Chapter 27
Giant windows brighten the room, giving a view of the ocean. The floor is made of black stone and an enormous, half-circle table sits neatly in front of the rounded wall, potted plants contrasting the rigid nature of the room. I stare into the eyes of a wooden sculpture of a skull that’s affixed to the center of the table’s inlet, the whole piece of wood stained black. A candle chandelier hangs in the center like a death trap waiting to be dropped. Hooks are even cemented into the stone floor. Where they chain people.
All the men seated around the table carry an air of power, one that’s supported by the hundreds within their own legions that would do anything for their Zenith.
The one woman—Tempest—I had seen on occasion as a child is missing.
A Zenith seated in the center looks to be my father's age, and I recognize him right away as Antoni Blackwell. Gray stubble ages his face, permanent, puffy bags under his inky eyes, and his neck appears to be losing elasticity. A deep, visible, scar runs across his face.
Behind him is a sallow man dressed in a bright red cloak, three red lines running from his hairline to his eyebrow. A fire mage.
They’re as rare as a shooting star, but the Council always had one on hand. I’m still not convinced it wasn’t them that burned the village.
"You're two days late since someone rode in to tell us you found her," Antoni says, his voice icy and smooth.
"But here we are," Soren resolutely replies, his voice like warm butter compared to this dick of a leader.
All of the attending Zenith’s eyes bore into me, the collective of their lived experiences a testament of how I’m probably not outsmarting the entire group of them. I stare ahead into the dark eye sockets of the table’s skull, adrenaline searing my veins. Even with how awake I feel, I'm also utterly exhausted. Beaten. Afraid .
"Did she give you any trouble?" asks the one who has braided red hair and beard to match. “And did you find out who the fire mage was that attacked them?”
“We didn’t find anyone that fits any typical description of a fire mage. And Jane was as troublesome as expected for someone being taken to present to the Council," Soren smoothly answers, letting go of my neck.
The independence from his grip is both liberating and terrifying. My muscles twitch with nerves; I’m alone in this.
I tried. I sought out the only person I thought could help, and all Cypress did was give me earrings. It’s up to the fates, now.
One speaks who has dark skin, the only hair he has being a black beard with three different braids, and a single golden earring in his right ear, indicating piracy. “So no evidence of a mage, even if the spiraling fires indicate as such?”
“There are more of my kind across the black seas.” A few move their gaze to eye fire mage, whose baritone voice crawls through the room like slow lava. “As I stated to all of you earlier, it’s not impossible for this to be related to a cult over there. Fire worshippers don’t tend to bow to the laws of man.”
The same pirate faces Soren and me. “Let's not waste time, then—show us the tattoo we heard about. Blackwell told all of us what his scouts had seen. Let’s address that before the rest.”
Another chimes in, “Still ruddy mad that he held that from us. We had a right to know.”
Blackwell replies, “You can cry about it to your mother later. If anyone learns there is a woman with our mark that’s not Tempest, it undermines the strict codes we’re known for. Keeping that under control, until she was here, was worth it. I only mentioned it yesterday because I didn’t expect Soren to be this late.”
So, my mercenary captor was right—their pride is why I am about to suffer.
Fuck these cunts.
I count them all in a deliberate silence—seventeen in total. One of the seats at the head of the crescent is empty, along with one on the far right: one is Soren's, no doubt, and the other belongs to Tempest, if she's even still around. Half of the men take periodic drinks from their shiny, ornate chalices. They’re so silent it makes me more uncomfortable than if they were yelling at me.
Antoni nods and says, "Do it. Remove the shirt."
Soren walks around to stand in front of me. I'm so tired that I can't hide the way his sudden intrusion into my vision makes my bones melt, like I can actually breathe in this illusion of privacy. This also makes no sense, given who he is, but it's a reaction he can no doubt feel.
Rather than cutting the rope on my wrists, he has more and ties my bound hands to the hook in front of me—it’s just enough slack so I can stand. I meet his emotionless gaze before he cuts at the front of my shirt, ripping it open before moving behind me. They’re all paying attention now, a few leaning closer to gain a better look as my breasts are on full display. The room is silent, save for the random sniff, or creaking of a moving chair.
My tattoo seems to have their tongues tied.
Soren stands very close behind me as my skin raises with gooseflesh, my nipples hardening.
I hear one say, “So she fucking has one.”
Finally, Antoni's voice dons the cold, mirthless edge that I’m sure he has honed after years of violence. He speaks slowly, nodding toward me, pointing at me using a hand decorated with golden rings. "How the fuck did you get that?"
I look down at the stone, not in fear, but to hopefully show an ounce of begrudging respect that might aid me. "I don't know."
A Zenith, around Soren's age, begins to laugh and I glare at the man. He is the only other handsome one of the bunch—then again, maybe that's just because the rest are working against age. He has grayish-white hair that's tightly pulled back—despite his age—and a strong jawline. Many piercings lining his face, his neck completely tattooed. I don't recognize him.
Soren steps in, his deep rasp sending more gooseflesh over my skin. "She's not lying."
My heart races, my nostrils flaring. Keep it cool. Don't let them know you're shocked he’s helping you.
"What?" the one who had just been laughing asks. "That makes no sense. Hold a flame up to her chest. Let's see the gold change."
I hear swift movements from someone rushing to bring over a torch, then the calculated heavy steps of Soren as he walks in front of me once more, a torch now in his hands as he glares at the younger counterpart. "I'm the fucking one who reads their truths from lies. She's not lying, Matthias ."
Soren holds the flames against my skin and faces only me, watching me carefully as I stare up at him. A Zenith says, “She's got great tits, at least.” A flash of possessiveness washes through Soren's gaze that he fails to hide. The heat is like agonizing pleasure, reminding me how cold I am. I glance down, and sure enough, the gold part of the tattoo disappears and reappears when my flesh is cool again as he pulls away.
Soren steps aside, leaving me standing there, my tunic still ripped down the front.
Antoni leans back in his chair, opening his mouth like he's about to speak harshly, but Soren must have given him a special kind of glare as the pseudo leader of this Council flicks his gaze over my shoulder, then huffs, settling on, "So this cunt seriously doesn’t remember getting that? Just woke up with it? Is that what we're supposed to believe?”
Soren, standing close behind once more, says, "Go ahead. Tell them your story."
I've been rehearsing it since he told me he'd lie for me. I'm a little shocked that he’s actually going to help, but I give it a try, nonetheless. "All I remember is that I grew up here, in Skull's Row, and my mom was a common whore," I say, hating to lie about how great of a healer she was. "I lived with her. She always said my daddy was special, but would never tell me who he was. Then, when I was eleven or so, I drank something that made me pass out. When I woke up, I had this tattoo on my chest. My mom said it would protect me, but refused to tell me more.”
"That's a dumb fucking story," the redhead says.
The one named Matthias adds, "I don’t know. Maybe she’s your daughter and you protected her. The hair matches.”
Danger flashes in the other’s eyes. “If I had a daughter worth branding, I wouldn’t bring her to the fucking Council like she’s to be slaughtered.”
Another chimes in, “It was a Zenith. The tattoo is real . The gold under her skin—that's our gold. Ferrin only gets the naprese gold when authorized. So, a Zenith decided to have her marked. He wouldn't work with anyone that wasn't us."
Ferrin... their blacksmith. I heard he died recently, and my relief is instant to know it’s my word against a man’s grave.
Antoni leans back over and I meet his gaze. "Bastards are common for us, but we don't mark those we don't consider our lineage. So, whoever your acclaimed father was saw you as such, and yet somehow, we have no record of a woman ever being listed, except for Tempest." He wets his thin lips with his tongue. "We also simply never mark our daughters with inherited tattoos."
My foot fidgets. "I know. It's why I ran away so early," I reply, spinning my lies, hidden by partial truths. "I didn't know why I had this mark.” I recall the very clear memories of my father’s motives that contradict those words. "I was never fond of Skull's Row, anyway."
Silence.
I wish I could see Soren's face as these men contemplate what I said. Their eyes roam over me like they want to dissect every piece of my flesh, my naked chest like a stance of confidence while also being so degrading.
They’re all too calm. Does my existence make them that nervous? The one named Matthias quickly moves the conversation along and adds, "Jane has the healer's insignia. That might be easy to track, since it’s from the mother’s line. A healing whore would be useful and known.”
I keep my head low.
Antoni chimes in, "That’s a start. The fact that Ferrin never wrote it down means he was loyal to the Zenith that requested it—" he articulates very carefully as he adds "—Loyal to the degree of breaking our codes." He looks over my head at Soren. "How truthful is her timeline of the tattoo?"
"I buy it."
Antoni looks to his left. "When did Ritter die?"
"Ritter?" the dark-skinned one responds. "She looks nothing like him."
Thank the gods I don't.
Mathias says, "But Ferrin was loyal to Ritter, so that would check out. When did he die?"
"Thirteen years ago," another says. “At least that’s when he fell off of Dead Man’s Falls. We never found him.”
Antoni asks, “How old is she ?”
Soren replies for me. "Told me she’s Twenty-one."
Please be after Dad left...
One of the Zenith at the far left of the table looks down as he flips through a book in front of him. "Then she got the tattoo ten years ago, if her words are to be true. Ritter was long gone before then, so Ferrin wouldn't have done it. Ferrin would only mark her if Ritter was present." He leans back in his seat, sighing. "It's a fucking shame that asshole is dead. Does the new naprese goldsmith know anything?"
Antoni is quick to shake his head. "No, we asked him if he did... although it might still be worth asking a second time." Antoni looks back at Soren. "Well? How truthful is this? She's not lying at all?"
"I don't have her fucking papers, but I don't feel any lies."
Blackwell sighs and raises a hand like he’s out of options. “Then bring out the villager.”
My blood runs cold, fear enveloping me like tendrils from the ocean’s depths. I look around the room with abject horror. Kathleen . My mouth dries as vengeance blinds me, ready to tear the eyes out of Bones and Soren. They used us. They had to–
The doors open behind me and it takes everything I have to face what’s behind me. If I see that familiar face surrounded by blonde hair… I’ll tell them everything .
And yet, as I see who they bring in, I’m overtaken by the distinct sensation of being lost. The woman whom I healed back in Coalfell, whose leg still looks raw, red, and scaly, is brought through the doors. Maryanne’s eyes are bloodshot, her hair covered in the same soot as back from the village, her arms bound as thick rope gags her mouth. I want to look at Soren, but looking at him for any bit of understanding would ruin whatever facade we have.
Maryanne stares at me, a high-pitched whimper muffled by the rope as she slowly shakes her head.
One of the Zenith shout, “Aye, maybe we fuck her bloody? Make Jane the lying whore watch . I still don’t trust her. Maybe she’s using magic to fuck with Soren’s powers. Could be a witch or some shit.”
Soren is swift in his reply, “You can call her whatever you want but don’t fucking challenge me . Healers can’t be witches, idiot. The magic source is wrong.”
Maryanne’s head continues to shake as the guard that guides her pushes her to her knees, tying her to the iron loop in the ground. Her sobs remind me of back to when I sobbed for Mother…
It clicks— I’m the reason she suffers.
I recognize Blackwell’s voice, but don’t raise my gaze to meet his. “So, Miss Jane… a few of Soren’s men rode ahead, bringing a few villagers for questioning. I think they believed they had some sense of protection, but they also didn’t realize who you were. Remove the gag.”
Watching every second, I can’t turn my head away as they roughly remove the rope, Maryanne’s mouth burned by it, too. “Jane…” she manages out, her voice hoarse, listless eyes trying to focus on me.
Tunnel vision consumes me. We stare at each other, tears blurring my vision as I feel so utterly helpless. This is my fault . My lips part as I want to tell her it will be all right, but I know that it won’t be. What do I do? Kathleen… shit, she could be next.
Blackwell’s voice makes me shudder as he instructs, “Soren, what does this one here fear most when it comes to death?” He sounds almost amused.
Soren comes into view, roughly grabbing Maryanne’s hair, the woman crying out in pain. He stares into her face as she sobs, quietly pleading for his humanity. Soren cants his head to the side, speaking as if the words are written on her face. “She doesn’t like fire.” He narrows his eyes. “Burns, more specifically.” He drops her hair and even prods her infected leg with his boot. She wails in agony. “Doesn’t take much to figure out why.”
Maryanne cowers over, sobbing so hard that snot begins to hang from her nose.
My body is numb while my soul is on fire. What would happen if I tell them the truth? They’ll just kill her, anyway, right? What if they start bringing more out here? Children, even?
Soren means nothing to me now, this is all a stark reminder that while the wolf may have enjoyed playing with me, he’s not above devouring my flesh if he so desires.
“Well, then. Let’s bring the fire to her!” Blackwell exclaims, some of the others laughing. The fire mage smiles in the background.
“Please, I have a family!” Maryanne manages out.
Another says, “We’ll have to send a note that Mother will be nice and crispy for dinner.”
Maryanne fights her bindings, slicing her gaze at me as if the last will to live rears itself. “Jane, help ,” she pleads, the men beginning to strip her by cutting her clothes off. It’s as if something changes in her eyes, rancor thrown my way. “This is your fault,” she bites at the air. “They’re asking us all about you. Tell them whatever the fuck you’re hiding! Let me go back to my children!”
I choke on a cry as my lips tremble, watching as she snarls at me while they lather her naked body in grease. The words are right in my mouth, and all I have to do is whisper them, ‘My father is Charles Ritter. Let them all go, and I’ll tell you everything.’ But I can’t. And yet I must, right? What’s the point of surviving if this is what happens? I’m already in Skull’s Row, so I’ve broken that promise to Melona, no matter what the debt was…
A sob escapes me, letting it all out when I know it only makes me look pathetic to these men. When Maryanne’s dirty hair is lathered, I’m about to confess everything –
Rope is forcefully wrapped around my neck, pulling me sideways as I struggle to breathe, my arms taught as my body is stretched. Glancing up, I see it’s Soren and flinch as if he’s a stranger.
“Do you feel a confession coming?” he asks, speaking loud enough for the others to hear. When I want to declare yes, he pulls harder on the rope so I gasp for air.
He leans further in. “ Do you?”
His sharp tone is laced with warning, my lungs starving for oxygen. When I internally drop the desire to say what the Council wants, Soren releases his noose, and I gasp and choke. I get the message—he doesn’t want me to speak.
“No, please, I don’t know anything. Please stop this,” I plead. The words disappoint me, and I’m not even sure why I complied with Soren.
My gaze is lowered when someone cries out to burn Maryanne.
When Soren leaves me alone, I cry harder as I lift my head to see Soren grab one of the torches, everyone backing away from Maryanne, who stares at me. “You cunt! This is all your fault! I hope my children find you and gut you! COWARD !”
Soren stands in front of her with the fire, watching almost as if he’s bored. Her voice grows frantic as she stares at it. “I don’t want to burn!” She pleads. “ DON’T ! My children! Please !”
Soren takes the torch and pushes hard against her chest, right at her heart as flames consume her. My eyes widen as screams blur, taken back to the night when the village was burned, the bright, hot flames not matching the room.
Her screams morph into something deep and unrecognizable, the groans almost that of an animal as she stares up at the ceiling. At some point, the sounds die away as she dramatically slumps forward onto the floor. As her body continues to burn, Blackwell says, “Let the fire burn itself out. Leave her there to frighten the next villager.”
The fire mage makes his way over, slowly watching as the fire cracks and licks high into the air. He holds out a hand with long, thin fingers, almost caressing the flames while Maryanne’s body burns at his feet.
My body is shaking uncontrollably now, little painful moans escaping me as I can’t believe I let this happen to her.
Another says, “Didn’t we hear a blonde woman was traveling with them? Might be a villager, too.”
I’m shaken back to reality almost instantly, about to blurt out every truth before Soren can even come near me before the behemoth snorts somewhere behind me. “Go ahead and try and take that one. Bones is currently having his fun with her. But once he’s done? Sure. Fucking have at it.”
A few mumble as if they’d prefer to wait rather than bother Bones.
Another says, “So you’re telling me this woman seriously has no idea how she got that tattoo? There’s nothing in there? Not even after that one burns?”
“I didn’t say we free her,” Soren counters. I can’t stop hearing Maryanne’s screams echo in my mind as she lifelessly lies there, my mind listless with regret. The smell of burning flesh is awful. “There’s an answer inside of her, somewhere. I have a feeling she can’t remember for a reason, probably tampered with by magic. Digging into that takes time. We need to look around before murdering and torturing her, because nothing has changed inside of Jane.
“I’ve dealt with this more than once. You cross a line of brutality that you can’t undo and the truth will mix annoyingly with her desperation to tell you whatever she thinks you want to hear. What I need is more than a fucking hour and I’ll get that done.”
Antoni says, "Fine. I want this damn answer, one way or another. Depending on how well she cooperates, we can negotiate her freedom as someone’s ship wench. If she doesn’t help, then we continue to burn more bodies.” There’s a pause before he adds, “Anyone contest to this? No? Rorge, put the fire out then.”
With a slow movement of his fingers, the fire mage lowers his head as he watches the fire unnaturally dwindle, the bright reflection against his eyes fading.
A deep voice, one I haven’t heard yet, says, “Where will she be kept?”
Soren replies, “With me.”
“As a prisoner or your pet?” Antoni asks.
“Both,” Soren replies, almost as if amused.
Antoni rubs his chin before narrowing his eyes. "No. This is exactly why we abstain from this. You fuck her enough times, you might want to keep her around, seeing value in her lineage. Then your ego will dominate common sense, and you’ll think you're a king."
"I'm no king, you cunt, but I do like her hair. If I want to fuck her, then I will. If I want to burn another villager in her face, then I will. She’s not had a good start, so far. She’s been bound in her own waste, and if you saw the scar on her stomach, it’s because we stabbed her for trying to run. I’d fucking appreciate it if you let me do what I do best.”
Someone violently smacks their chalice on the table, speaking over the mumbling men that surround him. "I say he has her. Makes no sense to remove her from him when he’s the one that gets information. You’re acting paranoid, Blackwell. She’s not a threat—if anything, she's our property , given the tattoo, and that no one is here to claim who gave it to her. Soren will get the truth from her. He always does. However he wants to do that, let him. Even if it means she affixes herself to him in desperation and becomes his fuck toy. I don’t give a shit how he does it. He’s our manipulator for a reason. In the meantime, we search around for a common whore who could heal… where did you live, Jane?”
My lips don’t quite work as I barely manage out, “All over.”
No one will know of Jane with a mother who was a healing whore. Dad never called me Jane in public—instead, he used Ember. It's from when I was a toddler and had much paler hair that the sun’s rays would penetrate and make the loose strands glow red. Over time, it darkened to the auburn color that it is now.
Which means this will all fall apart as they learn of my lies, one way or another, and Kathleen will suffer. Hells, anyone else suffering for this…
Soren replies, "You all look around while I work on her.”
Staring at Maryanne’s charred remains that continue to lightly burn, I don’t know what to do.
I just don’t know what to do.