Chapter 35
Life has a way of really making someone question everything, doesn’t it?
Sitting next to Anya while waiting for Soren is such a fascinating development in my life. Here I am, freshly pleasured by him, smelling as he wants me, dressed like I’m his trophy, and the woman next to me recently stabbed me; a cacophony of my new reality.
Silence doesn’t linger for long when the handle to his bedroom door jiggles, and my entire body focuses on that threshold, my heart absolutely infatuated with the notion of his undivided attention.
Soren emerges from his room, partially dressed in his armor, wearing a rather intricate black leather tunic instead of his armored chest piece. The opulent, onyx attire is just as hypnotic as his red armor, his hair tied back into a low bun. Scabbards and their blades line his body, all the way down to his ankles.
I can’t help but accept the amorous thoughts of finding him almost beautiful , even if that seems ridiculous. His outfit is so dark while his gaze is so light, his strong jaw flexing perfectly when he clearly clenches it.
"Grab her cloak, Anya," he instructs, nodding to the couch that it drapes over.
My nostrils flare as I try to calm myself down. I’ve decided to go with the route of trusting him today. My father trusted Cypress, and even though my burned heart wants to think he abandoned me… what if he didn’t? What if something happened to him? If that’s true, then I trust his judgment with the ruby witch, which means if she didn’t warn me of Soren, then maybe he’s not my enemy. Plus, she clearly told him something so profound that he lied to the Council about me. That counts for something, right?
I found myself choosing between the jaded part of me that is afraid to have her heart broken again, or to lean into fate a little and see where that gets me.
The last time I trusted fate I was a girl hopelessly waiting for her father to find her.
It’s different now. Everything is different.
Standing, I face the entrance while Soren’s gaze dissects me. His invasion of my privacy is fascinating, alluring, and yet disturbing. There’s not even a crevice for my heart to hide within.
Soren nears a table with a metal collar and a long chain on it. The metal clinks together as he picks it up, motioning for me to come forward, and opening it up. Before he says anything, I lift my head to expose my neck. “Get it over with,” I grunt.
The corner of his lips rises upward as he places the cold, heavy metal around my neck and locks it, putting the key in his pocket. He grabs the chain and pulls slightly so I have to take a step toward him. He leans down into my ear. “You begin to act out, at all, in ways I don’t approve of, and I’ll have you gagged and bound.”
“I know the bargain,” I confidently reply.
He hands the chains to a smirking Anya as she eyes the power that she has over me, my cloak draped over her shoulder.
At least my hands are free. I guess that’s an upside.
Despite the wreckage of my heart and what I’ve just survived, I focus on how I’m actually quite curious to see the Savage Sands today.
Where many fight in the main arena of Skull’s Row for pure entertainment, those fighting here strive to be noticed for their brutality, in hopes that it gives them a leg up on becoming a Zenith.
I was only ever able to sneak into the main arena, attending as a curious child processing her violent world, watching from her father's fierce shadow. I almost wish Dad was here now so he could be the one to take me.
Walking across the walkway, the vibrant halls contrast Soren's quiet wing. As we enter the rather unsteady lift, and not chucked over his shoulder this time, I can see how dangerous this lift is. It's a steel cage that is held by a hook as large as my torso. It’s only Soren, Anya, and I that enter, while the others descend the stone stairs.
“You know, I really should have a dagger or something on me,” I whisper, standing straighter, speaking like we're teammates discussing a strategy once the platform begins its jerky descent.
"Honorable attempt,” Soren grumbles. “But I'll be doing the stabbing and torturing for now."
Anya dutifully remains silent, guiding me forward once the lift stops at our destination. The crowd thickens on these lower levels as we near an interlocking of staircases. Soren strides with purpose, the crowd naturally parting wherever he moves. There are so many onlookers here, many dressed in the Skull's Row version of aristocracy; leather, weapons, expensive tunics or dresses, and lots of jewelry. Especially gold. One woman even has tattoos all over her neck and face.
The men and women here move like a pack of hyenas, always willing to bite the other if they see fit.
My heart rate triples when I spot a familiar face, the wind stolen right from my lungs. It’s an older noir from the Silver District, someone I doubt would recognize me. At the same time, panic sets in when I envision her staring me down like she might somehow remember me from all those years ago, and I start to feel rather exposed, made worse by what I’m wearing, or lack thereof. I've physically matured since people only saw me as a scraggly girl, my hair was paler then, too. And shorter.
It doesn’t help that everyone steals a glance or two at me, no doubt intrigued by who Soren has at the end of his leash. I swallow thickly as if afraid that I have it written on my face that I’m Charles Ritter’s daughter.
Maryanne’s screams echo in my mind of her calling me a coward. Is that what I’m being now? My cheeks maintain a solid blush as we descend, dark, thick wood layering on the walls and ceilings as oil lanterns hang for light. My shoes clack on the stone, but it's drowned out by the rest—there’s even someone singing a hearty song of manning a ship and wanting to return to his lover.
Bones is among a group of Soren's men at the bottom, a rowdy duo shouting over something in the distance as more people join in on the singing. Some even begin to tap their wooden mugs on tables to offer a steady rhythm that many voices sing to.
Reaching the final step, the smell of cooked food wafts through the air as a trolley wheels past—it's some kind of meat I used to eat as a kid. I don't have time to spot what exactly they’re eating as Soren guides us, Anya yanking on my chain to regain my attention.
I glance at Bones, who is as dark and dangerous as ever, a wild gleam in his eyes. A new necklace of knuckles hangs below his older one, the second row as bright as whitecaps compared to the worn ones.
Kathleen better be all right, and those knuckles acquired from protecting her, wherever toad-face put her. He better be worshiping her and killing any man that gets too close.
Bones places his hands on his hips and addresses Soren. “I see we’ve chosen chains.”
Soren replies, “Makes it easier to lock her in place if I need to leave her for a time.”
I stare at the stone wall ahead, eyeing the intricacy of an archway so as not to meet anyone’s gaze.
Once, I would have laughed and reveled in Soren aiding me in this giant lie to keep me safe. But now? I still see Maryanne’s glowering eyes burning into me before her flesh blackened and her soul left this world.
Now, I just want out of this damn city.
* * *
Down below is another, more private way to access Skull’s Row from the Spiraling Stone. They check every inch of whatever is being transported, and it’s not easy to make one’s way down there in the first place. It’s a secondary bridge that connects two archways carved out of the cliffs, tunnels linking it all together like rope.
Hearing the ocean crash below us is both liberating and isolating, the raw nature like the edge of an escape plan.
Would Melona pull me under if I tried to find a ship out of here? Or is Cypress telling the truth that I’ve paid my debts to her?
Crossing into more tunnels is not quick or easy, with guards and Paragons investigating everything. One even gives a hard yank on my chains, as if to prove I’m actually bound. Soren doesn’t watch or look my way as they do so.
I can smell the salt water before we’re upon it, the tunnel opening to a moderate, pseudo fjord. I’ve seen these from far above, knowing in reality that these are just calm waters that are fed by a waterfall from Skull’s Row. They eventually end up in their own massive waterfall that takes one over the rocky cliffs. But here? I can’t stop looking around at the breathtaking scene. The once-natural stone and water have been tamed by ingenious hands, worn wood covering the gentle body of water beneath us. Plants and vines wrap up and around, ropes hanging all over. Carved-out windows punctuate the stone where wooden homes affix themselves.
“I’ve never been here,” I quietly say to no one in particular, wondering where the Savage Sands fighting pits are. So far, this reminds me more of a pier town. Anya remains silent next to me as Soren finally looks down.
“Really?” he asks, guiding us to an oversized bridge that will take us to what appears to be the more bustling side.
“ He wouldn’t let me go near the piers. Of any kind. I was only allowed to go near the fighting pits in the main city, not here,” I reply, trying to be vague, knowing Anya can hear me. I still don’t like that she knows about my dad, but I don’t have a voice in the matter.
I keep taking in the various structures, wondering who in the hells lives down here full-time. Do all these people support the Savage Sands? Does this place even have a name?
“Wise of him. Pirates don’t owe loyalty to anyone but their ship. They don’t even care to follow the Zenith’s rules.”
“Then, why do you trust them?” I ask, eyeing a building that’s a combined pleasure house, tavern, and inn. Of course. People stay here and then watch the fights, I bet.
“Tempest keeps control over them.”
“ All the pirates?”
“Maybe one day you’ll see her command the ocean,” he replies. A cart full of bananas ricochets its weight through the wooden platform before I see it, nearly running into us as they apologize profusely. Soren ignores them and keeps walking. “She’s sailed through countless storms and hurricanes, and never once lost a ship. Some think her ship, The Sea Wolf, is special. But I’ve seen her command a fucking canoe through impossible waters. Her man o’ war can, and will , hunt anyone down.”
My dad spoke highly of Tempest, although never embellished too much. I honestly didn’t know she was so inundated in the pirating world, only knowing she frequented the areas I was forbidden to roam. I crane my neck to look up at the scene above me when I hear flags flapping heavily in the wind against a sky of overcast clouds—more Zenith flags.
The more I think about it, the more I remember dad telling me to stay away from men and women of the sea. I always thought it was just because he was worried that I’d find them interesting and want to join.
Maybe he didn’t trust them, either.
Once we cross the bridge that looks like the reclaimed hull of a ship, a group of men—all wearing a single gold earring on their left side—slowly crowds us as if they might pass, but instead they stand still, all staring. Anya pulls gently on the chains controlling me, as if to halt me like I’m a damn horse.
As I take these men in, it’s like the child inside of me from over a decade ago revs with curiosity. These are real pirates, and I’ve rarely seen so many that look so weathered , dried out from the salty waters they worship. More than one has only one eye, and my brows raise when I spot a man with his arm missing from his elbow down, a blade replacing his forearm. A man approaches Soren who has the cleanest and most trimmed black beard, large puffy bags under his eyes. His clothes are finer than the rest, his captain’s coat a deep emerald. My gaze fastens to Soren until I steal a double take around the behemoth when I see Bones pull out an apple with a small blade to start peeling at it.
Well, at least he’s confident.
The one in the front bows his head, and I snap my attention back to him. “The name is Nicholas the Merciless. Your man, the one with the apple, stabbed one of our crew, Lord Zenith.” He speaks politely, although his forced smile not only reveals dirty teeth, but also an undertone that he’s using that title mockingly.
“And I’m supposed to care?” Soren quips.
Nicholas furrows his bushy brows, raising a hand that’s so cruddy I can see the thick black lines of dirt under his nail beds. “Wouldn’t need a healer if it wasn’t your problem. Over a turkey leg, I hear.” Nicholas points at Bones. “And we’re not leaving until that one has paid a debt. Healers aren’t free, you know.”
Soren rests his hand on the pommel of his main sword. “One of your men said you’d pay for that healer without issue. Going back on your word?”
“I prefer to confront a Zenith’s broadside. And I also never did say I play fair.” He wickedly smiles, a few of his men chuckling. “That man was Cook, and he’s known for being our mediator . I decided after the fact that I wholly disagreed with him.”
My brows raise as I feel like a spectator in a pre-show to the Sands. Is this really happening? Is this man really going to challenge Soren like this?
Soren takes a step forward, the weight of him creaking the wood even in that one motion. I watch with bated breath, the weight of the collar extra heavy as I feel a need to be armed. Soren slowly pulls out his sword from his scabbard, holding it to the side while not removing his gaze from the pirate captain. “Anya, you have Jane.”
Swords are unsheathed like a wave of talons, Anya pulling out her own dagger. No way… they’re going to fight! What the hells do I do?
Nicholas is last to pull out his cutlass, his eyes alive with a fight. “We have quite the reputation for being men that don’t get attacked without the rest of us fighting back. Zenith included. All we want is your man, or we’ll give no quarter.”
As if those words were a signal, I look over my shoulder to see more crowding us from behind to lock us on this bridge; it’s a dozen of Soren’s men against three dozen pirates.
Bones speaks after biting into his apple. “You can’t handle me, love.” He takes one last bite before adding, “Your man’s fine, and you’ve got plenty enough gold. It’s what you’re known for. At this point, you’re just bitching . But if you insist—we do need to stretch our legs a bit.” Bones throws the core of his apple over the bridge, the blade he used to carve it pivoting in his hand as without warning, he throws his full body weight with the small blade that flies from his grip, striking one of the pirates dead in the eye as he slowly topples over.
All mayhem breaks loose.
Two of Nicholas’s men charge before him to attack Soren, who perries with little effort, pulling a smaller blade from one of his scabbards and stabbing one man in the throat, slicing it open before kicking him away and slashing down with his larger sword and chopping a hand off of the other attacker. Fear flashes in the pirate’s eyes before Soren grabs his head and stabs him through the face, yanking downward to free his blade as the body falls.
Everyone around us moves, men yelling and screaming, metal clashing on metal. One pirate climbs on the side of the bridge to evade the fighting, hopping over facing Anya. I’m completely useless as she drops the chains, to which I quickly gather so no one can drag me or hang me.
Time simultaneously moves with urgency and stillness. Bones dances among a handful of pirates, slicing brutally at them as blood smears the wood, his hits landing without mercy as the flesh is viscerally torn open and bodies land limply on the ground.
While Anya squares up with another pirate that’s on her, I watch as a Merciless man climbs over in the same manner, gripping the exterior wooden fencing as he makes his way toward me, climbing over the rails once he’s close enough to me. I scream in shock at first, but when he smiles with a dirty set of teeth, I wrap my chains around his neck while he clamors over the rails. I tug so hard in an effort to choke him like it’s a rope. His eyes nearly bulge from his sockets, and he’s about to stab behind him to stop me, but not before I see a hand grab the man’s clothes and lift him like he’s a small dog.
I release when I see its Soren, the pirate gasping for air once free of my chains, but not before the Zenith’s long blade plunges through his enemy’s heart. Behind him, Anya guts one of her assailants, looking back at us before continuing her assault.
Soren raises the body on his sword with one hand as the pirate chokes out blood, the Zenith moving away to toss the fallen man at the feet of Nicholas, who has yet to join the fray. The body slams down on the bridge, and Soren’s voice rasps, “Use that sword, Merciless—“
From somewhere above us, a woman cries out, “Put your damned swords away!”
It takes a moment for everyone to look up, not wanting to distract themselves and create vulnerability. When Soren cranes his head up, I do too—
My lips part as I drop my chains that rattle to the floor.
Tempest .
“He,” Nicholas says, motioning to Bones. “Stabbed my man. Right in the gut. Was expensive to heal it, and he refuses to pay.”
“As if you can’t afford it,” she silkily replies.
Bones moves his blade in his hand like he’s twirling a stick, blood smeared all over as he seems completely uninjured. Five bodies are at his feet.
Walking down a flight of stairs, the energy shifts as Tempest nears us, the rest of the piers watching on like we’re the entertainment. She’s aged since I last glimpsed her; Tempest’s dark brown skin is creased around her lips, rings clinging to her slender fingers. Her long black hair is dreaded, gold decorations lining her strands as a black bandana keeps them out of her face. She wears fitted pants, her leather armor contouring her feminine frame. Many glinting weapons are hoisted all over her body.
Tempest still carries herself like she's the ocean incarnate, moving fluidly like water.
Her reputation precedes her with tales of being as dangerous as a calm day on the ocean with a hurricane lurking in the distance. Very few men have ever breached the eye of her storm, protected from her fury.
Her smoky voice curls at the end of each sentence with a slight rasp. "Easy, Soren," she hums, narrowing her deep brown eyes that black smudge hollows. She nears Nicholas, those around lowering their head in respect to her. She gets in his face, looking up; she’s shorter than I remembered her to be. “ I rule these piers, not you. So, if you want to bloody these decks, fight him yourself .”
He stares at her before looking around, and then nodding as he sheathes his sword. “Aye, sea temptress.”
“Now move, because if I’m late, I’ll tie you to the bottom of my ship on my next sail and keelhaul you, just high enough so you don’t drown right away. Then, I’ll take your crew and make them mine .” She looks around. “What’s left of them, anyway.”
Nicholas takes a step back, and his men mirror him as they shuffle out of the way, some panting. The one with a blade for an arm doesn’t have any blood on him either, just like his captain. A few rush forward to examine the injured, someone yelling for a healer as he puts pressure on a wound.
I’m definitely not helping.
Bones sneers at them all, pulling his little blade out of the eye socket of the first one that fell.
Tempest addresses Soren, a wind picking up as it blows a few strands of hair into my eyes. “Let’s walk together.”
“You ended the fun,” Soren grunts, looking around on the bridge to find a dead man’s shirt to clean his blade with.
“You don’t have room to complain. Looks like none of your men are dead.”
Everyone begins to wipe their steel before sheathing, blood smeared or spattered on all of our faces. Anya grabs the chains once more, although quietly to me, “Well, at least you’re not useless.”
“Good of you to notice,” I say with pride. “The Merciless sure is, though.”
She snickers. “He’s known to let others fight for him. There’s no way he’d fight Soren unless it was a dirty blow. Nicholas has value in simply existing, and his men are only on his crew for the money. As long as he pays, he doesn’t have to fight.”
The reasoning behind one’s loyalty to their leader makes me realize I don’t even know why Soren’s men follow him. “And what of Soren? Why do you all risk it for him?”
For once, she doesn’t look at me with acrimony. “Many join because of the promise of valor, always eager for a reason to fight. The rest stay because of how he treats us, and of the security he offers. He takes care of us.”
I ruminate on that as we step over or around the blood, which drips down through the cracks of the wood. Tempest orders Nicholas to clean up the mess, her brown eyes haunting me when our gazes connect, like she can see the ghosts of my past.
Soren watches Tempest with great caution, and I’d pay a lot of gold coins to know what he feels about her at this moment. Is she going to barrage me with similar questions like with the Council? Subject me to all of her pirates?
Get it together. It will be what it is. Just like that, we carry on as if we didn’t stop to stab and kill some men. Once we’re moving toward an opening in the stone and enter another corridor, flanked by both Soren’s men and hers, Tempest looks back as torch light casts shadows on her face. There’s a lot of chatter from the group behind, echoing against the walls as she quietly says to me, "Now, let’s all have a chat once we get there. You’ve really grown up, little Jane.”