Nevermore (The Never Sky #2)

Chapter 36

36

“ P lease,” Jasper begged, falling to his knees at the door, still covered in blood and bruises. “You know me. I’ll do anything. I can’t belong to him.”

Archer rushed forward and Thorne caught up as they grabbed the crying man by the arms, hauling him to his feet. He sagged between them, the anguish deepening the wrinkles on his face.

“You’re safe here. We won’t let anything happen to you,” Thorne promised.

But Jasper shook his head wildly, tears racing down his face. “No, no, you don’t understand! I can’t be one of them. I won’t! Please, just take my arm. Cut it off, burn it, I don’t care. I can’t bear this mark! If he gets to me, I’ll betray you. Don’t you see? You need me to protect you. Kill me or cut it off. You must.”

He broke free of the men and thrust his forearm forward, the angry red brand seared into his flesh. The intricate symbol, a circle broken in half by swirling lines, seemed to pulse and writhe, as if alive. I swallowed back a wave of nausea at the sight, my heart clenching.

Thorne and Archer exchanged a grim look over Jasper’s bowed head.

“I hate to say this, but how do we know it’s not already too late?” Archer asked.

Jasper shook his head wildly just as the door slammed open and Harlow and Willard came rushing in. She ran across the room to Jasper and hugged him.

“Thank you, Miss Harlow. Thank you for saving me.”

Thorne’s head whipped around, glaring daggers at Willard.

Willy’s eyes widened, a slight tinge of fear showing through. “She wouldn’t take no for an answer. They threw him in a carriage while the others were being bound. We got him and two more free.”

Harlow pulled away, spinning to throw Thorne’s glare right back at him. “He risked everything for fucking vegetables. He paid his price. He’s lost his magic and that’s enough. Jasper’s one of us. We don’t let him fall. Now, get your shit together because this arm is going.”

Thorne’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking beneath the stubble shadowing his cheek. He held Harlow’s defiant gaze for a long, tense moment before letting out a slow breath. “You’re right. We take care of our own.”

“Thank you. Oh gods, thank you,” Jasper said, clamoring forward, tripping on his boot and falling to Thorne’s feet. He hugged his legs, crying. “Thank you.”

Thorne glanced around the room, taking in the resolute faces of the Fray gathered close. Even the children sat silent and wide eyed. “Brigid, get your medical kit. Willard, find something to use as a tourniquet. Archer, I need you to hold him steady and do as much as you can… otherwise.” His tone brooked no argument, each word sharp and precise as he hinted at Archer’s magic without coming right out and saying it. “Paesha, get these kids out of here.”

It wasn’t going to work. There was no way. I knew the magic or at least something similar because I was bound to the Maestro for years and I’d seen people try this. But how could I tell them that? Hours ago they had to explain to me exactly what was happening. But this wasn’t Requiem. Farris was not the Maestro. And the magic here wasn’t the same. I buried my doubt and got moving.

“Come with me,” I told Larcan, the man standing near the kitchen door. “Grab your fiddle.”

He nodded gravely, eyes glued to Jasper. “I’m afraid it’s not going to be loud enough.”

I moved around the room, shuffling the children toward the closet we’d hid in numerous times over the past weeks. “Grab your blankets and go quickly. That’s right. Hustle.”

Lianna and Reuben stayed back, whispering back and forth in harsh tones.

“Come on, you two. We need to go.”

Lianna turned to me, but kept her eyes on Reuben. “Tell her.”

I glanced back and forth between the children. “Tell me what.”

“We can trust her. It’s okay,” Lianna said, coaxing him forward.

He nodded, though the fear in his soft eyes held him frozen in place. I knelt down, taking his hand. “You can tell me. I promise I’m very good with secrets.”

The boy, in desperate need of a haircut, nodded, leaning forward. His red hair fell into his eyes as he cupped a hand around his mouth and whispered. “I can help him.”

“Help him how?”

He glanced at Lianna for reassurance before answering. “I can make him go to sleep. I’m not the best at it yet, but I can help.”

I smiled at him, heart racing as I tried to remain steady. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Archer,” I called, pulling the boy along. “Reuben here is going to be a hero today.”

After explaining to Archer, he ran a hand over his chin, debating. “I can’t let him watch this. He’s just a kid.”

“Here,” Lianna said, pulling off her scarf. “Take this and wrap it around his eyes. That would be okay, wouldn’t it, Benny?”

Reuben hesitated. Brigid yelled for Archer.

He kneeled beside the boy. “Benny, huh? I love a good nickname. And we’re friends, aren’t we Benny? Remember that card trick I showed you? When we get all done with this, I’ll show you an even better one.”

His eyes lit up. “Really?”

Archer nodded, “And I’ll cover your ears, so you don’t have to hear anything if you want me to.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Come on,” I took Lianna’s hand, and we rushed to the closet, listening to Brigid bark orders.

“Tighten the tourniquet. Cut off as much of the blood flow as you can.”

I threw my hands over the girl’s ears and rushed her forward, hustling into the closet. The haunting strains of Larcan’s fiddle filled the air, rising above the commotion in the main room. The melody wove through the space, mournful and bittersweet, singing of sorrow and resilience in equal measure. Speaking to the part of my heart that loved music.

I settled on the floor, pulling the children close as the music swelled. One of the babes burrowed into my side, her small hands fisting in my shirt. I stroked her hair, murmuring soothing nonsense as the older ones huddled together, eyes wide and uncertain.

Larcan stood just inside the closet door, his eyes closed as he lost himself in the music. His bow danced across the strings. In my mind’s eye, I could see Jasper laid out on the table, his face pale and drawn, slick with sweat. Brigid bent over him, her expression one of grim determination as she worked. Thorne and Archer standing on either side as Harlow and Willard helped hold him down. And Reuben with his blindfold, while he attempted to save Jasper from the trauma of remembering this foul moment.

But then the screams started, faint, at first, muffled beyond the fiddle.

The door flew open and Reuben dashed inside, eyes full of tears. “I wasn’t strong enough to keep him asleep,” he confessed, hugging Lianna.

I grabbed his little face and forced him to look at me. “Listen to me. You were brave and strong, and you did your best. That’s all a hero does. Do you understand me? You did your very best and you’re a hero now. We’re all so, so proud of you.”

He nodded past his tears. The screams grew louder, piercing through the soothing notes of the fiddle. Agonized wails of unimaginable pain, of a torment beyond comprehension. They rose and fell in jagged crescendos, each one more heart-wrenching than the last.

I held the children tighter, pressing their faces into my shoulders, trying to shield them from the horror. But there was no escaping it. The sound seeped through the cracks. Under the door. Through the walls. It filled the small space, suffocating and inescapable.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the screams began to fade. Larcan’s melody slowed, the notes stretching out like molasses, each one a balm to frayed nerves. The children stirred against me, their small bodies uncurling from the tight knots they’d wound themselves into.

A soft knock. Three taps and the door flung open.

“It’s all right,” Thorne announced. “You can all come out now.”

One by one, the children filed past me, their faces pale but resolute. Reuben clung to Lianna’s hand, his eyes still red-rimmed, but his chin held high. I tried preparing myself for whatever we might see out in the main hall, thinking only of that until I brushed past Thorne, still standing at the door. His hand shot out and caught my wrist. With a swift tug, he pulled me to him, engulfing me in his strong arms. The unexpected hug knocked the breath from my lungs, my face pressed against the solid warmth of his chest.

For a moment, I stood frozen, my mind struggling to catch up with the sudden shift. I thought back to the way I’d needed him after Jasper was caught and realized, in his weakest moment, maybe he needed me too.

Slowly, tentatively, I raised my arms to wrap around his waist. My hands splayed across his broad back, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt. He tightened his hold, one hand coming up to cradle the back of my head, long fingers threading through my hair, holding me desperately close.

“You ready to run yet?”

His question shocked me. If only he knew. “Not quite yet.”

The whole of the Fray had done their very best to keep the children shielded from the horror that’d crashed into the Hollow. After a long discussion, it was decided it was best for Harlow and Willard to usher the children, a few at a time, to Harlow and Archer’s house. It couldn’t be a permanent placement, but since their grandmother had passed and just the two of them lived there, it made sense, just in case there was lingering danger with Jasper.

Exhausted beyond belief and dragging by nightfall, we did our best to put together a dinner for the Salt that’d sought refuge in the Hollow. I was beginning to see the thin line between the Fray and the Salt of the Hollow. Most of the Salt needed help and were all hands in when it came to spreading the work. The Fray were those mostly on the streets, moving goods, acquiring what they could, whispering into the Salt’s ears about where to go for help. But everyone worked.

Everyone had a role to play, and the community that came with it was beautiful. One of laughter in small moments and shared stories. Of camaraderie and giving, even when you had nothing to truly give. There wasn’t a single thing about this group that didn’t remind me of the Syndicate back home. And maybe that’s why I’d fit in so well. I knew this life. I’d been here for many, many years, even if the people at the table wore different faces. Their hearts were the same. Their struggles were the same. We were the same.

Jasper was somewhat dazed, but Archer’s magic had sealed the wound, keeping him free of pain, though I wondered what trauma lingered. What hole couldn’t be healed by the loss of his power.

“Do you think it worked?” Archer asked, handing me another clean bowl to dry and stack as we washed dishes together after dinner.

“He’ll have to stay hidden now, regardless. He can’t go home.”

“He didn’t have much of a home anyway. Just a room up by the castle one of the Fray lent him. What do we think life as a one-armed cook will be like?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said, shifting my weight because my legs were so, so tired. “The point is he’ll have a life.”

I sighed, setting down the bowl I’d been drying and leaned heavily against the counter. The Hollow was settling into an uneasy quiet, the usual chatter and bustle replaced by a somber hush. Even the creaks and groans of the old building seemed muted, as if the walls were holding their breath.

Archer nudged me. “I’m going to head home, unless there’s something else we need to get done? I bet Harlot has her hands full with all the kids.”

“Nah. I think we’re good here. Thanks for… you know. All the help.”

He scrunched his nose. “You’re the newbie here, Fingers. I should be thanking you.” He tossed his rag down and walked out of the kitchen.

I didn’t hear Thorne approach, lost as I was in my own thoughts. It wasn’t until his hands settled on my shoulders, warm and solid, that I startled back to awareness. A small gasp escaped my lips as his fingers dug into the tense muscles, working out the knots with a gentle but insistent pressure.

“You’re wound tighter than a clock spring,” he murmured, his breath stirring the fine hairs at the nape of my neck.

“Is that a Goddess of Time joke?”

Thorne chuckled, a low rumble that I felt more than heard. “Not an intentional one, but I’ll take credit for accidental wit.” His thumbs pressed into the base of my skull, rubbing small circles that sent shivers cascading down my spine.

I let my head fall forward, my chin nearly touching my chest as I melted into his touch. His hands were like magic, coaxing the tension from my body with each sweeping pass. Slowly, methodically, he worked his way down the column of my neck, kneading the corded muscles until they loosened beneath his fingers.

A soft sigh slipped past my lips, my eyes fluttering closed as I gave myself over to the sensation. The rest of the world fell away, the low murmur of voices from the main room, the weight of the day’s trials. There was only Thorne. The heat of his body at my back. The mesmerizing glide of his hands on my skin. The spicy, masculine scent of him.

Lost in the hypnotic spell of Thorne’s touch, I almost didn’t register the slam of the front door, but there was no mistaking the voice as Archer ran across the Hollow, shouting for Thorne.

He burst into the kitchen, eyes wild, darting between Thorne and me as he fought to catch his breath. “They’re coming,” he gasped, one hand braced against the doorframe. “The prince… Cimmerians… headed this way.”

Thorne cursed under his breath. In an instant, the tender, attentive man was gone, replaced by the hard-edged leader.

“How long do we have?”

Archer shook his head.

I ran for the door. “Minutes, at most. He’s moving fast.”

“A whole damn army of them,” Archer managed.

“Get the hell out of here, Arch. Tell everyone. They aren’t breaking any laws by sleeping in the streets. They’ll be safe.” He snatched my hand without another word and yanked me toward the stairs. “We have to go this way. The Salt are safe, but we aren’t.”

I yanked free of his grip the second we were up the stairs, darting into the room we’d shared, and though it pained me, I left the teacup behind, choosing instead to swipe only his golden book, and the stack of ledgers he’d left on the small desk. But he surged past me, swiping the teacup anyway, as the prince’s voice could be heard shouting down the street.

We moved like wraiths, dashing up to the rooftop as silently as we could. None of the Fray’s guards were there and there was no time to ask ourselves why. We peered down over the edge of the building just in time to see the Cimmerians fan out along the street. Just in time to see Brigid caught by the throat.

“Fuck,” Thorne’s curse was nearly silent, but the anger rippling off him was unmistakable.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” the prince sang, striding with a happy bounce in his step.

I gripped Thorne’s hand. “It was Jasper, wasn’t it? He probably told Farris everything before Harlow and Willard even got there.”

“You would think,” Thorne said, pointing. “But look.”

Jasper was scrambling into the back of a covered cart with several other Salt. “He can hear Farris. But he’s not listening to him. He would have had to come out if he was bound to him.”

And of that I was certain. I knew the tight noose of a magical bond. There was no bending, no wavering against your master’s absolute rule.

“Show your faces, little rats,” Farris said, heading toward the front door of the Hollow.

Cutting his arm off had actually worked. But there was no time to think about that now. Not as Brigid’s scream ripped through the night. Not as it was abruptly cut off by the quick snap of her neck. Not as Thorne froze, and his breaths stopped coming.

“Look at me,” I said, gripping his face. “Look at me, now.”

But he didn’t move, didn’t take his eyes off her as she was tossed to the side, her unmoving body discarded like it meant nothing at all. My stomach turned at the way her twisted body landed.

“Thorne,” I tried again. “We have to go. He’s coming. He’s coming right now. We need to run.”

His face was all hard lines and stone as he spun to me. “Maybe I don’t want to run anymore. Maybe it’s time to stand and teach that little prick a fucking lesson.”

“You can’t,” I pleaded desperately. “He’s too powerful and there are way too many. We have to get out of here. Please… Please.”

My begging broke the spell. “One day. One day, I will break him.”

“Great,” I said, tugging him toward the next building. “But not this one.”

Thorne and I raced across the rooftop, our feet pounding against the weathered shingles. The cool night air whipped at our faces as we leapt from one building to the next, the gap between them a yawning chasm that threatened to swallow us whole. But Thorne moved with a feline grace, his muscles coiling and releasing with each powerful stride, and I found myself drawn along in his wake, my own body responding to his lead as if we were two parts of the same dance.

Once we were far enough away, once the chaos was behind us, though I knew it grated on him to have abandoned everyone, we redirected and headed straight for the Parlor. “We can stay there tonight. I don’t have a bed, but I’ve got blankets and couches and we can make do until tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?”

“I’ve got a few things I need to do, then we regroup and pay a little visit to Vesalia.”

“The Goddess of Time? Why?” I asked, matching his long strides with two of my own.

“Because we can never go back to the Hollow and I need her to get her fucking clocks out of my house.”

“I’m not sure you should be the one to ask,” I said, looking past the reflection on his glasses. “You don’t really make friends easily.”

“I’m not concerned with being her friend.”

“Oh, okay, great. Today was such a lovely, casual day. We should definitely stir the pot and pick a fight with a goddess tomorrow.”

He stopped hard in his tracks. “Just so we’re clear, she started it.”