Chapter 41
Two weeks have somehow passed, the days and nights rather uneventful. If anything, the stagnation of drama concerns me, anxiety flourishing in this limbo, waiting for danger to strike. Every shadow looks a bit darker, and I question the motives of everyone .
The only bright side is that despite all of that, it's also been the hardest that I've slept in years.
There's a familiarity in Soren now, having either been on my knees between his thighs or lying in any and all manners for him.
The most foreign thing occurred on the second night when I slept in his arms. We shared stories in the dark of the most bizarre thieveries we've ever witnessed, and with his strength wrapped around me, I genuinely forgot about the danger just outside our door.
We don't say many amorous things, as I have a suspicion that he's enjoying just feeling me.
Perhaps that's how this man loves.
I've never really fallen in love before, so these emotions are entirely new. Maybe that's why I push them away with such veracity–although it seems pointless now. Especially after what recently happened when I had been crying when thinking of my father, so confused and needy for a parent. At first, the man in the alley had been liberating for me in my imagination, but now I can’t stop thinking about how I wish it was him. Why did Mom choose a man who would abandon me for over a decade when I needed him most?
Her judgment is something I've trusted my whole life, and I loathe how I question it now.
The sobbing began when I let myself miss my mother like I used to when I was a teenager. Crying in front of others makes my skin crawl, so I tried to get it all out before Soren saw me next.
I half wonder if he can feel my distress even when we're not close, the Zenith having entered our shared room within minutes. I refused to meet his gaze, embarrassed and also too fucking tired to pretend like I was all right.
Soren didn't say a word as he quietly fetched someone to bring me food and wine. Some of the workers left a tray at the door, per the rules Soren’s established, and he brought them in himself.
No one is allowed inside our room. Ever.
Only the two of us.
He broke my resolve when he gently touched the ends of my hair before leaving me alone with everything I needed. It was almost loving.
Soren conquered a part of me that day and I've slept like no man or beast could touch me ever since.
When the Zenith isn't tending to me, Bones is stationed to keep a very close eye on me, which came with the welcomed surprise of Kathleen's presence. I'll put up with mister-bones-around-his-neck as long as he takes care of her. I'll even admit it shocked me to see that he stares at Kathleen like she's hung the stars herself. That's not even when he's looking at her tits—it's just when he looks at her in general.
Watching that develop only confuses what courses through me for Soren. Am I really developing affection for him? Would I miss him if something separated us because I want him , and not just his protection?
When my Zenith isn't here, he's either speaking for long hours with others like him or spends the remainder of his time training like he's about to enter a tournament in the Savage Sands.
Sipping on my ale at the same bar where I initially met with Kathleen, I'm alone for the moment. Soren’s legion is banned from interacting with me, save for Anya or Bones.
There's a possessive edge in that demand, but I also know he's establishing a barrier that keeps suspicions to a minimum. It also means I remain looking like I’m his pet in case any spying eyes are in here. If the Council is asking about where I am, no one has told me. There’s been hardly any mention of Tempest since, too.
Kathleen is recovering from some kind of cold, or else she and I would be chatting up a storm–the only other person I’m permitted to speak with. If we can somehow survive this, we will be friends for a very long time. Perhaps even tied to the hip of deadly mercenaries.
I snort at the idea of us all having violent little families, one day.
All because I wound up in Coalfell, just where father placed me.
My head tilts back while I drain the remainder of whatever they serve here, glancing to the side when Anya barrels through the door.
Sighing as I slam my mug down, I frown and cock my head to the side when she makes her way right toward me.
I swear if she stabs me again...
"Been a while, Anya," I say, observing her, the men and women of the tavern eyeing her with interest. She's been gone most of the time, only having returned to us two days ago.
She nears me, but I don't move. Once close enough, I can smell Skull's Row on her, mixing with the smell of rain. She leans into my ear, my body stiff. "Jane. Soren is injured. He said to move fast and without suspicion."
"What?" I leave my stool, alcohol burning through me as I nearly stumble. I don't even think about it as I speak, "Take me to him."
She seems to have expected this reaction, already heading to the door, and grabbing me a cloak. I'm still adjusting the fabric as we leave, trying to keep away the light rain by throwing my hood up, moving with purpose as I dirty my boots. Yellow sashes of Paragons crowd Rosmertta’s now that Soren's established his presence, a few even following when Anya motions to them with her hand before resting it on her pommel as if daring any man or woman to challenge her.
I breathe steadily, my heart racing with fear when I realize how serious she is. What if he’s gravely injured? I failed my mother by being young and afraid and not thinking my actions through.
The idea of Soren no longer existing...
Numb. I'm completely numb, focusing only on keeping up with a worried Anya. A clear mind could be the difference between life and death.
We near the area where fighters tend to beat each other into submission around here—a large dirt-covered field surrounded by buildings—before diverting off into a bakery. The gray skies above are so bleak and heavy that it feels like a premonition as the rain begins to heavily drizzle.
"Why's he here?" I ask, my voice determined, licking my wet lips, moving hair out of my face that slightly sticks to my skin.
"The baker offered. Put some sugar on his laceration," Anya explains, barging into the building that smells like fresh bread. There’s hardly any illumination inside, like the place is closed. "He doesn't want to be outside while you treat him."
I scan everything with my eyes, spotting a knife I could grab if I need it—caution is my friend with these frayed emotions. I almost consider the possibility of this being a trap, but it's not worth wasting these precious seconds. Anya guides me to a room in the back that has stacks of flour and two butter churns. Sitting next to a bag of sugar is a giant man covered in blood, his hand pressing on his neck, sitting next to a window that casts stark shadows. I’ve heard about sugar being helpful for fresh wounds–it’s nothing I really use because of my abilities.
My cloak flies off when I see Soren's very much alive but losing large amounts of blood, immediately swatting at his hand that covers a sticky wound. I apply pressure as he watches and pants, pouring every ounce of controlled power that I have into his neck, looking over his shirtless chest for more injuries.
Nothing. It's just this one nasty gash.
"You trying to lop your head off?" I ask, my voice cracking as I close my eyes, focusing on exploring the way my magic feels within him. I always sense where the bleeding is heaviest and try to heal that first.
The blood slows from his neck, the sensation vibrating in my hands when torn muscle heals as I pour my life’s energy into him. I open my eyes to observe him—he's quiet and pale, panting as he stares at my face, but even then, his glacial eyes are amused. "You worried for me, love?"
"You die on me and I'll find a way to bring you back just so I can stab you again,” I mumble. When he seems rudimentary healed, I search for a pitcher of water and a rag, to clean the blood. He doesn't speak as I clean him. Dropping the heavy, bloody fabric, I touch his neck again, blue light emanating through the cracks of my fingers.
My heart steadies when I feel confident he'll be all right, even if the dirt floor is covered with his blood.
He winces when something sews back together, his large body tensing. Parting his lips and connecting his gaze with mine, all emotion drops as he begins to speak, "I saw your father."
The blue light glows so intensely that it reflects off his eyes, the beast of a man snarling from the pain I cause. Too much too fast and it burns like a hot cast iron.
Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I register that he doesn't touch or scold me in response to the pain I've caused.
I gently pull back. "I'm so sorry," I say, almost touching his face in apology. Then, I stare into those pale eyes that tell me to replay what he just said. I blink rapidly before looking down, the rain pattering against the glass now. "Wait, what did you say?"
He rasps, “Spotting him caught me off guard. He was standing in the crowd. It's why this strike hit, even though I knew it was coming."
Oh, shit.
My eyes widen and my heart furiously pounds, matching the rhythm of the rain on glass. "Maybe... maybe someone looks like him," I dumbly state, denial returning like an old friend. “I swore I saw someone that reminded me of him, too.”
Soren doesn't blink or remove his gaze, forcing me to hear the truth. "He doesn't look like himself. Don't know how. But I felt him, especially when our eyes connected—he wanted me to know." He readjusts, sitting with a grimace until he's only a foot from me. His face hardens when he looks over my shoulder, Soren putting an arm in front of me as if he doesn’t feel encumbered by blood loss at all.
A crack of thunder shakes the unlit lanterns, Anya standing in the threshold of this room. She pants, staring at Soren with a concern I’ve never seen in her.
“There’s a man at the front… he says he’s the Scorpion.”