Chapter 15
Anya uses a key on a brass ring to open the barrier that confines me to Soren’s chambers for the night, golden candle and firelight washing over us. It's already teaming with warmth as if they immediately began preparing it upon Soren’s arrival. I know places like these have more than one room for our mercenary kings, especially being so close to the Zenith’s world.
Anya follows Kathleen and me inside and actually unties the rope binding my wrists. “Uh, thanks,” I say, not trusting this at all, rubbing the skin where it dug in the most.
Anya places the crimson rope on a table near the door, taking two large pints from a grizzled soldier just outside the doorway. She speaks as she hands one to each of us, her voice smooth and feminine, contrasting her appearance. “You should know that Soren is offering quite the luxury right now. Don't fuck it up.”
“Cheers,” I say, holding the pint in Anya's direction.
She raises a scarred brow like she’s about to say something more, but just presses her uneven lips together and shuts the door. There’s something about her that makes her almost pretty, and yet she looks as rough as Soren.
Now, Kathleen and I stand in this room with ale in our hands… well, shit. Are we alone right now? This easily?
I smell the hoppy liquid from the wooden mug, rolling my eyes with pleasure. If I didn’t need mental clarity tonight, I’d have requested an entire barrel.
“Holy shit we’re actually alone,” Kathleen says, listening at the door. “Sounds like she walked off. I mean, could be messing with us, but I still can’t believe we’re in here , sharing ale!”
I take a drink of the warm, pale fluff, its strength hitting me instantly. “No, we’re never alone with someone like Soren .” I go to one of the windows that overlooks the street behind us, moving a heavy maroon curtain aside to peer around. “I bet ten men are watching, even if we can't see them.” I let go of the curtain, nearing Kathleen, speaking just above a whisper. “Did you know he's an empath? Soren?”
She nearly chokes on her drink, holding the mug with two hands. “ What ?”
I nod feverishly. “He can feel things... and he’s quite fucking accurate at readings emotions, almost like he can partially read minds. He'll even know if I leave this room, I bet.”
Kathleen whistles, looking around the elaborate room that’s nearly the same as the Black House in Talon’s Perch. “What the fuck is going on, Jane?” she quietly asks, taking another long drink, focusing on a giant painting of the ocean, framed in gold as it hangs on a black wall. “Do you even know what's happening?”
I move closer once I realize what the painting is, thinking very carefully about that reply. The painting isn’t just of the water—it’s a wide view of Skull’s Row from the ocean. It depicts a huge cliff that powerful waves lap against, and many inlets where giant stone islands are connecting via wooden bridges. The cliffs are carved out at just above sea level with many ports tied to the rock. Enormous wooden buildings with elaborate support structures are affixed to the sides so ships can be pulled and hung out of the water to clean the barnacles. Only ships made in Skull’s Row can land there, using materials from the nearby forests that possess magic, preventing the bottoms from breaking against the rocks.
Throughout the cliffs are carved-out windows and balconies until it reaches the very top where a monumental stone structure—a jagged, black stone castle—unevenly spirals upward with many connecting towers, surrounded by pine forests on the lower level. I stare at the little strip of paint that’s meant to illustrate the spirals. That’s one of the places where they hold their prisoners, the storms freezing men to death that far up as they rage and batter the stone with cold rains.
The thought of dying in there makes everything seem so pointless.
I almost tell Kathleen all of my secrets, to answer her question about what’s happening. What if she doesn’t like what she hears, though? The last thing I need, on my deathbed, is a look of disapproval from the only person I genuinely care about.
The truth of it all never reaches my lips. “The Council really does want me. It’s not a mistake. It’s related to my childhood, but I can’t speak more on it.”
She gives a pause, like she knows that I need silence. Quietly, and with a small smile, Kathleen says, “Okay, so then let’s talk about what Soren is doing with you in his room.”
I snicker, rolling my head to look up at her. “He claims he has to keep me close. And what about you? What is Bones doing with you ?”
“I landed a nutter with him,” she says, taking a long drink as if to hide the smile that twinkles in her eyes. The wild ones captivate her in the same way that Soren’s brutality does to me.
Oh, how I want to sit and talk about where our lives ended up and dream of where they’ll go. But I already know where it’s leading for me. I then consider that if I flee in the night, it means leaving her with Bones.
I take a step near her, speaking just above a whisper. “Kathleen... if I leave... are you okay?”
“What?”
I speak as low as possible, nearly mouthing the words. “I don't want to draw attention, but if I... disappeared ... are you going to be okay?”
I know I need to flee, but I’d feel terrible leaving her with these pirates and mercenaries. She puts a hand on my shoulder, my body stiffening as I dread her disappointment. “Love, don’t worry about me. I grew up in a whore house, one that was similar to this city. I’ll find my way.”
“But you came for me.”
“It didn’t feel right to stay in Talon’s Perch, not when some of the others were following Soren. Lots of the miners are hoping to take their family north where there’s more coal, so it’s easy following you. Also, you’re my friend , and I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“Oh, great friend I am, then. Just leaving you behind with Bones.”
“Are you kidding? Flee the fucking continent if you can. What’s the alternative? Walk to your own death? What good will you be to me then? That’s not worth sticking around for an extra day or two. And don’t say I should come with you. I can’t, with gran—” she sighs, pressing her plump lips together, then tilts her head to the side in a sad way “—Look out for yourself right now, Jane. If I’m desperate, I’ll just fuck Bones. Pretty sure he’ll consider us married, then.”
I laugh into my drink, then swallow a long gulp. My heart aches at the thought that I will never see her again. “I wish we would have left years ago, like we always planned. Go somewhere that not even Skull’s Row can touch.”
“We always make better decisions in hindsight...” Her hand slides off as she scrunches her face. “Do you really think you’ll die?”
I groan, downing another gulp, the beer burning my throat from drinking too much. Through a cough, I say, “Yeah, it’s a real possibility. They have reasons to kill me.”
“What did you do?” Kathleen’s eyes vibrate in her skull like she has a guess but doesn’t want to force me to say it.
“It’s what was done to me. It’s who I am .”
“You can trust me. In the whorehouse, our code is to look out for pussies before cocks, because those wankers have a tendency to wander in loyalty.”
Gods, I love this woman. I grin like it’s been years since I’ve truly smiled. “I—” I begin, my smile faltering as I stare at the crackling flames. The truth nearly slips out, snagged by a thread that’s unable to risk losing her in this final hour. “How about this, if I somehow survive, I'll tell you.”
Her bright green eyes turn sad; if I survive, we both know I’ll never be near Skull’s Row again. Which means we might never cross paths.
“Let’s tell stories,” I suggest, motioning to the fire and pull a chair closer to its warmth. It’s what Father and I used to do back home whenever I’d start to worry about his next “adventure”. “That’ll make us feel better.”
I stoke the fire with a skinny piece of wood, returning to sit in the cushioned chair. “But really, before we begin... are you good? With Bones? I really don’t want to just leave you with him. Not after everything we just went through. I’ll stay and figure it out if I have to.”
She crosses her legs, laughing as she looks at her fingernails. “I’ve never met a man like Bones, and I can’t deny I kind of like how he basically worships me already.” She clears her throat like remembering something imprudent.
I smile. “Coalfell was too boring for the pair of us.”
“Oh, most definitely.” She scoffs. “But I could never just run away with someone like Bones. My family would kill me. My gran, more specifically.”
“Yeah, I understand. Have any of your family been threatened at all?” I’ll tell Soren a hundred secrets if he promises to keep Kathleen and her family safe.
“No, thankfully. I told Bones that I wouldn’t push him away as long as he promised that we were going back to Talon's Perch to check on my gran. That’s all I care about right now. I’ll find the rest of my family once this is all said and done.”
In true Kathleen fashion, she’s only worried about her gran. It took a while in our younger years for me to really pay attention to how much she deflects when asked about her history and other relatives.
Maybe it’s why we get along so well—we never pry about the secrets that the other keeps. At the same time, this might really be the last time I see her. I dare the question, “I know we don’t talk a lot about our childhood… but… how’d you end up in Coalfell? I know you said your mother was a petal, but what made you come here ?”
Calling someone a petal is a more polite term for describing an esteemed—and expensive—lady or gentleman of the night, as floral perfumes are prominent near pleasure houses.
Kathleen’s eyes never focus on anything, in particular, her hands fidgeting. I almost retract the question before she says, “My mother was a fine petal, as you know.” She mindlessly rubs the wooden mug. “My father used to travel with his uncle when he was a child and came back to his favorite haunts as an adult. Met my dear mother, they had a few encounters, and then she had me... she died when I was around thirteen. I found my father and he didn’t want me, but my gran did. He warmed up to the idea, eventually.”
I always knew her mother had died, and Kathleen always openly spoke with pride about who her mother was, and that her dad was a piece of shit that often gave her bloody, busted lips. I didn’t know how they met and made Kathleen, though.
“I’m glad your gran was there for you,” I say, not bothering to ask where she grew up. “I’m also sorry your dad is an ass.”
“Maybe I’ll fuck Bones just so he can deal with my father for me, give him a few new scars for breaking Mom’s heart and treating me like a disease. Bet Bones would do that if I make it worth his time,” she cynically muses, the hairs on my arms raising at seeing this side of her. She blinks rapidly and drinks more ale. “Sorry. That was a bit morbid.”
I sigh, offering her the only thing I can, “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Hells, we just heard what Soren will do to someone’s balls just for touching his bounty. It doesn’t bother me at all, really…” Drawing out a long sigh, I know it’s time to tell her this . “I, well… I grew up in Skull’s Row.”
Our gazes meet, a layer peeled back that makes me feel like maybe she wouldn’t judge me. I have a feeling Kathleen’s secrets run much deeper than they appear, just like mine.
Because Kathleen is an amazing fucking person, she doesn’t pry. “You better live, Jane. So you can tell me all about your life.”
“I’m going to give it my best shot,” I say with a lame attempt at a smile, raising my wooden mug.
We fall into reminiscing about our adventures together, unaware of how much time passes—only that the fire needs more logs—when we hear talking outside the door, followed by Soren's deep rasp.
Everything in my heart changes, and the ale going to my head doesn't help. I greatly enjoyed this small reprieve, and seeing that giant man’s hardened face enter the room sent a thrilling mixture of dread and desire through my veins. Fucker can probably feel that.
Kathleen stands right away, bows her head, and says, “Thank you, sir. I'll be going.”
I almost forget who he is when it’s just the two of us, but her behavior is more of how I should be treating him—I nearly snort at the fat chance of that. I push away all thoughts about what I’m planning to do to him—about the siren's song and subduing Soren with a lesser-known part of my magic.
To avoid my thoughts slipping through, I concentrate on the chemistry from earlier; the desires I have for my captor. I’m going to need them if I’m to be successful.
When I do stand, it’s to hug Kathleen. “This isn’t the end for us,” I whisper. “Be safe.”
“No, not at all. And you be smart, Jane,” she says, kissing the side of my head before parting ways. “Don’t be too hot-headed, you hear?”
Soren watches Kathleen leave. A deeper part of my heart mourns the idea of never seeing her again. It’s enough to nearly make me bawl my eyes out, to reach back out and spend my remaining days with the primary person I care for rather than cling to this measly chance of survival.
If it wasn’t for that damn promise I made…
The door shuts behind Kathleen and it’s only then that I notice some of Soren’s armor is missing, the remainder of it in his arms before he places them on a wooden table. His hair is out of the low bun he wore, tousled and tucked behind his ears. He’s bleeding pretty good from a wound that his black tunic covers at the shoulder, but acts like nothing is wrong.
Waste not a second.
Like a tired parent, I ask him, “What did you do to your shoulder?”
“Generic tavern things,” he rasps, locking the door and begins to take off the rest of his armor, but not before boldly looking me up and down, as if his eyes can scan every word spoken to Kathleen.
I shiver, wondering what my life would have been like if things didn't go the way they did. Would I be married to someone like Soren? Would this scene instead be one of me traveling with my imaginary, mercenary husband?
Probably.
I lean into that fantasy, hoping it makes everything easier for me.
Soren begins to peel off his clothes and I watch as I sit by the fire, accepting that he’s the only kind of man that I can truly desire in this world.
Why wouldn’t he be, though? I’m a daughter of Skull’s Row. Soon, he’ll be reminded of that.
He glances over his bleeding shoulder as he removes the last chest piece before he wears nothing but a bloody tunic. “Enjoying yourself as you stare?”
“There’s nothing else to look at,” I quip, downing the last bit of ale.
He snickers and shakes his head, and then wipes his injured shoulder with a towel. It still bleeds. “If only I had a fucking healer with me, that would help so much.”
I hate the way I like his humor. “What do I gain for healing you?”
He walks over to the large mirror where his shaving equipment rests, his footsteps heavy, and looks at me through his reflection. “I gave you a night alone with your friend. You see how friendly I am. That was a nice gesture.”
“Fine,” I say, committed to doing anything that gets him to think he’s won. I stand, the burning alcohol rushing into my legs. At least the drink should help loosen me up. “But no touching. I don’t need any more stomach licks.”
A part of me—a side that can’t be blamed on survival—regrets telling him that. I’d very much like for him to lick much more of me, but I can’t dive straight into fucking him too quickly or it might look suspicious.
He laughs, his cold eyes contrasting his smile. “If the Zenith princess says so.”
Our gazes connect in the mirror. With a racing heart, I near the mercenary legend, fully planning to heal him. I’ll know when the time to strike is.
Until then... those damn, penetrating eyes of his will be the death of me.