Chapter 20
20
T he heavy door to Thorne’s house clicked shut, and we were left standing there in silence. The questions thrumming through my mind hadn’t wavered as we walked back. If anything, I had more now than I did an hour ago. And Thorne knew it. He was far too observant for his own good.
“Can I ask you something?”
“No.”
“But—”
He sighed. “What was the point of asking for permission if you were going to do it anyway?”
“You know where the Lord of the Salt is? Who he is?”
“I’ve taken a recent interest in him. I have my theories.”
“So you don’t know where he is.”
He peeled his coat off and hung it on a stand in the foyer. He’d already taken the robes and masks before Archer and Harlow left and hid them. “Is there a reason you’re suddenly so interested?”
“Why do you want me to meet him? I’m not going to steal from him, if that’s what you’re thinking. Just because I swiped that bauble thing from Harlow without you realizing it, doesn’t mean my services are yours. I’m not your wife and I’m not your personal thief.”
He closed the distance, leaning over me. “What if the Lord of the Salt took something that belongs to me? What if I need it back? Would you consider it then?”
I lowered my chin. “Absolutely not.”
“What if it were life and death?”
I was so confused but also aware of the slight upper hand here. He needed something. “I might consider it if you answered my questions.”
He dropped a heavy hand on my shoulder and forced me to turn, lifting the coat from my shoulders before hanging it beside his on the post. “The prince is hunting the Lord of the Salt. I find him interesting. The rest will have to wait until tomorrow.” He tapped me on my nose just to be annoying. “Patience, Paesha darling.”
“I hate it when you call me that.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, before walking down a hall I hadn’t been in.
Passing through the arched doors, we stepped into his kitchen. No cook… just as I thought. Yet, even without staff, its design and the items it held were a testament to Thorne’s perceived wealth. The kitchen was expansive, almost twice the size of his study, and flooded with sunlight from the high windows, making the array of polished copper pots hanging from the ceiling glow like fire. The counter held a spectrum of spices in glass jars that sat half empty. He’d used them. He was his own cook. Coveting his privacy above ease. I hated how much I liked that about him.
Thorne washed his hands and picked up a knife, testing its weight before moving towards the baskets of fresh produce. He selected a large, ripe tomato, the skin dark red against the sunlight slicing through the windows. He diced with careful precision, each piece identical to the last.
“Why is there no staff? You could easily afford one. And you’d be lining the pockets of the Salt in a safe way.”
His eyes didn’t move from his work as he replied, “When I need work done, I employ them. But I prefer solitude and don’t like strangers in my house.”
“Then why not have me stay at the Hollow? Surely you can trust them to keep your secret. If you’re really just protecting them.”
I hadn’t honestly considered this until it came out of my mouth, but maybe staying at the Hollow was a better option for me. Whatever path I was to find there would certainly be easier if I could be there.
He paused, sliding his glasses down as he pinned me with a hard look. “First of all, there are very few people that know you and I aren’t married. I’d prefer to keep it that way. Second of all, and most importantly, Farris has a new obsession with you. His guards are intrigued. We don’t need to lure them to the Hollow. This is the safest place for you.”
“And you’re so concerned with my safety, I’m sure,” I said, rolling my eyes.
He set the knife down and began rolling his sleeves. “I did save you. So apparently I am. If you want to get yourself killed, do it on your own time, but make sure it has nothing to do with me, the Fray or the Hollow. I’ll play the grieving widower for a few weeks and then go on about my business. But,” he said, reclaiming the knife. “The fates are real, Paesha. And there’s a reason our paths crossed.”
I circled behind him as he continued slicing his vegetables, silently swapping two pots so they were no longer in order by size, and then a few spoons. Maybe if I annoyed him enough, he’d send me to the Hollow anyway.
“I’ll have you know, your pathetic tampering hardly affects me,” he said without turning around, now chopping a crisp onion.
Ignoring his comment, I went on to the spice jars and intentionally mixed them up. “Which one of us are you trying to convince?”
He followed right behind me, putting the jars back in place. “If you move these around and I grab the wrong one, it could ruin an entire dish, and then I would have to start from scratch,” he said. “These aren’t playthings. These are tools.”
I smiled and sat on the counter with a swift hop. “That doesn’t sound like someone that’s unaffected. If you’re going to lie, do it better.”
He slid the final jar back into place. “I said it hardly affects me. Leaving a margin of error for annoyances is just practical.”
“I will make a note of your practicality for future reference. Shall I write it in the book? I think I should, so I don’t forget.”
“Note keeping is very practical.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Shall I add patronizing to the list as well?”
He smirked. “If you like to be thorough, but I think you really just prefer to be a pain in my ass.”
“Look at us being so obvious with each other. We should celebrate.”
“With alcohol?”
“Being driven to drinking so new in our relationship doesn’t bode well for the future. I think you should consider giving it up. For me, of course.”
“I’d rather stick this blade into my gut, Paesha darling.”
“Let me get a towel first. Oh hey, your eye is twitching again. That must be new.”
“Entirely.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Dinner’s going to take me about an hour. Why don’t you go and get cleaned up? Once it’s done, I’ll bring you a dinner tray.”
“But I could help?—”
“Given your affinity for touching every single thing you can,” he said, throwing a glance at the copper pots, “I think you’d be more useful anywhere but here. Besides, I can’t trust you.”
I jumped down. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t poison you.”
“Poisoning wasn’t my concern. Though now that you’ve mentioned it…”
I walked to the door. “I haven’t taken the idea completely off the table, so don’t tempt me.”
I thought he’d be there when I opened the door after he knocked, but instead, the tray sat on the floor with a single flower. He’d made tomato soup with basil and though it was comfort food, something that soothed my soul, the jarring loneliness trumped the minuscule comfort of a warm meal. We’d killed two men today and though not by my hand, I’d spoken the words. I’d chosen that. And we never looked back. We never mentioned it after walking away. Simply bantered with each other in the kitchen and that was that. Life went on.
Lying in bed, the tips of my hair dampening Thorne’s shirt, I stared at a chip in the teacup I’d stolen from the kitchen. I didn’t want to think about the Cimmerians, but as I closed my eyes, their faces were all I could see until I fell asleep.
Requiem appeared around me like an inkblot on paper, rippling outward until I stood in a place I’d been a thousand times in my life, tucked into the corner of the Maestro’s office, silent as a wraith as the memory unfolded before me. I tried to rush forward, to forbid this memory from unfolding, but I was stuck in the same place I’d been that day.
“Five minutes ago you had no use for the child at all, Visha,” the Maestro said, leaning back in his leather chair, his halo of red hair gleaming in the lantern light. “What’s changed?”
The brothel owner stood on the other side of the desk, leaning all the way forward as she blew a puff of smoke into my boss’s face. “Five minutes ago, she was just some kid one of my girls found abandoned in an alley. Five minutes ago, she was a debt. Another mouth to feed.” She tapped the edge of her long cigarette on the Maestro’s desk, eyes flashing to me with a scowl before she continued. “We all know you collect pretty things. Even… powerful things. Perhaps she has more value than I realized.”
“Of course she does,” the Maestro answered, coolly.
“Then I’ll take double and no less. No terms. No conditions. She’s yours fair and square. Until her parents come looking for her. Then that’s your problem.”
My heart beat so loud, I knew it betrayed me. I knew the stagger of my breath and the worry in my eyes would make things worse, so I didn’t let myself look down for a second. I couldn’t look into the eyes of a babe and be anything but weak. Broken. My throat grew thick as I watched Lady Visha take her coins and walk out of the Maestro’s office.
I wanted to scream at her to come back. To tell her of the life she’d condemned this innocent little girl to. But I locked those toxic thoughts into my mind and kept my eyes on the vintage map pinned to the wall.
No blinking.
No breathing.
The tension in the air grew heavy as the Maestro slowly spun in his chair. “She’s quite beautiful, don’t you think, Huntress?”
I nodded, though I hadn’t looked, fighting the way my arms wanted to wrap around the child and shield her from his vision. He knew what he was doing. He knew why he called me here. He knew my plight.
“Can I see it?” he asked, slumping back in his chair. “The scar?”
Internally, I was screaming. Burning. Running. Fighting. But my face was stoic. My hands, steady. If I spoke, the emotions pulsing through me would betray everything. The scar was mine. The emotional payment, mine.
I glanced at the other corner of the room. Something was wrong. Someone was missing. There had been… the pain of a thousand blades shot through my broken memory. But I could not fall, I could not scream. I felt my body move, that day still playing out, though it was twisted. Wrong. But I couldn’t figure out how.
My trembling fingers gripped the edge of my shirt. I owed the Maestro nothing. I’d gone my entire life free of his magical bonds. I was here to dance. He’d taken the only other stage I could have, so we’d made our own kind of arrangement. I could dance in his dark burlesque show, and he would give me… errands to run. People to hunt. Things to collect.
I closed my eyes, remembering the feel of the spotlight on my skin. The magic of music and the obliteration of existence when I was consumed on a stage by steps and turns and beats and rhythm. Dancing was forgetting. Dancing was escaping. And the audience’s rise and applause were proof that I’d found a way to carry them all with me into that space where nothing else mattered.
The memory still burned. Searing my skin as I was wholly aware of every second since, yet trapped in a body that knew so very little. I couldn’t change my memories though, and that was probably the most frustrating part of it all.
I stared down at the Maestro, my fingers gripping the edge of my shirt so tightly my knuckles turned white. His eyes bore into me, hungry and expectant, like a predator sizing up its prey. He didn’t need to see the scar. He had no interest in seeing my bare skin. This was a power move. A reminder of who was truly in control. The room seemed to shrink around us, the walls closing in, suffocating me.
Slowly, agonizingly, I lifted the hem of my shirt, exposing a sliver of skin above the waistband of my pants. A single tear slid down my cheek. I turned my head, unable to bear the weight of his gaze as he leaned forward. I could feel his stare intensify, fixating on that small patch of flesh as if it held the key to my stubborn will. Because maybe it did.
With shaking hands, I lowered the band of my pants, just enough to reveal the jagged scar that marred my skin. Red, raised and puckered, it was a permanent reminder of the choice that had been stolen from me. The choice to one day bear a child, to feel life growing inside me, to become a mother. That dream had been ripped away, leaving behind only this ugly mark.
The Maestro reached forward, his fingers outstretched, greedy to touch the scar that branded me. To claim ownership over the most intimate part of my being. I recoiled instinctively, jerking back and letting my shirt fall, concealing the mark once more.
His eyes flashed with annoyance at my defiance, but a cruel smile played at the corners of his lips. “Most think you’re just a beautiful face and lucky to be the deluded descendant of a god. But we both know the truth, don’t we? How smart you are. How cunning you had to be as a child to survive on those wretched streets. How I saved you. Made something out of nothing.” His voice purred as he spoke to me. As if he were introducing the next act on his stage and not setting the scene of a bargain he’d waited my whole life for. “Imagine what you’d be if I hadn’t found you. You cannot deny I rescued you, can you?”
I turned away from him, but I could picture the curl of his mustache as he spoke, the light in his dark eyes as a well-laid plan finally came to fruition. A very small part of me began to wonder if he’d been the one behind my stabbing. Had he twisted and tightened the coil on that dancer’s jealousy so far, she couldn’t stand it any longer? Or had he bargained with her behind my back? My childhood savior had always been cunning and dangerous, but was he also a monster?
“No,” I whispered.
“Good,” he said, drawing out the word as he stood from his chair, circling the desk until he no doubt stood beside the tiny child. “Then you be grateful that, once again, I’ve become your savior. There will be a cost for this, of course. But you can be her mother. They say she is only two. She’ll never know, my beauty. You can have her.”
The word was trapped in my throat, my freedom, the walls that held it back. I could take her in. Love her. Keep her safe and warm. Protected. A fiery tear trekked down my cheek, betraying the emotions I tried to keep caged.
But I couldn’t do it. I’d seen too many sell their souls to the Maestro for bargains they thought they wanted, only to come crawling back when they realized what they’d asked for was never what was really best for them.
“She will be stunning. You could teach her to dance. Make a little family.”
“No,” I managed, digging my fingers into my palms to remind myself that pain was only temporary discomfort.
The room shrank even further, the air growing thick and heavy, pressing down on me like a physical weight.
“Why? Why would you refuse such a generous offer? I’m giving you the chance to have everything you’ve ever wanted. A child of your own. A family. A purpose beyond the stage.”
I fought every instinct pushing against my skin, telling me to tread lightly as I stood solid. “I’ll watch the kid for you, sure. Keep her out of trouble, no problem. But I’ll never bind myself to you and you know that. We’ve been doing this for twelve years. I dance because it’s my choice. You pay me a fair wage and it works for both of us with no contracts.” I circled him, showing him my wrist and reiterating, “I’ll never bind myself to you. Not for all the children in the world.”
For the first time in my life, the calm, cool nature of the Maestro was shaken as he drew a hand back and struck me across the face. The mark burned, but the scream of the child I still hadn’t looked at sliced through my mind, white hot and terrified.
Gods. She had power, mighty power.
“This is a mistake,” the Maestro ground out through clenched teeth. “After all these years, will you prove to be as useless as your father? After all I’ve done for you. Since the day we met, have you ever gone hungry?”
I said nothing. And though my fingers twitched, aching to soothe the pain on my face, I didn’t move. I’d never give him the satisfaction.
“Answer me!” he roared.
“No,” I said, tears of fury betraying me as they raced down my cheeks. Still, I didn’t look at him, didn’t move my eyes from that fucking tapestry on the wall.
“Did you have everything you needed? Shelter? Clothes. Even your godsdamned ballet lessons. And what was it all for? If you will not bend your will to mine.” He stormed forward and gripped the edge of my shirt, pulling me to him. “Shall we summon Death and let him take her? Save her the misery of this existence.”
“Do what you will.” My words betrayed my heart, but really there was no choice here at all. I could not become indebted to him. I would not. Not for all the innocent souls in the world.
His fist twisted in my shirt before he melted back into the calm facade he’d always carried. The snarl faded into a forced smile, the rigidity of his shoulders fell away, but the fire in his eyes would always be his tell.
I forced myself to meet his gaze, to stand tall and unwavering in the face of his rage. My heart pounded in my chest, the ache of longing and despair threatening to tear me apart from the inside out. But I couldn’t let him see that. I couldn’t let him know how much his words affected me.
“I imagine if I ever had a daughter, she would be just like you, Huntress. She would have that fire and that stubborn will. She would never break or bend. And she would be just as beautiful.” His eyes flicked to the corner before he looked back at me. “Perhaps I should be proud of your unbending nature. After all, it is the one thing I’ve taught you.” He rested a hand on the knob, turning back to look at the child, whose tiny sobs were so hard to bear, I could hardly hold myself upright. “Her name is Quill. Do something with her. She’s valuable, and now mine. You are never to be her mother. That’s the choice you’ve made. You will protect her and teach her, but she belongs to me. Should you do anything to spoil the way she looks at me, I will make sure those closest to you pay the price.”
My breath came in ragged gasps as I fought back the sobs that threatened to tear me apart. The weight of my choice, of my refusal to bind myself to the Maestro, even for the sake of this innocent child, crashed over me like a tidal wave until I fell to the ground and crawled around the desk, my heart pounding in my ears.
There, huddled in the corner, was the most beautiful child I had ever seen. Her wild, curly hair framed a chubby face. But it was her eyes that drew me in, two endless pools of the deepest blue, like the sky after a storm.
I reached out a trembling hand, my fingers hovering just inches from the child’s face. She flinched back, her expression wide with fear and uncertainty. Slowly, gently, I lowered my hand, offering it palm up in a gesture of peace.
“Shh, it’s okay,” I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
Quill’s eyes darted from my outstretched hand to my face, searching for any sign of deception or malice. Smart kid. Tentatively, she took a tiny step forward, then another, until her small fingers brushed against my palm. In that moment, a spark of connection flared between us, a bond forged in the flames of shared pain and loneliness.
I held my breath as she inched closer, her movements hesitant and unsure. Then, with a sudden burst of courage, she stumbled forward, her chubby legs carrying her straight into my waiting arms. I caught her against my chest, cradling her tiny body as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
And at that moment, she was.
I rocked her gently, murmuring soothing words into her ear as I stroked her wild curls. The scent of her, like sunshine and wildflowers, did something to my soul and I felt a wave of love so fierce it stole my breath away. But when I pulled away she’d aged, no longer the toddler with the sweet, baby face she had when we met, but the child I’d loved through all of her milestones.
“Remember when you saved me?” she whispered, both hands on the sides of my face, squeezing gently to get my attention.
The world around us had changed, jarring my mind as I tried to keep up, though something rang through me, a warning to pull away. But I had no control. The walls of the Maestro’s office melted away like wax, replaced by the familiar confines of the warehouse behind the theater. The trappings of the dark burlesque show, racks of glittering costumes, props and set pieces, and the heavy velvet curtains that shrouded the stage filled the cavernous space around us.
Quill’s hands were soft and warm against my cheeks as she held my face, her eyes wide and imploring. “Paesha, please,” she begged, her voice trembling with emotion. “Please, let me save him. He’s all alone, and he needs me. I know he’s covered in dirt, but he’s cute. I promise.”
My heart swelled with love for this child, for the compassion and empathy that shone so brightly in her eyes. Even in the midst of this dark and twisted world, Quill’s pure soul remained untouched. The Syndicate had built a wall around her, protecting her from the vile outside world as best we could. She’d become ours, though she remained within the ownership of the Maestro.
I covered her hands with my own, marveling at the way they had grown over the years, from chubby baby fingers to the slender digits of a young girl. “A puppy is a lot of work, Quilly.”
Those big, blue eyes stared up at me, filling with tears. “I can share my dinner and he can have half my bath days. And I’ll walk him, even in the rain. I can love him. And you can love him. And we can play with him. And probably he can dance when I teach him. He’s my family now. Our family. Orin said I can keep him if you say I can. Please? Pretty please?”
Of course he did.
“You don’t feed that dog an ounce of your food, do you hear me? Your belly is always full before his. You never go without for the sake of a dog.”
A brilliant smile broke across Quill’s face. “That means a yes! Because you say nos when you mean no. But that wasn’t a no, so it’s a yes.”
I forced a playful glare. “You sure?”
“As sure as sure can be, because we’re best friends, right?”
I felt myself turn to the mirror, leaning forward to check my lipstick. “Of course we are, kid.”
“Don’t you want to see him? I already named him Boo. Because he was scared when I found him in the alleyway, but now he’s not so scared. Just a little smelly.”
“Show starts in an hour,” I said.
But she was already gone, darting out the door of the warehouse. I’m not sure where she’d stashed the pup, but she came back only seconds later. Walking backward, careful not to bump into anything as she hid the little pup from me. “Are you ready?”
“Ready.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
She turned and my breath caught in my throat, a wave of icy fear washing over me. There, cradled in Quill’s arms, was not a helpless little dog, but a sleek black snake, its scales glistening like polished onyx in the dim light of the warehouse.
No. This was wrong. This was not what happened that day. I fought against the walls of my mind, pushing and pulling, begging to leave this nightmare.
The snake coiled lazily around Quill’s slender arm, its forked tongue flicking out to taste the air. But it was the eyes that stole my breath, twin pools of molten gold with intricate hourglasses etched into the irises, the black sand within trickling endlessly from one bulb to the other.
“Quill, listen to me,” I pleaded, my voice trembling with barely contained panic. “That’s not a puppy. It’s a snake, a dangerous one. You can’t keep it as a pet. Please, put it down and come away from it.”
But she didn’t hear me. Because this was a memory, twisted and gnarled, but a memory.
“You could pet him,” the child said, staring up at me. “He’s not a biter, right Boo? No bites.”
My stomach tightened as I watched the serpent wrap itself around her neck. My heart seized in my chest as it coiled tighter around Quill’s neck, its scales glinting like black diamonds. The snake’s hourglass eyes bore into mine, mesmerizing and terrifying all at once. Its forked tongue darted out, tasting the air, tasting my fear.
“Quilly, please,” I begged, my voice cracking with desperation. “Put it down.”
But when she looked back up to me, she’d changed too. Her eyes morphed into the same horror as the serpent. “Aren’t you coming to save me?” she whispered. “Time’s running out.”
I lunged for her, breaking free of the hold the memory had on me. But the second my will became my own, I was falling. Falling. Falling. Fast and hard, with no sense of direction.
Fragments of the twisted memory flashed before my eyes, taunting me with their distorted images. Quill’s face, once so innocent and pure, was now marred by the serpent’s sinister gaze. The Maestro’s cruel smile, his fingers digging into my flesh as he demanded my obedience. The scar, a jagged reminder of the choice that had been ripped away from me.
I screamed, certain I’d die from such a dangerous height as I plummeted into an endless pit. And then the faces of the fallen Cimmerians came to me again, holding hourglasses as they begged me to show mercy, blood dripping from their masks like tears. I looked down to find the crowbar in my hand, and try as I might, I could not refrain from striking them. Another scream. Another strike. Until my voice was raw, and they began to chant my name.
Paesha.
Paesha.
Further and further I fell until my body jerked and suddenly I was awake, covered in sweat, panting, and staring into the wild eyes of Thorne Noctus hovering above me. It’d been his voice ricocheting through my dream.
I couldn’t put words together. I only moved fast enough to hang over the edge of the bed and vomit all over the floor.