Chapter Six Damien
Chapter Six
Damien
The whiskey went down smooth.
The bartender, Cap—a former ship captain, and not so cleverly named by his tavern’s patrons—shot me a dour look as I slammed the empty glass down on the wooden counter.
He needed to mind his business, was what he needed to do.
I might live above the Broken Wing Tavern thanks to him, but he wasn’t my father.
I didn’t know my father. Or mother, for that matter.
I’d been found outside the Void’s orphanage as a baby.
It didn’t take a clever mind to deduce that my childhood hadn’t been sunshine and sugar.
“Problem?” I confronted Cap, arching a brow.
He continued to wipe the same glass over and over. At this rate, it was the cleanest thing in this place. “Not if you don’t cause a scene,” he replied grimly.
Ah, yes. I couldn’t fault the man there.
The Broken Wing Tavern was where the exhausted and reckless men and women of the Void ventured when the sun collapsed from the sky.
A place where bets were placed and illegal fighting matches went on well into the early hours.
If I had to recall any trouble caused by me, it would be a month ago, when I might have cheated at cards and might have caused a fight to ensue that broke some furniture.
In my defense, the place needed some redecorating anyway.
“I’m just here to drink, nothing to worry about, old man.
” Cap’s stare turned threatening. He didn’t fool me, and while he was a tall man with more muscles than he knew what to do with, he certainly didn’t frighten me.
His weakness was sentimentality. The proof was his allowing a ruffian like me to live upstairs once the orphanage kicked me out.
Cap knew what I did to gain coin and he didn’t care as long as I kept the “scenes” to a minimum.
Oh, and didn’t steal in his bar; another mundane stipulation.
I still envisioned his face when he found me cold and shivering outside the tavern three years ago, half buried in snow. I’d failed that week, stealing just sparse bites here and there, but not enough coin for a warm room. Cap had growled a curse and grabbed my thin jacket to haul me to my feet.
“You gonna cause me trouble?” he’d asked. I’d shaken my head. “Will ya steal from me?” Another shake. “Then keep quiet and follow me. I can’t have another dead body to deal with on my steps.”
See? Sentimental.
But if not for him, I’d probably be one of the poor fools whose faces were plastered across the many Missing posters. Maybe some killer was on the loose, eager to slay the helpless. There’d been too many lost souls for it to be anything other than suspicious. Not that the men of the law cared.
A bang on the counter and the calling of Cap’s name had him abandoning me to my woes; which truly weren’t terrible, all things considered.
After Ruby had hounded me about Wren, I opened up about the locket and what it contained.
I shouldn’t have told her, but it felt good to get it out, and it also put an end to her pestering.
As expected, she immediately told me to get off my arse and find the locket if it meant that much to me.
I argued that it didn’t, but the memory of my picture tucked away inside like a secret burned through my thoughts.
There were no such things as coincidences.
At least the pawnbroker we sold the watch to didn’t give Ruby and me trouble. She knew him well, having used him for various other trades. Now I had coin to last the month and then some.
But the cursed locket…
I should be out there thinking of my next con.
My first rule: Always plan ahead. Life could, and would, deal you a bad hand, and things would easily go to shite.
Yet here I sat, on one of the many wobbly barstools in a dimly lit tavern falling apart by the second, already on my third glass of the cheapest whiskey Cap owned.
Around me, the crowd cheered, some card game in the works, played by the predictable gamblers.
Judging by the raucous shrieks, someone had just made a killing.
Since it was early yet, no music played, but when the day grew late, singers, guitarists, and other musicians would take to the rickety old stage and entertain the main room.
Some patrons would dance. Others would simply drink and watch the revelry with drunken grins.
But it was alive, all of it, and being surrounded by such riotous life typically lifted my spirits, even if I chose the role of onlooker.
Unfortunately, the promise of tonight’s revelry did nothing to brighten my sour mood.
Not only did the locket consume me. Which was a problem. Wren Hayes didn’t linger in my mind because I fancied her; she was spoiled and vexing, and utterly self-righteous. I should hate her. But—
The damned woman who’d threatened me with a fucking letter opener intrigued me, and it was a dangerous thing indeed to intrigue someone like me. I had no qualms about uncovering answers as to why my picture lay in her gift in any way I needed—and most of my methods veered on the side of criminal.
I shifted in my seat, hissing at the stinging reminder of where she’d carved into my side.
She’d managed to score a decent strike, the cut deep, but nothing that slowed me down.
My lips tugged up against my will, memories of her victorious smirk as she stabbed me, sending a burst of heat into my chest. Wild, that was what she was; wild and dogged. Stubborn.
And beautiful.
No. Wren probably used her beauty as a weapon of manipulation.
Besides, I could have my pick of lovers, I told myself.
People threw themselves at me when the hour turned late, and while I occasionally indulged, I more often than not went to my room alone.
Wren captivated me because she was someone new…
and someone from the other side of the city who’d managed to surprise me.
I doubted that surprise would last once I discovered she was just like everyone else from the north.
I searched around the bar, itching for another drink, when shrill alarms pierced the air.
Patrons grumbled and a few staggered to the door to see what had caused all the commotion and ruined their good time.
The main doors were flung open, and the sirens blared loudly enough for me to want to cover my ears.
So much for my headache.
With my back to the door, I placed my head in my hands, willing away the noise. It wasn’t until I heard the shouts a minute later that I deigned to lift my head.
“Dusk is missing!” Timothy, a regular at the Broken Wing, stumbled across the threshold, half dazed, his bleary hazel eyes wide as he rubbed at his balding head.
Words like impossible and ridiculous floated about, but an eerie chill brushed across my skin that hadn’t been there before.
I leaned back, one elbow propped on the bar as Timothy relayed his short tale. The man appreciated being the center of attention, his lips straining not to smile.
Before I took another sip of my drink, a gust of wind blew through the bar. I halted, the scent overpowering the filth of the place.
Gardenias.
I only knew this because it was one of Ruby’s favorite flowers, and she liked to occasionally wear them tucked into her curly brown hair. Those, or wilted yellow roses she stole from the northern gardens.
“How do you know this?” Cap demanded of Timothy, slapping his towel over his broad shoulder. The scent of the flowers drifted away as I turned my focus to Timothy, awaiting his reply.
He made a grand show of panting, and I refrained from rolling my eyes at the display.
“The palace is in an uproar. Guards are everywhere, and I overheard one of them say blood covered Dusk’s courtyard.
That she’s nowhere to be found. They’re searching for some girl, they said. Some highborn girl from the north.”
An unexpected wave of ice skittered down my back.
“Did they give a description?” I found myself asking, my words sounding like they came from far away. Or perhaps I’d reveled in the whiskey a little too much.
“All I know is she’s got unusual blue eyes and long blond hair,” Timothy revealed. “One of the commanders gave more of a description, but I didn’t wait long enough to find out. I didn’t trust them not to arrest me for being on the wrong side of town.”
It was plausible. They harassed the people of the Void all the time for just walking the northern streets. As if not having a gift made them scum. Cursed.
My head spun as I took in Timothy’s words, rolling them around.
Unusual blue eyes.
A highborn.
Blond hair.
Someone who would have the gall to request to see the Fates—
Like someone who hadn’t received their gift and carried a letter opener as a weapon.
I didn’t need a full description of the woman. My damned gut screamed at me, churning harder the longer I sat there, motionless. Fates, Wren would be foolish enough to go to the palace, that I knew without a doubt.
Clutching my head, I groaned.
Dusk had been taken, and they were searching for Wren Hayes. It had to be.
Without paying, I slunk off in the chaos of the ensuing arguments, Timothy surrounded by a horde of patrons eager for more information. Gossips, all of them.
Slipping past the gathering crowd, I grimaced as the unforgiving sun assaulted my senses. I’d forgotten it was morning. Far too early for whiskey, but to my credit, I had a long night, and I hadn’t exactly slept.
While I didn’t know much about the princess of Ward One, it didn’t take a genius to grasp that she wasn’t a killer. Wren could’ve murdered me with that blasted letter opener and she hadn’t. She’d had two opportunities to do so, in fact.
The guards had to be mistaken about her involvement in the Fate’s disappearance; she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Fuck me. Why am I heading north?
It could be someone else.
I wished I believed that.
My feet carried me swiftly through the throngs of the Void, past the smoky marketplace and the clamoring vendors boasting their weeks-old vegetables and questionable meats.
Beyond the crumbling rusty-brown brick hovels people called homes.
Farther from the polluted air that entered your lungs and made each breath a struggle.
Every inch of this place was obscured by a layer of grime, dust, or filth.
The city had turned its back on us all, and as a result, the Void lived up to its dismal name.
I couldn’t risk using my mirror just yet, as it barely managed a few minutes the last time I opened it—which had been last night, when Wren threw off my usual confidence.
The mirror remained safely tucked inside my jacket as I sauntered down the street, keeping to the shadows like I had before I’d turned nineteen. Old habits die hard.
When the distressed pavement turned into neat ivory cobblestones, I slowed my pace, keeping my head bowed as I entered the northern end.
Timothy had been right about the soldiers; they were everywhere around the palace in the distance, and groups of them ventured off to nearby stores and other establishments, no doubt to search for the suspect or any other culprits who could’ve been involved.
Walking past a clothing store, some of its wares displayed on the walkway, I easily snagged a hat of expensive wool.
It hid my eyes well, the owner too busy watching the soldiers inch closer to the shops to notice.
It might’ve been a good thing that I still wore my jacket from the previous night, which gave the impression of decency, regardless of its belonging to a waiter.
If you didn’t look too close, it almost resembled something fit for a day’s walk in the north.
Why the hell I indulged in this little escapade was beyond me. Sure, my mirror’s magic waned, and yes, I suspected it had to do with stealing that fated locket, but I should be at the bar—half asleep and slumped over a generous glass that would make me forget.
Maybe I was simply a masochist and wanted to find out if Wren had retained the locket after our scuffle, or if my assumption that it had been stolen was correct.
If the latter was the case, I would require a list of all the people who’d attended the party, including the staff.
But I often got ahead of myself. First I needed to find where Wren Hayes had run off to.
Something told me I should’ve had one more glass of whiskey.