Chapter 37
The crowd cheers, drums sounding off to a steady rhythm. The third round has just finished, and I watch with a bated breath as someone is carried away with a nasty wound to the thigh, blood discoloring the sands in a blotchy mess.
I’ve already cleaned my face after a noir brought some towels, wiping the dried blood away.
Anya startles me when she nears Soren, although the Zenith hardly seems surprised. She leans down to his ear and I can barely hear her say, “We secured Rosmertta’s in The River sector.”
He looks down at me, his leather crinkling with the movement. I crane my neck to look between the two. Anya had come to us not shortly after Tempest left, Soren requesting that she secure rooms for his men. In the meantime, we’ve sat here while other Zenith have looked our way. If one came near, violence brimmed in Soren’s glares, and that’s apparently all that was required.
As I stare at him, he deeply inhales, his unblinking gaze connecting with mine. I’m not sure what silent conversation we’re having, but he finally stands, my legs aching with the sudden rush of blood when I mimic him. Anya takes the chains once more, and rather than fight the heaviness around my neck, I simply look away and walk closely to her.
We retrace our footsteps around the cliffs, entering through another tunnel lit by large torches. Anya says, “I sent Rasmus and a few others to secure Phantom. Figured we could ride to Rosmertta’s rather than walk.”
Bones sighs out, “Always so on top of things, Anya.”
“Better than starting fights for no reason,” she quips.
He scoffs. “I don’t tolerate horseshit, and you know it. Fucker acting like he was put out. Plus, Soren can read me like a book. If he wanted to stop me, he would have.”
We approach heavily manned iron gates that open instantly once Soren is identified. Over a dozen horses are waiting, and as always Phantom stands out among the rest in his size and fur color. Soren runs his hand over the horse's face, looking at his followers. “A handful of you ride ahead.”
Almost instantly, five of them swiftly mount their steeds and take off, hooves clacking on cobblestone. I’m standing next to a nickering horse when Soren says to Anya, “Give her the cloak. She gets covered up in the streets.”
Anya hands me the cloak she brought, and I quickly pull the wool fabric around my shoulders. I won’t complain about avoiding any extra eyes while out here. Once I’ve mounted my ride, Soren takes the chains. The clouds overhead thicken and turn gray as we make our way. I’m not sure which sector we’re currently in, all I know is it’s not where I grew up.
It smells like horseshit, baked goods, and filthy humans. All these sectors have their "safe" zones where commerce is highest. They also harbor unkempt streets full of secrets, lies, and lurid humans. Nearly everywhere feels overcrowded as many live in squalor, while affluent homes are erected among the poor.
The atmosphere shifts like walking through a veil once we’re in this lower portion: people keep to themselves, many walk with their weapons visible or in hand, and the sunlight is blocked out by with tall, lopsided buildings that intensify the shadows.
My eyes widen when we pass by a building with many eyeless, onyx statues and gargoyles—more worshippers of Solerin. A collection of men and women sit outside with lips painted black, chanting the same words as they watch us pass by, one of them skinning a rabbit.
They all wear ruby earrings.
I touch mine before averting my attention, suddenly creeped out by wearing them.
I never meddled with the affairs of gods in this world, only aware that legends claim our magic stems from them. Some healers even worship a goddess of light, but Mother said the goddess would either be with us, or she wouldn’t, and we never really talked about her after that.
Either way, it’s a good reminder that people out here do participate in rituals and offerings, as it can make the most devout extremely dangerous— if they’re granted powers. Or hells, they’re made dangerous just by their fanaticism.
It’s not long until we’re away from the devout. The city is so vast, something I admittedly did miss. Town squares are markers for where one’s at. All I can remember is that there’s one that’s centralized around a very old oak tree, and another of a statue of sirens pulling a pirate underneath the water.
Eventually, after traversing many narrow lanes that are flanked by gas lanterns, Soren halts his horse and dismounts at a stable large enough to house four families. This town square consists of a willow tree that has a row of gallows built into it, so people hang from the branches.
One person is chained to a stone pillar, and children throw rocks at the man as he pleads for food.
I dismount my horse, and to my surprise, Soren drops the chains and begins to unlock the collar. I stare at his chest as he does so, not about to question him.
“Don’t care if anyone sees you down here without these on. You wander far from me, and you’ll be pulled into the shadows before I feel you’re missing. Don’t take this as a sign to wander, or you’ll regret it.”
He drops the chains by a stable post, and I rub my neck. I’m so happy to have them off that I even choose to flirt with him. “I owe you my day, anyway, and I don’t go against my word.”
“I was holding you to it whether you wanted to or not.”
I throw my hood up as I hold back a smile and closely follow Soren, glancing around at my environment. It’s so damp in these streets, townhomes stacked and mismatched. The red lanterns indicating The Undercroft stand out as we pass them by—
My heart nearly stops.
In the shrouding darkness stands a man who inspects his blade, swiping it on his forearm before sheathing. In the same motion, he leans against the wall with a leg up, crossing his arms with a slight slouch. I can even hear Mom tell him to fix his posture.
Soren turns on his heel before anyone even notices I’ve stopped, he must have sensed me. His hand is on his pommel, the other one touching his mask. "What is it?" His voice is laced with danger.
"I... thought..." I shake my head, closing my eyes. When I open them again, he’s gone.
"Jane."
Words collide in my throat, preventing any cohesive sentence from forming. My gaze trails over every minor detail of that alley, tunnel vision blinding me to the rest of the world.
Did I really just see him?
Dad ?
No—his blonde hair wasn't the right color, which is supposed to be jet black. That face was also rounder than what I’d expect, the nose too wide. And yet the man acted like him. Stood like him.
My eyes burn in my refusal to blink, like it will permanently erase any possibility of it truly being him. His minute existence—even if in my head—fuels a validation I didn't know was starved. I've spent years in bitter resentment, but the idea that he's actually alive makes it feel like hardly any time has passed.
The moment is exceptionally brief, and yet I haven’t felt as if Dad was truly alive since I first arrived in Coalfell.
The concept drastically shakes my foundation.
Soren is patient, until he's not. The behemoth nearly stands in my line of sight, but I sidestep him—what if Dad comes back? Or, not dad, but someone like him…
"We need to go, Jane," Soren commands, uncertainty laced in his voice, eyeing the alleyway all the same, his hand still on his hilt.
My lips barely move, unspoken words resting on my tongue. I still can’t get over the way it struck me to even think I saw him. So far, my father began to feel like a made-up figure of my mind, like perhaps my entire identity was irrationally not real.
But seeing a man that at least acted like him? No, that childhood was real.
I’m not just Jane, I'm Jane Ritter.
Repressed memories burn with new life. My childhood creeps in—my identity, my youthful dreams, memories of walking in my father's shadow...
Once that overwhelms me, my mind empties. I stare, unblinking, my heart racing so fast I'm almost dizzy. Soren's rough voice cuts through my haze, the Zenith leaning in. " Jane ."
I lift my head to eye the brutally handsome man. "Right," I mumble, and look back down.
His voice is controlled, despite his words of warning. "No matter what you saw, we need to act normal when out in the open. Come."
"All right," I pitifully reply.
My mouth is like cotton; I can't focus on anything. My gaze latches to a random barrel—it's as if my identity finally seeps into my skin, like I'm soil thirsty for moisture after a bitter winter, my roots awakening, digging deeper. I am Ritter's daughter. Charles Ritter, the Scorpion. He was real .
A Zenith.
His daughter.
I'm real.
My hand reaches for a blade that's not at my hip, as if I'll stab the first Council member I come across, finally awakened—
Soren's hand reaches out. My attention snaps to his chest, my veins burning with revenge and death. His grip on the back of my head is almost gentle, like he's attempting to be soothing. The Zenith rumbles, "I won't hold you back from that revenge, either, before you worry. But we need to move. I don’t know what you saw, but we can discuss it later.”
The gentleness of his voice shreds through every emotional wall—I don't know why, but his words mean something to me. I hotly sigh, trying to calm down. My lips fail to speak, until I finally say again, "All right. Let's go."
Without much transition, I numb it all. Ignore it. Assert to myself that it's not real, or even if it is, something is massively wrong with the situation.
Clear your mind .
Closing my eyes as I exhale, I center myself. It wasn’t Dad, that’s for sure. Besides, this entire situation is too dangerous to let my emotions run wild. I have to concentrate on what's before me. The fact that for some reason my village was burned down and that my only friend is currently residing at a whorehouse for safety. Let alone the shit with the Council, or how Tempest is reappearing like a rescue ship when I’m stranded at sea. I almost wish she’d come back so I could ask her a hundred more questions.
Opening my eyes, I give a nod to Soren, one he doesn't seem to believe until he finally drops his hand and walks forward. I follow so close I nearly step on his heels, staring only at the intricacy of Soren's armor. Of the thick leather straps, the vambraces, and the thick belt at his waist that everything hangs from.
I only look away when I smell what must be Rosmertta’s before I see it, relief lifting my worries when I spot guards outside an elaborate building on a cleaner street.
The perfume's quite pleasant, even if pungent.
Kathleen's close.
The sound of people fucking is clear as day, along with laughter and loud talking—such clashing energies compared to the rest of the streets. The building is four stories tall with evenly placed round-arch windows, steep gable roofs with large dormers, and a flag that hangs which depicts a purple rose on a black background.
I'm aware of how easy I have it when accompanying Soren. Packs are required to survive in Skull's Row, reputation is almost as solid as steel armor, and he's akin to wrapping myself within a steel ship.
A woman rushes out onto a balcony that overlooks the streets, purple curtains billowing behind her before she disappears back into the fabric, no doubt announcing the arrival of a Zenith. Guards are already on their feet, a few of Soren’s men standing by the entrance in matching displays of a snake on their chest.
We enter the building without question. Candlelight creates a warm, golden atmosphere against the umber walls, a large staircase in front of us that winds up to all four stories. Thick velvet drapes cover windows, and lewd paintings hang within gold-painted frames—there’s even one of a giant orgy over a hearth in the drawing room. It draws my eyes to the statue of two people fucking right in front of it, as if it were merely a nice sculpture of a bird.
I'm not in my comfort zone. Mother had to heal many broken men and women from these establishments. Then again, she also never let me go near one of Rosmertta's buildings due to the high-profile clientele; someone might recognize me from the Silver District.
A shirtless man with smudge painted around his eyes bows his head as he rings a bell. Almost immediately a woman with oiled skin descends the stairs to greet us, her body decorated in golden jewels. Her mahogany hair is pulled back as loose curls drape around her aged face. Deep red lips smile at us.
"Soren. It has been a while since we've seen you," she welcomes, her voice deep and raspy. “I kept the entrance rather empty when I heard you were coming.”
This must be Rosmertta.
"What all were you told?” he asks.
“I don’t question those who pay, and your men handed me a very heavy bag of gold. You have the entire top floor, while your guards are scattered throughout in their own rooms. It has all been arranged.”
He nods. “We’d also like to start our visit with the one named Kathleen.”
"Ah, yes, Bones is quite fond of instructing us how to handle her." She looks over my head at Bones before connecting her gaze with mine. I immediately think of an expensive wine that's aged well—worldly, yet clean. Rosmertta observes me like she's about to place a bid. "And who is this ? She's not a petal of mine."
Soren shifts so I'm no longer in her view. "Her name is Jane, and she is with me. Only me."
"Of course," she swiftly replies, her tone immediately obedient. "I'll take you to Kathleen."