Chapter 1
J A N E
C RACK .
A powerful wave of thunder rides in the wake of lightning, flashing through the storage room of the bakery.
Anya stands at the threshold, running a hand over her damp, dark hair as she says, “There’s a man that says he’s the Scorpion.”
Fear seals my lungs, the battering storm defeaning my mind. It’s an energy from the seas I used to find comforting as a child, but now it just reminds me how real Skull’s Row is.
How real the Scorpion is.
The pelting rain grows heavier, allowing me to pant without hearing it. My heart feels so visible with Soren here; he’s no doubt reading a part of me that I’m not even familiar with anymore.
“Don’t retreat.” Soren’s deep voice brushes against my ear.
I don’t know if it’s desperation or that he’s truly earned my trust—even if a sliver of it—but by the gods do I want to let him help me carry this.
Turning my head to glance at him through the dim, stormy lighting, I quietly ask, “Is it actually him? Can you feel him?”
Being close enough to see the details of his irises, it’s as if he’s everywhere underneath my skin, moving his energy through me wherever he pleases. “It’s probably him, Jane. I’d bet a lot of gold on it. I saw him before the strike landed.”
The words don’t sink in, denial guiding my mind more than any truth; the unseen wounds that beg to rip open cannot be hidden anymore, and I’m not ready.
This is too sudden.
The rough touch of the Zenith brushes against my chin, gripping me with just enough force so I can’t look away from him. Soren re-positions from his slight lean, his face grimacing with the movement. “Do you want to meet him?”
The estranged man that is connected to so many frayed edges of my soul is right outside this door, holding answers to questions that I’ve lost countless nights over.
“Do I—” my lips rise and close as I struggle to finish, “Do I have a choice ?”
His scarred brow slightly perks in consideration, speckled blood dotting his face. “I can make it very difficult for him.”
“What do you mean you’ll make it difficult? You need to rest .” My heart begs to focus on Soren rather than the Scorpion. “No, you lost a lot of blood,” I plainly state.
“I have many surrounding us, at all times. I don’t need to do it myself .”
Well, he thinks of everything, doesn’t he?
I almost smile at Soren’s confidence, but that sentiment fails to reach my face.
The notion that I can say ‘no’ almost makes it more real; the power to tell the Scorpion to go away breathes life into him. In all my days of hatefully missing him, I never considered I might actually desire avoiding the betrayer.
My silence spans longer than I realize as Soren banks his head to the side. “Jane?”
“I’m—I’m frozen, I think,” I mutter, blood pounding in my ears.
Staring into eyes that haunt and soothe me all at once, I wait for him to continue, to further proclaim what my heart desires—to tell me I want to see my father, so I can believe it.
The mere possibility that the truth of what happened to me is at my fingertips, terrifies me like nothing has in a long time. Words hover on my lips until they feel entirely natural to say, “Tell me what I want.”
His eyes widen with intrigue as they pierce through me with greed. “What you want? What you want is for me to make it all go away, love. Which I could, but it’s not what you need . It’s not what is supposed to happen.” His voice is steady and smooth against the wicked winds of my soul, yet grave enough that I hear the advice. “I’d get this over with.”
Releasing a hot sigh, I worry my lip and avert my gaze. The warmth I wanted from Soren is now cold within a heavy loneliness. I know situations like this—I either cower, or fight. No one can change that.
“Fine,” I say, tilting my head back, my lips wordlessly moving as my shoulders heavily rise and fall. “Even if briefly. Just get this part over with.”
Soren’s free hand gestures to Anya, to which she swiftly disappears, and my stomach might as well have fallen clear out of my asshole because I feel as hollow as a vase.
Straighten your shoulders, Jane.
As soon as they rise up, I’m slumping again. In Soren’s shadow, I find that my years of conditioning and survival are so hard to recognize.
He’s making me too vulnerable.
As I wait for the sound of two sets of footprints, I swear all I hear is the lighter ones of Anya until it’s just her in the threshold, concern written across her face. “He’s gone.”
The words penetrate instantly, but my understanding is incapable. I’m on my feet before realizing, moving past Anya to stare at the doorway that he might have stood in. The empty threshold only brings in natural light, rain pattering on puddles outside. My legs move on their own as I bolt out of the building, my brows furrowed to help keep the wetness out of my eyes, searching for him.
What the fuck?
The initial hesitation flies away like a fragile piece of cloth I clung to, only to realize how light and useless it was against the wind. No, now I’m pissed .
He owes me. I’m the one that gets to decide if he leaves or not.
My concern instantly reroutes back to Soren, and I track in mud as I hurry inside. He stares right at me, blood still all over him and the floor.
“He’s gone,” I confirm.
“He was here.” Soren glances down at his own blood as if it might help him concentrate better. Probably is, but just on the surrounding energies.
“Let’s get you back,” I suggest, motioning to Soren. I’m so tired of these games while someone real is in front of me. There’s also an immensely heavy conclusion that my father being gone for so long means he wasn’t missing . What if… what if he could have reached out, but he just didn’t ?
I want to feel anything , but I can’t even cry.
After downing many ladles of water, Soren finally stands, even if slowly, and throws a cloak over his bare shoulders. He tucks part of it behind his sword to clear the hilt that his hand rests on it while giving a nod to the both of us, not even bothering to clean his skin. I cover my own head, just wanting out of here. I can bandage and clean him once at Rosmertta’s.
It’s almost better this way, as all the feelings of dealing with my father’s supposed return can now safely settle as I follow this Zenith out of the bakery without another word.
Soren is what matters now.
Once we’re back in the diluted sunlight, it’s as if whatever happened is nothing but a mere rumor; no men are training, and the area is rather deserted. My heart races when I’m quite aware that everyone has probably entered some sort of agreed-upon formation in response to what happened, which means we’re not safe.
My feet move one after the other, my shoes slightly soaking from the puddles, already eager to get somewhere warm and dry. Numb it. Numb the entire thing.
“Jane,” Soren very quietly adds, slowing so as to close the space between us. “If something goes wrong in these streets, my people will appear , and two will grab you. This is a reminder that you do not fight them.”
I nod, having been told this before. It still does something to me that he has entire formations in line for my safety, like he’s truly my protector in all of this. Soren faces forward again after raking his gaze over me, and as we walk, I do a double-take when we pass a storefront nestled between larger buildings. A long, wooden sign hangs on chains that reads Caraham Apothecary, which gently moves within the soft breeze.
Nostalgia seeps deep into my bones as I recall the many apothecary goods that mother used, with that name scribed on them. “We need to visit there,” I quickly say.
Soren glances over his shoulder, rain dripping down his cloaked head before peering at where I gesture. “I don’t want to stop,” he replies, his words carrying an extra length that I’ve heard from someone whose body is on the brink of exhaustion. “Something is changing in the air, and I honestly want to get the fuck out of here.”
“Well, good luck trying to escape without a blood tonic. It won’t take long for me to make one, but I need supplies and ingredients. I highly doubt Rosmertta’s has everything, and we’re right here.”
I will get it with or without his approval. I doubt he can carry me far in this state, which means if he chucks me over his shoulder, I can probably wriggle away if necessary.
He needs this. I don’t like how pale he is. And I’m useful for once, when all I’ve felt like is a burden, bounty, or just in everyone’s way.
I miss carrying purpose.
Soren’s gaze is heavy with concern, but his subtle gesture to Anya, followed by her course correction to the apothecary, surges a sense of hope I haven’t felt in a very long time.
It’s been so long since I visited a proper apothecary.
As soon as we commit, I run a mental list of what I need so I can be as quick as possible. We cross the wide street, veering through horse-drawn carriages as street sweepers clean up any shit left behind. It reminds me of stepping back in time, when I once would have followed my mother rather than Anya.
She’s the first to step onto the wooden porch, turning the worn brass knob to open the door on its squeaky hinges, standing aside so I can enter—there are at least a dozen people visiting. Stepping into a place that smells entirely of herbs and metal, it’s immediately darker and taller than the outside appears, with a high , sloping ceiling that extends to a second story. Narrow windows grant in what little light the storm conceals. If it were sunnier, light beams would shine down below.
I’m a little sad to see they aren’t hanging stained glass that the sun used to catch. Skull’s Row is so gloomy and dangerous, and I used to love seeing the rare display of colors.
The weight of Soren creating deeper thuds on the floor tells me he’s inside, and that he stops just behind me.
The present. Not the past.
As much as I want to explore every ingredient, I need to grab what’s required and get out of here. I snag one of the wicker baskets in the front and immediately look for the first thing I can find. If I can avoid asking anyone for help, it’s for the best. We don’t want eyes on us right now, and Soren’s size and visible sword are already making it impossible to blend in.
I untuck the hair behind my ears to cover the ruby earrings—I’ve been wearing them every day to feel closer to Mom—and pinch my earlobes to double-check they’re both there.
No need to draw attention to those, either.
When I glance over my shoulder, Soren’s body blocks the view , but I can see Anya standing outside through the window. My heart races a little faster, reminded that we need to be swift.
“What are you getting?” Soren asks, his gravelly rumble always penetrating my anxiety.
Facing forward, I drag my finger on a shelf in an invisible line to ground my search for dragon root. “Things I require to create a tonic my mother taught me. It helps rejuvenate your blood. It’s not a miracle cure, but it helps rejuvenate the ability to be back on your feet in a week, maybe less, versus a few weeks to over a month. Especially if I can make a large batch that you can nurse over the coming days.”
When I set my eyes on the stringy, dried brown strands of dragon root, I swiftly grab three bundles to put in the basket, now peering around for crushed siren’s whelk.
“And how are you paying, exactly?”
A smile spreads on my face as I scan the area for oceanic objects. “I figured you’d take care of that.” My gaze stops on a pestle that an older woman examines in her hands, extending her arms as if the distance makes it clearer.
Oh, a pestle is a good idea. Should I buy one, or hope Rosmertta has one of her own? Surely they have tools, if not the ingredients.
Get the consumable bits first. In and out. People are staring.
Soren huffs out a laugh behind me. “Have you ever even earned your own gold? Or just always take it?”
“Oh, I know how to earn my own.” I glance back at him with a smirk. “But I also enjoy a good five-finger discount. Not my fault if things aren’t well-guarded. Except for somewhere like this. Caraham deserves to be paid. He works very hard.”
There’s a slight play in Soren’s eyes when they connect with mine. “Don’t know why I expected anything else.” He picks up a vial of very green liquid, and I catch the word essence on the side.
“Don’t be so beat up I stole your coin. I used to be an expert pick pocket.”
“At eleven ? Or were you stealing from people at Talon’s Perch, too?”
I scan the area for the familiar captain’s wheel—which will indicate the section I need—with a giant smile. “Fine, I was a prodigy who retired at eleven. Never took much when we did. Just enough for us all to buy sweetened cream.”
“There was more than one of you?” I catch the way he sounds genuinely intrigued.
“A little gang of us kids. We tried to defend those that were taken advantage of… and then steal from others that were right assholes. Or from people that just wouldn’t notice it.”
Saying that out loud and breathing life into an identity I’ve kept locked under key for so long feels like touching the wisp of a ghost.
Finally, I spot the captain’s wheel on the floor, leaning against the wall—when it should be hanging—and quickly enter through the small doorway to peek around the corner. There’s a decent-sized room in the back with a window and alternate door for entry, leading to another narrow street on the backside.
“Shade?” I ask before I can even process what comes out of my mouth.
The fighter from when Kathleen and I met at Rosmertta’s is already watching the spot right where I stand, and I don’t like the look in his eyes. There’s a greed that shouldn’t be directed at me, and the five men in the back all seem to be the same—the only items in their hands are all of the stabbing kind.
An immediate sense of this encounter being entirely above my ability is all I process, especially when one of them is within arm’s reach. One man stands beside an active hearth, grabbing a boiling cauldron hanging over the fire, as if waiting for this; he even has gloves on. In the same instance, every single pair of eyes moves over my head.
My body reacts instinctively as I step in front of the threshold—even an ounce of their hesitation will give Soren an edge.
The man nearly drops the cauldron to try and stop his throw of what’s in the pail, but it’s all for nothing as boiling water soaks my body.