sometimes I talk just to hear your voice argue back. In that annoying tone you like to use when you’re sure you’re right and usually aren’t. Would you please come here and let me loosen the fucking corset? At this point, it’s just sad. And probably embarrassing for you.”
“No, no. I’m fine.”
“I won’t offer again.”
I spun and glared at him. “Good. Then maybe you’ll stop talking.”
“Maybe.”
“I hate you so much, Thorne Noctus.”
He chuckled, the sound infuriating me. “Who’s the liar now, Paesha darling?”
“Still you.”
After several more frustrating attempts, the laces of my gown finally loosened enough for me to shimmy out of the dress. I let it pool at my feet, standing in just my thin shift. The cool air pebbled my skin as I hurried to the bed.
I lay on my back, stiff as a board, acutely aware of his presence mere inches away. I stared up at the shadowed ceiling, willing my racing heart to calm.
Thorne shifted, and the mattress creaked softly. “Relax. I don’t bite. Unless you ask me to, of course.”
I scoffed, but some of the tension eased from my muscles at his teasing. “You’re insufferable, you know that? Pure torture to even look at.”
He smiled, showing that very annoying and not at all adorable dimple. “So you keep telling me. And yet, here you are. In my bed.”
“Not by choice.”
“I think there was a little choice involved,” he countered.
I tried to turn, but there was no room. “Gods, were you actually a giant in another life? Scoot over.”
Thorne laughed, a deep, rich sound that seemed to resonate through the small room. But he obliged, shifting his large frame to make more space for me on the narrow bed. Muscles taut and arms propping himself up as he faced me.
I dragged my gaze away, focusing intently on the flickering candle flame instead. But his presence was impossible to ignore, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the spicy scent of his skin, the heat radiating off him like a fireplace. It was maddening.
“A giant in another life, hmm?” His voice was low, almost a purr. “Is that one of your special abilities? Seeing into past lives?”
I huffed out a laugh, still stubbornly refusing to look at him. “Hardly. It’s the only explanation for your… excessive size.”
“I can assure you, there’s nothing excessive about me. Everything is perfectly proportional.”
The suggestive note in his tone made my cheeks flush hot.
“Have you ever thought about your past lives? The concept has always intrigued me,” he said, the philosophical bookworm showing his true colors. “Imagine walking around, a whole life of memories and things and attachments, only to leave it all behind and start over.”
I couldn’t tell him I’d seen it happen. A descendant of the Goddess of Life releasing souls to reincarnate and live again. Try for happiness again. It was real and maybe even something to look forward to, should one choose it.
“I’ve never given it much thought.” I wiggled down, hating the cold seeping in. Hating how badly I wanted to crawl under the blanket. But fortunately, I was stubborn.
“Do you ever feel pulled to something random? Something that must be from a past life, because it makes no sense in this one?”
“Not that I’ve ever noticed.”
“Take the chipped teacup,” he pressed, his breath falling warm along my chilled skin. “Why does that mean so much to you, but the others don’t?”
“I don’t know. I picked it because it was flawed. It’s not that serious.”
“Hmm.”
I turned to finally look at him. At the way his eyes held mine. “Why are you suddenly so interested?”
“Just killing time until you admit you’re freezing and you need me to share my blanket.”
“Gods, I hate you.”
He traced a finger down my bare shoulder. “No, Paesha darling. I don’t think you do.”
His touch ignited a spark that raced through my veins, jolting me wide awake despite my exhaustion. I held perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe as his fingertip dragged a slow path down my arm, leaving a trail of raised flesh in its wake.
“Thorne…” My voice was barely a whisper, but in the charged silence of the room, it sounded far too loud.
He withdrew his hand, and I immediately missed the contact. Slowly, so slowly, he lifted the edge of the quilt in silent invitation. An unspoken truce.
Pride warred with practicality as I hesitated, caught between my stubborn determination to resist him and the bone-deep chill seeping into my skin. In the end, the cold won out. With a defeated sigh, I slipped beneath the covers, the heat of his body enveloping me like a cocoon.
I kept a careful distance between us, balanced precariously on the edge of the mattress. But even with that tiny space separating our bodies, I was intensely aware of him. The solid bulk of his frame, the steady rhythm of his breathing, his scent.
My heart thundered in my chest, pounding out a frantic rhythm that drowned out all rational thought. I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the overwhelming urge to close the distance between us, to press myself against him and lose myself in his embrace.
“Paesha, look at me.”
Against my better judgment, I turned my head to meet his gaze. His eyes, normally a swirling mix of green and brown, were darkened with an emotion I couldn’t name. Or perhaps didn’t want to. There was a question there, a challenge, a plea.
I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “Thorne, I…”
He lifted a hand to cradle my cheek, his thumb gently tracing the line of my lower lip. “Don’t overthink this.”
I wanted to give in, to surrender to the magnetic pull between us. His touch was fire, his presence intoxicating. I was drowning in the man he was when no one was looking. The walls he let down for only me. The way he’d let himself be vulnerable in only select moments. It would be so easy to close the distance separating us, to claim his lips with my own and let the rest of the world fade away.
But something held me back, a whisper of doubt that cut through the haze of desire clouding my mind. This wasn’t real. The connection between us, this undeniable chemistry, it was born of circumstance, of forced proximity and the adrenaline of shared danger. Outside the walls of this room, beyond the flickering candlelight and rumpled sheets, we were still strangers playing at being husband and wife.
I couldn’t afford to let myself forget that, no matter how tempting it was to pretend otherwise. Thorne was a means to an end. My ticket to safety in a world that wanted to bind me. I couldn’t get attached, couldn’t risk my heart on a man I’d have to leave behind.
With a shaky breath, I pulled away from his touch. “I can’t do this, Thorne. It’s not real.”
Hurt flashed in his eyes before he changed his expression, the walls slamming back into place. He withdrew his hand.
“I would never force you,” he whispered. “But I am here.”
I reached for his hand, pulling it closer to me. “I know. And I’m sorry.”
Something strange passed over his face, as if he were searching for something deeper within me. Maybe only understanding, but that didn’t feel like the whole story. He looked at me like he knew more. Saw more. And suddenly I was reminded that he was the key to my path home. And the only thing he’d truly proven himself to be was a thief who kept secrets well. I just wish I could figure out what he was hiding from me.