Chapter 26
Well... after over a decade... I—Jane Ritter—am home.
Seeing the giant, black castle they call the Spiraling Stone, my entire body stiffens with determination.
The entirety of Skull's Row is built into uneven, mountainous cliffs that line the ocean, growing like invasive barnacles to a ship. The Spiraling Stone reconnects with land about halfway up before the rest of the castle climbs into the sky.
I grew up in the area that connects back to land. I used to stare at this very ocean nearly every morning and night, Mother often very close by and watching over me, ensuring I didn’t wander too far on my own.
Soren leaves me in silence as we get closer to the gates. There are many entrances, but these before us are the largest, the bridge always lowered for anyone who dares to enter. Giant flags the size of ship sails billow heavily, the golden skulls haunting me from above.
The settlers outside watch Soren with excitement—a Zenith bringing in a bounty always means a fresh kill is imminent, and these people thrive on violence.
We enter a place that’s created out of copious amounts of stone, brick, and wood. The labyrinth of buildings is uneven, winding streets, and alleys moving through like exposed veins. Reclaimed ships are used as entrances to taverns, sails flying high over some. Glass lanterns hang in the oddest of places, and the sounds scratch at my brain like a forgotten memory: people fucking, someone yelling, a brawl nearby, the clinking of a blacksmith, and children yelling as they place a bet on who can catch a rat first.
I grip the reigns tighter, not caring that my horse trots closer to Phantom, closer to Soren . Especially as we pass Carver’s Street, home to butchers and smelling like the waste of dead animals. Men walk the streets covered in blood, red rivers spilling into the sewers from the slaughterhouses.
Underground are pig pens that are frequently stocked with bodies, to be forgotten or remain not found by paid killers.
Mom and Dad never let me go near there.
I spot a few wearing yellow sashes crisscrossed over their chests, walking along Carver’s, amazed they’re finally patrolling in those forgotten streets. Yellow denotes those who are to be completely protected, sanctioned by the Council to enforce measures of legality, calling these men or women Paragons.
The death or disappearance of a Paragon is not acceptable and if either occurs, not only will a Zenith get involved, but it will also result in a tremendous amount of bloodshed to locate who committed this act.
The streets wind upward, the giant castle of the Spiraling Stone always looming over us. We pass by a rather ominous alley, lanterns hanging in even placement, juxtaposed to the irregular world surrounding it. The lanterns are made of red glass—these are the tunnels to The Undercroft. It's an underground world that thieves congregate in, people traveling from all over to hire from their depths.
I suspect, after this, everyone will recognize the small woman with auburn hair that was guided by Soren. Fret sends my heart into an unhealthy rhythm, my gaze latched upon the castle now. The dread of worrying if Soren keeps his word is so heavy that I can’t actually process it.
I jump when we pass by a crowded street, a woman’s screeching echoing against the brick. It’s carnal, as if magic carries the sharp edges of it, a reminder that people with powers of all kinds live here.
We finally reach a set of internal gates, one that guards a bridge with a hundred-foot drop, connecting us to the Spiraling Stone. Thick pieces of chain clink as the drawbridge is already being lowered, the wood hitting the cobblestone with a deep thud. It's as if the entirety of this place moves to allow Soren to travel without needing to stop.
The salty breeze pulls at us as we cross, everything worn and ravaged from the many storms that batter against this stone.
The bells toll.
A Zenith has returned.
I breathe deeply, my jaw almost trembling as we’re guided to a stable within. Soren helps me down, placing a firm hand on the back of my neck to guide me.
He continues to remain silent, which I don't know how to interpret. I feel more like I'm his bound captive when it's like this. Perhaps he played me perfectly, and that's the true reason they sent him.
There's a giant atrium that we walk through, passing by a wall of purple, velvet curtains. The smell of perfume permeates the air, a casket of wine being rolled in behind—an extension of Rosmertta’s petals, no doubt; her color is that distinct violet. Mother had to tend to the petals on occasion when a particular client left too much damage in their wake.
A woman pushes the curtains aside to allow for easier passage for the wine, her skin glittering, and her eyes heavy with makeup. Soren ignores her wanton stares, to which she slinks back off behind the curtains like a wave of pleasure lapping at whoever passes by.
I keep my gaze ahead, as if I’m in a nightmare and perhaps I’ll wake up in Coalfell, the place still untouched by scorching flames.
Soren's heavy armor clinks next to me with his movements, unable to comprehend that this man's tongue has been all over my body, his gaze boring into me as he fucked me deep and hard, all the while his belt and rope held me in place.
We approach the gilded double doors that lead us to Storm's Gathering—the great round table room for the Council of the Zenith. I’ve actually never even been here, only being told about it countless times. I can’t miss the giant doors with golden skulls inlaid on each.
Soren leans down into my ear, his warm, rasping voice finally saying something . "You are very numb. I can't tell how you feel."
"Probably because I can’t either," I whisper, my heart pounding with a fury.
The grip on my neck gently tightens as he pulls back. A part of me is screaming that he is about to betray me; that he will laugh and tell them all about how he had fucked me and now they can all have their turn.
The doors Dad described more than once to me begin to open, cold fear washing over my skin like the ocean in winter.
Soren guides me forward.