Chapter 14
The gate to Dryhill is a very tall, wooden door with thick steel chains that hang down, creating a dull clink, clink, clink when it lowers . My horse lurches forward when Soren’s begins to move, riding only about a foot away from me as we enter together. Flickering braziers guide our way, the moon hidden behind clouds.
Determination eats away at the anxiety, something about being here allowing me to accept this is my reality.
You’re fine. You know your captor now, you have an idea of why the Council wants you, and Kathleen is alive. Plan the next steps.
Inside, a few people are still traversing the streets despite the late hour. Homes are tightly built next to—and some on top of—each other, candles lit inside in a warm glow against the bleak buildings. This is a world where people make money by selling goods and services, existing as a safer place than Skull’s Row for trade.
If my mother had desired to be associated as a Zenith's wife, I would have walked these streets like royalty next to my father, known as a Ritter .
Now, I’m just Jane.
I ditched my mother’s maiden name of Foley for protection, which I used as a child. If anyone ever did bother to seek my last name, I always told them Wood. There’s no grand reasoning for it; it’s just the first thing that came to mind when someone asked me all those years ago when I was young and alone.
Torch fires lick against stone in the rather quiet streets, save for the taverns. We turn down one cobblestone street that has a rather notable butcher living here, recalling the days when Dad used to buy us food if he ever snuck me here. I only eye the wooden sign of Ramsay’s Meats for a fraction of a moment before latching my gaze to a tall building directly ahead–it’s constructed out of richly colored wood, the second story boasting a lavish balcony with many spindles. Over the main doors is a siren carved out of the same dark wood, wielding a metal spear—Moor’s Inn.
We approach the stable master, the man nearly falling over when he spots Soren’s mask. A cascading of horse hooves begins to halt as his men crowd around us, which is partially drowned out by the energy inside of the building ahead. The Zenith dismounts, and I slide off of mine. Just as my feet hit the stoney street, Soren is right on me, red rope in his hands. It’s completely black outside but the various flames create haunting, moving shadows, his pale eyes warning me not to challenge him in public.
He nods to my hands, which are resting on the saddle of my horse. I chew on my lip before arguing, “I behaved the whole ride.”
“Do you see how busy this place is?” he asks, grabbing my hands with his indomitable strength. I give a small struggle, but let him have his way. I need to be on his good side tonight. He speaks as he binds me, “No one here knows why you’re with me. Someone with bound wrists, in a trading post like this, usually means a bounty has been caught.” He finishes the last knot, making eye contact with me. “And this red rope is one that I use. They’ll know you belong to me .”
Whatever fleeting sensations of being enamored by him completely fades, the pinching sensation of rope ruining everything. “You’re branding me.”
“You’re welcome.”
He puts a hand on the back of my neck, the touch commanding. It doesn’t feel like it did back in the bathing room—Soren’s just a mercenary to me in this moment, laying a claim to his capture. He guides me through the drunken and slurring crowd, men throwing knives at a wooden wall and crying out when they hit their mark.
The smell of fish assaults my nose, and yet it reminds me of home—Skull’s Row is salty, rocky, and coastal.
We’re getting closer.
Many move away from Soren and eye me like I’m a bound beast. I imagine getting a personal escort by the Zenith makes me look quite dangerous—which only fuels my ego, throwing a few death glares at lingering eyes, challenging them to attack the person requiring Soren to subdue her.
They don’t need to know I just have a flare for drama. It simply feels good to be feared, the only control I’ve ever really had in life.
It’s better than looking submissive, anyway. Being bound in an area like this is dangerous as all hells, having seen many people be stolen right from their seat like they’re a small, valuable puppy for the taking. ' Steal the treasure and ask questions later' ... a motto of these men.
But the red rope, admittedly, should keep most at bay.
Laughter erupts in one corner, and I watch as a few women wearing corsets saunter around, carrying ale and food. A rugged, middle-aged man donning an eyepatch sits by the fire with a woman on his lap, telling some kind of tale to those who will listen. His black hair is tightly braided, just like his beard. He wears the single, golden earring drop in his right ear—a man of the sea.
Soren guides us to the bar where three men run the operation and leans me against it like I’m a wooden board he’s temporarily putting down. The noise of this tavern uneasily mixes with the dread blurring my heart. Many have taken note of Soren’s arrival, although they don’t loiter or stare. The Zenith are known to enjoy their meanderings in establishments, like a captain of a ship who drinks with his men. Some still flee out the back, as they always do.
No one is truly safe near a Zenith.
Their grandeur is only elevated by that mask of theirs, granting them power when they wear it. Nothing overwhelming, but they are stronger, faster, their senses heightened; sometimes even their wounds are magically healed. The Zenith are dangerous for that alone, not even counting the skills they have as a basal man.
At least the others should stay off of me.
Soren leans into my ear so I can hear him better. I wish I could trust him; I yearn for him to be familiar. But he’s foreign, and I’m reminded how alone I am in this world. “When Bones comes in, I’m going upstairs and having a fucking drink.”
The first thing that comes to mind slips out of me. “Oh, yes, it’s so stressful being someone’s captor.”
He snickers before pulling away, looking at me with a calculated expression like he’s compelled by something I can’t interpret.
Then I hear, “Oh, you're really all right! He wasn't lying.”
“I'd never lie to you kitten... not directly!"
I spin around, my jaw dropping when I spot Kathleen—she wears a new gray dress with a thick belt cinched at her waist, her curly hair free. I move toward her without even looking at Soren. Reaching out my arms in a hug, I pause and hold up my bound hands in defeat. Kathleen wraps me in her arms anyway.
“Oh, Kathleen,” I breathe out.
She quickly pulls back and looks over my head like she’s about to apologize; Soren, no doubt, gave her a scolding glare.
Bones is behind her, watching like he’s caught a glimpse of a siren. “So, you do give hugs, kitten.”
I raise my brows, jutting my head out as my gaze darts between the two of them. “What is that ?”
Kathleen sighs and waves a hand, still not looking at the man behind her. “I can’t get rid of him. He’s like a lost dog that won’t fucking go away.”
Bones looks at her curly hair, his one blue eye blazing with interest while the charcoal one emits avarice. “I’ll take being compared to a dog. They are loyal beasts. Which, you should know, is something I don’t give out often.”
Kathleen rolls her eyes, but I know that look, the one with the slightest smile on her lips. She’s intrigued.
Soren speaks behind me. “Watch over Jane, Bones.”
“Aye,” he replies, dipping his head in a low bow.
There are so many unspoken words that race through my mind. I lick my dry lips, and the first thing I manage out is, “What happened to everyone? How’s your family? Are they all right?”
Vengeance sears my heart at the thought of her suffering. There’s no doubt those who attacked were there for me. Why else would they be there? Unless it’s related to Soren, and this is all a grand scheme to gain my trust… maybe they know dad is alive somewhere and hope I can point them to him?
Kathleen leans on the bar, tucking her hair behind her ear. “It’s a miracle the family is fine. I think they’re still in shock, really.”
I’m unable to get my hands in a comfortable spot and give up, leaning in the same manner as her. Kathleen flexes her left hand as the other mindlessly moves a steel ring on her middle finger—something she acquired before we met and refuses to tell the story of. I’ve only seen the inside of it once before, a few rubies hidden within the steel.
“That’s about it. Lots are wanting to go to Belstead,” she solemnly says, her green eyes eclipsed with exhaustion. “It was horrible,” she sighs and stares at her ring. “I got my gran out, but she’s staying at Talon’s Perch. Knows the local baker. The rest of my family are leaving for Belstead, getting the fuck away from Skull’s Row.”
I wish we could plan something together, like some means of escape, but my death looms far too close behind me to dream of anything happy. I know I’m going to attempt an escape tonight and there are so many things that could go wrong. Very wrong.
That siren, long ago, was so dead-set on the Council not having me. And those creatures of the ocean are notorious for beauty, mystical powers, and their sight.
Receiving a vision from one should never be taken lightly. Melona's warning is eerily accurate with what plagues me now, and in that, her words are the only stability I have in this; I'm compelled to do everything I can to heed them in order to save others. I don’t even know who these people are in Melona’s warning, or how they’d die, but I can’t risk it.
I simply can’t.
Do what you can to help Kathleen. Then get out of here and ensure others don’t die for you.
My heart is eager to offer her perfect words of comfort, but I’ve never been good at finding them. Mother was always better at that than me. I manage out, "What about you? How are you? ”
Kathleen surveys the crowd. A few more of Soren's men are sitting at various tables. I notice how tired her eyes are up close, like the surprise of seeing me temporarily erased her worries. Bones listens intently as she leans in to meet my gaze. “Me? Well, I left Talon’s Perch because I didn’t want to leave you alone,” Kathleen explains, lifting her head backward to reference the towering man behind her. “And this one is basically kidnapping me.”
Bones raises an offended, dark brow, a strand of his wavy black hair in his eyes. “I said we can come back to your Perch, once we get her —” he nods to me “—situated.”
“Oh, thank you, kind kidnapper,” Kathleen exhales through a defeated sigh.
I watch Kathleen very carefully, in case I catch a hint of her truly being upset or threatened. “Why is he so obsessed, by the way?”
Bones slices his gaze at me like I just said something extremely belligerent. “Have you not seen her?”
Kathleen tilts her head down to look at me through her brownish blonde lashes. “He’s a tits man.”
“And more than that,” he adds, looking up and down from behind. “You’ve got a nice, sharp tongue. And you’re brave... and quite hardy in spirit for looking so soft.”
I’m utterly bewildered by him. “Are you sure you’re good, Kathleen?”
Kathleen barely nods so Bones might not pick it up. He glares at the back of her head, trying to decipher any answer from her—
Her attention shifts from me to something else, and I pivot to see a man approaching us. The first thing I note is his greasy, blonde hair. He raises his head up like he’s looking down on us from over his large nose. His emerald-colored clothes are a little too tailored to be an average citizen. “You a bound wench? You’re in the wrong establishment for that. We keep that business for the building across the way—only established escorts are permitted here.”
Bones cringes. “Ah, yeah, that’s not smart, mate.”
The man ignores Bones and Kathleen straightens her back. I’m the shortest among them all, doubling my vulnerability with my bound wrists. He looks down at a golden pocket watch that he swiftly pulls out, then tucks it back away, staring at me with wet, black eyes. “The name is Hector. Hector Bolin.”
Bones frowns. “No one gives a shit. Leave us alone if you know what’s good for you.”
Hector sneers. “I’m the mayor's cousin. His righthand, in fact.”
“I still don’t give a shit,” Bones chides.
“Well, you should . We are a Free City now, you know. As a part of our eastern alliance for the Silken Pearls trade?”
Bones grunts. I forgot all about that—Dryhill recently engaged in trade from much further east where they spin fine silk in exchange for pearls. The Western kingdoms only agreed to work with Dryhill if Skull’s Row granted them the title of Free People as an extra measure of safety for their merchants.
I was surprised that the Council agreed, but then remembered how much they love their silks.
Hector looks back at me, side-glancing at Bones like he’s considering arresting him, just for the attitude. “As I was saying. You're all bound,” he nods to my wrists before his eyes flash up at me with a disgusting edge of selfishness. “A slave wench? Belonging to Soren’s company? There’s a room for women like you, but again, it’s not at the bar.”
I'm simmering to hit someone and contemplate kicking Hector right in the balls. Would that make Soren mad? I hate that I even have to consider this, but I do need his guard down for my escape plan to work. Will he tie me to a couch if I retaliate?
Kathleen snorts, “You’re a real dumbass.”
Bones leans over and says, “I love the way you talk.”
“She talks just as bad!” Kathleen motions to me. I can see where she’d like Bones—she always liked the rougher ones, even if he makes me nervous.
“Nah, she’s a bitch that broke my nose,” he casually replies, leaning in ever so slightly, speaking as if he considers his words romantic. “But I’d let you break my nose. Maybe smack me with those beautiful assets of yours.”
A laugh nearly pours out of me, and I’m shocked to see Kathleen blush , but not before she mentions not to call me a bitch—
The man named Hector places his hand along the bar, closing the space between us as I press every inch I can into the counter. “Yeah, whores all right. The blonde can stay while we figure out what to do with you .”
Bones' demeanor changes like nothing but frost coats his heart; he scowls at Hector and adjusts his posture like he’s readying himself to reach for a blade, his mouth opening with a threat—
“I’m not a fucking whore, and you’re a fucking idiot,” I say before Bones can speak, moving to face this man fully. “But come closer. Let me show you why I’m really tied up.”
Give me a good reason to bite your nose, you bastard .
“Who roped you?” he asks, completely oblivious to the danger he’s in. “Isn’t that Soren's color? I heard he was in here. Are one of his men planning to fuck you all night? Might need him to provide me with a special tax if you stay in here... I also wouldn’t mind collecting it now , in order to keep you here.”
I nearly gag, the little food I ate churning in my stomach when his gaze drops down to lewdly stare at my body. I roll my eyes to look at Bones, wondering why he’s not stopping this man. If I’m left to defend myself, I could do something that pisses Soren off, which is the opposite of what I’m supposed to be doing. It’s honestly one of the first times in my life that I hope for someone else to do my job.
His wild eyes slice to Hector. “Say anything else about the blonde, and I’ll turn you into a proper fucking whore.”
Hector blanches, then gives an uncomfortable nod before placing his attention back on me. He even touches my thigh with his free hand, my skin crawling as I try to lean away. “Now, come along.”
I’m stuck between my dignity and debating what’s best for my escape, but when his hand slides up just a little too far, I decide I’m not going to let him touch me this easily. He’s lucky my hands are bound or I’d punch him right in the cock, maybe grab what I can and twist so hard he’ll become a eunuch. I ready myself for the unbearable crunch of cartilage as I figure biting his nose is the best way to send. I’ll greatly enjoy spitting whatever chunk I get onto his unscuffed boots…
Kathleen steps forward to try to help but Bones snakes an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. I don’t understand why he isn’t helping unless Soren’s words really mean nothing and I bought a lie.
Just as Bones says— “Nah, leave it, my kitten. He’s already got a death glare on the man, and Soren’s been itching to gut someone—“ someone suddenly stabs that hand of Hector’s resting on the bar, a crescendoing scream leaving his thin lips.
I jump, turning around to see Soren on the other side of the bar, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, a door just around the shelves of liquor swinging closed.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Soren asks with wide, ruthless eyes, leaning over the counter, the man’s blood pooling from his hand. “That’s my rope's color. Yet, you decided to touch her anyway?”
Hector’s jaw drops to pronounce an aged double chin. “You stabbed me, you cunt!” he squeaks, bellowing loudly as he shudders when he tries to move his hand. “My cousin is the damn mayor! This is a Free City! And you stabbed me! You can't do this!”
Soren growls, those crystal eyes voiding all emotion as the killer takes over. It makes me scoot closer to Kathleen, who is still locked in one of Bones' arms. Soren removes the blade and walks around the counter—many are now watching—a premeditated, hollow gaze staring Hector down. The injured man holds his hand up and shudders as blood drips all over the floor, gushing down his arm to discolor his rich clothes.
Then, Soren moves so swiftly that Hector can barely defend himself—Soren stabs the man right in the neck to elicit a wet, choking sound, crimson liquid pooling in Hector's mouth. Soren leans in.
I watch, unblinking.
“No, now I've stabbed you,” Soren warns. “And you owe allegiance to Skull’s Row, Free City or not. All we agreed to do was give you more freedom in your management of trade, not to give us orders or reprimand. Let’s hope this lesson sticks.”
The blade is removed with a sickening suction of blood. Hector holds his hands to his gushing neck, knocking a barstool over, his beady eyes wide and consumed with fear. Soren looks at the room and watches with apprehension. “This one here? Auburn hair—” Soren points to me with the bloodied blade, a few drops landing on the floor “—any of you touch her, and you’ll be castrated right on this bar counter, your balls spiked just outside this establishment’s door. You can stare at them as you starve while tied to a post right next to it.”
The Zenith throws his gaze right back at me, then at Bones, his expression still wrung tight with murder while the dying man clings to the counter. The woman sitting on the pirate’s lap rushes over after she seems to think the threat is over, her long brown hair jostling as she runs, gripping Hector’s neck. Blue light emits from her healer’s insignia, blood pulsating through her fingers every time Hector looks like he swallows.
All these prominent establishments have healers in these parts for reasons such as this.
Bones calmly says, “Knew you were coming. Thought he was worth the stabbing with the way he talked like he owned this place. Didn’t seem to hurt to let himself dig his grave further.”
Soren cleans his blade on Hector’s shoulder blades, the man squealing with gurgling fear when he’s touched by the Zenith’s blade. One of the bartenders lazily drops a few rags to clean up the blood as if this is a nightly occasion.
Hector stumbles away once the woman heals the deepest wounds, trying to make space between him and Soren.
When the Zenith sheaths his blade at his hip, he looks at me as if the severely injured man doesn’t even exist. “We’re upstairs,” he grinds out, the words still laced with violence.
Soren glances to a nearby table, holding eye contact with a dark-skinned man who nods back, then stands, and mans the door’s entrance.
And do I panic about the idea of sleeping next such a homicidal person? Absolutely not. If anything, my heart leaps with the hope that this all might truly work as intended, the Zenith still keeping me close. I just need him alone, now…
For a fraction of time, I swear Soren reads every crevice of what I consider. Push those thoughts away, Jane!
Breathing heavily, I focus on the healer tending to Hector who now is leaning against a chair, choosing to narrate the scene in my head as a distraction: it’s been a while since I saw another woman like me—we’re uncommon, something only those with prestige or money can obtain; a sign that Dryhill is doing well for itself. Yes. Healers. Other healers I knew… Mother. Yes, use that. Make him feel pity.
My diversion sinks quickly into nostalgia, and rather than ignore what I feel, I let the bittersweet memories remove any aberrations.
My lips press together in a frown as I wonder what my mom would think of me now?
Soren’s mirthless gaze relinquishes. He turns around, and I trail him up the stairs to the second floor of the tavern. When Bones nods for me to follow, I see Anya waiting in a corner booth next to a bay window.
The Zenith speaks to her and she gives an obedient nod before he faces me. “Anya will take you and your friend to my room, where you will stay for the night. You can have one drink in there.” He glares at me when I look like I don't believe him. “I need to speak with Bones, and reestablish who the fuck runs things here.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” I say with a polite bow of my head. I'd even kneel to him if it gets me something taller than a pint.
Bones watches as Kathleen and I are guided to an exterior door, walking across a covered bridge that connects the tavern to an inn. But we don’t go to an ordinary room—we visit another section reserved only for the Zenith. It’s tucked away with its own balcony in the front, a double door ornately carved with giant skulls and ocean waves.
These details make me nervous, a steep reminder of where we’re close to.
Of what I must escape.