Nevermore (The Never Sky #2)

Chapter 50

50

T wo days later, Archer, Thorne and I were perched on the top of the same building we’d been on when Jasper’s magic was stolen in Prospector’s Pointe. Every flower box on every building surrounding the square was full of blooming white flowers, glowing in the midday sun. Farris and his horde of Cimmerians stood front and center as a line of ornate carriages were stopped just behind the golden circle.

“Do you guys see what I see?” Archer asked, an edge to his voice.

“We see it,” I said, feeling a cool sense of dread melt over me.

All the gathered Cimmerians wore deep green robes, rendering the black ones we’d planned to take completely useless.

“We’ll think of something else. See what it looks like when we get there,” Archer said, not willing to doubt this trip for a second.

We watched from our vantage point as the gods and mortals that had been selected for this year’s Hunt arrived in the square. They were a dazzling sight, dressed in textures, furs and glittering jewels. The few gathered gods seemed to glow with an inner light, their beauty and power almost painful to look at. They loved a good show though, love their growing power from the worshiping of others, even if that worshiping was really envy, hatred, or even malice. The emotions are what fed them, just like fear had fed Death in his court. This was an important event for each of them. The chosen Silk looked small and insignificant next to them, but there was a hungry gleam in their eyes, a desperation to prove themselves worthy of this disgusting honor, yes. But they wanted to be close for Farris. They wanted the power he was hoarding.

One by one, the selected favorites climbed into the waiting carriages. Each one bearing the royal crest, a stark reminder of who controlled this grand spectacle. On the sidelines, the Silk that hadn’t been chosen watched with envious eyes. They preened and postured, their bright spring wardrobes a riot of color against the muted backdrop of the city.

Once the caravan was gone, Thorne adjusted his glasses, checking his watch for the third time. “They’re late.”

“They aren’t,” I said, curling around my power. “They’re down by the carriages with Tuck.”

Archer rolled his eyes. “I bet they’re arguing. This has Wee Willy’s name written all over it.”

Thorne’s lips thinned into a grim line. “Perfect.”

I nodded, already moving towards the rusted access ladder. “Why haven’t one of you punched that guy in the nose yet?”

“Willy is a good guy,” Archer answered. “He’s just a terrible boyfriend. But the second I start talking shit to Harlow, she shuts down. Her life, her choice. We just support her. But as soon as she gives up on him, I get first dibs.”

The muted sounds of the city engulfed us as we hiked back down. The distant clatter of carriage wheels on cobblestones, the low murmur of conversations drifting from open windows, the cry of a street vendor hawking his wares. Stepping onto the bustling street, a far more familiar noise took precedent though.

Raised voices, sharp with anger and frustration, cut through the din of the crowd. Thorne’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing behind his spectacles as he sought Harlow and Willy, arguing behind the carriage with Tuck sitting dutifully at the helm, eyes locked on Thorne. Before they knew we were close, their voices carried.

“I’m not a child, Willard!” Harlow’s hands were clenched into fists at her sides, her posture rigid with barely contained fury. “I can make my own decisions. I don’t need your permission.”

Wee Willy loomed over her. “It’s too dangerous. Can’t you see that? Farris is unpredictable. This whole Hunt is a farce, a twisted game. I won’t let you risk your life for another of your brother’s foolish plans.”

“Let me?” Harlow scoffed, tossing her head. “Since when do you get to ‘let me’ do anything? I’m not some delicate flower that needs protecting. I’m a member of the Fray, same as you. And I think we both know I’m far more skilled.”

“This is different. We have no idea what we’re walking into. Have you ever been to the Hunt? Because I haven’t. All I know are the horror stories that follow everyone home. You cannot go and that’s final.”

Archer and Thorne rushed forward.

“Don’t,” Harlow said, throwing a hand up to stop them both. She took an easy step toward Willard. “I have done every single thing you’ve ever asked of me. I’ve gone willingly to places I didn’t want to go. I’ve had dinners with people I don’t care about. I’ve watched your mother push other women into your path with no regard for me. And I’ve done it all silently. Obediently. I’ve loved you since I was a girl. You were my first crush. Every time you gave me five seconds of attention it filled something broken in me. So, I’ve let you have the upper hand, even when those feelings have dissipated. Even as you’ve changed. I want to love you more than I actually do right now, and that says more about you than me. I’m going to the Hunt and you are not and that’s the end of this conversation. Archie, please take my bag from Willard.”

She said no more, and climbed into the carriage.

“Har, wait,” Willard said, lunging for her.

Archer stepped in the way, blocking the door as he placed a hand on Willy’s chest to hold him back. “She’s spoken her peace. She can make her own decisions. Just give her some space.”

“When her decisions involve you, it’s bound to end in trouble, or have you forgotten why she has no magic? Harlow, come back out here.”

The hurt look on Archer’s face was all I needed to insert myself. I knew we had to tread lightly. If a member of the Fray went rogue, everyone would go down. But I’d had enough.

“Who do you think you are, talking to him like that? Or her, for that matter? Let me make this clear, you need to drag yourself home, stand in front of a mirror, and figure out why you’re acting like a complete jerk. I saw you in the Hollow, Willard. You know I did. I’ve kept quiet out of respect, but don’t push your luck. Go home. Cool off. Give her the space she deserves. And maybe by the time we’re back, you’ll have realized being a man doesn’t make you better. It just means sometimes you have to shift your balls to sit down.”

Willy turned every shade of red, fists clamped at his side. He opened his mouth to speak, but Thorne’s heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t,” he said simply.

“But she?—”

Thorne lowered his chin. “No.”

Pretty sure I’d never been more attracted to that man than I was just then.

Archer stepped around me, his voice laced with sadness. “No one here is trying to fight you. We’re only asking you to give her the space she’s requested. You can talk when we get back.”

I hated the woman I had to be in this moment. And then I realized Harlow likely felt the same way. So, I left them behind to crawl into the carriage, sliding in beside her. I took her hand. Silent tears slipped down her face as she stared out of the small window.

“It would be so easy,” she whispered. “If I stayed with Willard, if I let him dictate my life, my choices, I could have a kind of peace, you know? The peace of complacency, of never having to fight for what I want or who I am. Or wonder what things would be like outside of it. I would never have to think of what’s missing because things would just become routine. Monotonous. No matter what it did to me on the inside. Eventually, I would stop feeling pain. And in the end, at least he’d keep our secrets. Maybe that’s worth the flames.”

“Stop setting yourself on fire for someone who’d rather tell you to find water instead of putting you out themselves. You don’t have to conform to him. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

Though Harlow cried silently, turning back to the window, I could almost feel her heartache radiating off her in waves. The air in the carriage grew heavy, thick with the weight of her pain. She turned to me, her blue eyes shimmering with tears, a sad smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“You know, I’ve never been whole since I lost my mother and then my power. It’s like these two huge parts of me were ripped away, leaving this gaping, jagged hole that nothing can fill. And sometimes… sometimes it’s just easier to take the silent road. To let someone else make the choices, to not have to think or feel or fight for myself so I’m not the one that needs saving.”

Her words struck a chord deep within me, rattling my nerves enough to make me sit a little straighter. As I looked at Harlow, really looked at her, I saw it. There, just at the edges of her form, was a faint ripple. A distortion, like heat rising off sun-baked stones. And around that shimmer, a thin line of deep black absorbed the light, an inky void that made my eyes ache to look at it directly. The darkness pulsed in time with the ripples. A macabre heartbeat.

The mark of a broken soul, a spirit shattered by grief and loss. A wound that went far deeper than flesh and bone, a scar that could never fully heal. She’d been here this whole time, and I had no idea. But if I gave Alastor the name… if he knew it was her, he could help her. I had to sit on my hands to keep from reaching out to touch the void. It called to me, purred across the space like a lover coaxing me forward and the only thing I could think of beyond the need to caress the darkness, was if Harlow was a broken soul because she’d lost her magic, then Wisteria was full of broken souls. And that included Jasper.

But that couldn’t be right, could it? I’d seen him at his lowest low. I’d seen him beg the prince to spare him. And worse, had watched him beg for deliverance, opting to lose his forearm rather than be bound to Farris. There was no black in that moment. Nothing that made him any more than a sad man. So was it both? The loss of a parent paired with the loss of her magic? Or was it just her capacity to feel things deeper, something different about Harlow that marked her?

The carriage door swung open, startling me from my trance. Archer and Thorne climbed in, the small space suddenly cramped with their long legs. Archer’s sharp gaze darted between Harlow and me, his brow furrowing with concern as he took in the tense atmosphere.

“Har,” he began, his voice characteristically gentle, “Why are you still with that asshole? You know you deserve better, right?”

Harlow sighed, tearing her gaze away from the window to meet her brother’s eyes. The shimmer around her dissipated as she blinked away her sadness. “It’s best for everyone if I stay put.”

“Absolutely not,” Thorne said, crossing his arms over his chest as Tuck whistled once and the carriage took off. “If you choose Willard, fine. But you are not going to stay with him for other people’s benefits. Not even his own. He’s not committed to you. If anything, he’s stringing you along for his own appearances. If you don’t want to be with him, it’s done.”

“You know what he’ll do,” she whispered.

“If you’re worried about him giving away our secrets, then he shouldn’t be a member of the Fray, anyway. Say the word and I’ll pay a visit to the Story Snatcher and he’ll never remember a thing.”

The world melted over me, stealing all sense of reason. My ears rang. I forced a breath. Two. Keeping my eyes trained to the ground. That was the second time I’d heard of the Story Snatcher. And I’d bet my life I’d already met him. In the form of a little homeless boy. A little homeless boy who’d asked for a story of love and then snatched it away.