Chapter Fifteen Wren #2
He might not be as robust or as muscled as some of the men we passed, nor was he as rugged, but they looked at him like he belonged. A man with some sway here.
“Almost there,” Damien rasped in my ear, his voice deep. The low growl of his words suggested his mood continued to be cross.
I frowned, too overstimulated by his hand, the crowd, and my new surroundings to understand why he spoke so harshly even after we avoided a confrontation. Perhaps he didn’t want his “investment” to get hurt.
My lips parted when we rounded a slight corner and found ourselves right outside the tavern I’d visited on my first trip here. The Broken Wing Tavern.
“Why are we going in here?” I asked as he held open the door for me. When I paused, he made a hurried hand motion, gesturing me inside. He didn’t answer in the rowdy tavern until we reached a narrow hall at the opposite end of the bar. A rope blocked access with a sign reading No Entry.
Damien stepped over the rope and surprisingly helped me over as well, his fingers wrapped around my hand like a vise. Once I’d landed on my feet, that hand of his returned to my waist, though there was no one here to witness us.
I was too distracted to care—at the very end of the hall lay a stairwell that could’ve been born of my worst nightmares. No gas lamps bracketed the walls, and the shadows clung to every inch of the claustrophobic space.
“I live upstairs,” he said. His fingers roamed lower, now resting above my hip. An unexpected thrill shot through me. The first word that came to mind was forbidden. The second word I didn’t wish to ruminate over.
“Scared of the dark, sunshine?” Damien teased, giving my hip a squeeze. I wondered if he goaded me on purpose, to thrust me from my cage of nerves.
Heat seared within, and I choked on air like a fool. “Um, no,” I managed. “I’m just not a fan of being led up a creepy staircase above a bar with a man who is a known criminal.”
Now I turned to him and smiled sweetly, trying to regain the upper hand and maintain a facade of nonchalance as his hand fell. Fates, I hoped it worked.
Damien rolled his eyes and put his palm on the small of my back, gently ushering me forward.
“Says the girl who was straddling said criminal not too long ago.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off.
“Oh, and drinking like a fish at the very same establishment with another man.” We began the climb and he faked a gasp.
“Such a scandal would ensue should anyone find out.”
I must’ve come to my damned senses, because I elbowed him in the side, eliciting an oof. He stumbled, his hand leaving my back. I should’ve done that ages ago.
“You know you have a very punchable face,” I snipped, recognizing a threat when I heard one. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Quite often,” he replied, not missing a beat.
Ruby had admitted her urge to smack him. I wondered where she was. Another person on my side would settle my nerves.
Damien’s steps were sure and steady as he climbed, and I gritted my teeth, forced to follow his lead. At the landing he spun around, blocking me on the final step and nearly sending me tumbling backward and to my death.
I made a low sound in my throat before grabbing onto the wall for support.
“I never bring anyone here,” he admitted, all playfulness gone. “Not that I imagine you will, but I’d appreciate it if you kept its location to yourself.”
I nearly laughed. “Shame. I’d hoped to tell the ladies at tea all about my tryst with the mysterious thief, and how we were alone in his room. Now whatever will we discuss?”
His eyes narrowed, but he moved aside so I could join him.
“You’ll probably turn to the exhilarating topic of ribbons or nobles you fancy,” he mused. “Or which new dresses you want commissioned.” An indignant scoff left his lips. “I bet the dress you’re wearing now costs more than four months’ rent.”
I gazed down at myself, thinking of the simple garment beneath my cloak.
Indeed, it was produced of fine material, commissioned for when I was supposed to appear “modest,” as Father put it.
I considered it plain, but I never reflected upon how expensive it had been.
How that money I carelessly tossed over might feed or house a family for weeks. Months, as Damien claimed.
My lips didn’t open to form a clever retort. There was none.
Damien didn’t linger long after delivering his cutting, yet true, remark. He marched down a narrow hall and to the last door on the right. Slipping a hand beneath the collar of his shirt, he yanked off a key tied around his neck and unlocked his door.
I strayed, mainly because I felt rotten for being inconsiderate. I hadn’t meant to sound so indifferent. Ignorant, really. But…I was.
“You coming?” he barked, motioning to the open room with his chin.
Swallowing the burgeoning guilt, I strode down the remaining stretch of hallway and over his threshold.
All assumptions vanished at the sight of his home.
A thin mattress lay upon the rotting hardwood floors beside a cracked window, a chipped dresser with three drawers in reach of the bed. The walls, which might’ve been white once, now were the shade of fresh mold. The walls themselves didn’t hold portraits or mirrors or anything else. Except…
I strode deeper into the small space, the floorboards creaking beneath my shoes. I heard a small hiss from Damien when one of the boards shifted.
A hand enclosed my arm as he led me closer to the window, to his bed. “It’s not what you’re used to, I’m sure,” he said, trying to mock but failing to hide how his voice cracked.
I looked around with care, noticing a single tacked-up postcard hanging adjacent to the window.
The western coast. A place consisting of farms and endless emerald fields.
The realm where the king and queen lived, though they were merely foot soldiers to the Fates.
The photograph showed a rustic barn beside a two-story home, cows and sheep grazing in the yard.
Stark red letters rolled over the paper: Welcome to Hazel Glen!
Did Damien originally hail from there?
I went to inspect it further, but Damien put a hand out before me.
“It’s just a postcard, sunshine. Not a clue about my mysterious past, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
I found his clouded eyes, his stare somewhat sheepish. “Then why is it hanging up?” I asked delicately, my instincts telling me it wasn’t anything to tease him about.
“Just a dream is all,” he replied with a sigh. “Once I get enough coin, I’m out of here. Out to the west where I can purchase my own farm. A place all my own where the air doesn’t reek of gunpowder or smoke.”
I supposed possibilities were always more alluring than reality—when something is intangible, we don’t have the chance yet to break it. This dream of his was his spark of hope, what kept him going. Living each day to fight for freedom. It held much more significance than he let on.
Knowing Damien would clam up if I pushed too hard, I eased into the conversation while slipping free of my cloak and draping it across the mattress. “A farm? I didn’t peg you as a farmer. Spending all day covered in the earth, living a simple life.”
He shrugged a shoulder before plopping down on the bed, lying on his back. “It’s decent money, and I’d get to live alone. No one to pester me”—he shot me a look as if I were the cause of all said pestering—“and it would be beautiful. Built with my own hands.”
Easing closer, I joined him on the bed, stiffly lowering myself. With care, and maintaining an appropriate distance, I awkwardly shifted until I lay beside him, my hair fanning across his mattress. I inhaled, taking in hints of leather and spice.
Damien wasn’t stealing to purchase material objects.
Ironically, he stole to live a criminal-free life.
I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Even picturing him out in the fields with his tanned skin, worn boots, and soil-streaked trousers felt out of place.
Not that I minded…Not that imagining him basking in the sunlight and fresh breeze caused my insides to flip.
“Shocked you so much that you’re speechless?” He huffed next to me. “I might have to try that again sometime.” But his tone was playful, and I turned my head, surprised to see that his face hovered inches away.
“Very funny.” I poked at his chest. “But I think it’s an admirable dream. I was just taken off guard is all. You don’t tend to open up much,” I added with a forced lilt. Damien kept his cards close to his chest.
He rolled his head back and stared at the ceiling. “Opening up leads to questions, and questions lead to trouble. Or people who will exploit you. Once they have something of value to hold over you, they won’t waste a second to use it.”
Such a miserable way to look at things.
“I’m glad you told me,” I whispered, shocked by how much I meant it. My head grew fuzzy, a peculiar sense of accomplishment warming my insides.
He continued to stare at the ceiling. “You have no one to tell,” he replied easily, though it sounded like a lie, his voice soft and uncertain. It wasn’t meant to be cruel, just a fact.
“True. But even if I did, I never would.” Regardless of my feelings for Damien and his…
profession, I would never use his words against him, especially because that dream of his seemed to be the one thing he deemed worthy enough to pin on his wall.
A silent hope. I nudged him in his arm and shot him a meaningful look, making certain he glimpsed the sincerity in my eyes.
“I hope you achieve it one day, Damien. We all deserve the chance at finding our peace.”
I didn’t know him as well as I thought. Yes, he’d taken Everett’s watch and was a general pain, but I hadn’t considered what his dreams might be, or how he ended up as a thief, alone and without a family.
If he had one, surely there would’ve been mention of them.
I kept my mouth shut, not bringing up that topic no matter how much I wanted to.