Chapter 29
Memories of my life beg to be considered, like a reminder of what it took to get here. Of the sacrifices I made, of those I lost... I consider the effort it will take to secure Jane's freedom.
At the bare minimum, I know the Ritter father isn't dead. His nickname, the Scorpion, was for how isolated the man was and how swiftly hostile he became if anyone got too close. He'd survive just fine, all alone, for over a decade.
He's watching over her. Somewhere. Even if she feels he abandoned her. She knows him as a father from a childhood ruined by something tormented and deeply guarded within her heart. I know him as the Zenith that I revered from a distance.
An instinct, one that has kept me alive through many miraculous tales, tells me that if Jane dies, Ritter will ensure we all do. I don’t even need Cypress to tell me that.
Which means wherever he is, he’s close.
When do I tell her? The poor thing is getting soft on me, wanting to protect the other villagers that were so quick to tell the Council everything about Jane. We somehow got lucky that they truly didn’t know much of her. I was told, right before we got here from a reconnaissance messenger, that Maryanne even offered to be a spy for the Council. Warm Jane up to her.
It’s their fucking loss they chose to burn her rather than listen, as if I’ve learned anything from Jane, it’s that she’s weak for those she cares for. Burning Maryanne was easy for me, even if the heartbreak for her children bled into me more than I cared for.
Serena matters more to me than orphans.
All of this chaos is sending me down to the rotunda where the entrance to Blackwell's chamber is, knowing I need to meet with him without Jane present. I walk through a dimly lit hall with many heavy, ornate doors. Having just left Kendra's—the woman that oversees the brothels and caretakers of the Spiraling Stone, an underling of Rosmertta. Before seeing Blackwell, I wanted to ensure servants are sent up to my room to take care of Jane.
One woman named Lilith follows me out of the purple door. I look back at her as she stands next to the lantern with violet glass as it casts a unique glow on her silky clothes that barely cover anything, which is admittedly a favorite of mine. Tersely, I ask, "What?"
The pale blonde looks as if she wants to say many things, longing and nervousness mixing in her green eyes. "Should I have your usual room ready, in here?"
Her question, while innocent enough, carries a weight of gossip. “No.” I huff when she clearly has more to add. "Get out whatever is binding your tongue."
"Is there a woman in your room?" she blurts out, like this is a troubling rumor. There might even be a little betrayal in her eyes.
“Is that your business?"
Her full lips thin as she looks down, lowering her head in submission. I turn around and say nothing else when I so easily could, but I don’t have time to give gentler words when it would only send the wrong message. She may have been a woman I once frequented, but the exchange was always clear. I paid her well to do the things I liked, even if she'd probably do it for free.
The hallway spills out into an area that’s a hub of debauchery and musty with incense. The only windowed section is near the bar where men smoke tobacco, if one isn’t counting the glass ceiling far above that the many bridges dull the light of. A full table boasts the ass of a hog that's already partially carved away at, surrounded by legumes and oranges. Men gather in a round sitting corner, black smudge hollowing all of their bloodshot eyes, a siren tattooed on all of their forearms in thick, red ink—men of Nicholas the Merciless. Their pirating captain isn’t much of an inspiration, but he knows the fucking ocean like I know how to read hearts. I doubt there’s a cavern he hasn’t explored.
Pirates are one of the few men that look me in the eye for longer than I like, but I've learned to stomach it. They worship the ocean and don't care about the laws that govern these lands. It’s one of the things I don’t care for here in Skull’s Row.
It’s difficult to move through the crowd without wanting to disappear back into the quiet halls. This fucking place always has me on edge with the chaos of clashing desires, emotions, or fears.
Standing against the cold stone offers some reprieve; at least there’s nothing to feel behind me while I wait to be taken to see Blackwell. I carefully eye the few that sit in corners and are draped in thick cloaks before scanning the room further—weathered ropes, barrels, and nautical decor fills in empty spaces as old maps adorn the walls. A few skulls painted black are perched on stakes adjacent to lanterns. Behind the bar, a few men fill tankards of ale or glasses with rum as many sit on mismatched stools or couches.
They’re all waiting to speak to one of the Zenith, donning a golden skull brooch for approval. I’ve already sent a request to see Blackwell myself, one of my men having greeted me outside of my room to approve the meeting. I’ll push aside any one of these men who go to see him before me.
Time is of the essence to establish that no one bothers Jane.
I feel the familiar lawless aura of Bones before spotting him, the man sipping on a tankard as he nears me. His slightly curled hair is slicked back, his mismatched eyes keenly scan the room. About a dozen of my men mingle about the vast area, all wearing red tunics under their armor.
Drinking deeply, Bones exhales slowly as he quietly asks, “Waiting on Blackwell?”
“Apparently someone will come get me,” I breathe out. “Bastard says he doesn’t want us to act like kings and yet behaves as such himself.
“He’s going to get himself killed doing that. Chatted with some others who say their Zenith are growing tired of him.” Bones scratches the stubble on his face. “And what the hells is Blackwell even doing acting like that? He knows better.”
Ensuring it’s only the two of us that I sense against this wall, I quietly say, “I’m not sure. It was hard to read him earlier with that dramatic show he put on. It’s why I want to see him man to man.”
Bones shifts his focus toward me. “And what are we doing? Now that we’re here and harboring a woman the entire Council wants to dissect?”
I lean in, motioning for him to get closer. He bows his head so his ear is right next to me, and I’m so close I can smell the ale on him. “The Scorpion isn’t dead.” I wet my lips before adding, “He’s Jane’s father.”
Bones’s brows raise as his eyes flit back and forth in comprehension before he wickedly laughs. “Well that fucking makes sense. Knew life was getting a little boring.” He drinks more, speaking just above a whisper. “Is Jane in on it? Is this a mass conspiracy?”
“She doesn’t know that her father is still alive. And it will remain that way until I tell her.” I inhale deeply before adding, “And tell Anya for me. You’ll see her next. Kathleen can know, as well.”
I wonder if he knows of Kathleen’s ties to Ritter, yet. She’s already aware of more than Jane, and now Bones and Anya will be, too.
She’s definitely going to try to stab me at least once .
“Won’t even question how you know. You’ve got my word, sir… So why are we fighting for one Zenith instead of the rest? Other than half of them are cunts that I don’t like?”
“I saw the rubied witch… I can explain more when the time is right. But not now. All I’m conveying is that Jane doesn’t die on our watch. And we need to tell Anya soon. This whole place doesn’t feel right, and I don’t trust anyone.”
With a single, curt nod, Bones says, “Understood.”
My powers are used to the familiar twists and turns of what lies inside of Bones, and I can tell he’ll fiercely defend Jane now, even if they can’t seem to get along. He and I have saved each other more than once, our trust something we need in this world where no explanations are often required.
Bones downs his tankard and meanders over to a platter of food nearby, and I warn him, “That’s paid for, and not by us.”
“It’s getting cold,” he retorts, grabbing the thick leg of a turkey, and ripping at the meat with his teeth.
Someone from the Merciless’s corner stands. “‘Ey! Fucker! That’s ours.”
Bones moves his head from side to side as if looking for a piece of parchment that would have their name on it. “It was just sitting here, mate. You want me to give it back? I can shit in this cup a little later if it means that much to you.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Bones doesn’t have a magic that’s clear like some of us, but the bastard is lucky . If he didn’t have such an unnatural ability to survive everything that should kill him, I’d be more pissed about this.
I know he’s been itching for a fight lately. He’s like a farm dog that needs ran, except his escape is violence .
“You buy us a new one, then,” the pirate counters, taking a few strides near us as his fellows stand. “I don’t know if you know of us, but the Merciless men have a reputation for stabbing someone just for looking at us wrong. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt… I say you buy us two new turkeys, now, for being so gracious.”
“This is already cold, like I said,” Bones says, continuing to eat it. “You’re wasteful .”
“It doesn’t matter why it’s sitting there, does it?” The pirate looks at me as if seeking resolution, and I do nothing other than return the glare. Bones does have a point—no one was eating it. “Fine.” The pirate pulls out a blade, my body instinctively reacting as I unsheathe my own in a swift movement. Bones engages with a wicked gleam in his eyes as he pulls out a dagger—turkey leg still in his other hand—and lunges forward. The pirate dodges one swipe but is unable to miss the blade when Bones flips its orientation, sliding the steel right into his opponent’s gut. Bones loudly yells to the man, “Did you know I have a reputation of taking on twenty men at once and only suffering a single scratch?” He twists the blade inside of the man’s gut. “I can take on your whole lot and eat their food afterward, too. Maybe we should place bets on whose reputation will save them, eh?”
Bones slides the blade out as the remaining pirates are on their feet, swords glinting in a wave of weapons drawn, stools dramatically kicked over in their haste. My company approaches Bones and I, along with a few others donning the black wolf label on their vests—Corvus.
I quickly look around.
Another Zenith?
I don’t spot Corvus in the crowd, but if his mercenaries are reacting, he’s nearby. I say to the pirates, “If you want to attack us, I suggest not doing it in our rotunda. You will all die, without question, over a fucking turkey leg.”
One of the Merciless men puts pressure on their comrade’s wound, whose shirt is blossoming with a vermilion discoloration as he sits down on the stone floor. One of the older pirates steps forward. “Get us a healer—we’ll pay for her and cause no more issues. We just came to meet with Blackwell.”
My first thoughts are straight to Jane, admittedly curious about what she’d do in such a familiar environment of bar fights. Not today, but perhaps one day soon… see what my desert rose does when back in her territory. Eyeing the barkeep, I nod to one of them as I sheathe my blade. “Get him a healer.”
One by one, blades rescind as an older woman moves quickly from a hallway and into the mayhem, swiftly finding her target as she kneels down to heal him—
A presence is at my back, one that’s heavy with authority. Slowly looking over my shoulder, I’m staring at the face of Corvus—his dark skin has a fresh, deep cut on his neck that’s barely healed, one I didn’t notice earlier. “Who cut you?” I ask, slightly amused. “It’s a badge of honor if someone can mar your skin.”
His lips slowly form into a smile. “It was my fault. Was too drunk,” he says, motioning back to the wall Bones and I were against. Our men flank us and create a barrier without a single order, to which Bones joins while continuing to eat his turkey leg. The rest of the atmosphere returns to normal, as if this is all expected.
Corvus runs a hand over the front of his leather vest. “Your man likes to cause scenes.”
“And I like to believe the pirates need frequent reminders that this isn’t their home.”
Chuckling, Corvus chews on his bottom lip as he cants his head to the side, suggesting that’s not entirely wrong. His aura bleeds with more integrity than over half of the Zenith; one of the reasons I tolerate him the most.
It’s his ruthless way with a blade, and his uncanny determination to deliver his promises, that’s earned him his rank. I doubt killing him would even suffice; he’s the kind to haunt someone from the dead if a debt is still owed. His nearly onyx eyes slowly rise to look into mine, most of his warmth fading. “What are you doing with Jane?”
I inhale slowly, thinking these words over very carefully. “She’s hiding information, but there’s also something not quite right. I think her mind’s been fucked with,” I lie. “I need to slowly pull it apart, wait for a feeling or memory to strike her that she’s forgotten.”
Corvus once brought me a man who had his mind altered by a witch, and within those broken memories was knowledge of the one who once tried to assassinate this Zenith. The Council nearly broke him through torture and it took me two months to pry out the truth afterward. Corvus says, “Some of the others want her chained up. They want to skip letting you work. They don’t like that she was marked without any of us knowing and they’re certain they can beat and rape it out of her.”
A sound escapes me that’s a mixture of a grunt and a laugh, which hides the ire that burns through me. “Setting that villager aflame was an absolute waste, and so would any further torture be.” I stare into Corvus’s eyes. “We’ve already been rough with her, and every time it makes her just want to fight to the death. She doesn’t know the details we want, which means—” I hesitate to keep speaking when a wave of distrust fills me. Something is different about Corvus, and I’m just now catching on; a tide that’s churning. I furrow my brows. “Did something happen while I was gone?”
Corvus nods, raising a hand to run over his salt-and-pepper beard that’s braided into three strands. “It’s with Tempest. She was missing because Blackwell is having her leave Skull’s Row to fight off a warlord in the Crimson Isles, and she’s readying herself to having a bunch of men fight to be in her crew tomorrow. Many disagree with risking her for something so useless. It’s dividing us.” He snarls. “I fear mutiny at some point. This Jane incident has them all on edge. They’re starting to wonder if it’s even one of us that branded her. Blackwell’s theory, when you left, is that someone marked her so she can be claimed as a bride, like how Belstead works in their kingdoms with wedding princesses to strengthen unions.”
I churn over every word, dissecting them to feel out the veracity. Sometimes, I can feel the energy of an entire place, and I still can’t quite pinpoint why the Spiraling Stone feels off .
It all does.
“I don’t like the energy here,” I reply.
Corvus deeply inhales through his nose as he looks around, leaning even further in. My powers devour his aura like one of Cypress’s hellhounds catching a scent. “Keep an eye on Jane. Someone will try to steal her, I’m sure of it, and I want to know how the fuck she got that tattoo before that happens, so don’t go slow with her.”
His eyes remain stolid as he adds, “Something is going on, Soren. I don’t trust it. She’s an anomaly. If anyone is going to understand what that is, it’s you . And I want to know if I need to leave this damn city before it all goes to shit. I will cut down any one of you that gets in my way, too. This is mostly a friendly warning.”
Every crevice of his essence seems to be telling the bold truth. Corvus doesn’t let me respond before nodding at me and turning to walk away.
Well, that was… enlightening .
Great. So, none of us trust each other and they’ll all be seeking out Jane, one way or another. Like men who have gone crazy with thirst at sea and start drinking the water.
Being here swiftly feels wrong.
I focus back on the energy shift of this castle and how I didn’t feel this before I left. It’s the sensation of eyes on one’s back even if they can’t find a face to point to—
I catch an impression in the air that I can’t describe; it’s coming from down a corridor that has an iron gate sealing it off.
One of Blackwell’s men strides along it, and I can tell he’s coming to fetch me. But as I stare down the stone walls behind him, I can’t remove my gaze. There’s absolutely nothing there, and yet something… something dark is there.
What the fuck is going on?
I waste no time as I near the gate, the guard opening it for me as I’m led away from the noise of the rotunda. I barely register the walk to Blackwell’s quarters, overwhelmed by something acrid—if energies even had a scent. Staring at his door reminds me of Cypress’s home, as if deep and ancient magic besmirches the walls.
But when it opens and I’m led inside, the storm brewing in my chest calms; if anything, it’s just cold inside.
The room nearly matches the rotunda, but all the windows in here are circular.
“Looking for something?” Blackwell asks.
I roll my eyes to the man who sits behind a large desk, sipping on a brownish liquid. He holds my gaze as I dissect what I can of him, the natural light from behind casting a murky shadow over his face. Rather than play ignorant, I remark, “Your energy has changed since I was last here.”
I swear his eyes flit to a corner of the room before he downs what’s left in his glass. “Yes, because I see someone has been marked without our permission.”
Looking over my shoulder, I stare at a corner that seems entirely empty. My magic burns into my senses, telling me I should see something almost evil there, and yet it’s just two walls converging.
When I move my gaze back at Blackwell, he too is staring there.
I invite myself to a seat in front of his desk, my body vibrating with an absolute desire to flee this room and whatever is going on with that corner. “You realize Jane is not a threat?” I ask. “Her being marked is annoying, sure, but it’s not as if she has an entire army at her command.”
Blackwell inhales, raising a tattooed hand to wipe at lips before lowering his gaze to the table between us. “Someone gave her that without our knowledge. We have to figure out who, at the very least. If we even catch a scent that she’s a threat, though, half of the Council wants her dead as a precaution and a warning.”
“That’s not unreasonable, but burning her people won’t help, that’s for certain,” I counter, still miffed that he did that without consulting me. What’s the fucking point to me doing what I do if they’ll fuck with the one I’m interrogating? It’s not as if Jane is my actual target, but I don’t miss the way Blackwell acts more like an official leader rather than someone the others once respected.
He laughs. “Going soft and feeling sorry for that woman?”
“I’m an efficient man, and muddling Jane’s heart with extreme fear will only make my job worse.”
He chews on his lip before sighing. “Allright, fine. You can have whatever time you need with her. Don’t particularly want singed flesh in Storm’s Gathering. I’ll be sending Jamie, my personal noir, to check in from time to time.”
I want to nod, but as I stare at this man, I can’t—I can’t read him.
A sense of foreboding grips my heart, as if I realize I shouldn’t be in here. I don’t know why, but I just shouldn’t be. “That’s all I wanted to come and discuss,” I reply, a dreadful chill crawling up my spine.
Twisting my hips so I can turn around in my seat when I get the undeniable sense that someone is right behind me, I glare at that empty corner again. It’s a blank fucking space, but I know it’s not.
“You’re paranoid, Soren,” Blackwell comments.
Deeply breathing, I slowly face the man before me. I grip my knee as I ignore the provocative statement. “In regards to Jane, if any of you fuck this up again like last time, I’m going to stab someone. It’s a complete waste of my time to have any of you meddling.”
He raises his hand and says, “Then we’ll leave her to you. Like I said,” his eyes sharpen on me, “we’ll be watching.”
This is all fucking wrong. Trying to read him is like telling a blind man to decipher a written riddle. He’s too passive, and I can’t shake the damn feeling that we’re not alone in here.
Without another word, I stand to leave, almost not wanting to look in that corner.
I don’t know what Blackwell has fucked with, but I don’t trust an inch of this place anymore.