Chapter 16
Soren removes his tunic, that body nearly criminal in how all the muscles move like a silent promise of his power. I watch from behind, staring at the tattoo on his spine. I finally remember why those three long streaks look familiar. It’s an insignia from a gang of mercenaries—a dangerous band of men called Death’s Wing.
So, he probably belonged to them before becoming a Zenith, and here I am, casually tending to him.
A gaping wound oozes blood on his shoulder, the skin red and angry. The cut isn’t too large—glass, maybe? For a sliver of a second, my heart races with genuine panic as all I can picture is being covered in marks like these when I get to Skull’s Row. Will the Council stab me? Slice my flesh? Ensure I can’t heal myself as they inflict whatever cruel punishment they have planned for me? Will Soren be involved as the one to ‘read’ me while I beg for mercy, locked high in the Spiraling Stone as I plead for the cold to end my misery?
Or will they throw me deep within their dungeons to rot away while the world forgets I ever existed?
It’s one thing to slice my own hand with a broken mirror, but another to be at someone’s mercy. At least in the bar, I can fight back.
“You are convinced you’re dying when we visit Skull’s Row, Jane.”
“Aren’t you the captain of observations,” I reply, breaking out of his spell.
He snorts. “I’ve told you I can keep them at bay. All you need to do is reveal to me your secrets. It’s that simple.”
I glare at him; his back is only an inch from my stomach as he sits there. “And I've told you I don't trust you as far as I can throw you, so basically not at all.”
Placing my hand on his shoulder, I focus my energy right on the tattoo on my wrist. The blue light of my palms reflects against the blood that continues to leak from him.
I can feel right away that some muscle has been cut, which will take a good moment to heal. I find my gaze moving to his hair, which is surprisingly healthy, even soft looking. He seems to value grooming, which I find interesting. Quietly, I ask, “Why don't you have a healer with you?”
“We did. She died on a mission.”
“What?” I meet his gaze in the mirror and find he’s still watching me.
“It’s a long story,” he says, wincing when I can feel some of the muscle tying back together. “She’s hard to replace. She worked well with the core team.” He cocks his head to the side, narrowing those ice-colored eyes on me. “Could you work for mercenaries?”
The corner of my lip twitches as I angrily try to subdue a smile. “Is this an interview?”
He grins like he's won something. “You did apply to be my pet, and responded so well when I licked your stomach. Healing, on top of that, would nearly guarantee you the job.”
My racing heart makes me blush again , pushing more of my energy into his shoulder so it heals faster. “Stop that.”
Then, he does that thing where he gentles his voice, just enough to sound like he might actually be attempting sincerity. “Life is too short, little one, to turn away from what you want.”
Focus, Jane. He probably gets off on you being a Zenith’s daughter. Use it.
“What I want is for Skull’s Row to go well.” I can feel his skin starting to vibrate; it will suture shut soon.
“If it goes well, it means you come right back to me,” he silkily replies. “The Council will only let you free if they think you become my pet.”
Forbidden attraction rouses inside of me like a wave of heat, the idea absolutely tempting. I’d get to live while treating my body to what it needs and also see Kathleen. For the first time, I consider what he says as truth. I wouldn’t be surprised if he found value in my father’s name… It’s been a very long time since I’ve felt the leverage of my lineage; I nearly forgot it was there. “Then what?” I quietly ask, eyeing a strand of his hair that’s loose.
“Don't know,” he concludes.
I lift my hand to take a look and it's healed, the faintest line appearing where a scar will form. That answer isn’t what I wanted to hear, and yet it also feels more true than anything else he could have said.
Soren dips a towel into the water bowl reserved for his shaving and hands it to me, water droplets unevenly falling. I wipe my hands with it, smearing the fabric with red, before cleaning away at the blood on his skin.
I don’t move away from him once I place the towel down. It’s as if my heart is lying to me, telling me that if I stay near him long enough, he’ll finally offer a good reason for why I should trust him; somehow conjure an offer that I can’t refute.
“If you could heal my left clavicle, that would also help your chances for the Council,” he adds.
His words pull me away from that hope, indecision grounded by reality. In truth, there’s nothing he can offer me that I would trust.
Returning is simply out of the question, even if I wanted to.
I sigh with a nod, taking a step back. “Turn around.”
He does so, moving quietly on the stool to face me. A neglected part of me registers how smoothly he does this, and how massive he is in comparison. He won’t take his eyes off of me, staring right at my face—I don’t risk losing my sanity by making eye contact this close, so I examine his shoulder, noticing a swelling where it might be fractured rather than broken. The injury explains why they already took some of the armor off. “Why are you injured in the first place?” I ask, focusing my powers once more as I take a step nearer.
Even when standing between his thighs, Soren doesn’t touch me, resting his veinous hands on either knee.
“I stabbed the mayor's cousin,” he says in a derisive tone, still watching me. “Some of his men came to inquire, and a rather big fucker said the wrong things that pissed me off.”
“I bet you were completely innocent, you poor bastard,” I offer with sarcasm.
That intense glower of his changes in ways that make my heart flutter, his eyes softening as humor replaces his intensity.
“How did you know?” he plays along.
Oh no—that makes me smile. A real smile. We can’t be having chummy conversations. “Is your armor useless?” I ask, trying to move on.
“He had a rather large war hammer.”
My eyes widen with concern as I imagine someone having to fight against a war hammer before returning to an empty stare. “Then this should have been shattered.”
“Well, I dodged most of the impact, obviously, as one should,” he says. “Had four of his men on me, though. Can only move around so much.”
“How did I not hear that?” I ask, trying to recall if we heard anyone yelling.
“It was over very fast,” he says as if asserting his prowess, then his tone turns to tease. “But thank you for being concerned, love.”
I look him right in the eye, close enough to see a deep scar on his bottom lip. The minimized space between us is nearly nonexistent. “I can make this hurt, you know.”
“Going to ruin the mood?”
“Yes, the mood of where I’m going to Skull’s Row to probably die?”
He rolls his eyes and sighs, looking away. “Can’t help if you won’t listen to me. I’ve already told you they’re not going to kill you on my watch. You’re Ritter’s daughter, so on that principle alone I’m not letting them kill you. Your daddy was a brutal man. I’m not handing his branded daughter to her killers.”
“You’re a Zenith, Soren,” I counter. It’s the first time I’ve said his name and his eyes seem to narrow as he catches that, slightly inclining his head as if he likes what he heard. “Why should I possibly trust you? Truly? I highly doubt you actually want to help my father. I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”
Jane, stop. Fuck. What am I doing? At this rate, I’m going to slip and reveal crucial details.
He looks around the room, his clavicle nearly healed. “You’re free, in my room. Is that not enough of a good gesture?”
His shoulder jolts when it completely heals, his lip twitching from the pain. My hands drop to my side, but I don’t move.
I'm genuinely confused. That’s actually not a bad point he just made. Why am I in his room, unbound? I can’t possibly be that interesting to him, just because of who my family is.
He answers what only my heart can whisper, looking right at me. “Oh, but you are.”
I suddenly realize why he’s been staring at me like that. He’s reading me like a damn book.
My heart pounds so hard that I’m nearly lightheaded. “I don't even know your last name,” I irrationally spit out, as if that matters.
I still don't move away from him, though.
“It’s not very interesting.”
“Tell me,” I urge with a partial smile. “It can’t be that bad. Unless it’s Cockburn or something, which I have heard before.”
His stifled chuckle nearly turns into a full laugh, his lips twitching, his nostrils flaring. It almost makes him look like a real person, and he clearly doesn’t like that, fighting the humor in the same way that I do.
As if to move himself on from such an emotion, he admits, “It’s Latham."
I stand up straighter, looking him over, my eyes landing on the skull tattoo over his heart before eyeing the elaborate ink down his left arm that’s made of waves, daggers, and even a siren. “Soren Latham, then.”
His eyes soften like he finds that confusingly curious, making my reckless heart behave in extremely unreliable ways. What if I kiss him? Why shouldn’t I greet death after a good romp? If my escape doesn’t kill me, then at least I got to fuck a violent man from Skull’s Row before leaving it for forever.
That invasive thought snowballs until all I can think about is him touching me. I’m just staring at his brutally handsome face, his hair down and tousled. I want him, badly. But I don’t want myself to want him, because I know this could all backfire in catastrophic ways.
“You look awfully confused and lustful for someone who claims she doesn't want me at all.” His voice is like honeyed sandpaper, and I feel like an idiot for thinking that. I don’t move, just staring into his eyes as I thickly swallow. He raises a scarred brow. “Well, too bad. I'm not touching you. I made you a deal.”
This fucker... is that why he’s just sitting there? I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. In turn, his handsome, scarred lips curl into a wayward grin.
Screw it. I allow my desires to drown out the doubt. I deserve to have what I want as long as it’s not hurting anybody. Right?
His guard will be completely down after this…
Releasing reservation, my barriers are removed as I stare at him with yearning. He picks up on the change, his calculated gaze focusing on me with eyes so intense it might scare the average woman. I lean in, but he doesn’t move. I feel some sense of safety in wanting him as long as I take it very, very slow like I’m confirming that I do , indeed, want this man. I even hover my lips in front of his, not looking him in the eyes. I can smell the scent of ale on him, along with tobacco from the tavern. He doesn’t move a muscle, but I can feel that he breathes faster.
I continue to look down at his cheeks, my throbbing pussy already five steps ahead of me, wondering how and when my pants will be removed.
Distract him.
Breathing steadily, I brush my lips on his, Soren’s soft lips moving with experience, the warm air from our lungs mixing.
My groan parts us from the kiss as I open my eyes, his untamed icy gaze devouring me, watching me, judging me… reading my soul. My breathless words leave me without hesitation. “Fine... you can touch me.”
He does, immediately.
The sensation of Soren’s arms surrounding me weakens my knees, his roaming hands large and powerful. His whole body moves when he deepens the kiss, like a man eager to prove his control. Exploring this desire makes me feel so alive when I fear death so greatly.
His touch sliding up my back elicits a moan from me. Soren growls into my mouth, his warm, wet tongue parting my lips to command the space. He’s so smooth in his actions, so confident. It’s such an odd thing to realize I’m touching the shoulders and chest of my captor in this manner while I’m reveling in it.
He’s removing my shirt before I realize it, taking a short moment to admire my exposed breasts—Soren’s rapacious gaze devours what he sees. His dominating grip pulls me closer, his teeth grazing my nipple.
I gasp.
He moves quickly.
Soren grabs the back of my thighs, hoisting me up as he stands. His shoulders are my only stability before I’m placed on the bed.
The beast of a man towers over me as I lie on my back, Soren already untying my pants. My blood is a wretched thing; it turns me on to no end that this Zenith is captivated by me.
The cool air pebbles my skin as he drops my pants onto the floor. Soren stands there, muscled, scarred, and tattooed, just taking me in like he doesn't know where he wants to start. He touches my hips, slowly gliding over my stomach, his head moving with the motion. “You are gorgeous, love.”
I whimper, breathing deeply. I want him to be rough. To force it all out of me. He leans down, licking my stomach while lifting his chin to look at me like he fucking wins; my body nearly shakes at having his attention.
Something in me greatly weakens as my desires belong to Soren at this moment, his victorious glower preceding a sharp pull on my hips to dangle my legs off of the stiff bed, spreading me wide. Extreme vulnerability makes me want to close them, my pussy completely exposed to this brutal human.
He runs his coarse, virile hands down the inside of my thighs to keep them split, moans betraying me as they escape. He doesn't play with me for long before he slides his touch right over everything sensitive—my sounds nearly echo off the walls. I need this man to fuck me.
Icy eyes hook into mine as he slides a finger inside, the muscles in his forearm flexing. My sounds morph into breathy groans, amazed at how small any voice of opposition is.
Turns out I did need a good fucking, but only from someone like Soren .
He slowly growls, the grumble so unrefined compared to what vibrates in my throat; I have the mercenary’s complete and undivided attention. “You’re so damn wet...” he pulls the finger out, languidly licking my slick off of himself while boring his gaze into mine. “How do you taste so fucking good?” he rasps. My rapt attention is on him when he fucks me with his finger again, hoping he leads every inch of this so I don’t have to. His gaze falls to between my breasts where my tattoo is, running his other hand up the outline of his hardened cock that's still in his pants.
Warm flutters fill my navel, my breathing shallow as he not only moves his finger in and out but crooks it upward as my body is overcome with carnal pleasure.
I don't need to read his mind to know something about me messes with him. No doubt it’s the mixture of my tattoo, and that I’d brutalize someone just as fast as he would. I perch onto my elbows, deciding to prod the beast. “Want to fuck a Zenith's daughter, is that it?”
He smiles, shoving two fingers in without warning, our eyes connected the entire time, that stroke of his cock now more forceful than languid; I stiffen, trying to withhold showing the pleasure that laps at my mind. “And what of you? Just want to fuck a Zenith yourself? Squeeze my cock while you drip for me?”
I almost rise as if I’m about to tell him off while he’s finger fucking me, but he’s fast and that free hand ceases stroking himself to place a knee on the bed and lean over, gripping my neck as he shoves me back down, pushing his fingers in past the knuckle.
Like an idiot, I moan like it’s the first time I’ve ever been touched.
“You’re not going anywhere , love.” Something in me turns to liquid mush as he’s holding me down, those thick fingers penetrating me like he has to open me up for what's to come. He tilts his head to the side, speaking while leaning over me. “What’s going to happen is you’re going to come for me, then I’m going to properly fuck you. And then you will come again … maybe even a third time, if you’re not loud enough for the first two.”
My eyes roll, my pussy squeezing him as the only means of my permission. He seems pleased and releases my neck as he pulls back, spreading my legs again with more force; he’s barely making an effort, and yet he’s overpowering me with ease.
Soren kneels and doesn’t hesitate before he’s licking my clit with greed, asserting himself. I whimper, gripping the covers, back arching. His fingers move faster. I’m annoyed at how good he is, how much my body just completely unwinds for his touch. He snickers, holding me down with a hand on my hip, his fingers locking me to him. Into my flesh, he says, “You think you're annoyed? Imagine how I feel when I’m actually considering telling the Council they can fuck right off just so I can enjoy whatever the fuck you are.”
“Whatever I am?” I moan. I meant to sound combative, but my voice is soft… curious… needy .
The deepest look he’s given so far—a possessive edge wrapped with confusion—leaks out of those hungry eyes. “A distraction.”
I grin, my head lulling when his fingers move at just the right pace. “Oh, are you frustrated?”
“ Very .” He gives a sharp lick, his feral groans making me grab his hand that pins me down. I don’t know what kind of sex we’re having but I fucking like it.
“ Fuck , Soren…”
A third finger stretches me without warning, and I gasp at the invasion. The hand on my hip is removed as he uses it to lift my left leg, pushing it back and holding it from behind my knee. Rapacious pleasure spreads those perfect lips of his into a ravenous smile. “You’ll need to stretch more than that for me, love. If not, you’ll be in a lot of pain for your horse tomorrow.”
I swear he’s enjoying his expert command over my body as much as I am—we’re like two pieces of chaos colliding, our instant attraction pushing us to the point of doing what we're doing now… my orgasm swiftly threatens to consume me.
“ Soren ...” I whimper.
That does it for him. His shoulders tense, returning to suck on my clit, those fingers working oh so perfectly. He growls right into my cunt. “ Louder .”
I’m helpless to my desires. “Fuck, Soren!”
He continues fucking me with one hand, looking at me like there’s an underlying beast that needs to be fed. “What was that?”
“Oh, don't fucking stop!” I retort, perching on my elbows, failing to move the leg he grasps.
He grins, his forearm still flexing as he keeps working me. But it’s not enough. I try to close my legs in anger, but he holds my legs open with an almost bruising force. “Say it. You want me to make you come. Admit it, love.”
Fuck this bastard—I refuse to leave this bed until he delivers the ecstasy that I need. “I want to fucking come!”
“Say who you’re coming for.”
“ You , you bastard.”
He tilts his head like I’m here for a lesson, and he’s more than obliged to be patient as he teaches me. “Close.”
I roll my hips and loudly shout, “Fuck you! Finish the job!”
He looks like he might pull away, but the way he moves makes me think he’s about to pull his cock out to fuck me like this is the next part of the lesson. My pussy clenches with glee at the thought, and I nearly want to smack her for the betrayal.
No, I want to come on his stupidly handsome face, because, well, my damn ego demands this. “Fine. Please, make me come, Soren!”
His lip twitches. “That’s a good girl.”
“Oh, fuck you .” His lips nearly suction my soul out of me when he returns to finish the job, my head thrown back. I break a barrier and touch his hair in my need. Something fleeting crosses his eyes, like he might yell at me for doing that, but he seems determined to imprint in my brain that he’s the one to bring me rapture, working his tongue in a deliberate rhythm. I watch that man’s face between my thighs as my legs are completely spread.
And then it builds.
I’m going to come for this man.
My gasps turn to whimpers. Waves of pleasure lap at my body, that wonderful feeling escalating to a point of no return. He growls with so much pleasure that ecstasy nearly drowns me.
“Oh... oh, fuck ,” I mutter.
Muscles tighten as I hold my breath, needing this, my body shuddering when my clit is over-sensitized as all the build-up crashes from its precipice, Soren releasing a smooth, deep groan as if to tell me ‘good girl’ while I come with his fingers still inside . His tongue milks every last drop of what he took from me.
I pant, a fraction of a thought dedicated toward knowing this is the moment. I need to act, and before he fucks me. I’m not returning to sanity if this man unwinds and fills every inch of me, pressed against his body...
I tug on his hair that's still in my hand. “Come here,” I whisper.
Releasing my grip, that hand pulls away as I lay my arms at my side. He grabs my hips and moves me further up on the bed, and goddamn I don’t need to know what it’s like to have him hold me and fuck me at the same time. He spreads my thighs with his knees, the ridge in his pants stealing my attention. His lips crash into mine with so much control; so much lust. He’s going to fuck me raw, and I bet more than once. And because I’m hopeless, I let my mind wander with thoughts of him making me choke on his cock, too.
He growls into my mouth, smiling. My smell is all over his face, tasting myself on his tongue. “Oh, you dirty fucking girl. You want me to fuck your throat.”
“Shut up,” I say, grabbing his face, kissing him back.
I melt. Fuck him, but I melt. The way that tongue had just massaged my body to a rippling climax, and now it battles with my own, his hips dipping down to grind right between my legs; I can tell I won’t ever forget this night, like it’s an acceptance of who I am.
I push on his chest, showing him I want on top. “Let me,” I insist.
He gives way so I can straddle him, his rough hands sliding up my thighs and cupping my ass as his restrained cock is right underneath me. For a moment, I actually regret everything. I really, genuinely do. My smitten, confused ass frets on wondering if I’m making the right call.
He pauses, sensing that.
And the bastard is fast to switch gears, that massive body tensing, those eyes removing every bit of undoing that I did to him.
I commit.
I switch every ounce of my powers to sedating him, my tattoos glowing when I place them on his chest. His icy eyes widen, the unnaturally pale color completely devoid of humanity. He attempts to move every limb in protest, his stomach flexing, but I lean down and begin to sing in the foreign tongue of the sirens, the one that they use to lull sailors and pirates into their waters, the men falling asleep before they are pulled under.
It was taught to me by the siren that found me abandoned all those years ago, the one named Melona, whose vision warned me against the Council or returning to Skull’s Row.
She was the last creature to take care of me before I had to take care of myself, the last person—aside from Kathleen—to interact with me simply because they wanted to.
Soren’s nostrils flare, his jaw clenching, his chest heaving. Those damning muscles go limp, his eyes the only unsubdued part of him, that massive body barely writhing between my thighs. I sing quietly, just for him, while also sedating him with my healing powers, slowing his heart so he might sleep. His lips part as he pants, mumbling incoherently. He struggles to stay awake, let alone speak. But his eyes say it all—he’ll personally chop my head off for this.
He’s a strong bastard because when the song is over, he’s still conscious. Just barely. I stop pouring my energy into him in case I might need more for myself. His eyes still track my movement, his breathing growing deeper. I lean in to speak to him, and I can still smell myself on his face. I only just learned his last name, but this mercenary does something dangerous to my brain.
Maybe it’s because I can’t deny the ruthless existence of my ancestors anymore, as if Soren found the lost key to unlock a chest that contains my real identity.
My reawakening.
There’s a moment, where my chest is pressed against his, that makes me want to stay. I was having great fun with him, even if I didn’t want to admit it. I speak gently now that I have the upper hand, almost as if to rub it in that I’m not worried. I press my cheek against his clean-shaven one, his breathing increasing, but that’s all he can do; I’ve momentarily immobilized him. “It’s nothing personal, Soren. But I don’t want to die, and I know better than to trust a Zenith I just met.” And just to fuck with him, because a part of my ego wants this man's attention, I smile as I stare at the pillow that he rests on. “But it is a shame I didn't get to know you more. I did want that if I’m to be honest.”
I back away, his eyes watching me, his blinking languid. There’s a wave of complete remorse in my heart; what if he would protect me? Let me in? Maybe this could turn into something bigger than just fucking him, and I wouldn’t have to go on the run for the rest of my life... and that is tempting. My brain bargains with the thought that maybe I can somehow stay and tell him ' My sincerest apologies for the random attack. Please don't be mad. Won't happen again.'
But the feeling passes as his eyes mostly close, hovering in a sleep. No, I have to leave. Staying was never an option, even if I believed it would work. It’s now or never, and survival tells me to look out for myself.
Just as Melona warned me.
Very few humans can use the siren’s sunder , as a siren has to teach it to someone for the magic to be effective, or else it’s mostly singing empty air.
My father did something right, it seems. I was only granted the privilege of singing it because of a deal he made with Melona at the very end.
I dress while Soren lies there, twitching from time to time like his subconscious begs for a fight. I'm impressed. I've never seen someone do more than deeply breathe when in this trance. Pulling on my pants feels wrong, my core still slick from desire and his mouth. But I keep moving. I spot a bag of his coin by his armor, picking up the leather pouch to examine it; it’s heavy.
Tying the money bag through a loop on my pants, I quickly work to add some boots and a shirt. I throw on a cloak, just for good measure, then near the door with a pounding heart.
I slowly open it, the air cool compared to the warmth of Soren's room. Anya is out there, nearly snapping her neck to glare at me. I expected another guard rather than her—she seems shrewd. Too shrewd. I mumble, “I need to use the outhouse. The ale got to me, and I don’t feel like shitting in the chamber pot.”
She peeks inside the room, completely ignoring me; fuck. She frowns. “He never sleeps that hard.”
“You can check him, if you want,” I say, letting my mind run free with every theory on what I might have to do. Her boss isn't awake to weed through the things I think or feel.
She nods forward. “Inside.”
I do just that, thinking the plan over and over and over. I could sing the song to her, but Melona warned me that the effect only works the longer I wait to sing it again. It’s best used once every few months, at least for a human. So that’s not an option.
The door quietly shuts behind us. “What's wrong with him? He didn’t drink but one pint of ale. He always wakes if someone enters a room.”
I lunge at her, considering punching her in the throat. There’s no time to pretend.
But this woman is clearly from Skull’s Row, and unlike me, she never left. Her blade is immediately drawn. All right, I can do this. I’m ready for it—she stabs me right in the gut as I try to hit her in the throat.
The searing pain and discomfort convolutes my concentration, my hands only gripping her throat as I channel all of my healer’s power on subduing her, a blue glow radiating off her armor. Her dark eyes widen, looking at me like I’ve committed a deep betrayal. I can’t use all of my reserve or else I won't be able to heal my stomach.
Do I kill her? Or just knock her out?
Her death seems like it would deliver a certain death from Soren himself, and maybe he’ll remember that I left them all alive when I could have slit their throats. There’s a chance he still finds me, and I know better than to prematurely burn that bridge.
Blood leaks from my wound, blooming into the fabric of my shirt. I hate that feeling of something sharp digging deep into my organs. When she stumbles from my sedation, I punch her hard in the side of the head to knock her out, shaking my hand as the familiar pain floods me. Anya falls to the floor in a slow collapse, Soren sleeping in the background. I hold my breath, grip the hilt of the dagger with my good hand, and slide it out. I shudder, placing the blade on the ground so it doesn’t make a sound, warm blood completely staining my clothes. I heal what I can, mumbling curses under my breath. These take too long to fix. I lean on the wall, watching Soren as I feel the bleeding slow, my intestines healing.
Fuck. I messed this all up. How long will he be out for? A few more seconds? Minutes? He’s still twitching, his eyelids opening like he’s waking up, but then drooping back down.
Stupid, big fucker. The song is supposed to wipe people out for hours .
Once the bleeding is manageable, I figure I can heal the rest once I’m on a horse. I double-check that I have the bag with Soren's money, clean off Anya's blade, and stick it in my boot, opening the door for a second take. This will either work, or it won't.
But I have to try.
Slipping out is easier this time, my hood up; the private deck is empty. I quickly pace in the opposite direction of the tavern. No one follows. I find a side set of stairs and descend them, keeping to the shadows of the night. I freeze when I hear Bones— “Hold it. Where’s Anya?”
I glance over at a room that’s on the bottom level and see that Kathleen is standing in an open doorway. Bones is looking up where Soren and Anya are—it makes me realize they didn’t have many guards outside the room, although I see his men patrolling all over.
Did they think so little of my capabilities? Idiots .
Kathleen spots me and quickly grabs Bones by the wrist. “Fine, you can come into my room.”
She tugs on his wrist.
“I can what now?” he asks, completely distracted as he drops his head to look down at her.
She kisses him, running her hand up his arm and the madman melts at her touch. I know it’s my cue to leave.
My one, major regret is not telling her that the reason I cannot stay is because of Melona. Otherwise I’d strike a bargain with Soren and pray to all the gods he keeps his word.
It destroys a part of me to think that Kathleen believes I’m leaving to save my life, when all I want to do is save others .
But it must be this way, whether I like it or not.
I manage to sneak out into the streets, heading across the city to the other stable master so the one here can’t recognize me. The entire walk is the most nerve-wracking I’ve felt in a long time, everything in my peripheral feeling like it’s moving. I try not to fidget with my cloak too much, wanting to appear as indiscreet as possible. I can’t help but wonder how long Anya will be out, how long Soren will rest, and if Bones will realize Kathleen kissed him as a rather obvious decoy.
But I reach the other horses, handing their charge a small bit of coin that I stole from Soren.
I’m absolutely dead if he ever catches me.
The stable master looks at me funny, but I ignore him and almost fail to get on a horse when my injured stomach spasms. You can feel sorry for yourself later. Get out of here!
Once I’m on the horse, panting as if I ran for an hour straight rather than just walk a few hundred feet, he says, “Ride ‘er only to our sister cities. She’s branded to Skull's Row.”
“I know the drill,” I grunt. If this horse gets found outside their boundaries, someone will notice I’ve stolen a horse from the men of Skull’s Row, stirring the pot I’m desperate to keep untouched.
I plan to ride straight east and get on a fucking ship across the Black Sea.
It amazes me that the northern gates to Dryhill actually open as I trot right on out. I’m even more shocked that no guards are rushing to find me.
It worked.
I choose one of the trails that’s less traveled, knowing it will lead to a road with heavy commerce and footprints. They’ll think they have me, but the end of this dirt path is a grand intersection. All it takes is them choosing the wrong path and I’ll gain ample time on them.
Anything I can do to lose them, even if for an hour.
Once Dryhill becomes small enough that I can barely see the flickering of their braziers behind me, I let out a deep belly laugh, only to double over and groan in agony.
Slowly, I begin healing myself once more.
When I feel truly free, like my shadows are clear of any threat, a nagging disappointment creeps into my heart.
Kathleen shouldn’t have helped me, not with Soren’s powers to read her. Fuck. What if this backfires?
Melona didn’t just warn me, she made a deal with father and gave me an official prophecy, glowing eyes and all… I owe her a debt, but she never clarified what that was. Without that detail, it’s not like I can pay it off, which means all I can do is avoid Skull’s Row at all costs.
“You better not hurt Kathleen, Soren…” I mumble to the void of night.
I yearn for comfort, for one of my parents. To ask all of these questions to someone who has no motive other than to help me. I grip the reins tighter with one hand as the other begins to wipe away the tears.
Once the salty water trickles down my cheeks, I sob in ways that I haven’t cried in over a decade.