Nevermore (The Never Sky #2)

Chapter 40

40

T hat night, I lay in bed, staring at the bedside table. I knew what lay within, tucked away in that innocuous drawer. The book. The lifeline between Thorne and me, a tether that connected us even when we were apart.

My fingers itched to reach out, to slide open the drawer and grab it, to feel its warmth against my skin. To trace the intricate engravings on the cover, to let my fingertips skim over the gilded edges of the pages. I longed to open it and see his familiar scrawl flowing across the parchment, to read the words.

Something snarky. Commanding. Just shy of nerdy. Gods, I hated that I missed him. But being around these kids made me miss Quilly too. The way I’d taught her to count while she brushed her teeth. The way she’d race up the stairs two at a time to beat her dog Boo to the top. The way she’d be so sleepy, her eyes hung heavy, and still insist on one more dance.

I rolled onto my back, staring up at the intricate molding that adorned the ceiling. In the dim light, the swirling patterns seemed to dance and shift, morphing into images from my memories. Quill’s face, her bright blue eyes crinkling with laughter as we twirled around the kitchen, our bare feet slapping against the worn wooden floors. The way her small hand fit so perfectly in mine, her trust unwavering as I guided her through the steps of a waltz. The memories of Quill battled the longing for Thorne and that didn’t feel fair to either one of them. There was no choice here. Not really.

In truth, I felt more alone here and now than I had since Thorne’s rescue. I hated the companionship he’d given me. The long looks and the lingering touches. They confused everything. But at least with those things, I wasn’t alone.

I’m not sure if it was comfort, desperation or loneliness that drove me, but one second I was lying there, deep in my feelings and the next, I yanked the book free of the drawer and held it against my chest, the warm cover pressing into my skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. The golden engravings dug gently into my palms as I clutched it tightly.

The book radiated a soothing heat, just like Thorne’s random hugs. But I knew what it meant. And I knew how dangerous giving over to that baser need would be at the end of this path. So, I tucked the book under my pillow and willed myself to sleep.

“Wake up, sunshine. We’ve got a full day of hunting. Heh. Hunting with the Huntress. That’s fun. Hey, wait, why do you get a cool name and I don’t?”

I rubbed my eyes, looking past the blurry outline of Archer toward the open window, where the cool morning breeze moved in, reminding me that another damn day had passed. And my days were more numbered now than ever. Thirty-seven. And six more would be spent without Thorne.

“You could have used the door, you know?”

“Nah. Thought we better make a plan before we expose ourselves.”

I rolled my eyes, kicking the covers free and swinging my feet to the icy floor. “Give me five minutes with no talking.”

“Not a morning person. Got it.”

I glared at Archer’s freshly shaven face. “That’s talking.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender before his eyes fell down past Thorne’s shirt. “Damn Fingers, I should have been calling you Legs this whole time.”

“I will actually kill you.”

His eyes gleamed with mischief. “Right. Sorry. Five minutes. Got it.”

He sat down in the chair by the door, put his ankle on his knee and began to whistle. I grabbed a pillow and launched it across the room at him before going to the bathroom to wash up.

“Nobody likes a grumpy goose,” he shouted after I shut the door.

“What was the point of coming in the window if you’re going to wake the whole house?”

“That’s a really good question. I’ll ponder it for the rest of the five minutes.”

I dressed quickly, splashing water onto my face and brushing my teeth, staring at myself in the mirror to see past the way this realm had dragged me down. Not unlike Requiem, just in different ways.

I pulled the black leathers from the hook on the back of the door and swung it open to find Archer standing there, staring at his watch.

“Wi—”

“No.” He held up a finger. “Three, two, one. And go.”

“You know how your sister seems to be annoyed with you very easily?”

He grinned, showing all his teeth. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response. I’m simply charming. I can’t be cut-throat all the time, Fingers.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” I said, sliding Harlow’s gifted blade into the sheath on my thigh.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Now that you’re finally ready to go, what’s the plan?”

“Hmm. I guess I thought it was obvious. We need the king, right? And the king is missing? What’s another word for missing?”

His brow lowered. “Absent?”

“Try lost . And guess what Alastor is the god of?”

Archer crossed the room, slumping back into the chair, running his fists through his hair. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” All sense of the lovable oaf was gone as his face turned serious. Hard even. “If Thorne found out we were?—”

“Do you want to find the king?”

“Yes, but?—”

“Are you an adult?”

“Paesha, you don’t understand.”

“I’m tired of sitting around letting everyone else run these streets. I’m the Huntress. I’m the one that needs to do this. I know it. And you can either come with and help, or you can sit right there and wait for me to get back. I told you last night it was reckless. I stand by that, but I’m still going.”

“You can’t just walk into the Vale. You’ll never even find it.”

I smiled, lowering my chin. “I already know where it is, thanks to you lingering around it. And if I have to steal something fucking shiny for a meeting with Alastor, I’ll do it. I’m done playing games with gods on their terms.”

“If Thorne kills me for this, I’m taking you to Death’s Court with me.”

“That’s not the threat you think it is,” I said, following Archer through the city.

The Vale was not above, but in fact below Stirling, similar to the Maw. Archer insisted there were no connecting paths between the two and I could do nothing but take his word for it. It made sense though, if Alastor was the master of the Vale, he wasn’t going to put his black market right under the nose of the Cimmerians. And likely, the Silk weren’t meandering down here to shop. The rich thrived on the minions they kept for every dark job. We passed through one of the narrowest alleys. The kind of place that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, that had you glancing over your shoulder with every echoing footstep. The walls loomed high on either side, the bricks crumbling and covered in a patchwork of grime. Bits of broken glass and debris crunched underfoot.

We moved quickly, Archer’s hand a vice around my wrist as he tugged me along, taking sharp corners, moving up steep stairs only to turn and jog down another set. But I followed him effortlessly, letting our cloaks keep our identities as hidden as possible. When I thought there was no way we could possibly go farther down, he tugged us right, and we slipped past a half-broken door, hanging off rusted hinges.

I had to hand it to Alastor. If I were trying to hide in a city this big, I’d have picked this place too. But of course, as a God of Lost things, he’d know how to take a place and make it exactly that. Lost. Hidden. His alone.

“You’ll have to show your face to the guard, but say nothing and keep those eyes down. If they figure out you’re Thorne’s wife, we might not make it out of here.”

“Hey,” I said, tugging on his hand to pull him back. The worry on his face was almost unsettling. “We’re walking out of here. There’s no question about that. I promise.”

“Don’t make those promises.” He stepped closer, pushing my hood away. “Eyes down, okay?”

I nodded, staring only at his feet as the light faded and we stood in almost complete darkness before another door. There were no words exchanged. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Archer produce something from his pocket. Beyond that, we stood and I held my breath until the door creaked open and we were given access to the Vale.

The cavernous space sprawled before us, air thick with the scent of incense and the hum of whispered deals. I let my eyes sweep the room once. Let my magic anchor me to this place before I stared at the floor once more. Golden lanterns hung from the ceiling, so far away, it felt like we were truly buried in the heart of Wisteria. Merchants stood like statues behind their stalls, jewels and relics glittering in the dim light. No one spoke to us, yet I felt the weight of every gaze as we passed through, the kind of eyes that only dangerous people wore.

Archer walked beside me with slow, deliberate steps and I could sense the tension in the way his fingers flexed at his side. He didn’t need to look around. He knew we were being watched just as well as I did. Prey in a den of wolves. Each glance over the wares, every subtle movement, was a promise that here, fortunes were made or lost with a single misstep. Because the Vale wasn’t filled with honest, hardworking people. This was where the cruelest thrived. Where mercenaries and murderers meet on equal ground.

Still, Archer didn’t falter. His stride remained steady, his eyes forward, as if daring anyone to act. His silence was sharper than any blade, a warning all on its own. I adjusted my cloak, more for comfort than warmth. We weren’t here for the trinkets or the whispers of fortune—those things were distractions. Yet, the deeper we ventured into the heart of the Vale, the more I felt like we were walking into a trap that had already been set.

I had no idea what Archer’s plan was to lure Alastor out. All I could do was keep my head down and have a little faith in him, as he’d asked me to do. At the far end of the galley, past the final stall, he stopped to talk to a man, leaning in to whisper. I chanced another look around the space, nothing big enough to draw attention, just enough to see the table to our right, lined with jewels and ornate golden ornaments.

“Alastor is a very busy man. He doesn’t have time for unscheduled visitors.”

I lifted my face enough to see his dark eyes flicked to me for a moment before settling back on Archer.

Archer leaned forward, bracing his hands on the edge of the table, his tone melting into something deep and dangerous. “We’re not leaving until we speak with Alastor.”

The man chuckled, the sound devoid of any real mirth. “You’re in no position to make demands here, boy.” He snapped his fingers and the shadows along the walls shifted, men detaching themselves from the darkness like wraiths.

I tensed and beside me, Archer remained still, but I could see the coiled readiness in the set of his shoulders.

“Maybe you didn’t hear my friend,” I said, lifting my face, holding my chin high as I stepped between the man and Archer. “We’re not leaving until we meet with Alastor, so be a good boy, and go fetch.”

“I’m not your godsdamn dog,” the man said, raising his fist to strike me.

But as swift as the dancer I’d always been, I spun to the side, swiping the sword from the table, and I would have had it to his throat, had Archer not been far quicker. He had the man on the ground, boot to throat.

I turned again, pressing my back toward Archer as I held the blade in my hands, adjusting to its weight. A dagger was not my weapon of choice, but I’d battled a Hell Hound to near death with a sword.

This I knew.

The men crept closer, a pack of predators circling their cornered prey. Heart racing, wondering if I’d guessed wrong and completely fucked us, I adjusted my grip on the sword. Beside me, Archer’s breaths came steady and even, his body a coiled spring ready to unleash at the slightest provocation. We were outnumbered and outmatched and about as foolish as they came.

But before the dogs could descend, a strong steady voice carried down the space. “Now, now, boys. What have I told you about bloodshed before noon? It’s bad form.” Alastor stepped from the shadows, his tattoos writhing like smoke on his skin as he stared only at me. “The Huntress comes at last. I must say, it took you long enough.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been pretty busy trying not to die, so there’s that.”

Alastor snapped his fingers and the men retreated back to their shadowy perches. “You two, follow me. I imagine if you were willing to fight my wraiths, you must have something very valuable to share.” His eyes flicked down to the sword in my hand. “Interesting choice. Perhaps you should keep it.”

“Is it expensive?” I asked, staring him right in the eyes that matched one of mine perfectly.

“Quite.”

“Then I think I will.”

We walked in silence, save the tip of the sword I purposefully let drag across the stone floor, staring straight ahead, scowling as we walked.

Archer bumped my shoulder once Alastor was far enough ahead and whispered under his breath, “How’d you know he’d come?”

“Easy. I’m his descendant, and he has something he wants to share with me.”

“That would have been nice to know before I thought we were about to die,” he hissed.

“Has anyone told you you’re a tad dramatic?”

“Has anyone told you you’re a terrible friend?”

I paused. “Actually, yes. Pretty much everyone I know.”

He flashed a side eyed glance at me. “Take comfort in the fact that you don’t surround yourself with liars.”

“I’d say you handled yourself well enough. Surprisingly.”

He tilted his head. “Surprisingly?”

“Charming people aren’t usually dangerous.”

“Well, that’s not true at all,” Alastor said, butting into the conversation I hadn’t realized he could hear. “The most dangerous beings I know are actually quite charming. When they want to be.”

Archer beamed. “You think I’m charming.”

I twisted my mouth to hide the smile as we entered Alastor’s meeting room. The space was nothing more than an office with deep red rugs on the floor, a desk, and walls and walls of books that called for me to stay and read them all, though every single shelf had gaps where a book was clearly missing and each of the spaces had filled with dust and cobwebs.

“Sit,” Alastor said, handing us each a drink. “Show me what you’ve brought.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we didn’t bring anything for you. In fact,” I sat, taking a long pull from the glass he’d handed me and set it on the desk before placing the sword across my lap. “I’m just going to level with you. I’m tired of the riddles and bullshit. We know the gods are hiding the king and we’re here to ask you where he is.”

Archer choked on his drink. Really choked, coughing and sputtering, taking several moments to regain his composure. “What my friend here is trying to say,” he said, with a rasp, eyes watery, “Is we think certain gods might be responsible and we’d be so grateful, the most grateful, if you could provide any insight. Isn’t that right, Paesha?”

I narrowed my stare at Alastor. “No. I meant what I said.”

Alastor chuckled, soft at first and then it grew into something loud, and unnerving. Once settled, he sat forward, clasping his hands on his desk. “You’re so much like Irri, Huntress. You come by that mouth honestly, I’ll tell you that. But you’ve got it all wrong. The gods do not benefit in this realm. In fact, most hate it. With muted magic and constant turmoil, all eyes are on that insolent prince. Gods draw power from emotion and praise, piety. But no one is looking to the gods for guidance. People stopped casually praying in Wisteria a long time ago. Now it’s just desperation, which is fine, but it just doesn’t have the same ring to it, you know?”

“I’d think the god of lost things could find the most important man in this realm that’s missing. I don’t really give a shit who’s worshiping who or whatever, so forgive me if I don’t trust a word you’re saying. ”

He leaned back, kicking his feet up onto his desk, boots thudding against the wood. “You’d be foolish to.”

“Where’s the king? Let’s not play games.”

“What makes you think I know where the king is?”

“For starters, you answered my question with a question. And to follow up on that, as I said, but maybe I need to speak slower, you’re the God of Lost and Broken things, are you not?”

“I hold those names, yes.”

“What does that mean?” Archer asked. “Sir… God, sir.”

He shook his head, looking up at the ceiling as he folded his arms over his broad chest. “You mortals have such a way of asking the wrong questions. Let me help you. Repeat after me. Alastor, most benevolent and patient,”

He gestured, waiting until we repeated the phrase, though it boiled my blood. “Alastor, most benevolent and patient.”

He smiled. I glared.

“What is the most important thing you have to tell us?”

Archer dutifully repeated the words, no hesitation. I was not so compliant.

“Important to whom?”

“Ah, ah, Huntress, speak the words to get the answers you need, not the ones you seek.”

Truly, the king’s location was not the most important information I needed. But I wasn’t sure if he knew that. The Goddess of Time knew about Quill, but did they all? Was he about to spill my secret to Archer? Did I care at this point? With the clock ticking down and the walls moving in, maybe I didn’t. Still, I hated this game. Always the damn games.

I kicked my feet up on his desk, mirroring him as I stared, but when he refused to move a muscle, when he did not blink and flecks of gold began to show in his eyes, reminding me that I was facing down a god and I needed to tread lightly, I begrudgingly repeated his words. “What is the most important thing you have to tell us, oh great and mighty asshole?”

I braced myself. Ready for any answer. I needed so, so many.

His eyes darkened. “It might surprise you to know you’re not the first to call me that.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Careful, Huntress. There are plenty of gods killing off their descendants these days. I’d hate for you to become another tragedy.”

“Dying is not a threat to me. I’d rather be in Death’s Court than this hell hole.”

“She doesn’t mean that,” he told Archer. “Our Huntress has a flair for the dramatics as well. In answer to your question, the most important thing I have to tell you is that your soul has lived many, many lives and this will probably be its last. While I’m sure you would prefer to live eternity in Death’s dark court, that will likely not happen. You are not only the Huntress but also the Hunted.” He turned his gaze to Archer, pulling his feet from the desk to sit forward. Hands clasped once more, the tattoos were as still as simple ink and not the magic I believed them to be. “And since I’m feeling quite generous today, Archer Bramwell, let me be quite clear. Chop off the head to kill the snake but be wary of the venom.”

“Very helpful,” Archer answered, nodding.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, apparently there’s another brawl on the floor. To their credit, none of them have snatched a seven-hundred-year-old sword for protection.”

I jumped to my feet. “No. Wait. I have more questions. I’ll give you back the sword.”

He stopped before me, lifting the sword to examine it while he said. “You already know the answer to your most pressing question,” he said. “And keep the sword. It was yours long before it was mine.”