Chapter 28
28
D awn came far too early, pale light seeping through the curtains and pulling me from restless dreams filled with heated touches and whispered pleas. I blinked away the lingering cobwebs of sleep, disoriented for a moment. The warm weight of an arm draped across my waist brought the events of last night rushing back with startling clarity.
I lay perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe as I became acutely aware of every point of contact between Thorne’s body and mine. We’d gravitated towards each other, our limbs tangling beneath the shared quilt. His chest was a solid wall of heat against my back, his steady heartbeat echoing through me.
Carefully, I tried to extract myself from his embrace without waking him. But as I shifted, his arm tightened, pulling me flush against him. I froze, my pulse thundering in my ears.
“Not so fast,” he mumbled. “That’s the first time you haven’t woken me up in the middle of the night with hysterics. Let me enjoy it for a moment.”
His breath tickled the sensitive skin of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. A traitorous part of me wanted to stay like this, cocooned in his embrace, the rest of the world fading away. But I couldn’t let myself indulge in that fantasy. With a determined twist, I broke free and slid out of bed, the chill morning air prickling my skin. I didn’t dare look back at him as I quickly gathered my clothes, needing to put some distance between us. Fifty-five days. If I’d only been in the Maw for a week, which was completely a guess, I’d already spent twenty here. And where seventy-five felt like plenty, fifty-five and only a trace of answers felt like a trap. It felt like the walls were pressing in. Time was running out. And I needed Alastor to get his shit together fast.
“Paesha.” The gravelly timbre of his sleep-roughened voice froze me in place. Slowly, I turned to face him. His hair was endearingly mussed, his eyes still heavy-lidded. The sight of him, so disheveled and intimate, sent a flutter through my stomach.
“We should talk about last night.”
“Let’s not. There’s nothing to talk about. Where’s my trunk? Didn’t we bring more clothes? I know there’s a bathroom downstairs. Is that the only one?”
Thorne sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Your trunk is over there by the dresser. And yes, the bathroom downstairs is the only one in the Hollow.” He paused, his gaze searching mine. “Look at me.”
I kept my expression carefully neutral as I retrieved a clean dress from my trunk, refusing to meet his eyes. “Nothing happened, Thorne. We shared a bed, that’s all. We were both exhausted and emotions were running high. Let’s not make it into something it wasn’t.”
“Why are you fidgeting? Come here.”
I busied myself, folding the dress over my arm, still avoiding his piercing stare. “I think we both know, whatever this is between us, it can’t go anywhere. We have roles to play. Husband and wife in name only. Getting tangled up in feelings will only complicate things. You think you want more because that’s an easy option, but it won’t be easy at the end of this. Don’t push.”
He stood from the bed, letting the damn blanket fall to the floor, his pants riding low on his hips as he walked over, grabbed my face, and forced me to look at him. “Think about this. Where is the end? At what point can either of us walk away unscathed? We’re married. And that’s forever.”
I gently grabbed his hands and pushed them away. “We aren’t married.”
His eyes flashed with a mix of anger and hurt. But before he could respond, I turned away, slipping into the clean dress, the cool silk whispering against my skin as I pulled it up. The bodice hugged my curves, the neckline dipping just low enough to hint at the swell of my breasts. Tiny pearl buttons marched down the back. It was a dress fit for a lady, not a thief’s wife playing at being something she wasn’t. And for once, there was no damn corset.
Before I could even try, Thorne’s fingers were there, brushing against my skin as he buttoned up the back of the dress. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he worked his way up the row of delicate buttons. I held perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe as his knuckles grazed the nape of my neck, sending a shiver racing down my spine. There was something in the whisper of his closeness that wrapped around me, unsettling me. I danced dangerously close to the edge with him every day now. And I needed to fucking stop it.
“Talk to me.”
“No. Stop pushing.”
He snorted. “That’s an awfully commanding response from someone that pushes buttons like it’s a hobby.”
“Pushing boundaries isn’t the same as pushing buttons.”
“Maybe I’m pushing your boundaries because I want to stand behind the walls you build around yourself. Maybe there’s something to this thing between us.”
I stiffened at his words. They were dangerous. Too much. His fingers paused at the top button, his hands still warm against my back, but his words wrapped around me tighter than the dress ever could.
“You’re wrong, Thorne.”
He sighed, his breath a soft exhale against my skin. “You know I’m not. Every damn day, every moment with you, it's different. You challenge me, you make me want to break every rule I’ve ever set for myself. You’re stubborn and annoying and probably the worst possible option and yet here we are. Just tell me I’m not alone in this. Tell me you feel something. Tell me there’s a reason you find comfort in me at night. Tell me something. Anything.”
I shook my head, unable to say a thing. Worried I’d give myself away if I tried. The moment stretched between us, heavy with unspoken words and simmering tension. With a final tug, he finished fastening the last button. His hands lingered on my shoulders. His thumbs traced small circles that burned like brands through the thin silk. I wanted to lean back into his touch, to let myself melt into the solid strength of him. But I couldn’t trust those feelings. I couldn’t trust anyone.
Stepping out of his grasp, I turned to face him, my expression carefully composed. “Thank you,” I said, my voice too loud in a space that was entirely consumed by him. “For buttoning my dress.”
I moved towards the door, my skirts swishing softly with each step. I had to close my eyes. I had to draw in a steadying breath. I had to imagine a space without him in it. Because the temptation to turn back to him, to let myself fall into the warmth of his arms and forget the world outside these walls, was almost overwhelming. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t let myself. Even though I knew he would.
Without looking back, I opened the door and slipped out into the narrow hallway. The air was cooler here, the shadows deeper. Muffled voices and the clatter of dishes drifted up from below, the Hollow coming to life with the new day, pulling me away from a conversation I wasn’t ready to have. Thorne would put his mask back on, hide behind his walls again, and things would go back to a safe distance. Where he told me what to do and I told him fuck off and nothing was more serious than that.
Children darted between the tables, their laughter mingling with the clatter of dishes and the low murmur of conversation. The air was thick with the scent of freshly baked bread and simmering stew, making my stomach grumble in anticipation.
I wove my way through the controlled chaos, nodding greetings to the bleary-eyed adults nursing steaming mugs of tea. The clamor faded as I slipped into the bathroom and splashed cool water on my face, letting it soothe my flushed cheeks and clear the lingering cobwebs of sleep and confusion, and the panic of racing time from my mind.
Meeting my reflection’s gaze in the spotted mirror, I studied the woman looking back at me. Her mismatched eyes were nearly vacant, her lips pressed into a determined line. She was nearly a stranger. Not the woman relishing the spotlight, but rather the one that was lost. Fighting a battle within herself. Maybe it was the lack of control that was suffocating me. Knowing there was nothing I could do right now. But I knew it was more than that. It was the friendships I could make so easily. The draw to become a confidant to Harlow, a friend to Archer. A lover to the man I’d shared a bed with. None of those things would make my escape easy though. If anything, they would make it harder. I needed the space. I needed to stay the course. But fuck if it wasn’t getting harder to remember that.
With a final sigh, acceptance more than anything, I pushed off the sink and walked back into the massive space, ready to spend another day here, sitting around and waiting for Alastor, the leader of the black market—the Vale—to call a meeting. Waiting to see if this god was the next step on my path home.
I expected to find Jasper bustling about in his kitchen, his weathered hands kneading dough or stirring a pot, a dusting of flour on his cheek and a twinkle in his eye. But instead, I was greeted by the sight of Willard, leaning casually against the counter, his attention wholly focused on a woman I didn’t recognize.
She was pretty, with a heart-shaped face and a riot of chestnut curls escaping from a messy bun. Her cheeks were flushed. Either from the heat of the kitchen or Willard’s undivided attention, I couldn’t be sure. They were speaking in low tones, their heads bent close together, intimate smiles playing at the corners of their mouths.
I hesitated in the doorway, feeling like an intruder in a private moment. But before I could slip away unnoticed, Willard glanced up, his eyes widening slightly as he registered my presence. He straightened, putting a bit of distance between himself and the mystery woman.
“So sorry to interrupt. I was just looking for Harlow.” I walked forward, sliding a knife from the counter to twist it between my fingers as I casually said, “ You might’ve seen her before. About this tall, blonde, drop dead gorgeous, lethal?”
“Is she here?” Willard asked, trying and failing to slide into a casual tone. “Mara was just asking about her, weren’t you?”
“Oh, sure. Sure, I was.” The woman gathered a few bowls in her hand and swept out of the kitchen.
Willard followed.
I stewed.
What was my role here? To be a friend to Harlow? Tell her what I’d seen? I didn’t know if they were officially a couple. Would it be rude of me to assume? But I’d seen the way she’d looked at him. The way she shifted toward him in weak moments. Either way, Archer and I were in agreement for once on one thing. Wee Willy was absolutely going to be his nickname from now on. Asshole.
When Jasper came barreling into the kitchen, ever the lovable clumsy cook, my thoughts of Willy were quickly stolen as I jumped to work, going through the paces of the day before. He moved with a hurried, slightly clumsy step, narrowly avoiding colliding with the corner of the counter as he worked. With a huff, he dropped two sacks on the counter, sending up a small cloud of flour that dusted his wild gray eyebrows and the tip of his nose.
His weathered face creased into a warm smile. “Ah, Miss Paesha! You’re up with the sun, I see. Early bird gets the worm, as they say. Or, in this case, the first taste of my famous cinnamon rolls! It’s a rare treat for this lot today. I… found a heap of sugar.”
He winked, then set about organizing his ingredients, humming under his breath. I watched him work, finding comfort in the familiar routine, exactly like a dance he’d practiced over and over.
“How’d you sleep? Not too cold up in that room, I hope. I’ve been telling the boss for years we could build a ground level room for him, but he refuses.”
“I slept fine, but how often does he stay here?” I asked, a bit surprised.
“Well, now that he’s gotten himself a bride, I don’t think it will be too often at all. Soon enough, you’ll have little ones to look after.”
My heart wrenched at the thought of that. Even if I were to stay and the realms burned around me, even if I were to fail and forget everything as the God of Things and Stuff and all the names had said, I’d never have children. Not one. Not ever. I’d only ever have Quill. And she wasn’t mine. Not truly.
Still, I smiled and nodded and turned my back to him, concentrating on anything but those feelings of loss that’d consumed me years ago. I cracked the eggs and dumped them into a bowl, one by one. But Jasper read my face. I must not have been great at hiding it, because he was by my side seconds later. His hand, weathered and warm, closed over mine as he gently took the egg from my fingers. “Miss Paesha,” he said softly, “forgive an old cook’s assumptions. I spoke without thinking.”
I blinked rapidly, trying to hide the sudden sting of tears. I hadn’t dwelled on this in so long. “It’s all right, Jasper. You couldn’t have known.”
He studied me, his kind eyes seeming to see straight through to the heart of me. “No, I couldn’t have. But I recognize that look, that pain. I’ve seen it before, worn by women who carry a grief they keep tucked close to their heart.”
This wasn’t a safe space. These weren’t secrets to let loose with a person I hardly knew. I schooled my face and turned away. “Let’s keep it to ourselves, for now.”
He immediately changed the subject. No more words needed. “You’re meeting with Alastor soon. Are you nervous about that?”
“Should I be?” I asked, plucking another egg from a basket.
“Yes. Alastor isn’t a crime lord or black market transient, Miss Paesha. He’s a god. An old god.”
“I thought all gods were the same age. Ancient or something.”
“No. Not at all. And they say they gain their power from the love of the people of the realms. Only the darkest of people worship a God of Lost Things. Lost hearts, lost souls, lost friendships. Some whisper that he’s the patron of thieves, the master of all things hidden and illicit. Every criminal worth their silk in Wisteria has ties to Alastor, whether they know it or not.”
I’d heard of the Gods of Lost Things before, but I wouldn’t give myself away, especially when they were missing a vital piece of information about him. “Why would a god concern himself with the mortal world? With petty criminals and black markets?”
He leaned in closer, eyes shifting between mine. “Legend has it, Alastor was banished from Etherium lifetimes ago. Cast out by the other gods for some unspeakable transgression. They say he wanders the realms, collecting lost things, drawn to the shattered and discarded. Some even whisper that he gains power from the suffering of mortals, thriving on their pain and desperation.”
The idea of a god who fed on misery, who reveled in the darkness of the human heart, was exactly what I thought the gods were, anyway. None of this shocked me. I knew living in a realm with no gods was a blessing. They meddle. They lord over the people. Fuck that. But I’d play the shocked, delicate flower here, if only to hide my past. “My mother used to call Serene the Goddess of Loss and Lust. Isn’t that the same as a God of Lost Things?”
“No, Serene and Alastor are not the same at all. Serene may revel in the sensuous pleasures of lust and the bittersweet ache of loss, but Alastor… he is something else entirely. Where Serene finds power in the fleeting nature of desire and the poignant sorrow of a broken heart, Alastor feeds on the deepest, darkest despair. He is drawn to the lost and forsaken, to the shattered remnants of hope and the gaping wounds of the soul.
“Imagine a child, abandoned and alone, wandering the streets with nothing but the clothes on their back. Imagine the anguish of a parent searching for a lost child, never knowing if they are alive or dead. Imagine the gut-wrenching pain of losing everything you hold dear, your home, your family, your very sense of self. That is where Alastor thrives. He is the patron of the truly lost, the god of those who have been cast aside by the world and left to rot in the shadows.”
Alastor was the god of my own trauma. Definitely not a coincidence. “And Thorne’s ready to willingly meet with him? Seems like a terrible idea.”
Jasper sighed, his gaze distant. “The boss has a complicated history with Alastor. Theirs is a relationship born of necessity, of secrets and favors traded. I don’t know the details, and I’ve never asked. But I do know that Thorne would never put you in danger, not deliberately.”
“That’s true enough,” Thorne said from the door, surprising both of us. Freshly bathed and wearing a finely pressed suit, he leaned in, snagged an apple and forced a glance my way before continuing. “I’ve got to run over to the Parlor to get the ledger. I’ll likely be back before anyone realizes I’m gone, but if Alastor happens to show, stall him.”
“You got it, boss,” Jasper said as Thorne walked out, refusing to acknowledge me. Or the sting of my rejection.
We worked in silence after that, except for his cheerful hum and the few times I saved him from slipping on the flour dusting the floor. We washed up together and even sat together at the long table afterward, watching our meal be appreciated.
Willy hadn’t avoided me like I expected him to. Instead, he’d sat with us, a little girl on his lap, teaching her how to pronounce her alphabet. Something in that confidence made me question the assumptions I’d drawn. Maybe he and Harlow weren’t in a relationship at all and I’d only assumed they were.
When Harlow and Archer walked in, removing their coats and stopping to say hello to several of the people tucked into the Hollow, I watched her eyes. Waited to see how long it would take before she sought him out. But she didn’t. Instead, she held a tight smile and walked up the stairs with Archer not far behind.
I excused myself from the table. The second floor of the Hollow was quieter, the bustle and chatter from below muffled by the floorboards. I paused at the top of the stairs, straining to hear the low murmur of voices coming from down the hall where Harlow and Archer argued in hushed, urgent tones. I crept closer.
“— can’t keep doing this, Archer. It’s too dangerous.” Harlow’s voice was strained, pleading.
“I know what I’m doing, Har. It’s not my first time.”
“That’s exactly my point! You’re reckless, always throwing yourself into the thick of things without a thought for your own safety. One of these days, your luck’s going to run out and you’ll end up in the grave, just like her. You need to let this go.”
“You can’t make every decision for me for my entire life. Think about what that security would do for you.” Archer’s voice softened until I couldn’t hear much beyond, “Let me finally pay you back, Har. Let me do this to make up for you losing your magic.”
“You’re not in debt to me, brother.”
Just as I was about to turn away, I heard the creak of floorboards behind me. Heart leaping into my throat, I spun around to see Willy stomping up the stairs, his brow furrowed in concern. Panic jolted through me at the thought of being caught eavesdropping.
Without thinking, I reached for the door handle and pushed into the room, plastering a bright smile on my face. “We made breakfast.”
“Not hungry,” Archer said, a scowl on his face as he walked out, brushing my shoulder and clipping Willard’s on his way.
“I’ll be down in a minute,” Harlow said, not bothering with false happiness. She stood by the window, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, as if trying to hold together the fractured pieces of her composure.
“We’ve got tea with the Whittaker’s at three and I’ve promised my parents we’d stop by after dinner.”
Harlow turned then, clearly annoyed that Wee Willy hadn’t read the room at all. “You’ll have to tell them I’m busy. We’re waiting for a meeting with Alastor.”
He scoffed, walking forward to grip her shoulders. “We both know he’s going to drag this thing on for weeks. I’ve canceled with my parents three times. We must be there. It’s not open to debate.”
She leaned into his touch, and I stood frozen, unsure if I should walk out or tell her about Mara and let them figure it out. There was something so foreign, yet so familiar, about witnessing this moment. As if it were déjà vu, but I knew I’d never been here before. So, I stood like a fool and waited for her to answer. Hoping she’d stand her ground. But she didn’t.
“All right. We can’t keep pushing them off. They’ll start to wonder, and we don’t need anyone asking questions about our free time.”
“Perfect,” he said, brushing a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll see you downstairs in a bit?”
He didn’t even wait for a response, just walked out. All this time, I wasn’t sure, but never because of her. His actions hadn’t indicated a committed relationship and Harlow’s resolve seemed so tough, even moments before when she was talking to Archer. But not with Willard. Which begged the question, what was he lording over her?
“You okay?” I asked, kicking the door to the room shut.
She let out a shaky laugh, the sound brittle and sharp-edged. “Just a typical morning in the Bramwell household. Archer being a stubborn fool and me trying to keep him from getting himself killed.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I said nothing, walking over to stand next to her. She didn’t settle in the silence though. Instead, she nudged me with a shoulder. “Want to go up and give the new guards a break? Get a little fresh air?”
“Absolutely.”
Her shoulders sank in relief. “Thank the Gods. I think there are only two up there. We couldn’t spare four men. They're probably so tired.”
We slipped out of the room, and the chatter from below faded as we climbed the other stairs, the air growing cooler with each step. At the top, a wooden door with a heavy iron latch barred our way.
Harlow lifted the latch and pushed the door open, letting in a gust of crisp morning air. We stepped out onto the rooftop, and immediately I regretted not grabbing our coats. Still, the view stole my breath. Stirling stretched out before us, a sprawling city of stone tiled roofs, winding cobblestone streets, and towering spires that pierced the pale blue sky. In many ways, it felt ancient, but if one looked close enough, that didn’t seem right at all. Not compared to Requiem, a city riddled with rot and decay. The misery was the same in both worlds, though. At least there was that. Familiarity in suffering. The morning sun was drowned out by the low mist that settled over the highest buildings, even drowning the castle on the hillside in the distance.
Two guards, Charlie and one other I didn’t know the name of, turned to us, their expressions a mix of surprise and relief. They’d been hunkered down behind the low stone parapet, keeping watch over the streets below. Harlow nodded to them, a silent dismissal, and they gratefully retreated back into the warmth of the Hollow.
We took their place, crouching low to stay out of sight. The rough stone was cold against my palms as I peered over the edge, taking in the city.
Harlow settled in beside me, her keen eyes scanning the winding alleys and shadowed doorways for any sign of trouble. Her body was tense, coiled like a spring, ready to snap into action at the first hint of danger. I could feel the restless energy emanating from her, the need to move, to do something other than be still.
She drew a slim blade from the folds of her skirt and twirled it deftly between her fingers, betraying countless hours spent honing the skill. Much like Archer and his love of coins. I watched, transfixed, as the knife danced across her knuckles, the deadly edge never once grazing her skin. It was a mesmerizing display, a testament to the lethal grace coiled within her deceptively delicate frame.
We sat in companionable silence, the only sound the soft whisper of her blade cutting through the air and the distant clatter of the city coming to life below. I knew there were a thousand questions I could ask, a hundred ways I could try to draw her out and forge a deeper connection. But I didn’t want that. Nor did I need it. The fewer people I had to say goodbye to, the better.
And as if I’d timed it, a clocktower, lost in the mist of clouds, chimed the hour, reminding me that my days here were numbered and I really needed to get the hell out of here. I had faith that Alastor was the key. That maybe he’d brought things from different worlds into his little black market, and if he could get items across the realms, then maybe he could carry people as well. And while I considered asking Harlow, she wasn’t safe either. I couldn’t trust them. But I needed them to trust me.
“How long were you in the hall?” she finally asked, turning those bright blue eyes to me. “Did you hear everything?”
I weighed my options, but the hesitation was enough to answer her unspoken question.
“I’d barely come into my power when the prince took it.” She turned, looking back over the city. “Archer and I were near the castle walls, just twelve years old. We were messing around, throwing rocks and waiting for our grandmother to get done with her meeting with the king. Archer threw a rock, it hit Farris’s carriage as it was passing by. Farris got out, huffing and puffing as teenage boys will do, and picked a fight with Archer. He had no idea he was the prince when he took a swing at him.”
I swallowed my gasp, trying to keep my reaction subtle as she continued.
“I’ll never forget the look on Farris’s face. The smile as he stood up from the ground and called the king’s guards over. Harming or insulting royalty is an act of treason, punishable by death. Even at a young age, Farris sought law breakers. Not because he cared about justice. But because he loved the punishment. He forced his guards to grab Archer. Everyone was screaming. At least it seemed like it. Maybe it was only me. I flung myself to the ground at the prince’s feet, begging him to show mercy. Begging him to take me instead of my brother. No one knew Archer had power at that point. But they’d heard of mine. So Farris grabbed my wrist and made me swear I’d meant it. I’d pay for Archer’s mistake. And I did. Because we’d already lost our mother and father and… I couldn’t lose him too. So, I agreed to give him my power. And he took it, right there on the street, never breaking contact with me as he wrenched something from my soul that I was never meant to be parted with.”
I couldn’t imagine the horror. Being separated from my power would be like splitting my soul. There couldn’t be a worse fate, surely. “I’m so sorry that happened,” I said moments later, if for no other reason than to break the agonizing silence.
“It’s done now,” she whispered. “I’ve moved on, but he hasn’t. I don’t think he ever will. Not until Farris is rotting six feet under and he’s the one to put him there.”
“But if—” My power burst to life within me. Warning bells pealing in my mind. I’d locked onto Farris as she spoke, my magic taking on a mind of its own.“Farris is coming,” I said, grabbing her hand.
She ducked, training her eyes back onto the city below us. “Where? I can’t see him.”
“He’s on the other side of the street.”
“But how could you…” She gasped. “You have magic.”
“There’s no time. Come on. We have to warn the others.”
Regret followed every single footstep as we ran. I’d just given away a secret. And I wasn’t sure I could trust Harlow to keep it.