Chapter 46
46
D ays passed in a melancholy haze, the world muted and distant. I moved through Thorne’s house like a ghost, drifting from room to room, my footsteps echoing hollowly on the polished floors. The children’s laughter, once a balm to my battered soul, now grated on my nerves, a painful reminder of the life I was fighting to return to and the one I was resigned to leave behind.
I caught glimpses of Thorne in the hallways, fleeting moments that left me aching. He was giving me the space I needed. Respecting me, even when it hurt. Nothing with Thorne was serious enough to truly contemplate staying here. We both knew that. It would have just been the easiest way for him to cope with his prior loss without having to fully move on.
Our eyes would meet, a brief flash of connection, before he looked away, his jaw clenched, his shoulders rigid. The air between us was heavy with unspoken words, with the weight of the truth he finally knew. The secret he had kept for me.
In the solitude of my room, I found myself reaching for his book, my fingers tracing the gilded edges, hoping against hope to find a message from him. But the pages remained stubbornly blank. I stared at the empty parchment until my vision blurred, willing his familiar handwriting to appear, desperate for any scrap of connection. I knew it was wrong, but I was so weak in small moments.
He’d left the house. I’d eavesdropped on check-ins with Tuck as much as I could, but other than a few unverified sightings from drunk people claiming they’d seen the king, there was still nothing there. The Fray was just as strong as ever though, tightening together as the city fell further to ruin. If nothing else, that was movement. Progress for Thorne’s cause, which was ultimately my cause.
The marks on my throat faded after the first day, but the memory of Alastor’s cruel grip lingered. I’d tried using magic to hunt for the broken souls, latching on to what I’d known his to look and feel like, but there was nothing there. He’d said it would only show in weak moments, but when I’d tried to see beyond each of the people carrying on around the house, they were nothing more than I’d always known them to be.
“Wanna give me a hand, Miss Paesha?” Jasper asked as I walked into the kitchen.
I managed a smile. “Did you just make a joke, Jasper Boon?”
“Archer gave me the idea yesterday.”
“Of course he did.”
I joined Jasper at the worn wooden table, taking in the sight of the mismatched assortment of ingredients that’d been laid out in front of us. Bags of rice, cans of beans, a few onions, and a handful of spices, the humble beginnings of something hearty and filling.
“What are we making?”
“Bean stew and lots of it. We’ve got over thirty mouths to feed now, and not a lot to feed them with.”
I rolled up my sleeves, the simple task a welcome distraction from the turmoil of my thoughts. “Then let’s get to work.”
Together, we measured and poured, Jasper instructing me on the proper ratios as I rinsed the rice and mixed the ingredients. He hummed a cheery tune as we worked, his deep baritone filling the kitchen with a sense of warmth. He’d walked into the counter more times than not, and he’d slipped on the water he’d dripped on the floor and sent a pan flying across the kitchen. But he never wavered. His spirit was unbreakable. And maybe I needed that when I felt so broken.
“Now, the key to a good bean stew is to let it simmer low and slow. Gives the flavors time to meld together, makes the beans nice and tender.”
I nodded, stirring the pot as instructed.
“Smells good, doesn’t it? Nothing quite like a hearty stew to lift the spirits.”
He reached for the salt, but in his enthusiasm, managed to knock over the container, sending a cascade of white crystals across the table. “Oops! Can’t let that go to waste.”
Jasper scrambled to scoop up the spilled salt, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated with his single hand, so I stepped in.
As we cleaned, Archer strolled into the kitchen. He paused in the doorway, casting me a wary glance. His blue eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, clouded with concern. I’d been distant, lost in the depths of my own thoughts and fears. Archer, with his uncanny ability to read people, had undoubtedly sensed the shift in me, the melancholy that clung to my skin like a shroud.
He opened his mouth as if to speak, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he crossed the kitchen and reached for a knife, joining Jasper and I in our task. The rhythmic thunk of the knife against the cutting board blended with the gentle bubble of the stew, a symphony that filled the sunlit kitchen. Jasper continued humming. The song was so soothing, even if it was slightly off tune. I’d missed music. Missed dancing. I even missed the stage. But there were things here I would miss too. Once Thorne accepted the truth for what it was, I knew he’d do the right thing and help me figure out the path. His curious mind was likely already stirring about what it could mean. Which was likely why he was included in the journey.
I glanced up, my heart stuttering in my chest as Thorne stepped into the kitchen. He looked tired, shadows lingering under his eyes, his usually impeccable suit slightly rumpled. But even disheveled, he was breathtaking, his presence filled the room, commanding attention without uttering a word.
Our eyes met. He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses as he looked up from his book as if he weren’t expecting us to be here. But then, of course, he wasn’t, because for a very long time, he’d been alone in this house. He’d preferred solitude.
He greeted each of us with a nod. “I see you’ve been busy.”
Jasper grinned, oblivious to the world. “Bean stew. Nothing better to feed a hungry crowd. Care to join us? Many hands make light work, as they say.”
“Two hand jokes in one day? Have you been practicing?” I asked, trying desperately to break the tension.
“You know, when you sit down to think about it, there really are so many. I’d rather laugh than wallow. Self-pity serves no one.”
Thorne’s gaze flickered to the bubbling pot, then back to me. For a heartbeat, I thought I saw a glimmer of the old warmth in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a polite mask of indifference.
“Thanks, but I’m afraid I’ve got other things to do.” He turned to me, his expression unreadable. “Paesha, a word please? In private.”
My heart leapt into my throat. I nodded, setting down my knife with hands that suddenly felt clumsy and unsure. Following him out into the hall, I forced my hands into my pockets to keep them, well, not on him.
“Have you been well?”
My brows dropped. “I guess?”
“Good. Good.”
“Was that all?”
He adjusted his glasses again. Maybe it was a nervous habit. “No. Uh, Archer thought maybe you should come to the Parlor with us tonight.”
“Did Archer think that?” I asked, loud enough he would hear me in the kitchen. “We’re letting Archer think now?”
“Hey!” he yelled.
Briony slid past us in the narrow hall, one child on her hip and another gulping away his tears. “Excuse me,” she said with her eyes down. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Thorne took a calm, deep breath.
I managed a smile as she stepped into the kitchen, shutting the door behind her. “Feeling a little cramped?”
“I’m working on a safe place for this lot, but I’m also considering staying at the Parlor for a while.”
Oh.
“Oh. Yeah, okay, that sounds like a good idea. Get some space.”
“Yeah.”
I nodded, my throat suddenly tight. Of course, he needed space. Who wouldn’t, with the house overflowing with people, the constant noise and chaos? The woman pretending to be his wife, desperate to leave him? But still, a small, selfish part of me ached at the thought of him leaving, of putting even more distance between us.
I turned away, not wanting him to see the disappointment in my eyes. “Right. Well, I should get back to the kitchen. Jasper’s probably wondering where I am.”
Thorne’s hand caught my elbow, gentle but insistent. “Paesha, wait.”
I paused, my heart hammering against my ribs. Slowly, I turned back to face him, steeling myself for whatever he might say.
His brow was furrowed, eyes searching mine. “I think you misunderstood me. When I said I was considering staying at the Parlor, I meant… I thought we both could. Together.”
My breath caught. “Together?”
He nodded, his thumb rubbing small circles on the inside of my elbow, sending shivers racing down my spine. “It would give everyone more room here, let them spread out a bit. And it would allow us to keep up appearances. We are supposed to be married, after all. And your time is running out, is it not? We can’t hide behind these walls until you leave.”
I wanted to address the last bit he’d said. Explain myself. Find a way to make him understand. But he was stubborn, and foolishly so, when he thought he had a lesson somewhere to teach, so I bit my tongue and nodded. “Okay. Today?”
“Can you be ready in an hour? I wanted to make sure Briony is okay to stay with the children permanently. She can have my room if she wants it.”
“Or mine,” I offered, feeling something selfish about another woman sleeping in his bed, though I knew I didn’t have the right.
But he knew, of course. The narrowing of his eyes, the small flattening of his lips. It wasn’t just me holding back, but at least this was a place of common ground.
“I’ll see if Tuck will come by more. Security checks and stuff.”
“Yeah. That’s a good plan. And we could always stop by if you were feeling homesick or anything.”
“There will be nothing here that feels like home. I’ve already packed up most of the study. I saved a few books for you, but that’s pretty much it.”
An hour later, I stood in the foyer, a small bag clutched in my hands. It felt wrong, leaving like this, abandoning the Fray to fend for themselves in a house that wasn’t truly theirs. But Thorne was right. We needed to keep up appearances. We couldn’t very well hide away forever, no matter how much I might wish to.
Thorne descended the stairs, his own bag slung over his shoulder. He’d changed into a fresh suit, the navy fabric impeccably tailored to his broad frame. He looked every inch the powerful lord, confident and in control. But I didn’t miss the weariness in the set of his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes.
The carriage ride was silent. Full of unasked questions and more wary glances. By the time we made it through the Parlor and up the stairs, I was sure he was going to drop me off and run the other direction, but instead, he pressed a steady hand to the small of my back and pushed the door open.
I gasped. “You got us a bed?”
“Well, given our current circumstances,” Thorne said, his voice carefully neutral as he closed the door behind us. “I had it brought from the Hollow. We can’t take turns on the couch forever. Or not forever. The foreseeable future, I guess. What do we have? A week? Two?”
“Don’t do that.”
He lowered his glasses. “Do what?”
I sighed. “Nothing.”
I set my bag down, letting my gaze wander over the room, taking in the little touches that made it undeniably Thorne’s space, the stack of leather-bound books on the desk, the half-empty decanter of liquor on the sideboard, the faint scent of whiskey and spice that clung to the air.
Taking one step toward the desk, I got a sudden wave of déjà vu. Of standing in an office as rich as this one. Of watching Visha, the brothel owner, give Quill away, of the Maestro forcing me to show him my scar. But there was something else. Someone else. Lingering in the corner. Tainting the memory as if he’d been there. But no one else had been in that room that day. I was sure of it. Something in my memory protested, though. Willed me to see beyond a veil over my mind.
“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” Thorne asked, coming to stand before me. He gripped my shoulder, lifting my hand with a finger. “Poison?”
I could see the fear as clear as the floor beneath us. I grabbed his wrist. “No. I just had this odd sense of… Well, it’s not important. It’s just Ezra was—” I choked on my gasp.
As soon as the syllables left my tongue, they dissolved like mist in the morning sun. I blinked, the odd sense of familiarity fading as quickly as it had come, leaving me disoriented and unsure.
Thorne’s grip on my shoulders tightened, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that unsettled me. “Who’s Ezra?”
I shook my head, the remnants of the memory already slipping away, like sand through my fingers. “I… I don’t know. It was just a strange feeling, like I’d been in a room like this before, with someone else. But it’s gone now. I can’t quite grasp it. Must’ve been something from a dream. Strange.”
Thorne’s brow furrowed, concern etched into the lines of his face. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles on my shoulders. “You sure you’re all right? You looked like you’d seen a ghost for a moment there.”
I managed a shaky smile, trying to dispel the lingering unease that coiled in my gut. “For a moment, I thought I had. It’s gone now. Just a weird sensation. I don’t even know an Ezra.”
As the words left my lips, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I did.
“Here.” Thorne snagged a book from his desk. “We have a few hours before we need to make an appearance downstairs. Maybe settling in with a book will help.”
It hadn’t. No matter how many times I scanned the page, I had no idea of the main character’s name. I couldn’t tell you what he looked like, or even the type of story I had. My mind just circled and circled the war happening within my thoughts. Had he been someone in passing? One of the Maestro’s many collections?
When Archer came a while later, I hadn’t even moved through the first five pages.
“Bad news, boss,” he said, taking the seat beside me, his cloak folded over his arm. “Tuck says Farris is making an appearance at the Parlor tonight.”
Thorne dropped his paper onto the desk. His eyes flashed to me. “Can you tell if he’s close?”
I nodded and had his answer within a minute. “He’s only a block away.”
“Shit,” he said, jumping up from the desk. “Rosy’s targeting the Cummings tonight.”
“Best she doesn’t,” Archer said, standing.
I got to my feet as well, ready to zip downstairs behind Thorne. Archer grabbed my wrist, flashing me a look. I narrowed my eyes but didn’t catch his meaning.
“Come on, wife. We’ve got a show to put on.”
“Actually, that’s the other thing I came to tell you. We were sort of talking at the house and… it’s obvious something bad happened between you two. Now I’m not one to pry and I’m sure you’ll be right as rain soon, but… if the prince picks up on it? Or if the Cimmerians catch a whiff of her power, you know what’s going to happen.”
Though Thorne hesitated, looking at me before letting loose a long sigh, he nodded. “I’ll tell them you’re under the weather. You better stay up here just to be safe.”
“But I could help,” I protested. “We’ve always put on a good show.”
Archer cleared his throat. “You know I’m right. We can’t take chances. Sorry, Fingers. But I can stay with you, if you want. I brought my cards.” He turned his back to Thorne, winking at me at least three times.
I managed a look over his shoulder at my fictional husband. His face was completely unreadable.
“It’s fine. I can stay. We don’t need to make anything worse,” I said.
Though his shoulders dropped, though he sighed in relief, he still asked, “Are you sure?”
I dipped my chin and watched as he walked out of the room.
“I know you’ve been sulking about for days, and I can’t stand it anymore. Let’s go have an adventure.” Archer whipped the cloak off his arm, showing off the two Cimmerian robes and masks.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“This is the perfect opportunity. Farris is going to have so many guards here with him tonight, and Thorne will keep him occupied. This is a really solid plan.”
“If you’re so sure, then why don’t we tell Thorne, just to make sure everyone’s on board with a suicide mission?”
He grinned, pulling something from his pocket. “I’m one step ahead of you. I wrote him a note. He loves to read.”
“If the prince doesn’t kill you, he will. You realize that, right?”
“Well, he’ll have to get in line behind Harlow. Now, are you coming or not? We have a lair to find.”
I rolled my eyes, taking the robe and mask. “I already know where it is, but something tells me you knew that.”