Chapter 3
S O R E N
T his moment is like the eerie howl as a hurricane nears—there’s no telling how much time we have before the devastation strikes, only knowing that it’s coming.
The scent of wet soil and stone fills my lungs as the rain continues to trickle. Bruised clouds promise that the entire day will be like this, which means more chilling droplets seeping through the seams of the wool cloaks that are given to us—well, more like Bones grabbed a few when he saw them.
I still don’t know where we’re being taken or what the hells is happening. All I do know is that everything feels entirely smooth in my chest, a confirmation that this is safe, despite my mind screaming at me that it isn’t.
Then again, maybe I’m like a fucking broken clock, and I’m only right because that’s what logic dictates. I didn’t sense anything from Shade. The room felt as plain as the rest of the apothecary, the only threat or danger coming from the heavy energy that constantly surrounds Jane .
Many move quickly on the streets when the rain picks up, their feet landing in wet smacks. Despite the sheer number of moving souls that create an overpowering exchange of auras, I have no trouble locking onto Jane, even if her pretty hair is covered as she blends into the rest. It’s as if her presence is so much louder than everyone else's, like the others are black and white while hers is a bright auburn.
I should throw her over my shoulder and leave this place while we still can, but my magic pulls me fiercely to face the Scorpion.
Unpacking the events at the apothecary, one detail blatantly stands out to me. “Did you heal yourself? Your skin is completely unmarred.”
“No, I didn’t. I… I didn’t have any burns.”
What? That makes no sense. “You should be burned, Jane. I don’t know what’s happening right now, but I want to leave this city immediately when we’re done.”
Fuck this place and whatever is going on. I need people I trust surrounding me, not the shady shit of Skull’s Row. That was a sickening feeling to not only witness boiling water thrown on Jane, but to be gutted by the sensation that I failed so miserably.
I like order and efficiency, but failing to protect those I care for… Serena’s face, wide-eyed and full of trust… guilt coils around my heart like iron chains. Seeing Jane being carried off by Shade was a cruel joke from the fates, as if I’ve been written into the same script twice.
It’s the unbearable acceptance that despite all my strength and all my training, it’s not enough. To make the guilt worse, she stepped in front of me with no hesitation.
“I honestly have no idea what’s happening. I was soaked , and yet the only thing that actually hurt was him pulling on my hair,” she murmurs in response, vexation, and confusion intertwining in her heart, her teeth slightly chattering.
For a moment, I thought perhaps Shade was working with the Scorpion, and that’s why I didn’t give a signal. Not with Bones out there. Perhaps the Scorpion wanted to steal Jane from me, and that’s why he also disappeared; out of everything, the only thing I could feel was that dumbass meant to soak me with the water, not Jane. “What exactly happened?”
“Shade wanted me for something. It seemed spur of the moment. That’s when Bones came in and lopped a head off. Shade then looked at me and it was like he saw a ghost before running for it. He’s such a little bitch .” She cranes her head to look up at me over her shoulder, a few wet strands of her hair stuck to her face. Her rosy cheeks and nose tell me we don’t have much more time out here in this condition; we’re all dressed in leathers, not wool. “And I’m angry because we still don’t have anything for you. You need regenerative medicine, especially with all this walking. You’re so pale.”
Despite the agonizing pain gripping my body, I still can’t control the addicting affection that Jane’s concern creates within me.She’d never judge me for what I do—she’d only offer to heal, then stab any more offenders for me.
“I’ll live.” My breathing is labored, but that’s not the point. I don’t like the way Jane’s safety is volatile. The existing undertone of her security being in question has never deteriorated so rapidly; it’s as if I expect to see someone around the corner, waiting. Like with Serena when she was taken…
Like what happened just now.
My mind blanks.
I can’t have that happen again.
“Should we try to leave rather than meet him?” she quietly asks, even if a part of her heart breaks at the idea. “We can only do so much before the cost is too great.”
My little desert rose trusts me, even if she can’t utter those words herself. My hand that rests on the back of her shoulders slides slightly up in a silent reassurance that her trust isn’t unnoticed.
“No, you need this,” I insist, even if it drives me mad to utter that.
There’s also my own particular selfish inclinations—Jane’s emotional wounds prevent her from fully giving herself to me. As I once told her, I’m a man before anything else, and I have my own damaged heart that relentlessly chases the things it craves. And I want the violent Zenith’s daughter who is weak to me, and I want her vulnerability to only be for me. I want to feel her walls completely removed while the rest of the world will never be welcomed in.
Jane belongs to me now.
So, we will deal with the Scorpion and bury that for good. Then I can take her out of here and leave it all behind.
“What if he’s…” her voice trails off, and the corner of my lip slightly curls at feeling she’s embarrassed.
“ Continue .”
Her shoulders tense. “What if he’s an asshole? What if he has no good reason for what happened?”
Her sentiment damn near pulverizes through me… more than normal, even. It’s as if she’s learning how to push her heart at me.
That is very dangerous, love.
The things I’ll make her confess…
“You need closure, Jane. One way or another.”
“I’m worried we’re doing all of this just for someone who doesn’t care about me. This is possibly idiotic . It’s just for me . I can move on without meeting him. I don’t—I don’t want to risk you at all, alright?”
“Are you growing fond of me, Jane?” I ask with a faint smile.
“I’m mostly fond of you while you’re alive , rather than dead,” she quips.
Within the whirlpool of this surrounding anarchy, this tenderness directed right at me is what truly takes me off guard. It’s not just her words that brush against me, but the pulse of her emotion—an ache, fierce and protective, like she’s holding me at arm’s length and clutching me close at the same time. Or perhaps it’s not the affection, no, because I’ve had that directed at me… This is different. Her emotions don’t just touch mine; they settle, weaving into me with a depth so natural it feels like breathing.
I want to bottle it up. Hold it, preserve it, protect it from the chaos around us. She doesn’t just feel for me. She chooses me, even when the stakes demand she shouldn’t, and the weight of that trust sinks deeper than I’m ready to admit.
“I wish I had a more simple answer, love. But I can tell if we run from this, we will regret it. There’s something important to your father.”
She seems to accept that answer.
It’s a good thing she can’t read me . I’m completely on fucking edge. The small calvary here is nothing compared to the loyal legion with the snake crest at home. Maybe we can escape via ship versus land. If we can get south, beyond the Balar Coasts, there’s plenty of space to recoup and organize. Write to my mother to tell her to get out and draw attention away from the families who follow me.
Death’s Wing is south, and that’s a loyalty bound by blood oaths, embedded in our stripes.
When a sudden shot of pain gnaws at my shoulder, I gently touch the very angry gash that’s closed on my neck. Jane stopped the bleeding and even bound some of the flesh so perfectly that it forms only the faintest raise of a scar, and yet it still aches as if it’s an open wound.
That stupid fucking hit.
I felt the damn strike coming; the pain seared before the blade sliced at my skin. But I knew I had to let it happen; everything told me to claim the injury. To seek out Jane, too.
Although, now I’m wondering if it’s not all just a bunch of shit. Clearly, my powers are being manipulated, so what if something can influence my instinct, too?
Rorge gives a hoarse bark to those around as he stops just beneath a lantern with red glass, one that creaks on hinges and hangs over a massive, dark archway.
The fucking Undercroft?
As I glimpse at one of Ritter’s men, his milky eye heightens my unease about whatever the fuck is going on here. These men have become the subject of rumors during Anya’s reconnaissance, existing as a hushed whisper.
And now they’re here, in broad daylight? As a group ?
It’s all too fast; no time for me to truly decipher what I feel. No time to analyze. Thank the fucking gods I can still feel my people surrounding us. Bones knows the Undercroft, and Anya even more so.
Even then, I know this is moronic. Just like with the harbors, the rules underneath this city don’t apply like normal. And damning creatures haunt the tunnels.
Has Ritter been hiding there this entire time?
Jane’s persistence eclipses any of her unease, already stepping forward as my hand slides off her back; I prefer to be behind her than in front—better vantage as I can see clear over her head and I’m covering her backside. This time, I’m focusing more on what I see rather than feel. Even so, there’s a distortion in the air as we enter, a sensation I swear I’ve only felt before my sister was taken—the reason I’m here as a Zenith at all.
Every time I think I’ve honed in on the source of this aberration, the context turns to smoke. It’s unnatural, in fact. It reminds me of Cypress and the way she fucks with all our energies.
“I promise the Undercroft won’t bite,” Donna says from behind. “Not with us, anyway.”
“It’s not the Undercroft I don’t like,” I grunt, moving forward, accepting we have no choice. On top of everything, I still want to know how Ritter is tied to my sister. Cypress made it clear that helping the Scorpion’s daughter will guarantee answers.
I owe Serena this.
It’s a long, slow descent until I can no longer hear the rain, the air thick and musty. Along the way, wanted posters stick to the wall, drawings of men and women that have pissed off the wrong people. Garnering a wanted poster is common throughout the lands, but for a city of thieves to post them, the actions have to be doltish, audacious, truly barbaric, or a mixture of all three.
At some point, we pass by another who drags the carcass of a donkey upward by two others, the smell absolutely foul. I’m not shocked, though. Hard to get rid of bodies when there’s no soil.
Usually, the pigs are for that.
The tunnels spill out into an open cavern that spans a good three or four stories. Buildings rise haphazardly along the cavern walls, stacked precariously and connected by old wooden walkways. Their windows faintly glow, and the occasional shadow of a figure slips by. Above are large grates that filter in a bluish-gray hue of natural light that gives the Undercroft an otherworldly pallor, water dripping down in a dramatic, glimmering descent.
I always imagined this as an ancient Skull’s Row, reclaimed by the cliffs it’s built upon, the wood of long-forgotten structures fossilizing into stone like the old world is being slowly digested. The people here are as odd as salty legs, or the weathered bastards that rarely step onto land. There's a tangle of uneven stone pathways and rickety wooden walkways suspended over dark chasms, and I don’t want to know how many drunkards or poor souls have accidentally wandered off.
The air buzzes with the murmur of deals being struck, arguments over coin, and the occasional muffled cry quickly silenced. I swear if I see an ocean imp climbing up from the bowels of this city, or a molgrin…
Jane’s energy vibrates with uncertainty, anticipation, and longing, sending my gaze all around the discord of auras.
“What is it?” I ask as we momentarily stop when Donna raises a hand.
There it is—the calming effect I have on her. The reaction that I can’t get enough of, as if something in my chest tells me I’m supposed to make her feel this way.
“This still feels safe?” she asks, gesturing to symbols of thieving guilds etched onto the wall.
“I don’t know if my ability to sense anything matters anymore. I couldn’t feel Shade in the other room.”
She looks up at me in surprise. “ What ?”
Worrying Jane is the least of my desires right now, but I also have to give her the truth in case something happens to us. “I’ll examine that later, love. Right now, these men with white eyes fit with the stories I’ve been hearing about down here, so I trust that. It’s better than going to Rosmertta’s. You and I both want answers, and this gets us off the streets, and this gets you to see daddy dearest.”
She faces forward again, moving when Donna motions for us to follow. “Yes, that’s right—your sister, too. He’ll help you find her.”
It’s not just for her, Jane; it’s for you .
At some point, a lanky man with unkempt gray hair sharpens his focus on Jane, a mixture of desperation and skill in his gaze. When I turn my head at him, and our eyes meet, the very pleasant reaction of fear completely washes right through him, and he steps away.
I’m quite literally her shield down here.
And I’ll gladly leave a trail of blood, if necessary.
The tunnels twist and wind unpredictably—a purposeful design to confuse anyone unfamiliar down here—some so narrow you have to press your back to the cold, jagged walls to squeeze through, others opening into vast, echoing chambers where the darkness seems to stretch infinitely. The stonework is inconsistent—some walls are rough and natural, others are smoothed and adorned with faded carvings and symbols.
Darkness eventually consumes us, the only light emitting from someone carrying a torch as we take a few more turns.
I’ll be fucking glad when we’ve stopped, my head faint from the blood loss, but my core instinct tells me I’ll live.Although I don’t like how far we’re removed from resources. I won’t be able to recover on air; I need food and water, at the minimum.
Then I feel her .
The fucking witch.
“Are those rubies ?” Jane asks.
I crane my head up to notice perfectly red ruby crystals growing out of the wall like a fungus.
“Fucking hells,” I grumble.
Rorge approaches a spot in the wall and pulls out a crystal necklace from underneath his clothes, holding it up to the stone as lines suddenly appear and glow vermilion, forming the outline of a door until the glowing disappears, and then the rock moves and bends to take on the outlined shape.
Then, he takes out an iron key to open the rusty, resistant locks.
As the heavy doors swing open, we’re flooded by a rush of sounds. The once-confined space expands, revealing a tall ceiling adorned with flickering torches and mismatched candle chandeliers. Ventilation holes dot the ceilings and floors, allowing fresh air to circulate. The immense chamber is filled with rows of tables occupied by people who indulge in lively conversation and drinks. The scent of rich leather, spiced drinks, and polished wood fills my lungs.
And of course, all the fucking rubies growing out of the walls, glinting like bloodied glass in torchlight, and I swear they fucking pulse .Rows of long, sturdy tables stretch across the room. And even though it’s a rough-hewn lot, there’s a cohesiveness I usually find in either armies or ship crews.
The room falls silent as everyone’s attention is on us. It’s not just curiosity—it’s expectation, a charged stillness that sharpens as their auras shift in unison.Rorge doesn't stop, continuing to guide us towards the left.
Then I feel his energy.
It’s subtle, just like at the training grounds and the bakery. It’s something I don’t even have the words for, but it’s the weight someone carries when they’re not only a Zenith, but a respected one. Almost as if the magic of the black skull mask marks them for me.
Who would have thought that one day, I’d be bringing the Scorpion his daughter?
I’m ready to meet this bastard , so her heart can properly scar over, so I can hold it for myself.
Stone gives way to wood-covered ceilings as we enter a room that smells of aged, salty timber and candle wax. Barrels furnish the space with carved-out seats. Rope that’s threaded tightly holds a candle chandelier whose smoke doesn’t darken the wood above—made from the forests of Skull’s Row then. Wreckage from a repurposed ship?
Not the point. I focus internally on what my body is processing. I’m aware of the location in the room that claims to harbor Ritter’s energy, but I look everywhere else first, exploring the push and pull of those who serve him and wondering where the fuck Cypress is.
None seem surprised to see me, either. My skull mask means very little among other Zenith, other than as a last-ditch reminder that if I disappear, many people will hunt them down.
The three stripes on my back guarantee that.
Assurances bought with blood and oaths.
It’s Jane’s utter confusion staining her aura that makes me look to where I can feel his energy. My brows knit into a deep furrow.
“Ern?” Jane’s voice is a stark difference in the room, and it all quiets.
Her eyes fixate on a man who comfortably leans on one armrest of a meticulously crafted seat fashioned from reclaimed wood and iron; the top curled into the tail of a scorpion.
The man looks exactly like Ern from Ern’s Tavern, and it even stuns me to see him sitting in a seat that clearly doesn’t belong to him, and yet everyone here acts as if it does.
I stare so intently at someone who’s supposed to be a barkeep that it’s impossible to miss the way I can’t read a single thing from him.
A curt gesture from Ern empties the room.
As everyone departs, I’m even more aware that Ern is someone with a unique identity, and yet the signature of his aura is empty. Why does Ern feel so much like the Scorpion when I didn’t feel this before? Wouldn’t Jane have known if Ern was her father? Is something wrong with her memory?
And why can’t I feel him?
No emotions.
No fluctuation in what he feels.
No information.
Jane’s disappointment and confusion makes me angry, because if this is a rouse?—
As the last person leaves the room, Ern’s face changes in ways that make even my jaw drop. His face elongates, his nose sharpens, and his facial hair rescinds to reveal a clean face. Tattoos emerge where clear skin was.
The Scorpion.