Chapter 58
58
A rcher hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. He stood as still as the grave before us, shoulders stiff beneath the weight of his pain, head bowed as the rain streamed down his face. He hadn’t shed another tear in front of us, but I knew. I knew by the way his fists trembled at his sides. I knew by the way his breath hitched every time he exhaled. His silence was louder than any scream, more agonizing than any sob could have been.
The sound of the final shovel of dirt hitting the casket echoed like a thunderclap in the suffocating silence. Everyone had come. Willard, the Fray, the Salt and Silk alike, circling the grave of a woman who’d reached across the social barriers of this cruel world and left it a better place than she’d found it, even though it’d meant her life in the end. There was no going back. Harlow died last night, and the world felt emptier for it.
Even the king had come, hidden in a sodden cloak at Tuck’s side, this broken soul the only one among us rippling across the graveyard. Archer had told him, of course. With an angry scream, he’d told the king that he’d been the reason for his own daughter’s death. And though that hadn’t been true at all, though I was always the target and the reason for the rescue, I hadn’t corrected him. Hadn’t had the heart to do so.
Serene had come, lurking around the outskirts of the graveyard, her long cloak billowing in wind that didn’t exist as she leeched off the broken hearts of the masses. Because in truth, she was the Goddess of Loss and Lust and though I’d always known that, it wasn’t until now that I understood how the two might be connected. She fed off the aching emptiness grief carved into a heart, the way it left people vulnerable, raw, yearning to fill that hollow space with anything that might bring comfort. Lust, then, was not merely desire, but a desperate reaching for something, someone, to stave off the darkness.
In Archer’s hand, crushed between his fingers, was a white lily. The flower he had carried all this way, soaked through by the rain, wilting just like she had, the last piece of her left in his grip. He stood there, staring down at the grave, as if he didn’t know how to let go, how to move forward now that the last part of his sister was buried in the earth.
And then, slowly, his hand trembled as he released it. The flower fell, spinning gently, until it landed on the earth covering his sister’s coffin. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared down at the grave, like there were no words left to be said. None that could fix what had been broken. I watched the way his shoulders sagged, the way his chest hitched with breaths he was barely holding onto, and my heart shattered all over again. He had been holding it together, a threadbare facade, but he was slipping now. Breaking. And it was the kind of break no one could fix.
I stepped forward, hesitating for only a moment before I wrapped my arms around him. He didn’t resist. Didn’t pull away. He just… collapsed into me. His head dropped to my shoulder, and a sharp sob tore through him. The floodgate opened, and he fell apart in my arms, the weight of his grief too much to bear any longer.
There were no words of comfort I could offer, no platitudes that could ease the raw anguish radiating from him in waves. He clung to me like a drowning man, and I held him fiercely. He wept for her. And I wept for him. For the twin who had lost his other half, the one person who had always been there for him. And in that moment, as the rain poured down and the world seemed to shrink to just the two of us, I realized this pain, the pain of losing someone so deeply it wove into the fabric of your life, didn’t go away. It lingered. It haunted. Because I’d spent years dancing with the ghost of a man that’d left me too.
Slowly, the mourners drifted away, their black-clad forms melting into the misty gray of the graveyard. Some lingered, murmuring quiet words of condolence to Archer before they faded into the gloom, leaving only the soft patter of rain and the distant caw of a lone raven.
I pulled back from Archer, my hands still resting on his shoulders as I searched his face. Grief had etched deep lines into his skin, aging him beyond his years. His eyes, once bright with mischief and laughter, were now haunted, shadowed by pain. But as I looked closer, dreading the telltale flicker of black that would mark his soul as broken, I still found nothing. Just the raw, human anguish of a man who had lost everything.
Thorne approached us, his own face drawn and somber. He placed a gentle hand on Archer’s back. “Come on. Let’s get out of this rain.”
Archer nodded, seeming to rouse himself from the depths of his sadness. He straightened, squaring his shoulders as if physically bracing himself against the weight of a lonelier world. Together, we turned and began the long, slow walk back to the Parlor, leaving Harlow’s final resting place behind us.
The city streets were nearly deserted, the usually bustling thoroughfares emptied by the relentless rain. It drummed against the cobblestones, running in rivulets along the gutters and pooling in the potholes. The few people we passed hurried by with their heads down, their faces obscured by dripping hoods and upturned collars.
As we walked, Thorne kept a steadying arm around Archer’s shoulders, guiding him. I trailed a step behind. The silence stretched between us, thick and oppressive, broken only by the mournful whisper of the wind and the distant rumble of thunder.
Archer paused just over the threshold of the Parlor, his gaze sweeping the room as if seeing it for the first time. Every surface, every piece of furniture seemed to hold a memory of Harlow. The bar where she’d perched, laughing as she sipped her whiskey, the gaming tables where she’d leaned over Archer’s shoulder, distracting his targets, the couch she loved the most, where she’d perfected becoming a thief.
“I can’t do this right now,” he said, backing away. “I can’t be here.”
“Where do you want to go? I’ll come with you,” I offered.
He shook his head. “I need space.” And then he spun and walked back down the sodden street. Alone.
I turned to Thorne, worried for Archer, but he pulled me into his arms and kicked the door shut. “Just give him some time.”
I didn’t have time. None at all, in fact. I’d counted each one over and over in bed last night, unable to sleep. There was the unknown of my time in the Maw. I could have been there for 3 days, it could have been a week or more, but beyond that, sixty-three had passed. The winter had melted to spring, and at the very most, I had a week left to find my way back to Requiem.
“Did Tuck go with the king back to the castle?” I asked, begrudgingly letting my mind move beyond the heavy morning.
Thorne kissed my head, squeezing tighter. “King Aldus agreed to bring as many of the Salt under his protection as he can. He’s offering them positions in his guard and throughout the castle. He knows he needs loyal people around him now more than ever.”
I nodded, a flicker of hope sparking in my chest despite the sorrow that still clung to me like a second skin. Maybe peace would be the end of the path. “That’s good. It’s a start, at least.”
“He’s gearing up for the prince’s return tomorrow. Fortifying the palace, doubling the guard, preparing for any potential threats. There’s a sense of unease, like the entire city is holding its breath, waiting for the storm to break.”
“It’s not like the king doesn’t see his son for the monster he is. He just accepted it was his fault and withdrew.” I took a deep, settling breath, drawing the courage to tell Thorne everything. “The king was never the real target. It wasn’t Farris that kidnapped him. It’s someone else. Someone that’s hunting me.”
He stilled. “What do you mean?”
“Alastor has told me time and time again that I’m the Hunted. They never touched the king because he was only the bait for whoever is searching for me.”
He shook his head. “No one is hunting you. Alastor is just meddling, as gods do. He likely just wants you to stay afraid of the gods. Because at least if you’re afraid, then you’ll be cautious.”
“Either way, I have to go see him. I have another name and only days left here.”
Looking down at me, his worried gaze shifted between my eyes. “But you don’t know how to get back. Not really. Alastor’s riddles and cryptic warnings aren’t a map. They’re breadcrumbs meant to keep you chasing after something that might not even be possible. He has his own motives. I can promise you that.”
“I know you don’t want me to go. But I can’t just give up to appease you. You’re forgetting the part where all the realms fall. Even this one.”
“At least we’d be together when we burned.”
He brushed a thumb over my cheek and I leaned into his touch, my eyes fluttering closed as I savored the warmth of his palm. When I opened them again, I met his gaze unapologetically. “I can’t accept that.”
I tried to step back, but he held me close. Close enough, as I stared up at him I noticed a dark mark beneath the collar of his shirt. One that was never there before. The top of a strange symbol, dark against his skin.
Without thinking, I reached out, my fingers brushing over the tattoo. “What is this?”
Thorne sighed, his eyes flickering away from mine for a moment before he answered. “I had to bargain with Alastor. To find you. When we realized you were gone, that Jasper had betrayed us… I was out of my mind with worry. I couldn’t think straight. All I knew was that I had to find you, no matter the cost. And in my panic, I realized if they’d taken you right off the streets, someone had to see something. And no one has eyes on Stirling more than Alastor. If anyone was whispering, he was listening.”
“So, I begged him to help me find you. And he agreed for a price. Because the fucker already knew where you were, so naturally he agreed.”
I swallowed hard, almost afraid to ask. “What price?”
“It’s not important now, is it? What’s done is done.”
There was the face. The one he made when the conversation was over. I hated it and understood it at the same time. Because my bargain had been my own for a long time too.
“What if Alastor is the one hunting me and this is a game to him?”
Thorne shook his head. “No one is hunting you. Alastor is playing games. We need to be careful with him.”
“As long as we’re both in his debt, I’m not sure how careful we can be.”
“Then I guess we go together. Keep our guards up, eyes and ears open. Give him the name and nothing more.”
Alastor hadn’t let Thorne in, of course. He’d scowled at him as he always did and led me to the room of broken things again. After we entered and he shut the door behind him, he crossed his tattooed arms over his chest, lifting a brow as he waited expectantly.
“I’ve brought you the second name,” I said, skin crawling at the thought of his Remnants creeping over me again.
Alastor’s disappointment seeped from him as he shook his head and looked away. “All the pieces are before you and still you refuse to break through to the truth. Give the name.”
The Remnants rippled, but they didn’t surge forward, instead pooling at Alastor’s feet like inky black fog lingering on a stage, waiting as patiently as their godly master.
“His Majesty, King Aldus Wendale.”
The Remnants surged. They wrapped around me, tendrils of shadow sliding over my skin, leaving trails of icy fire in their wake. I gasped, my body going rigid as they crept up my neck, curling around my throat before white hot pain took me straight to the floor.
Again, I was whisked away from my own body and shoved into another memory. A remnant of the past. The vision shimmered into existence, enveloping me in a soft glow. I stood in a lavish bedchamber. The walls were adorned with delicate, hand-painted flowers and sunlight streamed through tall, arched windows, casting a warm, golden hue over everything it touched. There was joy in this memory. A sense of peace and love that melted over me like butter.
I looked down, marveling at the exquisite white lace gown I wore. The fabric was lighter than air, draping over my curves like a whisper, the intricate detailing so fine it seemed almost unreal. I clutched a bouquet of the most perfect roses I had ever seen, their petals a deep, velvety red.
The last vision had been a memory of Thorne’s, but I wasn’t immediately sure of this one. A woman, possibly on her wedding day but what was the connection? In the books I’d read since being here, the women wore white. At home, we wore black. Still, I was sure it was a wedding gown. I knew it like I knew how to breathe as if our minds had melded together. And she was happy. So uniquely happy. Every cell in my body was filled with the purest, most transcendent form of euphoria.
My reflection came into view as I walked to the mirror, and for a moment, I simply stared, transfixed by the vision. The woman in the mirror was radiant, like she held the key to all of life’s joys. Her hair was a cascade of rich, lustrous red curls.
But as I leaned closer, my heart stopped. Those eyes… one a vibrant, emerald green, the other a striking, cerulean blue. Eyes that had haunted my dreams, that I knew as intimately as my own heartbeat. They were my eyes. The realization crashed over me like a tidal wave. This wasn’t just a memory. It wasn’t a glimpse into someone else’s life, someone else’s cherished moment. It was mine. A fragment of a past life. I couldn’t stumble away, couldn’t sit down. Couldn’t break myself out of her mind. Her soul. My soul.
As I stood there, shocked, the heavy oak door behind me swung open with a gentle creak. The rustle of fabric and the soft tread of footsteps announced the arrival of another. My heart leapt, as I recognized the presence without needing to turn. It was him. My love. My soulmate. The man I was destined to marry on this perfect, sun-drenched day.
“My darling,” I breathed, closing my eyes as my voice trembled with excitement. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s bad luck to see each other before the ceremony.”
But even as I spoke the words, a smile played at the corners of my lips. I couldn’t bring myself to truly admonish him, not when every fiber of my being ached to be near him, to bask in the warmth of his love.
He spoke no words. His footsteps grew closer until I worried something was wrong and lifted my gaze. But there was no stranger standing there at all, and the world seemed to tilt off its axis as Thorne Noctus pulled a long dagger from his jacket and plunged it into my back.