Nevermore (The Never Sky #2)

Chapter 34

34

S liding my finger along the gold handle of the teacup, as I pictured Thorne setting it beside me, turning it just so, I settled into his words. Really heard what he’d said. He was just a man. And he’d have been awfully boring if he didn’t have a past. In fact, the best people I’d ever known were shaped by trauma. And how could I fault him for telling me nothing, when I’d lived in his home and done exactly the same thing?

With a sigh, I pushed myself up from the bed, the floorboards creaking softly beneath my bare feet. Snatching one of my gowns from the pile I’d brought, I prepared myself to see him, and I walked down the stairs. Would everything be different now with one little argument, intensified by the maddening sound of clocks?

I was careful not to wake the sleeping people. He sat at the table, alone, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him, face blocked by the newspaper. I didn’t linger, instead making my way to the bathroom, grateful to find it empty. I washed and dressed quickly, mindful of the others beginning to stir.

But try as I might, I couldn’t stop my thoughts from drifting to Thorne. So, I put my hair in a simple braid, letting it fall down my back and walked out of the bathroom, choosing to slide into the seat next to him. Several of the adults had woken, but most kept to their spaces, and some had already left.

Thorne sat perfectly rigid, poised in a five-piece suit, still hidden behind his morning paper, though the coffee was no longer steaming. I reached for his cup, lifted it to my lips and let the warm, bitter taste slide down my throat. He slowly lowered the paper, just enough to look at me over the fold with a brow lifted.

“Morning, prick.”

“Morning.”

He was careful, the tone of his voice soft, and I didn’t think it was for the sleeping warehouse.

I cleared my throat, meeting his gaze. “Thank you. For the letter.” I fidgeted with the handle of the mug, tracing the delicate pattern with the tip of my finger. “You didn’t have to share that with me. I felt pressure last night and I pushed back. I shouldn’t have.”

Thorne set the newspaper aside, giving me his full attention. He reached forward, his hand hovering near mine for a heartbeat before he pulled back, curling his fingers around his mug, stealing it back instead.

“You should always fight if you feel backed into a corner. Never apologize for that. We all have our secrets, our scars. I won’t pry into yours. When or if you’re ever ready to share them, I’ll be here to listen. Until then, I’ll follow your lead. As I promised.”

I swallowed past the sudden lump in my throat, a pang of longing lancing through me. I wanted to tell him everything. But I couldn’t. So, I thought I’d start small.

“You see all these children lying on the floor? What do you think when you look at them?”

He sat back, letting his eyes sweep over the room. “I’m overcome with pity.”

I nodded, sliding the newspaper away from him so I could fold it in all the wrong places. Something familiar. “I don’t feel pity for them at all. I feel hope. Hope because they found their way here, to safety and warmth and food in their bellies. Hope because they have each other, a community to belong to. Hope that this is just the beginning for them, not the end. Because when I was a child,” I finally managed to look him right in the eye. “I had nothing. The streets were wet, cold and dangerous. The alleys even more so, and I wasn’t welcome in the opium den my father fell victim to. We had a spot that was just ours behind an old bakery that would throw out moldy food once a month. I’d had to fight the rats for it, but it was something. My childhood is full of memories of huddling in a corner, watching my father waste away, his once bright eyes glazed and empty. He’d forget to feed me for days. Eventually, he forgot me altogether.”

Thorne’s fingers tightened around his mug, his knuckles turning white. He said nothing, though, letting me continue at my own pace. He was so good at being silent. But those that listened, learned.

“I learned quickly how to fend for myself. How to pick pockets and scavenge for scraps. The streets became my home, the other urchins my family. We looked out for each other, sharing what little we had. But always being one step away from starvation was hard. Don’t look at these faces with pity, Thorne. Try pride.” I handed the paper back, its edges crumpled with a touch of chaos that warmed something in me. “Pride isn’t about having all the answers. Sometimes it’s just letting yourself see the worth that’s already there.”

Thorne accepted the crumpled newspaper with a kind smile, his hazel eyes softening as they met mine. “Thank you for trusting me with a piece of your past. I’ll work on the perspective.”

He smoothed out the newspaper with careful hands, refolding it along the proper creases. The simple, methodical action seemed to calm him. “I’m not going to make any assumptions here. You’re going to have to tell me what you want to do going forward.” His eyes flashed to the ring on my finger.

“The king is missing. The prince is only going to get more dangerous. We have a warehouse full of orphaned children, one of which we know the prince wants. It’s important to me that we find the king. If you’ll help me do that, then I am yours for now. I’ll play the doting wife. I’ll sleep in your bed, which really is far too small, by the way, and I’ll do whatever it takes to help you keep these people fed for as long as I can. But one day, things may change, and I need to know, if that day comes, it will come without questions and roadblocks.”

“You have my word.” The space between his lips parted, a question immediately lingering there. But he held it back, respecting the careful truce. Instead, he took my hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the ring on my finger. “I’ve only just realized I don’t deserve you, Paesha darling.”

“Mhmmm. I think everyone already knows that.”

He leaned forward, tapping me on the nose. “If I’m to work on pride, you should work on humbleness.”

“Honestly, that sounds awful.”

Much to his chagrin, I took another drink of his coffee, the cool temperature souring the taste. I scrunched my nose, and he laughed, but quickly ducked down, scanning the room to make sure he didn’t wake the children.

The door opened, and Jasper came hustling in with two great big bags of flour under his arms. Thorne flew from his seat, rushing forward to help. But Jasper insisted he was fine, crossing through to the kitchen.

I squatted next to Lianna, whose head had popped up when the door slammed shut. “Can you wake the rest of the kids, get your beds made up and hands washed for breakfast?”

She nodded, and I waited around long enough for her to wake the oldest first. She was young, maybe eleven or twelve, but they’d all clung to her as fiercely as Reuben had.

Stepping into the kitchen, I stopped at the door frame, taking a moment to simply observe. He’d taken his jacket off. With his sleeves rolled up and his vest already dusted with flour, he worked a ball of dough. The muscles of his forearms and shoulders flexed with each movement.

Jasper hovered nearby. “If it gets too sticky, just add a bit more flour. Once your consistency is the same throughout, don’t overwork it. Just smooth the edges… that’s it. Just like that. Then we put it here and cover, letting it rise.”

Thorne glanced up, catching my eye as I lingered in the doorway. He flashed a wolfish grin and my heart stuttered at the open, unguarded expression, so different from his usual controlled facade.

“Care to join us?”

“And here I thought your talents lay solely in thievery and charm,” I teased, sauntering over to stand beside him at the counter. “Oh, and being bossy.”

He dusted his hands off on a towel before reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my skin. The look he gave me was one of gratitude. Of sliding right back into our familiar space, with maybe a little more compassion for each other. “I’m a man of many talents, Paesha darling.”

Tuck walked in, shutting the door behind him as he moved to stand across from Thorne. “Now a good time, boss?” His honey brown eyes flicked to me and I realized I’d never really got a look at him in daylight. He’d driven the carriage, swung by at night to give reports, but he was a busy member of Thorne’s inner circle.

Daylight revealed details I’d missed, shoulders broad enough to block the doorway, brown hair falling carelessly to his collar, a beard threaded with silver. He was a man of quiet menace, like a wolf lurking just at the edge of the firelight.

Thorne’s shoulders tensed, his expression shifting from playful to serious in an instant. He wiped his hands on a towel and turned to face the burly man, his stance wide and commanding. “It’s never good news when you’re running this late. What’s going on?”

“It’s not good, boss. With the king missing, the prince has the Cimmerians out in full force. They’re sweeping every street, every alley, turning over every stone. They started at the castle and now they’re making their way down through the city, leaving no door unopened.”

I stepped a little closer, drawing in every detail, the worry in my soul for the people of this world evident on my face, no doubt.

“Any word on where they think the king might be? Or who could have taken him?” Thorne asked.

Tuck shook his head. “Nothing concrete. Just rumors and speculation at this point. Some are saying with King Aldus locked in the castle these last years, it’s a foreign power trying to sweep in. Others, and most, to be quite honest, think it’s Prince Farris. An inside job makes more sense. But he’s going out of his way to put on a show, if that’s the case.”

“Of course he is,” Jasper said, wiping a hand across his brow. “Instill fear, then offer yourself up as a solution. People will be begging him to take the throne, just to end the invasive searches.”

“He’s not going to end it until he’s had a proper search of every street, business and home,” Tuck said.

The door swung open again and Brigid, the healer I’d brought tea to on my first visit to the Hollow walked in. She glanced at Thorne and smoothed her auburn hair from where it’d fallen out of her messy bun.

“Thorne, Jasper. Oh hi, Tuck. And Paesha, wasn’t it?”

I nodded, moving to pour her a cup of tea, fading into the background as I listened to their conversation. Thorne had never kept me out of meetings but over this past week, I was listening from a door rather than being welcomed in. This was the first time I found myself in the middle of the conversation. I kept my hands steady and my face neutral as I selfishly devised a plan.

Brigid gratefully accepted the steaming mug of tea, cradling it between her slender hands. She took a small sip, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment before she spoke again. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we’re running dangerously low on medical supplies. Bandages, antiseptic, painkillers… we’re scraping the bottom of the barrel here.”

“How long can we stretch what we have?” Thorne asked.

She shook her head. “A week, maybe two if we’re very careful. But with the increased Cimmerian presence, we’ll see a rise in injuries. People are scared, desperate. They’ll take more risks to avoid capture.”

Jasper cleared his throat. “I’m afraid the kitchen’s looking the same way. I’ve been skimming the top of the stock carts for the castle at night.”

Thorne jerked around. “I told you not to do that. We don’t do jobs alone, Jas.”

“Well boss, we emptied Tilly’s supply at the orphanage and there wasn’t much. With the extra mouths to feed, I did what I had to do. But now they’ve moved the supply and I can’t get to it.”

Tuck stepped forward, his burly frame casting a shadow across the flour-dusted counter. “I think it’s time we seriously consider how long we can keep going. I hate to say it, you know I do, but we can’t pour from an empty cup.”

Thorne raked his fingers through his dark hair, the strands standing on end as he shook his head. I took a slow step toward him, moving my hand to cover his. I had no idea things were so bad. I thought back to the words I’d flung at him, letting them burn into regret. He had no keepsakes. Nothing of his past. Hardly anything that said who he was. Not because he was hiding it. Because he was selling it, for less than its value, because Alastor was mad at him. And when he realized he couldn’t keep that charade up, he started stealing. He was funneling everything he had to the Salt. And I’d thrown it in his face like he was just trying to hide himself.

Thorne pulled a small book from the inside pocket of his discarded jacket. “How many people? All in, what’s our tally these days, Tuck?”

Tuck rubbed a rugged hand down his beard. “Last count was near seven hundred. That includes the orphans, the elderly, the Fray and the infirm we’ve taken in.”

I moved the scattered flour on the counter top into a pile, keeping my hands busy as I casually asked, “Have you guys thought of leaving this place behind? Instead of just enduring?”

“How are we supposed to march seven hundred people out of their homes?” Harlow asked, shutting the door behind her and Wee Willy as they walked in. “We can’t just go knock on another kingdom’s door and ask for help. We’d be found easily. Hunted for sport.”

“That’s true.” I drew the last word out, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s almost like you’d need to leave Wisteria. Go to some other realm.”

I needed to do this, to make moves here. Thorne had promised to help me find the king. And with that, hopefully a way home, but if we couldn’t find him, if the prince had already killed him, I needed a plan B. Maybe even a plan C before I started beating down the temple doors and throwing myself at the feet of the gods. They couldn’t all be happy to see the realms burn, could they? Not that I could come right out and ask.

“Wouldn’t that make life so much easier?” Thorne asked, firmly planting a fist into the dough. “But we’re not going to get anywhere sitting here wishing for impossible ideas.”

“I guess it’s just easier to wish for the impossible than deal with reality,” I said, covering my tracks as Archer joined us.

Brigid nodded. “If we could do that, we might as well just wish Farris into Death’s Court.”

Archer nodded once to Thorne before adding, “I’d steal his fucking coin and hope he got lost in the Ether. What’d I miss?”

“Everything’s falling apart, supplies are running low, and Farris sucks,” I answered.

“And the king?” he asked, glancing at Tuck.

“Still missing.”

They had no idea. Not a single one of them gave the slightest reaction to my question beyond its impossibilities. I’d never felt more stuck and confused in my life. Why was I here? Why this place? It’d be so much easier if I was searching for a door, but now more than ever, it was clear I wasn’t. And even if we found the king, his involvement was only a guess. An excuse to keep myself away from the prince. The answer needed to be more clear. Especially when the problems just kept stacking. Unless… unless I was meant to help these people in order to go home.

Gods.

Was that it? I’d been so blind and distracted by all the moving pieces, all the possibilities, I hadn’t seen what was right in front of me. Of course. I’d spiraled in every other direction, nearly gave this crew away and I’d missed the obvious. Every sign. The Hollow? The Lord of the Salt? Alastor’s mention of the prince and broken paths. We needed to find the king, but not because he was the answer, he was a missing piece of the greater puzzle. They needed a solution and I needed to get home and those were not two separate journeys. Only one. One path.

I let my eyes fall on Thorne. On the hard set of his jaw and the worry line between his brow. He wasn’t a stepping stone. This place wasn’t a small piece. Somehow, helping save all them, as was his ultimate goal, would carry me home. It was him. It’d always been him.

Thorne nodded, his jaw set in a hard line yanking me back into a room where the world felt more clear. He turned to the healer. “Brigid, take stock of everything we have left. Prioritize what’s most critical. We’ll scavenge what we can over the next few days, and I’ll try to get you some help.”

“Consider it done.”

“Jasper, same for the kitchen. Ration portion sizes if you have to. Nothing goes to waste.”

Jasper pulled two loaves of bread from the oven. “I’ll stretch everything as far as I can but the more the prince destroys, the more Salt will come. There are thousands of Salt in the city. Our operation can’t sustain that if word gets out. And it will when people get desperate.”

Thorne’s beautiful, sad eyes turned to me next. “You don’t mind helping Jasper in the kitchen while we work on that job we discussed, do you?”

I gripped his fingers tighter, grateful he still meant to find the king. “Not at all.”

“We keep this quiet for now. No need to cause undue panic. Let the rest of the Fray know to keep an eye on the Salt as best they can. Tend to your duties, but keep your eyes and ears open. If you hear anything about the king or the prince’s plans, report back immediately. Understood?”

A chorus of ‘Yes, boss’ echoed through the kitchen. Thorne dismissed them with a curt nod, and Tuck and Brigid filed out, grim determination etched on their faces. Thorne braced his hands on the counter, his broad shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world rested upon them.

I laid a tentative hand on his back. “We’ll figure this out.”

We’d gone back to the house day after day, each one a tally mark in my mind. Forty-three days remained and the pressure from the countdown was gnawing at me. But we were doing everything we could. We took what we could, picking through everything in Thorne’s house of value to sell in the Vale. But Alastor had kept his word, refusing any kind of deal with the Fray, forcing a middle man into the equation, so what was sold versus what came in was honestly sad and not enough. And after days in the kitchen with Jasper, creating a detailed inventory and menu, as more and more people began to shuffle in, cast out from their homes in the prince’s show of strength, the truth was becoming glaringly obvious. We were going to run out of food.

“We’re in this together, right?” Jasper asked, wrapping his scarf across his face.

I took his arm as we walked down the street, bathed in the midnight shadows of Stirling. “I’ll never be able to sleep at night if those kids are hungry.”

“Tossed and turned myself the last three days. Eventually the watered down soup is just going to be water,” he said, patting my arm, but I could see the tears pooling in his eyes.

I’d never met someone that cared so hard for everyone around him, no matter the cost to himself. Jasper was kind, yes, but he was so loving, and so bright, it broke something in me to see him cry. He was breaking. The Fray was breaking. And if we had to rob a garden to feed everyone for a few more days, then that’s what we had to do.

“I’ve done this a few times,” he admitted, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Just keep an eye out. Remember the signal, Miss Paesha?”

I adjusted my hood to be sure my face couldn’t be seen as we stood on a narrow street, closed in by two buildings. “Yes, but a crow’s caw is probably the worst signal ever. I haven’t seen a single bird over here.”

His huff was muffled by his scarf. “We’re close enough to the city’s edge. It’ll be fine. Besides, it’s not right. I planted this garden and I know there’s warroot ready for harvest. You should have seen it. Rows upon rows of vegetables and herbs. The warroot, in particular, was my pride and joy. You can’t see them from above the ground, you know? That’s why they survive the winter. The roots swell beneath the dark, cold soil.

“That’s also why they won’t have harvested them. They don’t know they’re in there. It’s food gone to waste if we don’t get them. And the hearty warroot stores really well. The prince claimed taking my garden was ‘necessary for the good of the kingdom.’ Ha! More like necessary to line his own pockets and keep his thugs well-fed.”

I patted his arm where it held mine. “I’ll be right here the whole time. Promise.”

“I’d never steer you into danger, you know that right? I don’t want you to be afraid.”

“Everyone in this city is in a prison, even if it doesn’t have four walls and bars. What the prince is doing to the people is wrong. It’s inhumane. But there’s usually freedom on the other side of fear. And if freedom means taking back what’s rightfully yours, what’s meant to help people, then I’d face a whole lot worse than fear to see it through.”

He nudged me with his shoulder. “Then let’s dig up some freedom, shall we? Besides, it’s not like they guard this place anymore. A picked over garden doesn’t seem like a place the prince would be worried about these days. Especially with the Maw filling up.”

I couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t consider the story of the woman who’d been dragged away from her husband and children because the prince had claimed she spat at him. The woman who conveniently had power, though her husband had confessed to Thorne it was little more than controlling the flicker of a candle’s flame.

I stepped in front of Jasper, pulling his hood forward. “Be so careful and so quick. Don’t risk your life for vegetables, you clumsy fool.”

His eyes twinkled as he grabbed my wrists. “In and out. Promise. Got my lucky apron beneath my coat.”

“Best get to it then.”

I had a clear view of him, watching through the dim light as he hustled across the street and stood motionless for a moment, sizing up the tall garden gate. He wrapped his hands around two of the thick iron bars. A low groan from the metal accompanied a shriek as it began to bend.

I swept my eyes down the streets, hoping no one had heard. There was nothing, no movement at all. The bars gave way, slow at first, but then they twisted apart like they were no more than soft branches, the vines wrapped around them snapping in protest. In one smooth motion, Jasper had created a gap wide enough for his round frame to slip through.

Still no movement. No lights in the nearby houses. Good. As the seconds turned to minutes and I couldn’t see him, I tightened my grip on the hilt of my knife, scanning the street again, my pulse quickening.

Still clear.

But they would know someone had come. And I doubted they’d blame the Lord of the Salt for garden robbery. The gate was bent, the wall destroyed, and the earth inside disturbed. It wouldn’t be that much longer, though. And then we’d be gone before anyone noticed the destruction. But the evidence of his power would remain.

As I scanned the darkened street again, my heart hammering against my ribs, two shadows detached from the inky blackness. They moved with an eerie, fluid grace, their forms seeming to ripple and blur at the edges like wisps of smoke. Cimmerians.

I pressed myself farther into the alley, ignoring the way my skin came alive with panic, the way I couldn’t breathe, the way the edges of my vision darkened, willing myself to become one with the stone at my back. The guards drew closer, their black cloaks swirling around them, the silver masks glinting dully in the faint moonlight. They were wraiths, nightmares given form.

But they weren’t.

Only men , I told myself. They’re only men.

I held my breath, not daring to make a sound when they passed the mouth of the alley. As they neared the garden gate, I tensed, my fingers tightening around the hilt of my knife until my knuckles ached.

What could I do? Certainly not run after them with the dagger. Two against one? And if I’d learned anything from my time here, where two marched, many more followed.

I parted my lips, letting loose the agreed upon signal, praying to whatever gods might be listening that Jasper would hear the caw and stay hidden. As I knew they would, the guards paused. Time stretched and warped, seconds bleeding into agonizing eternities as they surveyed the twisted metal bars, the gaping hole like a wound in the wrought iron.

One of the guards tilted his head. A gloved hand reached out, trailing along the bent bars. Beside him, the other stood perfectly still, a statue carved from obsidian and malice. They could feel the magic used there. That would be enough to draw them in. I only wished we’d had an army on the other side. That we’d laid a trap for them rather than the truth. Behind those bars was just an old cook, doing his best to secure vegetables to feed the hungry.

The Cimmerian, tracing the twisted gate, stepped back. He exchanged a wordless look with his companion. Then they turned away and continued down the darkened street, their black cloaks billowing behind them like the wings of crows.

I was frozen, hardly daring to believe our luck as they receded into the shadows. Only when they turned a corner and vanished from sight did my shoulders sag with relief. Jasper’s head popped up over a garden wall a moment later, his eyes wide above his scarf. I gestured frantically for him to hurry. In seconds, he scrambled through the gap in the twisted bars, a large sack slung over his shoulder, bulging with his precious warroot. He moved with surprising speed for a man his size and age, his feet barely touching the ground as he darted across the street towards me.

“Never again. That was too close.” I threw my arms around him. “Never again, you old fool.”

“There, there. Nothing to worry about. Like I said.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it across his forehead. “Nothing at all.”

Just as Jasper and I turned to flee back down the alley, a wall of black appeared. A dozen Cimmerians stood between us and escape. They moved as one, a silent, deadly unit, spreading out to cut off any escape route. My nerves rattled, panic clawing its way up from my gut. Jasper turned to me, eyes wide, fingers gripped tightly around his sack.

Then all hell broke loose. The guards surged forward in a tide of darkness. Jasper shoved me behind him, dropping the sack. “Run! Get out of here!”

“Not on your life,” I snapped back.

“There’s no escape. They will take one or two of us this night. You choosing to stand there won’t save me. Now run!”

I’d fought a horde of charging soldiers in the belly of a castle before. I’d waded through bloodshed and fought with everything I had to save a little girl, and yet this… I knew he was right. Those were not trained soldiers and Death’s Maiden had been at my side. This was different. Guaranteed torture lay at the far end of the alley, moving toward us. Adrenaline shot through me, forcing my mind back to a place where they’d strapped me to a table, back to a place where I’d bled and been starved for days. Back to a place where I’d licked rain water off the floor to keep from dying.

And so, like a coward, I spun and ran. I ran far and fast. I ran like Jasper’s life depended on it… because it did. I ran with tears burning trails of fire down my cheeks. I ran. And ran. And ran. Until my lungs were fire, and my legs grew numb. Until the screams of pain from an old cook no longer echoed along the streets. Until I slammed open the door to the Parlor and dashed upstairs, ignoring everything as I crashed into Thorne’s office.

He jerked to his feet and surged around the desk, eyes wide in terror. “What happened?”

I couldn’t force myself to speak. Instead, I shook my head and flew into his arms, sobbing.