Chapter 28
Without warning, Soren grabs my neck from behind, swiftly turning me around to guides me toward the double doors that two guards open, removing me as quickly as possible from their presence. Anya and Bones wait in the distance, along with the others that I know very little of but am starting to recognize.
As soon as we leave, chatter begins in our wake. I’m trying to remain alert but can’t focus.
COWARD .
I didn’t say anything. I could have stopped them. Right? Would they have stopped if I said something? I don’t know that for certain.
And why am I hiding anymore? Truly? I hid because of the promises I once clung to, but now that they’re broken or absolved… A chill grips my heart that destroys me almost as much as it did to watch Maryanne burn—I am a coward.
My gods… the agonizing truth that a mother died because of me is a guilt I’d never thought I’d feel. Her young children, Benny, Otto, and Eliza… I actually watched their mother burn for my selfish secrets.
Many make way for us to give Soren a wide birth to walk. The only reason my legs remember how to move is because of Soren pushing me, otherwise, I might collapse with guilt and self-hate.
Soren leans into my ear. “The more I sense you want to tell them the truth, the tighter the leash I’ll give you. You’ll never escape here on your own. Even you have to know that you need help for that. And telling them anything will help literally no one but them .”
I’m right back to feeling like he’s my captor, not the man that I had some semblance of... well, whatever-the-fuck I felt for him.
“It would have helped her . They burned her alive— you burned her alive,” I mutter through thin lips. Melona enters my mind, her pale blonde, silky hair like an image of hope, remembering how the moonlight nearly made it glow. I trusted her words more than anything, and now I’m no better than an executioner who harms the innocents. “They can’t kill more for me, Soren. I don’t care about hiding anymore if that’s what it costs.”
“I know,” he says, like he’s not used to the act of making someone else feel better. “There’s no other choice.”
“You nearly choked me out when I tried to help. That was a choice.”
“Because I want your secrets hidden,” he hissed.
My heart beats in ways that betray survival, my eyes moving all over, not truly taking any details in. I stiffen, nearly spinning around to hit him with my bound fists. I don’t care if others are watching or if I should be ‘grateful’ that I have any semblance of freedom.
He steadies me forward with the same force as when he had that rope around my neck. “Can you just wait until we aren’t walking in the damn halls of this place before having a real conversation?”
I don’t say a word after that. Nothing can absolve the near embarrassment at realizing I’m the reason for all of this, and my excuses for secrecy have vanished. I only listened to Melona because she said staying away was to avoid senseless deaths like these. My anger and confusion viciously intertwine. We pass by someone with a yellow tunic and black skull pinned on their pectoral—a generic servant of this place. He cautiously looks at me, carrying a tray of tea with red porcelain cups.
I lunge at him like I’m going to bite him just for staring. He nearly drops the plate he’s carrying, moving quicker past us.
Soren laughs so hard it echoes on the stone walls. He looks at the servant, “Yeah, careful mate, she does bite.”
“Shut up,” I grumble. None of this is a joke.
“You need a damn nap,” Soren rasps.
I stick my leg out before my intentions can be read by him, and it nearly trips the behemoth, but he’s too skilled to take any real tumble; it merely just interrupts his smooth stride. I spin my fists around, hoping it hits something of him, but it does nothing more than lamely collide with his chest before he hoists me over his shoulders.
My emotions cascade, angry at everything . For how my life went. For my father abandoning me. For the fact that the only person I can remotely place any hope in is Soren, and now the Council thinks I am their property, and I’m stuck deep within the Spiraling Stone.
Angry that what I want is my own mother .
Enraged for the fact that I am , apparently, a coward.
What would I even tell Maryanne’s children? I watched their mother burn because I had to keep it secret that my father is a Zenith because… why ? There’s no reason without Melona.
But like before, I don’t fight once on his shoulder, as it’s not worth it. I survey what I can, watching the castle change from this skewed point of view. We enter a platform that’s a metal box affixed to thick chains, and Soren turns around so he’s facing the door, and me facing the stone wall. Men who have the strength of an ox churn giant gears that raise and lower this vessel.
It's just the two of us that enter, the remainder of his men veering off to take the stairs. The door shuts and the cage lurches as it begins to move, the wall now moving downward as we go up. The lighting changes as we pass each exit.
“You can fucking put me down now,” I grind out, staring at the stone that’s behind the iron bars.
“Not yet. It’s good you’re fighting. Makes it look more like you’re truly unnerved by me. Would be out of character, otherwise.”
“Someone died because of me,” I say. “When she didn’t have to.”
“I am aware,” he says with a tired sigh, like my mood swings are interrupting his day. I send as much anger through my heart so he may drown in it.
He responds with, “What? Do you want me to whisper sweet things into your ear to make you feel better? It wouldn’t do any good. You wouldn’t believe me anyway... and I don’t waste such attention of mine on deaf ears.”
I snort. “Like you even know how to whisper sweet things.”
With more sincerity than I expect, he says, “I’m a man, Jane. Not a demon.”
“You burned her for no reason. That’s what demons do.”
“Oh, I have a reason. Just because I haven’t shared it with you yet doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
My mouth opens in protest, but only empty air escapes. I hadn’t considered that. I replay his words, the idea of him truly being able to say soothing things tempts me, but that’s also the last thing I need when my situation requires vigilance.
Do I even deserve that?
The metal cage lurches to a stop as I stare at the now stationary wall. I can hear metal sliding, a man grunting, and the cage gives a final shake before it feels sturdy. The gate creaks open and Soren walks forward. We exit onto a platform that the sunlight beams through, although all I can really see is the grout between the stones. I grab his hips so I can lift myself, the pressure on my stomach making my recent wound ache.
Within seconds, we’re adjusting, Soren leaning forward as I slide off. I wonder if he could tell I was in pain, or if it’s just a coincidence since we’ve arrived at our destination.
I don’t give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s still a mercenary, and I’m still illegally branded without a Zenith to claim who left the mark, all the while my breasts are still on display.
I survey the scene as blood from my head spreads back into my body, raising my hands to cover my chest and tattoo. Especially since we’re at the top, and I have no idea how to navigate this place. I never got to come up here as there are eyes everywhere in this sector... if I’m correct, one can’t even enter without being escorted by a Zenith or wearing a golden skull brooch.
Dad never risked it.
Soren prods my back to keep walking. The layers of this place are completely uneven as bridges and stairs wind throughout, every doorway seemingly on its own level. The sun beams in from somewhere at the top through a glass ceiling, guiding our way to one stone bridge in particular that crosses a giant opening. I glance below, as there’s about a four-story drop with more zigzagging bridges underneath to reveal a bustling sea of people, and the scent of smoked foods and spices emanates from there. “Where are we?” I blandly ask.
“In the Zenith’s Rotunda. Our rooms are here on all these levels. Below is the Court of the Zenith—" booming laughter and inaudible declarations echo upward “—Lots of vagabonds and improper bastards down there. Bones and Anya have quarters down there. The rest of my men will remain at the lower level, switching out as guards for my quarters.”
Across the bridge is a thick, wooden door that’s manned by two people who have a serpent on their vest. They both bow deeply and open the doors. “Why’d you choose a snake, anyway?” I ask with annoyance, the detail intriguing even if my heart rages.
“Adopted it when they wouldn’t stop calling me ‘the viper hidden in plain sight’,” he plainly states.
Soren steps through the threshold, and I notice he doesn’t have one on his own vest when I look back. Then again, he’s also not wearing the same red armor.
The double doors lead to a small foyer with windows that give view to the rotunda, another set of doors waiting for Soren to unlock them. The others shut behind us, locking us in this tiny room. When he unlocks the one in front of us and pushes it open, I step through, not paying attention to how he watches me. My lips part in seeing something so glorious. The windows are tall with many panes and in different shapes, working with the grooves of the natural stone. A giant balcony tempts me to breathe in the fresh air, one unmarred by the stench of the city. The ceilings are almost two stories tall at their highest with heavy candle chandeliers hanging down. It’s all dark, from the wood to the stone, save for the deep velvet red that the furniture and drapes are made of. A massive painting of a ship manning a stormy sea sits over the fireplace.
I now wonder more about my captor. Does he have naval prowess? Or is he a land warlord who simply loves the sea? Perhaps both? When did he join the gang of men that gave him the tattoos on his back, and how did he become a Zenith?
And what exactly did Cypress say to him?
That glimmer of curiosity now has me seeing him as the man he claims to be, rather than just someone who spawned out of these walls. There’s an entire history that he waded through to get to where he is now.
I must tap into that, into the man he claims he is.
As soon as he shuts the doors—and locks it—I get straight to the point as I turn around. “They’re going to know. They’ll do their search and realize no one can back up my story. Especially if anyone recognizes me from when I was a child who always wore her hair under a hat and followed one of the Zenith around.” I lick my dry lips, speaking anxiously. “And until then, they’ll just burn more people? What’s the point? I made a promise to a siren to never return, to prevent more deaths. Well, now I’m here. I broke my promise. And people are dying for me.”
He walks through the room as I speak, sitting down on one of the oversized couches that are crowded by tables, a stack of old books sitting on one of them. He spreads his arms on each side, looking up at the ceiling, twirling one hand as he speaks, “So, first... do you want to strategize, or just do whatever the fuck Jane feels like doing? Like speaking right when they wanted you to, forcing me to choke you?”
I near him, that innocent curiosity about him fading as a familiar aggression returns. “Giving me the choice now?”
With one blink, his gaze is on me, looking between my breasts. “It will work best if we are on the same page, yes.”
I go up to him, lean over—while he watches me with curious eyes for nearing him so closely—and I poke his chest while my hands are still bound. “Why? Why bother? Why did you help me? And also, why stop me? Why not just give me to the Council when it would have been easiest? I was ready to tell them everything .”
His pale gaze slowly looks me over, a large hand running over his head to smooth back any loose strands that escaped his low bun. With a sigh, he reaches out to untie the ropes, eyeing my breasts with no shame. “There are things I can’t tell you. I did speak to your wretched witch, as I said, and she gave me good reason to help you. That’s all you need to know. And that means you have to keep your pretty lips shut so I can get what I want.”
Once my hands are free, I jerk them back and grab the tattered edges of my tunic to cover myself in protest. Through thin lips, I reply, “I helped that woman give birth to her youngest and had to heal her when she ripped. And now? I just watched her burn for secrets I don’t even know are worth keeping.”
He continues to stare at my chest for a moment longer than I liked even if it’s covered. “Jane, they would have burned her anyway, just for the sake of it. It didn’t matter if it was by me or the damn fire mage himself, and I saw no point in delaying her torture. Aye, she got caught up in your wake, but it could have been anyone.” He pauses as his gaze rises to meet mine. “Even Kathleen .”
“I would have done anything to stop that.”
“Which is why we need a strategy .”
I look him over, the man sitting so casually while dressed in armor that has no doubt seen horrific battle and been stained with the blood of many. The scars on his face are a testament to his violent history. Channel that. He clearly managed to survive and come out on top. “Then give me a strategy.”
“Get us a drink, first. That was a long ride and a stressful meeting,” he quips, nodding to a table by a window with various bottles on its shelves.
I scoff, crossing my arms. “I’m not your damn servant.”
He huffs, rocking forward and standing, the giant man looking down at me with a raised brow and actually going to do the task himself. My hands fidget, as I’m not sure what to make of Soren. I’m pretty sure he’s the kind of man to tell me ‘I won’t repeat myself’, just like when he stabbed that mayor’s cousin. But not now. He even let me poke him, now that I think about it...
I watch him grab two glasses, and he looks back at me. “You drink any of this stuff?”
“It’s not wine, but I’ll take anything right now.”
He snorts. “Wine is quite the luxury.” He pours two—double for himself—and turns around to hand me one, almost with attitude, as if to show that’s how it’s done. “Too sweet for me, so all we have is this.”
Soren sits back down as I pace the room, smelling inside the glass as one arm continues to cover my chest. It’s got a smokey edge, much bolder than the stuff that Ern sells.
He takes a drink before saying, “I can arrange to have you out of here in two weeks, and the best, honest advice, would be for you to behave like my little pet until then, who’s also frightened of me. And stop fighting me, as my patience for being treated like the villain will wane very thin. You abide by that, and no one else will burn for you.”
I take a big gulp, my throat burning but I act like I feel nothing. My hoarse voice says otherwise. “What does ‘little pet’ entail, exactly?”
With the glass to his lips, he smiles deviously, the glass almost too small for his large hands. After another sip, he lowers his hand and licks his bottom lip. “Well, if I were to be in character, that means when I have meetings with other gentlemen such as myself, you’re going to be sitting on my lap, quiet like a good girl—" he pauses when I’m about to protest “—it’s just temporary, before you lose your mind. I promise they’re not going to let you go so easily. They’re hoping for answers, and they’re hoping I break you. I’ve done this more than once, and they all know it.” He nods toward me. “But clearly when you get pushed, you bare your fangs like an alley cat. So, it’s your choice—you can either be my pet, stay locked in here, or run your pretty mouth and gamble away your freedom and risk others getting hurt.” His legs spread open as he gets more comfortable. “My duty right now is to tell them that burning more people will only fuck with your memory. Most will buy it and give you to me. Honestly, it helps you were stabbed by Anya.”
I think about that, a metaphor entering my mind that places me in the middle of the ocean. On the horizon in a nasty storm—that’s the Council. I could always anchor the ship and wait for the storm to pass, but I still risk that it comes my way, especially with the way the winds are blowing. Then there’s a large island that’s very close by, one where Soren sits as king, and I’d be beholden to him if I sought refuge there.
I need to ask questions before getting onboard that island.
“Well, first, what’s the end goal? If they want me worn down for answers, that means at some point, they expect me to talk again.”
“We’re going to have to play that one by ear,” he suggests, watching me as I pace. His thoughts are withdrawn behind a neutral expression, but he observes even the smallest of my movements, such as when I tuck my hair behind my ear.
“Wait... so you don’t have a plan?”
“Like I said, a small one. It’s best to go with the tide of the ocean than to command it. I will have to amend the plan more than once, I imagine, if you actually are willing to play along.”
Okay... that’s not bad. That makes sense. I motion the drink toward him. “You could piss them off, though.”
“And what, they’ll threaten to kill me? I’ve been ready to die for a long time. I’m a mercenary. At this rate, it’s about making my death interesting. I can’t claim what Cypress offers if I don’t take care of you.”
Do I do it? Do I jump in feet first? I stare back at the painting over the fireplace. I can buy that Soren wants to aid me if it’s for some sense of loyalty to something Cypress offered him. “All this hard work to climb their ranks and risk throwing it away on me, though? I’ve literally stolen your money and ran for it.”
He silkily replies, "To which I chased you down and fucked that beautiful cunt of yours and then carried you here.”
I cough when I choke on my drink, my cheeks reddening. His words stoke the fires that burned so hotly between us the previous night... and thinking that he wants to keep me safe—out of a sense of self-preservation—breaks my walls down when I least expect them to fall.
He hardly smiles, but his eyes tell me that he got the reaction he wanted. “I’m a man that fights for myself, Jane. The Zenith just help ensure my power is far-reaching, but I don’t need them. Work with me, and I’ll get you somewhere safe, which means I fulfill what Cypress wants and you don’t have to see any more villagers burn.” He gets a devious look in his eyes, like he can’t help himself. “If you’re really desperate, though, you can let your belly swell with my seed.”
My eyes widen as I glower at him, ready to pour this drink on his face.
He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re too easy.”
“Well, why the fuck say that?” I ask, downing more of the burning drink rather than tossing it. My veins warm as it hits my system. “You know what, never mind. I’m being serious right now. It’s hard to trust you, all right? As in, it’s hard for me to trust people in general, let alone this very specific scenario.” My throat constricts, exposing a true layer of vulnerability. “I can’t watch someone else burn like that. Not someone I know.”
A semblance of his true humanity breaches that stolid gaze. The expression alone unwinds me in ways I don’t have the energy to deal with, so I move over to the shelves of liquor, my mind torn in every direction. Popping the cork back into the bottle, I sit down in a chair opposite of him, hovering the glass to my lips as I feel the first serving spin my mind.
“Anyway,” he says, pointing around with the hand that holds his drink, my eyes flicking in his direction. “You’ve got free reign of the place. No trying to kill me in my sleep or I’ll just tie you to the bedpost, and as we’ve already discovered, it’s a rather useful tactic. No leaving, because they’ve got eyes watching, and it won’t look right if you do. You can have whatever drink, food, or luxuries you want while we play this one by ear.” He eyes me greedily. “If you go against my rules, I will punish you. Because they have to see that, and it won’t be the kind you enjoy.”
I roll my eyes, my heart fluttering, staring at the empty hearth. I drink more at those words, rubbing my eyes.
“You need to sleep, Jane.”
My eyes close at the softness of his voice, like he’s someone worth sharing my vulnerability with. Gods how I wish he were. “Why aren’t you tired?”
He downs his drink and puts his glass on the table in front of us, standing. His voice is gruff from the alcohol. “An explanation for another time.”
Whatever. I’ll dig into that later. I look around for somewhere to sleep—hoping for more than a couch—and see an open door to a bedroom. “I’m sleeping in the bed.”
“Good for you.” He walks past me, leaning down. “So am I.”
“I want a bath,” I blurt out, staring at his back as he walks away.
“As you wish, princess.”
I throw my gaze back at the liquor, my mind swimming freer than usual. I drink more of it as I feel my body unwind with its intoxication. Soren seems to be examining the place, as if taking mental notes of its state, like someone searching for tampering.
“I’ll play the role of your pet,” I say, staring at the wooden table.
“Really?” He asks, almost shocked.
“I understand that they won’t take well to me looking too free. If it keeps them convinced, then I’ll play. I don’t know what Cypress told you, but if it keeps others alive, that’s all I care about.” I look out the window across the room, desperate to go into the waters out there once again. With a distinct sense of capitulation and reckless behavior, I mumble, “And like you said, I’ll probably enjoy myself… so why bother fighting what feels good? I’ve done that for far too long...”
I hear his footsteps, but I still tense when he leans down—the liquor nearly sloshing out of my glass—having not expected him to be so close. I breathe heavily, blood rushing between my thighs.
His husky voice is in my ear. “And you wonder why I like you.”