Chapter Thirty-Seven Inana
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Inana
After five days of what becomes a beautifully mundane routine, five days of performing our duties together as a team, five days of sleeping on the opposite end of the room from Dominic, five days of him whispering filthy words in my ear and giving me fleeting, teasing touches with his Shades, he wakes us up from our daytime slumber when the sun is still high in the sky.
“Get dressed, sinners,” he says as I rub sleep from my eyes. “We’re going to the market.”
I do a double take as my bleary eyes focus on him.
For once, he isn’t dressed in all black and strapped with weapons.
He appears to have borrowed some of Calvin’s clothes—or perhaps he was gifted common garb like the rest of us—and wears linen trousers, a cream shirt, and a brown waistcoat.
His hair is tied back, and he finishes off his ensemble with a greatcoat.
I stifle a laugh. Not because he looks odd, but because even without his dark leathers, knives, and vials, he still looks like a fucking Shadowbane.
A confident, powerful man, at the very least. I don’t know who the hell he’s trying to fool, but I find it oddly charming.
“Why are we going to the market?” Harlow says with a yawn. Her ash-brown hair is a tangled halo around her head, and she absently smooths it with one hand.
Dominic tosses a small pouch on her bed, then one on Bard’s, then Calvin’s, then mine. As I catch it, I find it’s heavier than it looks. Inside it, there’s…
“You’re giving us money?” Harlow says.
“Ah, I love money.” Calvin shakes the purse’s contents into his palm. “We should get cream puffs.”
“What’s this for?” mutters Bard, a glint of suspicion in his eyes.
He’s been more relaxed lately, as if telling his story freed him from at least a few demons of his past. Yet I can’t blame him for not fully warming up to Dominic, after what he went through.
It probably feels like he’s being paid to keep silent about Dominic’s secrets.
“We won’t need many supplies for our next post,” Dominic says, “since it’s only twenty miles east. So we have some extra. Spend it or don’t, but it’s yours.”
I stare down at my purse full of glittering coins. I doubt it amounts to much, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had money of my own to spend, so it feels like a fortune. My eyes lift to Dominic’s, and his are already on me. His mouth quirks, and I think I know what this is really about.
He’s taking me on a date.
Dominic leads us through the streets of Eldeen until we reach the market square. There’s no snow on the ground this side of the mountains, and the sky is clear. The air is still icy, but that doesn’t stop the townsfolk from bustling about in the cold to enjoy market day.
The mood isn’t nearly as boisterous as it was in Nalheim’s marketplaces, where citizens shop and hawk wares with far less restraint than in unprotected villages, but it’s still more lively than I’m used to.
Numerous stalls line the road, some with food, others with clothing or household items. Calvin spots a stand for cream puffs and immediately takes Harlow by the hand and drags her along with him.
Bard makes a beeline for a stand with small knives.
As soon as I’m alone with Dominic, his fingertips slip between mine. My heart stutters at his warm touch, at the too-intimate gesture. Yet when he tightens his grip on my hand, I don’t pull away. I like the feel of this too much.
Way too much.
“So you don’t get lost,” he says, leaning in close so I can hear him over the clamor of the crowd.
“I think you’re just jealous of Calvin and Harlow,” I say, catching sight of them at the pastry stand, their fingers still entwined. See? It doesn’t have to mean anything, I tell myself.
Calvin and Harlow seem to have forged a bond lately, but I don’t believe it’s romantic.
Not yet, at least. Harlow may speak flippantly about sex, but she’s still young.
Still haunted by what was done to her by the husband she murdered along with his despicable sons.
When she draws pictures of calm and safety, she still only illustrates scenes where she’s alone in nature with not a soul around her.
Gods, we’re all so fucking broken. A patchwork crew, like the heart I stitched.
I never was able to unravel the threads of my crafted heart after my dunking in the river, and I may have shed a few tears when I cut them off. The heart itself remains intact, though, and I keep it tucked in my bodice like always.
“Call it what you want,” Dominic says, drawing my attention back to him, “but until I let go, you’re my hostage.”
He leads me from stall to stall, admiring the wares. He releases my hand to purchase us small meat pies, and I take a moment to myself, waiting at the center of the market square. My eyes rove the stalls, then the surrounding buildings. It looks just like Thornfal.
No, just like Dunway.
My gaze floats above the thatched and tiled roofs to the snow-capped mountains beyond. The sight makes my blood go cold.
When I first learned we were passing the mountain range to reach Eldeen, I didn’t think much of it.
The Cassia Mountains are visible from almost anywhere in this region.
I even spotted them from Nalheim once, when I ran an errand for Rockefeller in the heart of the city and reached one of the highest points, where I could see beyond the silver walls.
This view, though, is almost exactly how it looked from Dunway.
Which means…
I swallow hard. I don’t want to think about how close we might be to my hometown.
A hometown that no longer exists because a Sinless lost his life there. I still don’t understand how it happened or if I’m truly responsible.
Dominic’s approach is a welcome distraction from my darker thoughts. His grin is wide and a touch wicked when he stops before me.
I extend my hand, eager to stuff my face with the meat pie and forget everything I don’t want to consider. “Give me the goods,” I say.
His lips spread wider. “In public? So shameless.”
I roll my eyes, but I rather like his teasing. “Give me the damn meat. And don’t you dare make another dick joke.”
He chuckles, a deep and carefree sound that truly makes this feel like a date. Like something regular people get to experience. A beautiful illusion.
Finally, he places something in my waiting palm, but it isn’t one of the meat pies. Instead, it’s a simple rosewood hair comb. It has no artistic embellishments, no excess ornamentation. It’s a practical accessory and perfectly suitable to be sold in a public market.
Yet my throat tightens at the sight.
“I saw you looking at it when we passed the stall earlier,” he says.
I blink up at him. “You knew?”
“I knew.” Without another word, he takes it from me and turns me around. I feel him tugging my hair, his strong hands surprisingly gentle as he sweeps messy tendrils away from my forehead on each side. He slides the comb in place, securing the top half of my hair, then turns me back around.
I can hardly see him with how my eyes glaze. Why is he doing this? Why is he making us about more than sex? Why is he stealing my fucking heart—
“Inana Westwood?”
I freeze at the voice. It’s not exactly familiar, yet it brings about the faintest spark of recognition. Taking a step away from Dominic, I face the stranger.
No, not a stranger.
I can’t place her face, but I know her.
Or at least I did. From home.
“Is that really you?” the woman says. She’s a handful of years older than me, and her eyes look heavy. Haunted.
My mouth falls open, but I don’t know what to say. Dominic places a firm hand on my back, a wordless offer that he can usher me away, should I wish it.
I don’t budge.
“It’s me,” the woman says, “Tera Holmes. I was—”
“The tanner’s daughter,” I say, finally putting a memory to the name and face. My heart slams against my ribs. I should be relieved to see her, to see that someone truly did survive the attack on Dunway. But her presence feels more like an accusation somehow. “What are you doing here?”
“Eldeen was the closest place where I had family,” she says, eyes turning down at the corners. “The only place I could go after…Well, you know.”
“After Dunway was destroyed,” I say, voice trembling. “You said this is the closest place where you had family. How far away is Dunway?”
She furrows her brow. “Maybe fifteen miles southeast. Did you not realize that when you came here?”
I shake my head.
“Gods, no wonder you’re so surprised to see me. I’m surprised to see you too. Everything happened so fast, none of us were prepared. I had no idea you survived. So few of us made it out alive.”
My stomach churns as my next question crawls up my throat. “My parents…did they…”
Tera’s face falls. “No, hon. They were confirmed as casualties. Were you not aware?”
“I wasn’t there when it happened,” I say, my mind spinning. I may not have been close with my parents by then, and I could only assume they had died after Dominic told me what happened. But hearing their deaths confirmed is something else. It feels like a blow to the chest.
She puts a hand to her mouth. “Gods, that’s…I’m so sorry. That must have been a horrible thing to come home to.”
Her words blare in my ears, my mind.
Come home to…
Come home to…
Come home…
She has no clue I didn’t come home. I didn’t know. I didn’t mourn.
And…and it’s my fault.
Maybe I didn’t kill Henry. Maybe I did.
But if I hadn’t struggled, hadn’t fought for my life, Dunway would still be whole. It would have a duke, a dome of light, and my parents would be alive. If only I’d let him—
“Inana,” Dominic whispers, cutting through my thoughts. Something presses against my legs. Sloth, hidden in the shadows of my skirts, invisible in the daylight yet firm enough to feel. To comfort me. To help clear my head.
“It’s fine,” I bite out, my words meant for Dominic and Tera in equal measure. “I’m fine.”
Tera gives me a sad smile, her teary eyes roving to Dominic before settling back on me. She heaves a sigh. “I’m glad to see you’ve moved on,” she says. “That you were able to find happiness after such a tragedy.”
Her tone is gentle and sounds so genuine to my ears, but my heart reacts with brambles and thorns, raging at the hidden accusation.
She sniffles, then tugs me into a sudden embrace. “I’m so glad I got to see you again, Inana Westwood,” she says, voice strangled with emotion. Then it dips low, barely above a whisper. “We survivors know the truth.”
I stiffen, and she pulls away, her sorrowful smile in place.
She’s gone before I can stop her, before I can ask what she meant by that last part.
Was she referring to…the truth of the attack? That Dunway was destroyed on purpose?
Or did she mean the truth about me? That I’m at fault?
Was I included when she said we?
Or did she mean her and the other survivors…against me?
Anger and shame and confusion war in my mind, my heart.
My feet start moving before I know it. I can hardly process Dominic’s words as he asks if I’m all right, can hardly feel his touch when he tries to take my hand.
I pull away, unable to bear his concern or focus on anything but the cacophony in my head.
What really happened to Henry?
What did I fucking do?
Do I deserve to be alive when so many died? Even though it’s the Sinless who hold the highest fault?
I find myself back in our suite, not quite remembering how I got there. Dominic is still begging me to talk to him, but I’m not ready.
Not ready.
Not ready.
He relents when the others return, and I curl up on my bed, feigning fatigue. I roll onto my side, tucking my hands beneath my pillow.
My fingertips brush against something. It’s thin, smooth.
I tug it out from beneath my pillow. It’s a piece of parchment marked with a single line of writing, scrawled in black ink.
Turn yourself in. Don’t you owe it to the ones who died?
My pulse quickens as I tuck the note back beneath my pillow before the others can take notice. My mind spins with even more questions. Did Tera leave this? Had she already known I was here? Did she ask a maid to deliver it?
I don’t know the answer, and I sure as hell am not turning myself in.
Yet maybe I do owe it to the ones who died to at least take responsibility for my part in what happened.
Only one thing is certain.
I need to remember the truth.