Chapter 35
35
H arlow and Archer stood side by side, dressed in full black leather gear, cloaked, masked and poised, just as they’d been the first time I saw them. These were the thieves. The Fray. Those that worked for the Lord of the Salt.
Though he’d hated it, Thorne had agreed to my plan. We all changed into similar garb and raced through the city, headed straight for the Maw. They’d saved me. We could save Jasper and if I had any luck in the entire world, we’d find a little old king down there as well. We hadn’t studied the rotation of the guards, had no idea when we’d be able to get in. We just ran, knowing once we got there, we’d need time to watch, wait and learn.
But when I’d panicked at the door, when I’d needed only a moment to collect myself before we went in, Archer and Harlow had gone in first and come out way too soon with terrible news.
Harlow swung her hand toward the secret entrance to the dark labyrinth under the city. “You can check for yourself, Thorne. There’s nothing down there but blood and bones.”
“Do you think?—”
Three trumpet blasts cut through the early morning air like a knife, their ominous notes echoing off the stone walls of the city.
“Oh, fuck!”
“Themis,” Harlow said.
I didn’t have time to ask before Thorne’s hand tightened around mine and he darted down the street, his long strides eating up the ground. Harlow and Archer flanked us. We raced through the twisting streets where the city was just beginning to stir, shutters creaking open and sleepy faces peering out of windows. As the trumpet’s call faded, a new sound took its place: the rising tide of panicked voices and hurried footsteps as the citizens of Stirling reacted to those three notes.
“We can’t save him,” Harlow snapped, yanking Archer back. “We can’t. We need to stop.”
“What’s happening?” I asked as we paused.
“It’s Jasper.” Her sadness mixed with the hatred so much that hot tears welled in Harlow’s eyes. “We’re too damn late. Again.”
I dared to ask the question burning on my tongue. “Farris is taking his magic, isn’t he?”
Thorne nodded, face indiscernible behind his mask.
“I need to see it.”
“You don’t,” he growled.
But I did. Because nothing in this world made sense, and I needed to know why. I needed more information. All of it. As much as the thought of witnessing the horror made me sick, I knew I had to see for myself. If helping the Fray, the Salt, this whole kingdom and all the fucking realms, really boiled down to helping the Fray defeat their villain, I needed to watch him in action.
Thorne’s grip tightened on my hand as he met my gaze, his hazel eyes darkening with concern. For a long moment, he simply stared at me, searching my face as if trying to gauge my resolve. Finally, with a curt nod, he turned and led us down a steep side street, away from the growing commotion with Archer and Harlow right behind us.
We moved swiftly and silently. His steps never faltered and each of mine were filled with worry for that old clumsy cook that I should have never agreed to help. If I’d have said no, if I hadn’t come, none of this would be happening. The guilt was enough to swallow me whole. There was a reason Thorne didn’t want Jasper doing runs, he cared about him. I cared about him. And there’d be no turning back from this day.
As we neared the heart of the city, the streets began to widen, the buildings growing taller and more ornate, I’d definitely been here before. Thorne veered suddenly to the right, ducking into a nondescript doorway that opened into a dimly lit stairwell.
We scaled the narrow steps until my legs burned with the effort and my lungs strained for air in the close confines. Just when I thought I couldn’t take another step, we emerged onto a flat rooftop. Moving to the edge of the building we laid, shoulder to shoulder to shoulder, belly down staring at the city square, catching our breaths.
“This is Prospector’s Pointe,” Archer said, scooting closer to me.
“She’s been here,” Thorne said, jutting his chin toward the far side of the square. “I put that ring on your finger right there.”
Archer pointed. “See that gold circle down there on the ground? It’s the center of the city and where every royal spectacle has happened since Stirling’s birth. Kings have been crowned, weddings have commenced, and every person sentenced to death by a royal has stood in that very spot. You come here on a normal day, and no one steps on it. It’s bad luck.”
“Look!” Harlow gasped.
The prince walked forward, standing now in the center of Prospector’s Pointe, the gold circle gleaming beneath his polished boots. The rising sun reflected off his inky hair, slicked back, not a strand out of place. The Cimmerians formed a half circle behind the prince, several rows deep, their black cloaks and silver masks a chilling contrast to the prince’s regal attire. They stood as still as statues, an impenetrable wall of darkness.
But it was the ragged line of prisoners that drew my eye and turned my stomach. They huddled together, their faces gaunt and haunted, clothes hanging in filthy tatters from their emaciated frames. Some bore the marks of torture, bruises, half-healed cuts, fingers bent at unnatural angles. They blinked owlishly, flinching at every movement as if expecting a blow.
I knew intimately what their minds felt like, how their bodies ached. It stirred another wave of guilt within me, because I’d been saved by fate alone, and they hadn’t. I didn’t notice my trembling hands until Thorne wrapped a heavy arm over my shoulder.
There, at the end of the line, was Jasper, who only a day ago had been puttering around the Hollow’s kitchen ladling out soup with a smile. Now he sagged between two Cimmerians, his face a mask of bruises, his left eye swollen shut. Blood crusted his torn shirt and his hands hung limp and useless at his sides. Even from this distance, I could see his chest heaving with labored breaths, each inhalation a painful battle.
The shocking transformation wrought in so short a time was disgusting. How could they have broken him so thoroughly, so quickly? What horrors had they inflicted upon him in the bowels of this terrible, terrible place?
Thorne’s arm tightened around me, his body rigid with barely suppressed fury beside me. Rage rolled off him in waves. I could see it in the white-knuckled grip of his fingers on the roof ledge. Archer made a low, wounded sound, quickly muffled behind his clenched teeth. Harlow’s face was a blank mask, but I saw the glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. They’d had so much more time with that man than I had. Whatever I was feeling, they were likely drowning in.
Prince Farris raised his hands, commanding the attention of the growing crowd.
“We won’t be able to hear him from all the way up here,” Thorne said. “Not clearly anyway.”
“Will he kill him?” I asked, hating the words the second they left my lips.
“No. Not likely. It’ll be far worse than that.”
We watched as Farris turned and marched directly in front of Jasper. Jasper desperately shook his head as the prince leaned in to speak to him.
“Farris’s power won’t let him exact justice unless there’s truly a crime committed. And even then, he’ll give Jasper a choice,” Thorne said. “There’ll be no question about his crime. They know as well as we do that Jasper shouldn’t have been in the damn gardens.”
“I still can’t believe it,” Harlow said. “We’ve warned him for months. He said he wouldn’t go back.”
“It’s my fault,” I confessed. “He said he knew where there was more food and I offered to help after we finished inventory again last night.”
“He knew better,” Archer said.
“Maybe, but we can’t fault him for rash decisions. He feels responsible for keeping everyone fed. It’s been weighing on him every day,” Thorne answered.
“I don’t understand how the king doesn’t know this is happening if it’s such a spectacle. Why has Farris been given so much space in a kingdom that isn’t even his. Not yet anyway.”
“Simple,” Archer said, narrowed eyes pinned to the prince. “The king has a very filtered view of what’s happening in his kingdom. His advisors are too afraid of Farris to say anything against him, and Farris has absolute control over his father’s public appearances.”
I said nothing more, remembering Lithe and the way that’d played out. Farris had sent his father away with the Cimmerians. The Goddess was the only other one that had access to him that night, aside from me. And Farris had hardly let us finish the first dance.
We watched in silence for several moments. Holding our breaths as the prince grabbed Jasper by his bound wrists and dragged him to the center of the point.
Harlow spoke, her voice hollow as she explained. “Farris is telling him that his choice is to either die or give away his… his power.”
I knew why no one would choose death. It was the reason his face was already marked with bruises and blood, why he limped and his hair was matted. The Maw was a statement to the prisoners. Death would not come swiftly, but rather in the bowels of a place that would tear the skin from your body first, coaxing you to change your mind.
“You don’t have to watch, Har.” I whispered, taking her hand. “I don’t need the words.”
“Yes, you do,” she argued. “You need to see it and feel the world weep. That power was never meant to be taken and now it’ll be lost forever.”
Sure enough, Jasper fell to his knees before the prince, arms up as he clearly begged for mercy. But Farris simply grabbed his hands, speaking sharp words to the silent crowd.
As Farris’s hands closed around Jasper’s, a blinding flash of light erupted from their joined palms. Jasper’s back arched. His mouth opened in a silent scream as tendrils of energy, shimmering and incandescent, began to stream from his body into Farris. Mesmerizing and horrifying all at once.
Harlow made a choked sound, halfway between a sob and a snarl. Her fingers dug into my arm but I hardly felt it. Slowly, agonizingly, the light between them faded. Jasper sagged in Farris’s grip, his skin ashen. He looked diminished, hollowed out. A vital spark had been ripped from his core. Witnessing such a violation made my skin crawl. The prince released him, and he crumpled to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.
Harlow’s body shook with silent sobs. She might’ve cried for Jasper’s loss of power, but there was no doubt she was also mourning her own. Living in a moment she’d had all those years ago. Likely prodding at the missing piece of her soul. I pulled her close, wrapping my arms around her as she buried her face in my shoulder. She’d been tough. Sharp. Exactly what was expected of her in almost every moment but this one.
Beside us, Thorne and Archer lay still as stone. Thorne’s eyes, those captivating eyes that could flash with mischief or darken with intensity, now glistened with unshed tears. He stared at Jasper’s crumpled form, unblinking, as if by sheer force of will.
With a sharp gesture from Farris, two Cimmerians stepped forward. They grasped Jasper’s limp arms and hauled him roughly to his feet. His head lolled forward, but still his feet moved. Still, he tried to right himself.
A figure glided forward and the air shimmered around them, an aura of power that set my teeth on edge.
“Here? He’s going to do it here in front of everyone?” Archer asked.
“What’s happening?” I asked as Harlow whipped around.
“Oh, gods. That’s Themis, isn’t it?”
God of Justice. Interesting.
Thorne lifted a shoulder. “I can’t see his face. But yes, it is. This is his specific flavor of justice.”
“Why do the gods just blindly work for Farris? It makes no sense. What does he possibly bring to the table?”
All three heads turned to me, all three confused, drawing back.
“You don’t know?” Thorne asked.
“I never paid any attention to gods before,” I admitted, giving a small bit of truth. In reality, the gods had abandoned Requiem.
“Gods draw power from notoriety. The more people that acknowledge them, even through fear, the more power a god has.”
“I know that,” I lied, “but that doesn’t explain why they work for him.”
“They don’t work for him,” Archer said with a huff. “Royalty is always favored by the gods. It’s like they get a certain amount of tolerance for bullshit because they usually create a modicum of chaos and the gods love chaos. Farris might think they work for him, but they show him favor so he will put them on a pedestal. They’re drawing power from every mortal that learns to fear or worship them. And Farris has power here. A different kind than they do, but they leech off him and the heads he turns. The gods need the mortals more than mortals need gods. They do nothing for us. Not a fucking thing, other than create problems.”
“For all we know, there are gods on the outside silently making moves, trying to help us” Harlow said in contradiction to her brother.
He snorted. “It’s not likely. What power would they have in Wisteria to make a difference? If no one speaks their name, no one goes to their temples, they aren’t showing up.”
“That’s why I visit the temples of the silent gods,” she hissed. “Because I haven’t forgotten, and I have hope. Maybe you should give it a try sometime.”
“I left hope and reason on my mother’s tombstone,” he said tightly, all sense of the lighthearted gambler gone as he pushed her.
“Watch,” Thorne whispered to me, drawing me back to Jasper.
The glowing, cloaked figure leaned in close, whispered something to Jasper, who tried with every effort to pull away again, and then grabbed his bare forearm, branding him with power, just as they’d said happened when a Cimmerian was marked. And just like that, a mark appeared on his forearm.
“There’s nothing to be done now,” Archer said, voice solemn. “He’ll be cloaked and masked. He’s one of them now.”
“I think I’ve seen enough,” I whispered as Jasper was handed a folded robe and began to undress in front of the crowd as if they didn’t exist.
The hurried walk back to the Hollow was a somber one. Still dressed in leathers, we couldn’t risk being seen and the weight of what we’d witnessed hung heavy over us. When we returned, Harlow clung to Willard, whispering what’d happened as he consoled her. Shortly after, she transformed back into the perfect Silk, and disappeared into the daylight. Archer had stayed, chatting with Brigid and a few of the other adults lingering about.
Thorne led me, heavy-footed, directly up the stairs, ushering me to bed in the middle of the day, trusting the rest of the Fray to handle the workings of the Hollow so we could finally sleep. Jasper was gone. Completely lost to us, and with that would come a complete change in the kitchens. But that was a problem for tomorrow, even while the midday sun poured in.
Thorne crawled in the bed, and before either of us was asleep, wrapped his heavy arm around me and pulled me close. And I let him. Because I just didn’t want to feel alone. Not this day.
“Sleep, Paesha darling. Tomorrow will be a better day.”
“Don’t tell lies,” I yawned. “It just keeps getting worse.”
Sleep had taken me quickly, the emotional and physical exhaustion was far too much to bear. But only minutes later, a commotion from downstairs forced us both awake. Thorne was out of bed and throwing his boots back on in seconds. I followed quickly behind. We raced down the stairs, chasing the shouts of a familiar voice. But neither of us were prepared to see Jasper standing there, in the flesh, screaming for someone to cut his damn arm off.