Nevermore (The Never Sky #2)

Chapter 30

30

P anic set in, wrapping itself around my throat like a vice as I realized I was lying in a glass coffin. I tried to scream. To cry. To breathe. But no sound escaped my lips. My vocal cords had been paralyzed along with my legs, my entire body.

Surrounded by damp earth and decay, I’d been discarded under a sorrowful sky. Interred, but not covered, forced to see the world above me. Two Cimmerians stood as guards at the foot of my grave, but rather than watching the world, they watched me. Their breath, coiling before them in the frigid air, seeped from the carved masks like smoke from a demon.

Turn around. Gods. Turn away.

I couldn’t think or feel beyond their eerie stares.

Cold seeped through the coffin. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the gray sky, landing softly on the glass inches above my nose. They melted slowly, the droplets sliding down the pane like the final notes of a requiem.

Each shallow breath became a struggle. My lungs burned with effort. A shadow shifted in my peripheral vision, beyond the headstone I could see but not read, marking my fresh grave. Hysteria bubbled up inside me but I couldn’t give it a voice. I couldn’t release the scream trapped in my throat as I tried and failed to twist and turn and break free of the invisible chains holding me frozen in place.

I needed to get out. To escape this prison before it became my tomb. I focused every fiber of my being on moving just one finger, just one toe. But my limbs remained still and lifeless. Betrayed by my own body. By my irrational fear of the Cimmerians stroking my terror like it brought them pleasure. The frantic beating of my heart echoed off the walls of my casket, stealing the tail end of every breath I managed. But I still couldn’t move.

Desperation was an animal, wild and untamed, clawing at the edges of my reason as it crept in like a shadow at the corners of my mind. I told myself I could get out. I convinced myself the air would last, someone would come, this couldn’t be the end. But as the minutes dragged on, that hope curdled into something ugly, something frantic.

As if shattering through a wall, my body relented, giving in to my desperate need to move. To cry. To scream and scream. For him. For Thorne. The only person in the world I thought would come. But he did not.

I thrashed against the confines, my hands slamming into the coffin lid until my knuckles bled, smearing the glass. I couldn’t stop. I had to keep moving, fighting, as if sheer force of will could crack the walls around me. But nothing gave. The glass held firm. And their gazes never wavered.

The absolute horror of being so helpless hit me right in the chest. I pounded on the coffin harder, tears burning down my face. My chest tightened, my throat closed in, and I was left gasping, choking on sobs that only they could hear.

Through my tears, beyond the bloodied glass and the sentinels, another shadow passed by. Panic surged, and I tried to scream again, to pound on the lid, but no sound came from my throat. My body refused to move again, frozen in place, helpless. I blinked hard, trying to focus. A small figure came into view… Quill, dressed in black, clutching a bouquet of dead peonies to her chest as she cried. She moved toward me and the Cimmerians vanished, clearing the way for me to manage a breath. Her pale face hovered over the glass, blue eyes wide and unblinking. She stared down at me from where the guards had stood and tilted her head to the side like a curious bird.

“Help me!” I mouthed, trying to scream, but my voice stayed trapped inside, buried along with me.

I watched her lips move, but I could not hear her. Still, hope flickered in my chest. Until she sat down, cross-legged, right on top of the snow-covered coffin. She began arranging the withered flowers carefully on the lid, like she was laying out a fragile bouquet on a table.

“They’re all gone now. Thea and Elowen and even you. I gave the grave digger three extra coins to bury you at night. Don’t you remember, Paesha? Don’t you? Remember. Remember. You remember him, don’t you? You love him.”

I shook my head, forcing words that wouldn’t come before. “I don’t… I’ve never been in love. Listen to me, Quilly. I know you’re hurt. I know you’re sad, but you are not alone. This isn’t real. I’m coming. I promise I’m coming.”

She cocked her head to the side again, tilting it a little bit more and a little bit more until the unnatural angle twisted my stomach. I pressed my hands to the glass, finally able to move again. She put hers in the same spot, lying on top until our noses were nearly touching. And then she was there. Not the eerie child that’d haunted me, but Quill, my Quilly. I could see her beyond the deep circles under her little eyes.

“There you are,” I whispered.

Her tears began to fall, transforming into grains of sand. “I miss you. Why did you leave?”

“I’m so sorry. I’m coming home. I’ll never leave again. I promise. Never again. Find Thea. Let her help you until I get there.”

She moved her tiny fingers along the glass. “You promise you’re coming?”

I nodded, opening my mouth to swear it when a giant serpent emerged from the sides of my coffin.

“Quill, look out!”

Its obsidian scales glistened and it moved with a sinister grace, coiling its massive body around the glass coffin, tightening its grip like a noose. I tried to scream, but terror stole my voice, leaving me mute and helpless as the creature’s forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air inches from Quill’s face.

She let out a bloodcurdling shriek, scrambling backwards, her hands slipping on the icy glass. The snake’s eyes, twin hourglasses filled with black sand, fixed on her. It slithered over the coffin lid, its heavy body making the glass creak and groan under its weight.

Quill’s tears turned to rivulets of crimson, staining her pale cheeks as she trembled, frozen in place by the serpent’s stare. It coiled around her. Tightening, constricting. It was one thing when I was the victim of my nightmares, but when it was her? I couldn’t take it. My heart could not see beyond the pain on her face. I pounded against the glass. I screamed. I cried. I begged, thrashing around until something warm surrounded me. I fought against the restriction, pleading to be free.

Only when Thorne’s deep voice commanded me to wake, did I leave the horror behind. Shaken, eyes wide, it took several minutes for my heart to settle, for me to realize those were his arms surrounding me and not the confines of a glass coffin.

“There you are,” he whispered, brushing the mess of hair from my sweaty forehead.

I blinked, drawing away from him, letting my eyes settle on my bedroom in his home. A place that’d been a blessing, but as the days passed, also a curse. I pushed away from him, moving to stand next to the window, if only to see the first rays of sun in the distance.

“Still mad?” Thorne asked, coming to stand beside me, his arm brushing mine as we watched out the window.

We’d come back to his place and when I’d pushed for more information about Alastor, confident he knew more than what he was letting on, he refused to say anything at all. We’d hardly spoken for days after that. Every night, the dreams came though. Every night, Quill was begging for me to return home. Sometimes the Cimmerians were the ones to haunt the nightmares and sometimes it was Quill, but no matter what, Thorne was always there to wake me. Even when I’d tried to stay up all night and failed, he’d come barging in and shook me awake.

“Just tell me what you did to make him hate you so much. You’re hiding something.”

He let out a long sigh. “This doesn’t need to be an argument.”

“You’re hiding something.”

He grabbed my wrist and pulled until I was looking into the depths of his hazel eyes. “You’re hiding something, too. Tell me what he meant when he said all paths led to the prince.”

“I don’t know what he meant. He looked at Archer.”

“He looked at you, too. Are you in business with Farris, Paesha? Does he know who I am?”

“If I answer that,” I said, pulling away, “then you have to answer something for me.”

He waited a beat, searching for my question before I asked it.

“And then we’re done with this silent treatment you’ve been giving me?”

I nodded. “I’m not in cahoots with the prince. I had never met him before Tithe. Your secrets and your identity are safe with me.” I backed away. “I think you’re one of the good ones. This world is full of greedy, cruel people, and I think you’re selfless. To your own detriment sometimes, but that’s your choice. I promise you, I have not, nor will I ever make a deal with Farris.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

I grabbed his wrist. “I promise. Your turn. Why does Alastor hate you so much?”

His shoulders dropped. “Some years ago, I took something from him. He’s holding onto a grudge that we may never see end. Gods are strange. Their grasp on time is not the same as ours. They speak in riddles and do small things that won’t matter for centuries.”

“Then give it back. Whatever you took, give it back.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Was it the snuff box Archer traded with him to get a meeting?”

“No. That was sentimental, but nothing more than that.”

My eyes found the little golden book on the bedside table, a burning question so strong on my mind, I couldn’t help but ask. “Where does your power descend from? Which god do you think gave you the ability to send private notes?”

He swiped his glasses from his face and began to pace the room, waiting for an eternity to begin, as if he were at battle, deciding whether he should share. “I’ve actually been trying to research the gods, mapping who we know has power to which god it might’ve come from. It was strange, because some make perfect sense, like Archer’s ability to heal would come from a healing god for sure. I don’t know all their names, but I’m working on it. Some are less guarded with their secrets than others.”

“Okay. Let me ask you something else.” I tumbled through the meeting in my mind, trying to remember the words. “He said… I mean, I know I’m a reincarnation. We all are, right? Or we’re on our first life, but odds are, we’re reincarnations.” I couldn’t tell him how familiar I was with reincarnated souls. Couldn’t tell him that I’d seen the Life Maiden give that choice back to a massive amount of people. But he’d been the one to bring it up before with the teacup, not me. So maybe he knew something.

“Was there supposed to be a question in that?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m getting there. Born of two, loved by two, something about my reincarnated soul descending. Not the body. Not the blood.”

He lifted an easy shoulder. “I told you they speak in riddles.”

“I’ll show you some leg if you try to break it down for me.”

He ran a finger through his tousled hair. “Am I supposed to pretend you’re not showing me all of your legs right now?” Walking forward, he gripped the collar of my oversized shirt and yanked me toward him. “This is mine, you know.”

I swallowed. It was meant to be a joke, but damn was he distracting. “Can you please focus?” I whispered. “I’ve been stewing on this for days.”

He moved closer. “Do you think I haven’t? Do you think every word spoken in that meeting hasn’t haunted me? I was young, I made a stupid decision and I’m still paying for it. Everyone is paying for it. Imagine living with that much regret every single day. Imagine knowing people are suffering more than they need to be because of a reckless decision made in haste. But you make it really fucking hard to concentrate when you parade around here like this all day, keeping your distance, stealing my shit, moving everything you can get your hands on. I can’t pretend like you don’t exist, even when you’re mad at me. Nor do I want to. But fuck if you aren’t trouble in a t-shirt right now, wife.”

“I’m sorry,” I managed, not bothering to pull away from his grip, even as I stood on tiptoes.

“That’s the curious thing.” He leaned so close his breath whispered across my lips. “I don’t think you’re sorry at all. In fact, I think you enjoy tormenting me. You push my buttons just to see how far you can go, don’t you?” His grip on my collar tightened, drawing me impossibly closer. “You’re playing such a dangerous game, Paesha darling.”

“Maybe you should push back. Take off your masks.”

He dropped me to my feet. His hand slid up, fingers tracing the line of my jaw, thumb brushing over my cheek in the lightest, most maddening touch. “You’re not nearly as fearless as you pretend to be. Because you know, if I did, there’d be no going back. And I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

My heart hammered, every nerve on edge, but I managed a smirk. “Maybe you’re the one who’s scared.”

His gaze dropped to my mouth, lingering there a beat too long before snapping back up to my eyes. “If that’s a dare, you’re about to regret it.” He leaned in close, so close his breath mingled with mine, his lips barely a whisper away. My head swam, every inch of me screaming to close that tiny, torturous gap, to bridge the distance he was purposely drawing out.

“Then make me regret it,” I murmured, refusing to back down.

“Have you learned nothing, Paesha darling. Regret is the root of our problems.”

He stepped away, his words like ice as he tucked his hands into his pockets and turned his back to me. He meant our fictional marriage as much as his past mistakes with Alastor. Even if he hadn’t directly said it. That truth stung, even if he was right. Because in all the days since that meeting, I’d hardly taken the time to think of him. Of the guilt he must have been feeling.

I’d been consumed by my search. By pouring through his little notes of discarded information, by listening anytime Tuck, the carriage driver, came to report on the prince. I’d avoided him, but not really. There wasn’t a single thing he did that I wasn’t a step behind him. Undetected mostly, but around. Still, I wanted nothing more than to reach out, to smooth my hand over his back and promise him we’d figure it out.

I couldn’t. I had to remember my purpose, the reason I was here. Getting tangled up in Thorne’s complicated past, in the undeniable pull between us, would only make leaving that much harder when the time came. And it would come. Soon. Because Alastor had to be the key. And maybe even the prince. And I had forty-nine days left to find my way back to Requiem.

He turned then, his eyes meeting mine. In that moment, I saw a flicker of the man beneath the persona of the Lord of the Salt and wealthy owner of the Parlor, a glimpse of the weight he carried, the scars he tried to hide.

Before I could act on the impulse, he walked to the door. “I’ll likely be gone most of the day.” His tone was brisk, businesslike. The walls firmly back in place. “Jasper has a list of supplies the Hollow needs. If Archer comes by today, can you make sure he gets it? It’s on my desk.”

I nodded and he walked out.

The day was long and boring, much like the others this week. I’d left shortly after he did, cloaked and avoiding the Cimmerians as I walked around, noting the way the chill in the air wasn’t so biting, the way the sun began to show itself through the mist in the middle of the afternoons, the way the water stopped freezing in piles on the street. I couldn’t help but mark the places I’d been as I wandered, though I did my best to steer far, far away from Farris and his men, who’d hardly been in the streets. But no matter where I went, what leads I’d followed, I couldn’t gain a single clue as to the whereabouts of the Vale. I’d tried to find that damn snuff box, only to wind up seeing it in the window of the jeweler's shop. He’d sold the fucking thing. So much for sentimental. Failing another day, I went home.

I plucked the little golden book from the lace band I’d been wearing around my thigh to keep the book with me. I hated that he hadn’t used it once all week. Flopping down on my bed, I slowly opened the page and let my fingers trace the only thing on the page that hadn’t vanished. The number two.

Sliding the pencil from its tiny holder, I touched the lead to the paper, contemplating what I should say to him. I didn’t need a single thing. He’d seen to that since the moment I arrived. Still, this wasn’t about need. It was something else. Something I didn’t want to think about.

Thorne Noctus, Lord of the Ledgers,

Are we having soup for dinner again? Is there something I can do to start it?

Bored at home,

Paesha V.

I waited, moving the pencil between my lips as I willed him to answer me. Eventually, Thorne’s beautiful handwriting graced the page.

Paesha N.

We’ve got an invitation for dinner at the palace tonight.

Still working on your alphabet, I see.

Thorne also N.

I nearly dropped the pencil.

You didn’t think to mention that this morning?

I was distracted.

By the legs?

The legs, the arms, the eyes, the mind. Take your pick, Paesha darling.

This thing is complicated, you know?

I held my breath the entire time I waited for his next response. I didn’t know where I was spiraling to. What I was saying to him. I didn’t know what I wanted. How I could have it, even if I did know. I had to leave. And tonight, with the prince at my fingertips, I’d have to decide if I was ready to start asking questions. I couldn’t keep doing what I was doing, that much was obvious.

Eventually his answer came through, dancing across the page in such mesmerizing swirls, I almost forgot to read the beautiful words. I traced my fingers over his elegant script.

It’s only as complicated as we make it. Life is messy. Relationships are messy. But sometimes beautiful things grow from chaos. You’re infuriating, and I’m tedious. You’re stubborn, and I’m worse. You’re mischievous, and I need control. There are about a million reasons why this can never work. And if you don’t think I see that, you’re wrong.

As long as we’re on the same page.

I couldn’t stomach writing those words, but I knew I needed to. I knew we both needed the space.

I’ll be home in two hours. Wear something decent. Both the king and Farris will be there.

As if I’d go in rags.

As if I’d let you.

I bit my bottom lip.

We should really consider an intervention for your massive control issues.

I’m not sure I can allow that.

Reread that and tell me how it makes you feel. Deep inside.

Are you smiling right now, Paesha darling?

Maybe.

Excellent. I’ll be home soon.

I paused in the doorway, my breath catching at the sight that greeted me. Thorne stood by his desk, silhouetted against the fading light, a crystal tumbler dangling from his long fingers. With a book in hand, lost to the present world, he sipped, his crisp white shirt tugging against his suspenders. He swallowed, the strong column of his throat bobbing.

His eyes swept over me as I walked in, taking in my figure-hugging dress that clung to every curve. The neckline dipped daringly low, more than hinting at the swell of my breasts, while the skirt flared out at my hips, swishing around my legs as I walked. I had pinned my hair up, a few tendrils escaping to frame my face.

Under Thorne’s heated gaze, I felt a flush creep up my neck. The air between was charged with tension that had been building for weeks, simmering just beneath the surface of every interaction. He set down his glass and book, approaching me with a measured stride, eyes never leaving mine. When he reached me, his fingers ghosted along my bare shoulder, trailing fire in their wake. By some miracle, I held myself perfectly still beneath his blazing touch.

“Can you tie the back? I couldn’t reach.”

“Turn around,” he commanded.

Something in the way his knuckles kissed my skin brought my entire body to life in a way I’d never known. Gods, I hated him. How easily he controlled me. How desperately I wanted him to.

“Are we flirting or fighting tonight, just so I’m ready?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I whispered, reaching for his glass and taking a drink to cool myself off.

His voice was a low rumble I felt in my bones. “You’re stunning. Every set of eyes will be on you.”

“Let them look. Maybe you can use it as a distraction. Send me to seduce someone in a dark corner. I can be very persuasive. Plus I still have this pretty face and all.”

He plucked the drink away and finished it before sitting it back on the desk. “That will never, ever be the plan. You’re to play the obsessive wife tonight. No one else exists but me. Understand?”

“And will you be the obsessive husband?”

He reached forward, gripping my throat tenderly as he brushed his finger against my jaw and pulled me closer. “That’s the only kind of husband I want to be.”