Chapter 44
44
I gasped awake, heart racing, the dream slipping away like water through my fingers. For a moment, I was lost, caught between worlds, the rain-soaked meadow, and the dark bedroom. The scent of wildflowers lingered, a ghost in the air, fading as the room came into sharper focus.
Thorne lay beside me, his face tight with pain, even in sleep. His brow furrowed. His jaw clenched. Each shallow breath dragged from his chest like it cost him everything. Blue flames flickered in my mind, the memory of his arms tightening around me as they devoured him.
I stared, torn between guilt and gratitude. He’d walked through fire for me. Suffered. Burned. And for what? What was I to him that he would endure that kind of agony?
There’d been a price, though. A price that I had to pay. A mysterious bargain with Alastor. And so help me, if I was bound to another person again, if I lost my life and free will in that hazy agreement, I would never be able to look at Thorne the same way. I’d sooner see the world burn than lose myself to it.
He shifted, a soft moan slipping from his lips, barely a sound, but enough to break me. Without thinking, I reached out. My hand brushed his brow, smoothing the lines of tension. His skin was too hot, feverish. Still, he leaned into my touch, as if, even in sleep, he sought me.
Another breath. Shallow. Ragged. But he didn’t wake.
What had I done to him? What had I cost him? Why was I getting better, and he wasn’t?
I forced myself to pull away from Thorne, every inch of me screaming against it. My body protested, leaden and sluggish as I dragged myself out of the warmth of his bed to the floor that bit into my feet, cold as ice. A shiver shot up my spine, my legs wobbling beneath me.
One last glance. I couldn’t help it. His chest rose and fell, slow and shallow, sweat glistening on his skin. I turned away, each step toward the door a battle. Every muscle burned, exhaustion wrapping its arms around me, begging me to stop.
But I didn’t.
When I finally made it to my room, my eyes landed on the bedside table. A steaming cup of tea. A bowl of porridge. They sat there, waiting, welcoming, and yet wholly unsettling.
A knot formed in my stomach.
I brought the tea to my lips, the fragrant steam wafting up to caress my face. But as the rim touched my mouth, I froze. Of course I was still paranoid. The tea rippled, a miniature ocean in the cradle of the cup, and for a moment, I swore I could see a sinister swirl of color, there and gone in a blink.
Poison.
The word whispered through my mind, insidious and relentless. Threatening me. But I had to let it go. I couldn’t let the fear consume me. Not now. Not when there was so much at stake. If I started seeing enemies in every corner, suspicion in every kind gesture, I’d be lost. Paralyzed. And that was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
I forced myself to breathe deep. With each exhale, I tried to release the tension coiled tight in my muscles. My gaze drifted around the room, taking in the small details I’d missed before. The vase of fresh flowers on the dresser. The stack of books on the nightstand. The quilt draped over the armchair in the corner. These weren’t the signs of people trying to kill me. These were signs they cared. And they’d been here. They’d fought for me when I was dying.
So, I drank the damn tea. I drank the tea and ate the porridge, bland as it was, and decided to hell with it. If I was going to die in a realm of chaos and lies, then at least I wouldn’t be hungry. And at that rate, maybe the realms deserved to fall. What good were they to me if I was dead?
A soft knock on my door was my only warning before Harlow stepped in, eyes wide to see me sitting on the edge of the bed, with an empty bowl, no doubt.
“You’re up.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
She smiled. “And your winning personality is back.”
“Baby steps.”
She eyed the empty bowl. “Archer made us give him a bite of that before he’d let me bring it up. He’s been sleeping in the office chair or that one in the corner.”
“Well, maybe he likes me more than everyone else.”
“Hey, I like you just fine.”
“Calm down with your swooning. My migraine can’t take it.”
“I’ll try to control myself.” She walked across the room with as much grace as a woman that grew up in court might’ve, then flopped down on the bed, locking her fingers together at her stomach as she stared up at the ceiling. “On a scale of one to near-death, how are you feeling?”
“Five, why?”
“Because two of Alastor’s thugs are at the door asking for you, and I’m debating how to kindly tell them to fuck off. Thought maybe you’d have some advice.”
“Always better to get right to the point with men. If you smile, they think you want something from them, and if you scowl, they think they need to correct you. Stick with a solid ‘fuck off’ and go on about your day.”
She giggled but didn’t immediately get up.
I traced the hem of the blanket, cautious but desperate. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure. But I can’t promise I’ll know the answer.”
“How many days have passed since Tithe?”
She drew back, looking at me. Still, she counted in her mind, fingers slightly moving before she answered. “Forty-six. Why?”
I swallowed, trying to keep my expression neutral. I’d been out for nine between the poison and healing then. Dammit. That left me with only twenty-nine days, minus however long I’d been in the Maw. A week? So only about twenty two days to go, if I was lucky. I couldn’t panic, though. I couldn’t show an ounce of concern. “I was just wondering how long Thorne and I have been… pretending. That’s all.”
She rolled back over with a sigh. “Have you seen him yet?”
“I went in last night. He’s in bad shape.”
“He yelled at me yesterday, but he needed help. Your skin didn’t burn, but his is charred. Any idea why?”
“We had to walk through some kind of fire. And he shielded most of me with his own body.”
“I can’t even get Willard to walk beside me some days.”
“That’s because he’s a dick, but who am I to judge?”
She rolled her eyes. “All right. I’ll go send the goons on the front step away. You good? Need anything?”
“I’m fine. I’ll come down and see the kids after a really long bath.”
She stood, smoothing her dress before walking out, chin high as if she were preparing for battle. Smart woman.
I’d no sooner stepped out of my clothes before the door to my bedroom slammed open. I snatched the towel and wrapped it around myself, hustling to the closed bathroom door.
“I told you she’s resting,” Harlow barked.
“Don’t look like she’s resting to me,” a deep voice said. “Sounds like she’s in the bath. Maybe I should go have a peek.”
My heart skipped a beat as I stepped away from the door, swiping my dress from where I’d laid it across the counter.
Harlow’s voice cut across the room like a blade. “If you so much as think of opening that door, I will fucking gut you. Got it?”
There was a scuffle. I threw the dress over my head and yanked the door open to find Harlow, standing with her foot on one man’s throat and a blade in the leg of another. “Why do men always doubt me?” she asked, eyes flicking to me before turning back to the stabbed man. “It’s the dress, isn’t it?”
“Alastor—”
“Can wait,” she bit back, glaring at the goon on the floor.
The man with the blade in his thigh stumbled.
“Oh, for god’s sake, you’re making such a mess.” She looked down at the one on the floor. “You. Stay.”
In one fell swoop, she yanked her blade free, wiped it on the man on the floor’s shirt and flung her skirts back, exposing the slit and easy access to her thigh. She slid the blade home and grabbed the bleeding man by the collar. “Go sit on that chair while I get something to clean this up. If either of you move a single finger while I’m gone, I’ll hunt you down.”
She spun to me next, throwing her hands on her hips. “Take as long as you like, friend. I’ve got this handled.”
My mouth twisted, but I didn’t say a word, just let the door shut and twisted the lock before stepping into the bath, grinning from ear to ear. I knew she was fierce. I had no idea she was actually lethal. Not really.
There was not another sound from the other side of the door. Not one as I bathed, soaking my hair, letting the water wash away every dreadful thing that’d happened. I knew what would happen when I stepped out. Alastor had come to collect on whatever debt I owed him. And I needed five more minutes to accept the chaos already surrounding me before I added any more.
Eventually I dressed, feeling half human at least, plaited my hair and stepped back into the room, only to find Harlow, Archer, Tuck and Willard standing shoulder-to-shoulder with their backs to me, arms all crossed, staring down at Alastor’s two thugs sitting on the floor.
“Playing nice?”
“I’m always nice,” Archer answered without taking his eyes from the men. “She’s ready now. Tell her what you need to.”
The one with a bandage wrapped around his leg scowled. “We’re not delivering a message. If your friend here had any brain cells, she would have listened.”
Harlow spun, facing me. “You were right. I scowled, and he tried to correct me. Hurts less when I remember stabbing him, though.”
I shared a cruel smile with her. “It usually does.” Stepping through the wall of Fray, I knelt before one of the men. “What can I do for you, boys?”
“The boss wants you. You’re to report to the Vale… well, an hour ago.”
“Like hell she’s?—”
I cut Willard off with a hand. “I can speak for myself, thank you.” Looking back at the leather clad men, both scarred and heavy set, with arms wider than my thighs, I wondered if Harlow had felt an ounce of fear before she’d attacked them. “Like hell I’m going with you. Crawl back to your boss and tell him I said no, thank you.”
They shared a wary glance.
Tuck stepped forward, grabbing one from under his arm and hauling him to his feet. “You heard the lady. Best be off.”
They didn’t argue at all as they left the house, though I did wonder why Alastor sent these two. They wore scars and rough skin but had no resolve at all. That night, when the house had finally fallen to silence, I changed into my leathers, strapped the sword to my back, threw my cloak over it, and crept into the city, getting lost in the shadows gifted by the full moon, as I used only the power necessary to find my way back to the Vale. But the fear I’d had with the Cimmerians was waning. The trauma they’d caused barely scratched the surface if I took a step back and looked at everything I’d been through in my life. So, I moved without fear. Without hesitation, through a city, a world of hatred.
The man at the door hadn’t said a word when I approached. Hadn’t asked for a thing. I swept my hood down, pulling the sword from my back free. He took one look at my eyes and let me into the Vale. Once inside, I replaced the walls of the cloak, unbothered by how the crowd, the supposed worst in the city, watched me.
When I reached the door Archer and I had taken the meeting with Alastor in, I didn’t bother knocking. I simply let myself in, sauntered through the room and plopped down in the open chair, throwing my feet up on his desk as he sat, watching me.
“Right on time.”
“Why’d you send the world’s worst lackeys to collect me?”
Alastor leaned back in his chair, steepling his long fingers. His emerald gaze raked over me, assessing, calculating. A slow smile curved his lips, but it held no warmth. “They served their purpose. Got your attention, didn’t they?”
“You could have just sent a note.”
He chuckled. “Where’s the fun in that, Huntress? Besides, I find people are more likely to heed a summons when it’s delivered with a bit of… force.”
“If that’s your idea of force, you should pick up a book sometime. Reunite yourself with the common language.”
Alastor’s smile sharpened. “They were told not to use violence and they aren’t too good with words. Learning curve and all that.” He rose from his seat, moving with a fluid grace. Rounding the desk, he perched on the edge, looming over me. “Now, you’re here because we have unfinished business, you and me. A debt to settle. You’ve already agreed to the terms, so that’s easy enough, but I thought I’d remind you what you owe me for that precious little life of yours. Now, give me your hand.”
I narrowed my eyes at Alastor, warning bells screaming through my mind. His casual demeanor did nothing to put me at ease. If anything, it set my nerves on edge. Gods were never to be trusted, especially when they acted as if they were doing you a favor.
Slowly, I withdrew my feet from his desk and sat up straighter, squaring my shoulders, though I was terrified of the binds that would come from this conversation. “Remind me of the terms, then. Exactly what is it that I owe you?”
Alastor tsked, shaking his head as if disappointed by my question. “Four broken souls, Huntress. That was the price. Four lost, shattered names delivered unto me. Did the poison addle your mind so thoroughly that you’ve forgotten already?”
“I remember,” I said evenly. “But I also remember that you never specified a timeline. Or what qualifies as a broken soul. Seems to me there’s quite a bit of room for interpretation there.”
Alastor’s eyes flashed, a brief flicker of annoyance breaking through his mask of amusement. “There is no room for interpretation just because your mind doesn’t remember what your mouth agreed to. You will find four broken souls and deliver their names to me, or your eternity will belong to me. Don’t worry, Huntress. I did not steal your freedom. Nor your free will. I am not as cruel as some. Now. Hold out your hand.”
I did as I was told, though I could hardly swallow. I’d have to do this before I went home or I’d never be able to complete the bargain. And as it was a deal with a god, there would be no loopholes. But I had twenty-two days to complete the Keeper’s bargain. Time was ticking, and I wasn’t sure I was any closer now than I had been.
Alastor’s grip tightened around my palm, his skin impossibly warm against my own. A shiver ran down my spine as his power washed over me, ancient and vast, a yawning chasm that threatened to swallow me whole, though a tendril of it was familiar. Mine. Ours.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, a soft golden light began to emanate from his skin. It started at our joined hands, a gentle warmth that spread up his arm, gradually engulfing his entire being. The light pulsed in time with an unseen heartbeat, growing brighter and more intense with each passing second.
I watched, transfixed, as the glow intensified. Alastor’s features blurred, his edges softening until he was little more than a silhouette wreathed in shimmering gold. The light danced across his skin like a living flame, casting eerie shadows on the walls of the room. It filled the air until I could taste it on my tongue, feel it humming in my bones.
“Look,” he commanded, his voice a distant echo, as if speaking from the bottom of a well. “Do you see the mark within me?”
“It’s kind of hard to miss the giant, shiny man holding my hand.”
“See beyond the gold. Look harder.”
There was nothing at first, only the shimmering blinding light, but as I stared, wishing for this moment to end, a trace of black danced along the edges of the gold. Tainting it.
“There,” he said, pulling his hand from mine, breathing away the golden light. “Find the broken, deliver their names to me.”
“Why couldn’t I see that before?”
“A mortal will show their broken soul at a moment of weakness, but a god may always choose what form to share. And mine are none of your concern. To see the broken is a gift, power that only my descendant carries.”
Descendant. As in one…
I let my eyes fall to the floor, considering that final thought until another struck me and whipped back to him. “I deliver to you your own name. Alastor, God of Lost and Broken things.”
The shadows hidden within the tattoos on his arms writhed as a hard smile formed. “No, Huntress. You don’t know enough about my name to try to deliver it to me, but nice try. However, I would like to help you. Offer you a bit of advice.” He stroked a thick finger across the bottom of his jaw. “You should be careful of the company you keep.”
I rolled my eyes, well aware of who he meant. “Oh yes, a man who literally carried me through fire to make sure I live is the worst of the worst. Little hint, I don’t trust gods. Especially not ones that make bargains with desperate people. I’ll find your broken souls because I have no choice, but I’ll never give you say over what happens in my life. I don’t care what kind of ancestral claim you think you have over me. I belong to no one.”
“Or so you think.”
“Let me make it simple, Alastor. You’re just the keeper of scraps no one else wants. The god of leftovers and left behinds. So don’t waste your breath trying to give me advice, because I know exactly what you are. You’re just like them. Every other god that’s foaming at the mouth for scraps of more power. You’re a puppeteer. But when this is over, I’ll cut the strings and walk away.”
He moved so fast, god-like precision snapping through the air to clinch my throat and drag me toward him. “There’s a line between sass and disrespect, mortal, and you’re going to find yourself dead before you learn the difference if you aren’t careful. I’ve broken a lock on you, and I’ve saved you once, healed what was broken out of loyalty to Irri. But I won’t do it again. Tread lightly.”
He squeezed. And squeezed. Until I couldn’t breathe. Until there was no doubt he’d left bruises on my neck with his warning. I couldn’t swallow over his fingers, couldn’t blink beyond the pressure in my eyes. “Break free of your chains and stop learning your lessons the hard way,” he demanded, throwing me to the floor and storming out of his office.
He was a fool to trust me there, truly. But I knew a test when I saw one, so I kept my hands to myself, threw my hood back up and left. Sulking all the way home while contemplating what lock had been broken. And how Irri, a name I’d heard but couldn’t place to save my life, had anything to do with anything.
Thorne was there when I walked into my room, sitting heavily on the bed, the golden book in his hands. I tried not to look at him with resentment. He’d tied me to Alastor, but I couldn’t be mad at him for it because the only other choice was death.
Though slow, he stood wincing, glancing over me with deadly attentiveness, eyes locked on my throat. He jerked upright, all sense of weakness gone in a flurry of movement. “Who the fuck was dumb enough to put their hands on you?”