Nevermore (The Never Sky #2)

Chapter 62

62

I ’d cried. I didn’t think I would, but Archer deserved the truth. So, I told him everything. I told him of Requiem. Of Quill. Of Ezra’s death. Of the years I spent in misery. Of the growth I’d found beyond my first love. And then of Death’s Court. And Reverius’s bargain. He’d held his breath as I told him of Thorne’s true identity. Slipping his fingers into his hair as he tried to work it out. And then he’d pulled me into his arms and let me sob until I was nothing more than angry again.

“You don’t need him,” he said, wiping the last of the tears from my face. “I’ve got you now, okay? I’ll protect you. And we’ll find a way back to your kid. If the Goddess of Time fucks you over, we find another way. There are days left. Anything can happen in a few days.”

“I don’t think it’s days, though. The Goddess of Time said this was the end of the path. And I don’t know how long I was in the Maw. A few days is my best guess.”

“Then we get this done before midnight. Just in case.”

He never smiled. I’d hardly known Archer without a smile on his face and a coin in his hand. But this world had broken him, just as it’d broken me, and I truly didn’t know if he would learn to find joy again. But there was no part of me that didn’t want to be there if he did.

“Will you come with me?” I whispered.

He pulled me back into his arms and kissed the top of my head. “Of course I’m coming with you. There’s nothing left here for me anymore. The kids are fine with Briony. Tuck’s probably staying with the king. Farris will be in the ground. Tho?—”

He sucked in a sharp breath, stopping himself.

“Call him whatever you want, Archie. He fucking does.”

I knew he hadn’t put together Thorne’s hand in his sister’s death. Or lack thereof. But one day he would. And when he raged and turned on the gods, I’d stand beside him then too. Because he was my family now. My brother.

There was not enough planning in the world to prepare oneself to kill a prince. Not one surrounded by Cimmerian guards fishing for power like it was air to breathe. We followed the muffled tendrils of my magic through Stirling on swift, silent feet. With the return of his father, we’d expected him to stay at the castle, at least one night, but he hadn’t. Instead, he was nestled in the back of a whorehouse.

We slipped inside, our cloaks pulled low over our faces, blending seamlessly with the regulars. Being here was like being wrenched back into Lady Visha’s place at home. It smelled of sex and sin, of smoke and liquor and bad decisions. It was decadent in fabrics and sparse in cleanliness.

Archer and I wove through the crowd using drunken stumbles, our movements exaggerated and clumsy. We leaned heavily against each other, pretending to laugh and whispering nonsense, playing the part of lovers seeking a private room for our use. The Cimmerian guards, stationed at strategic points throughout the main hall, barely spared us a glance.

Moans and sighs of pleasure drifted from behind closed doors as we made our way down the corridor that a prick of magic had pointed us to. At the end of the hall, two Cimmerian guards flanked the opening to a separate hall. Archer and I stumbled closer, our laughter growing louder, more raucous. We clung to each other, our hands roaming in a blatant display of drunken lust as we approached the guards.

I swayed and Archer caught me, though he crashed into one of the men, careful to keep me from touching anything, while he remained the barrier.

“Oops! So sorry, handsome. Didn’t see you there.” I kept my head down, to hide my eyes in the dim light.

The guard grunted. He shoved Archer back with a look of distaste. “Move along, you two. This area’s off-limits.”

“We just need a little privacy,” Archer said, grabbing a pouch of coins from his pocket. “I’m sure you understand.”

The masked Cimmerian snatched the bag from Archer’s hand. “Down the hall, second door on the left. And make it quick. We won’t cover for you if the boss comes around.”

Archer flashed him a sloppy grin. “You’re a real pal, you know that? We won’t be long.”

As soon as we turned the corner, our drunken facades dropped away. We moved with swift, silent purpose. Faint tendrils of my power drew us to the last door. Incense and the soft sighs of pleasure drifted through the cracks. Archer and I exchanged a glance. He reached for the handle, his other hand slipping beneath his cloak to grasp the hilt of his dagger. I mirrored his movements, my fingers curling around the cool metal of the one I’d gotten from Harlow.

We slipped into the room like shadows and the door closed behind us with a soft click. For a heartbeat, they had no idea death had come because they were too distracted by each other, by the roaming hands and rapid breaths. The woman’s back was to us, and dark hair cascaded down her bare shoulders as she moved above the prince.

But, as if sensing the shift in the room, the woman stiffened. She turned her head, her eyes widening as they met mine over her shoulder. Her lips parted. She meant to scream and blow our cover but Archer moved like a snake. He leapt forward, his hand clamping over the woman’s mouth as he wrapped his other arm around her waist, yanking her off the prince in one smooth motion as he cracked her in the back of the head and she fell unceremoniously to the ground.

Farris scrambled back on the bed, clutching a silk sheet to his naked body. But even in his haste, a smug grin stretched across his face as he took in the sight of Archer standing before him. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. All this time and Archer Bramwell is the Lord of the Salt?”

“You’re dumber than you look,” Archer answered.

The prince reached for Archer, his hands outstretched like claws. But I was faster. I swept in front and plunged the obsidian blade deep into Farris’s chest. The prince’s eyes bulged, his mouth gaping in shock as he stared down at the hilt protruding from his flesh. I pressed forward, driving the blade deeper, feeling it grate against bone.

“This is for every ounce of power you’ve ever stolen. For every person that suffered at your hands. For a woman with more grace and poise, more fire and passion than you could ever imagine. I’ll see you in Death’s Court, asshole.”

I threw my power outward, invisible ribbons snaking through Farris’s dying veins. I’d known what power felt like. I’d seen it countless times. It was easy to find. Easy to hunt. It called to me, whispering promises of unimaginable might as the edges of mine merged with what had been lost to the people of Wisteria. The power was ancient, scattered, merciless, and unbending as it filled me. Until it grew too strong. Too heavy. Too searing. Panic rose within me. I whipped my head to Archer, but he didn’t move, only stared. Staying back, just as we’d planned. In case things went terribly wrong. We had no idea what the power would do if he interfered. So he didn’t.

I took and took and took, drawing from Farris until I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. Until every mistake I’d ever made in my life felt like drops of water in the ocean of this choice. This power wasn’t meant to be. And it was angry. So angry. Filling my veins with its own fury. Raging through me. Searing away the last vestiges of my control. The betrayals, the lies, the endless manipulations. They all coalesced into a white-hot ball of wrath that settled in the pit of my stomach, growing with each passing second.

I could feel the foreign magic pulsing beneath my skin, angry and restless, desperate to be unleashed. It whispered dark promises in my mind, tempting me with visions of retribution and power. The urge to give in, to let the magic take over and lay waste to everything in my path, was almost overwhelming.

Archer’s hand on my shoulder yanked me back from the brink. I met his gaze, seeing my own anguish reflected in his eyes. He understood. He knew the siren call of vengeance, the all-consuming need to make those who had wronged us pay.

“We need to go. Now.”

I nodded, drawing in a shuddering breath as I fought to regain a semblance of control on magic I had no business harnessing. The power bucked and writhed, resisting my attempts to rein it in. It took every ounce of my willpower to keep it contained, to stop it from spilling out and laying waste to everything.

With trembling hands and the taste of copper on my tongue, I let Archer guide me from the room, leaving Farris’s lifeless body sprawled across the bloodied, rumpled sheets. I staggered through the whorehouse, my senses overwhelmed by the power raging within me. Colors seemed too bright, sounds too loud. The smell of perfume and sweat clung to the back of my throat, making me gag.

Archer’s grip on my arm was the only thing keeping me upright as we stepped out into the night. The cool air was a blessed relief, but it hardly soothed the inferno in my veins. The cobblestones seemed to shift and undulate, the buildings looming over us like giants poised to strike.

“Clock tower now,” Archer said, his voice strained with urgency. “Give that bitch the power, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. It took all my concentration to keep putting one foot in front of the other, to focus on Archer at my side. As we hurried through the twisting streets, the power within me surged and roiled, a tempest barely contained beneath my skin. It tugged at me, insistent and unyielding, trying to pull me off course. Away from the clocktower. Away from Vesalia’s promise of a way home.

I stumbled. Archer’s grip tightened. “Gods, are you going to make it?”

“The power,” I gasped, my free hand pressing against my stomach as if I could physically hold it back. “It’s fighting me. I need to use a little bit. I have to relieve the pressure.”

On instinct alone, I tried to call a tiny bit forward, urging the magic to find the only thing I truly needed. Quill. But it bucked and raged, refusing to let me move. I crashed to my knees, the cobblestone street cracking beneath me.

Archer pulled me to my feet, but I couldn’t move beyond that point. Not until I turned and let it lead us in the opposite direction. Far, far away from a greedy goddess. South. Beyond the graveyard, past Prospector’s Pointe. Even past the Hollow, though my heart ached when I glanced at it. When I remembered a flash of strong arms holding me. The magic seethed as if it recognized the man in those memories for the evil he was and coated my mind with anger to protect me from falling weak.

Once we stood at the edge of the city, the magic finally stilled, its insistent tugging fading to a whisper. Calm. Tame. Letting me breathe. Which meant Archer could breathe.

“What the fuck is that?” I asked, pointing to the shimmering wall, gossamer thin and almost translucent, stretching as far as the eye could see.

“There’s nothing out there,” Archer said, studying my face and turning back to the darkness. “This is the eastern point of Wisteria. We’d have to go out the other way, go north to see anything more.”

“Why can’t you see this?” I reached forward, scraping my nails down the wall.

“You feel okay?”

I turned to Archer taking in the tilt of his brow, the concern on his face. He was full of so much worry, I thought he might be sick.

A melodic laugh echoed through the night. I spun, my heart leaping into my throat as Vesalia materialized before us, her silver hair gleaming in the moonlight. “Don’t you see, Huntress? It’s a veil. The barrier that has kept you trapped, muting the magic, dampening our power. Requiem is not in a different realm, child. It’s merely behind this wall.” She held a hand out. “Give me your palm. I will take the power and then I will show you how to walk time. I will let you cross the barrier and go home.”

I couldn’t wrap my head around the words. The truth. The godsdamn lies.

“I’ve been right here this whole time?” I hated the heartbreak in my voice. The complete raw emotion that poured from me as more lies from Thorne’s mouth came to the surface. I’d told him about Quill in a vulnerable moment and not only had he already known of her, he promised to help me get back without ever meaning it. Whatever hearts were made of, mine began to unravel.

As I stared at Vesalia’s outstretched hand, the power within me stirred, a warning hum that vibrated through my bones. It coiled around my heart, whispering cautions in a language older than time.

“Come now, Huntress. I offer you the key to your freedom. The path home to your precious Quill. Surely, you wouldn’t turn your back on such a gift?”

The magic surged, an angry swell that crashed against my ribcage. It recognized the lie in her words, the trap hidden beneath.

I squeezed Archer’s hand, mouthing, Do you trust me?

He squeezed back. “With my life.”

I turned back to Vesalia, spine growing. Appearing from absolutely nowhere, stepping through space, it seemed, Reverius appeared. But to me, his name was Thorne Noctus, and he’d lied and lied and lied. He hadn’t sent me to a different world. All this time. All this heartache and Quill had been right fucking here. On the other side of a magical wall.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop right now,” Thorne ordered, that tic in his jaw that used to be adorable sending a wave of anger coursing through the tempest of power.

I stepped forward, making eye contact with the man behind them both. Hidden in the shadows, he smiled, dipping his chin, his Remnants circling him as I remembered something he’d said to me in anger. And I had finally fucking learned. I looked between Thorne and Vesalia, sweeping my hands to the sides. “You’re both forgetting one very important thing. I hail from two gods, Alastor and his lost things, yes. But also Irri the Goddess of Broken things.”

The stolen power roared to life, a maelstrom of raw, untamed energy that pulsed in time with the frantic beating of my heart. It surged through my veins, terrifying and insatiable. The magic I’d stolen from Farris, the magic that had been ripped from the very fabric of this realm now danced beneath my skin, eager to be set free.

A blinding flash of light exploded outward, ripping through the air like a star being born. The force of it tore through the ground. The stolen magic swelled, swirling in violent currents, and I didn’t resist it. I surrendered to it, and let it consume me. Let it burn. Let them see the monster they’d made me into. I didn’t care. Not for Thorne. Not for the realms. Not even for myself.

I was vengeance.

I was the reckoning they never saw coming.

The veil between worlds trembled, the thin barrier quivering as the two realms scraped against one another. Archer held my hand so tight it shook within his grasp. But he never let go. Not even when the veil crumbled, and tiny pieces of it rained down upon both worlds like all the stars in the sky had fallen.

The world fell silent and still. At peace and at war all at once. I turned, slowing, willing myself to tear my eyes from the gods long enough to finally, finally lay my eyes on home. I walked forward. With one foot in Requiem and one foot in Wisteria, we turned to face the gods once more. Prepared for all their wrath. All their vengeance. But they were gone.

Archer sighed. His posture had said he’d been prepared for battle. With the gods gone, his world likely felt a little lighter. Still, he seemed hesitant as he asked, “When was the last time you saw Thorne?”

“You didn’t see him standing there?” I asked, feeling the blood drain from my face.

“No. Thorne has that mark from Alastor on his neck. That wasn’t him. They’re up to something. Or Thorne’s in a world of shit and he’s just lost his only allies.”

I paused for a second. The last time I’d seen Thorne, the man with the mark on his neck was when he’d given me his full name, revealing the first of many lies. Everything else… It’d been Ezra?

He’d left Death’s Court? As quickly as the realization melted over me, it faded. Nothing could surprise me anymore. And I didn’t want to think about Thorne. I didn’t want to care. Maybe somewhere deep down there was a trace of worry, but he didn’t deserve that devotion from me. And one day my broken heart would know that, too. In the meantime, I’d lie to myself. I’d lie to everyone. Until the pain faded away and whatever had bloomed between us was nothing more than ash and faded memories.

“Here’s the thing, Reverius is Thorne. The god that bound me to this veiled realm was Thorne. Not Ezra. The man that lied to my face this entire time so he could trap me here with my consent and take my memories? Yeah, that was still Thorne. I think the brothers want me dead. And I don’t want shit to do with either of them. Wherever he is, I hope he’s burning in his own pit of lies.”

“Has anyone told you you’re really fucking scary sometimes?” Archer whispered.

“It’s been mentioned.”

The clock towers in each of the cities surrounding us chimed at once, the tones unnatural and screeching through the collided worlds like an angry, broken promise. As they faded, something dark stirred beneath my skin. The stolen power writhed, no longer content to simply burn, it wanted to consume. Inky tendrils, like Alastor's Remnants but somehow wrong, began seeping from my pores.

I told myself they were his. That he was testing me again. But deep down, I knew better. These weren't borrowed or stolen. They were mine. Born of rage and betrayal and something far more terrible than mere magic. They twisted around my arms, my throat, leaving trails of ice in their wake as they whispered promises of vengeance in voices that sounded too much like my own.

Archer stared at the city that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. “Vesalia's never going to let you forget. She led you to the water for a sip and you drained the fucking lake.”

“What the hell do I care? She can get in line. Let them come. Let them destroy me. At least it'll be on my fucking terms. Because I'm entirely done. My soul is tired, and I know it. Whatever happens, this is it for me. The end. When they finally kill me, I won't come back again.”

Not for them. Not for myself. I was done. Done with being anything but the monster they'd made me. Nevermore their victim. Nevermore their fool.

…To be continued in Evermore