Chapter 5
J A N E
T here’s a bittersweet sensation to having so much information, and yet so overwhelming to hear what sounds like I might be in a complete pile of shit.
“What is Cypress using us for?” Soren asks, straightening his posture from a slight slump, his drifting gaze now sharpened.
My father slowly blinks before craning his head to look up at the ceiling, as if reading something unwritten up there. “The honest truth is only she knows. The reason I’m here, aside from seeing Jane , is that the fanatics in the Fire Isles, the ones going by the Order of Ash, are closing in, and I’ve secured somewhere across the Black Sea to escape to. It’s safer there. That’s what can’t be delayed. And I want out of this city. Immediately.”
No matter what, it’s as if I climbed a mountain’s peak, only to see the real peak in the distance, and I have no interest in even attempting it. The Order of Ash are those fire worshippers, situated on a giant island near the Balar Coasts. To have them here… It doesn’t make a lot of sense. “Closing in? On who? For what? Why is Ash after me? They don’t seem to ever bother us here. You said something about Blackwell .”
“They want you, Jane, because of a power you don’t know of. Or, perhaps you’re aware that it exists, but don’t understand it,” my father answers, his voice low and full of urgency. “Fire, heat, anything that would burn the average man can’t hurt you.”
My lips open , and then they stay that way.
“That—that’s it?” I aimlessly look all around as I raise my hands as if to grip something, but then they drop with heavy confusion. “That sounds useless.”
Soren’s grave expression momentarily breaks with a flicker of amusement, only to deadpan again. “Would make sense why you’re unaffected from the boiling water.”
As fascinating as that might be on any other day, it just feels like a massive distraction right now. “Okay, sure, let’s say that’s real. Why are we bringing it up?”
In all honesty, even if it immediately brings clarity about my lack of burns, I can’t embrace the concept. It’s such a random trait to learn about myself, and feels so wildly disconnected from what’s happening.
“Useless to you , perhaps. But not to those who want you. It’s from your mother’s line. It’s why you were hunted in the first place. Why you both were.” He leans back in his seat, glaring at a candelabra. “There is an entity known as the God of Misery, who lives north of the Fire Isles, in lands that are so damn hot no man can walk before burning through his boots within a few steps. The further inland you go, the air will eventually burn your lungs .” He lifts a finger to gesture at me. “ Your lineage, and those with your powers, allow people to reach there. To visit Misery’s crypts, so he can be reborn in the flesh. Our flesh.”
“Did you just say the fucking God of Misery?” Soren asks, an intensity in his voice that makes my heart race.
“ He’s the reason we’re all here,” Dad grimly answers. “Blackwell. The Order of Ash. Even Cypress.”
My heart thrums in my rib cage, my teeth grinding painfully into each other. Staring at the many waxy sticks that melt down the iron ore that holds them, I fixate on one in particular, observing the bright light like it’s a giant, bizarre lie.
Fire? All of this for something I didn’t even know I supposedly am?
Some neglected, traumatized part of my heart sorely longs for the idea that my father— a man I thought I lost — knows more things about me than I do. Like a parent might. Even the suggestion is so enticing that I’m momentarily frozen, not wanting to ruin the possibility.
Fuck it. Release the hope. It always tastes bitter in the end. Get this over with.
Nearing one of the waxy sticks, I reach out, holding my hand near the heat to feel the gentle sensation of warmth, pinching the fire, then squeezing the wick between my fingers and hold it.
I examine my skin.
Nothing. Maybe slightly pink, but there’s nothing like what I witnessed in the village. It’s also far from uncomfortable, reminding me of how the baths are never too warm, even if others have skin as red as cooked lobster.
There’s no way…
Coalfell. My gut seizes with dread when recalling the villagers, and of Maryanne. The guilt for what happened is like poison, giving me tunnel vision as soon as it enters my veins. Almost as quickly as it appears, I shove it down so it can’t drown me. Don’t focus on that now.
My chest rises and falls, faintly shaking my head now that everything is heavier with my dad’s statement. “I didn’t realize… how did I never know? Mom never said anything,” I murmur.
“You always stayed away from fires because it’s what everyone else did. And she and I planned to tell you, but didn’t want that secret out in case anyone was searching for someone like you. Kids keep secrets with each other, and you were close to your friends. It was a risk we weren’t ready to take.”
Focus, Jane. Don’t get emotional. A god wants you for this… “I don’t—you said this dumb god wants to be born in the flesh ? I’ve never heard of that.”
I just want things to be normal.
So badly.
I’m so burnt out by the calamity.
“Gods usually don’t seek this route. The risk is insurmountable to most, requiring a forfeiture of powers for centuries. They usually manage their bidding through conduits, like Cypress. Meddling directly with us means they can be killed and cease to exist while in the limbo state that Misery is currently within.”
“And he’s risking all that… for what? Do you even know?”
“If grief and strife are how he gains force, and he is greedy , then being in the flesh allows him to ensure a reign of misery would last for centuries, if not longer. And either due to an annoying string of the fates, or shit luck, we’re alive in a time where he’s seeking rebirth. Fifty years earlier, and this would be your mother living this reality.”
It’s almost annoying how ignorant I feel. I suppose I should have focused more when Mother tried to teach me the history of our worlds, but it honestly seemed like useless stories.
Especially with a father as a Zenith.
What an idiot for a kid I was.
“So what do I have to do with this again, exactly?” I ask, facing him, slowly churning it all together. I so badly want to latch on to him for safety, but he still looks like a stranger to me. I can already feel my heart closing off to him. “They want me to go to the crypts, or something?”
“Across the Black Sea,” my father begins, speaking quieter and directly to me. “They call people like you a Cinder. Just like they call him a Sensor.” Dad lazily motions to Soren. “Fire mages hold Cinders in high esteem because they’re a dying breed, and as everything is in the Balar Coasts, powers and magic are scarce here. There’s nothing that indicates a Cinder, other than they don’t burn, meaning they’re hard to track. Which is why we didn’t say anything—we figured it was best to just let you avoid fire. Misery currently wants all Cinders that can be found, and so the Fire Isles are rather aggressive in this support. He needs people like you to reach Misery’s crypts if he ever wants his power back, so yes, I imagine he’ll use you, one way or another, to get to his crypts. I still don’t honestly know how they found you or your mother–—”
“Did they kill Mom?” I interrupt, the churning of information spinning so fast the pieces aggressively collide like they’ve been chucked around in a hurricane.
He offers a single, somber nod—the first true emotion deepening the concern in his eyes; something in me breaks a little that his concern didn’t involve me.
I grind the wick near my fingers to extinguish the flame, my breathing deepening with adrenaline. “ Mom was a Cinder?”
“Any offspring of the maternal line will be a Cinder. Your grandmother was one, too. They were hunted about a hundred years ago, killed on sight. It’s why your grandmother settled in Skull’s Row. There’s not many of you left.”
I cling to every word like a man lost at sea who has finally been granted a map, although bitter to realize how much I’ve completely missed and can never go back. “But my naprese scar...”
“I thought that was interesting that it burned you,” Dad remarks, looking down at my wrist. “It must be from its magic. I admittedly don’t know much about naprese gold. They guard that very closely…” He tilts his head to the side. “Whatever that magic is doesn’t matter now, though, Jane. You’ve been of interest to fire worshippers for some time. Cinders aren’t from the Fire Isles, but an island obsessed with fire is also highly fascinated with collecting humans that don’t burn. Misery is utilizing their lust for influence and flames to create a minor cult that will support him.” He hesitates before adding, “That awful burning of the woman that you witnessed was probably a burst of power for him. Probably the burning of Coalfell was, too.”
An icy dread settles on my shoulders, clarity striking with brutal force. I search for any emotion in him, but I just don’t see it; I don’t fucking see it. My lips open and close a few times before I manage out, “If they needed Cinders, why did they kill Mom?”
His sigh morphs into a grumble that emanates through his throat, sucking his lower lip to his upper teeth. “I don’t know, and I ask that question nearly every day.”
Blinking rapidly, I try to imagine being taken to reach some crypts to restore a god of misery. “Based on the way you talk, I’m not the only one, right? So why haven’t they restored him already? Surely they don’t need every Cinder.”
Surely, there is a hole in this plan.
Something massively overlooked.
There has to be.
“No. They don’t. But that doesn’t matter for you, since they'll use you , in particular, to get Misery back to his power. It’s what I’ve heard when I’ve managed to get close to them. They’ve been gathering Cinders for a while now, but you’re of particular interest for some reason,” he replies, his expression tightening again to something deadly.
Oh, great. Maybe not.
I’m just of particular interest.
If steam could pour out of me, this entire room would be blanketed by the thickest fog. Out of everything I could feel, I’m primarily pissed off. All the suffering, aching loneliness, and excruciating agony of mourning my family… it’s suddenly gaining a name. Motives . The chaos of everything has so much order for the first time in my life, the gravity of what was done to me, my family, and my village now has a name… and I bet a face.
I’m even trying to picture this person in my head, the one that leads the Order of Ash, which leads to me biting my lip all too hard as that ugly ass face of the man who killed my mother persists through it all.
I always thought that what happened to Nora Ritter was a byproduct of living in Skull’s Row and my father having enemies, not actually an execution related to a sophisticated orchestration.
She was hunted .
Pure murder and vengeance stain my essence; slaying the man who killed my mother isn’t enough.
Not when I have direction.
Not with understanding .
Spreading my fingers out so my hand trails down the candelabra to extinguish the other flames, imagining each one is the beating heart of the Order of Ash, I try to breathe steadier to control myself. “So, in all of this, I was meant to be taken after what they did to Mom?”
I can nearly hear every heartbeat of mine as I wait for my father to answer.
“Yes. And I did everything to avoid that. But Misery is patient. He sees the benefit in properly cultivating the young ones, like Jesper—the leader of Ash. Misery groomed him as a child, promising to make him a fire god in his own right.
“That doesn’t mean he can’t force you to comply as an adult, though. It’s just more effort, which is why you’re still in incredible danger,” he explains, a tightness in his words that gives me some comfort; maybe he will try to stop them.
Either way, my throat is suddenly parched, and feels as if sand is stuck in it.
Well, fuck.
I had to hide before, but now a literal god is hunting me. I'm not a damsel in distress, damnit. I don’t want to be. The Council seems so small compared to this.
“So, why now?” I ask, trying to refocus on collecting my understanding. “What changed? Why didn’t you send at least a whisper my way? You said—” I pause, still unable to fully process his identity this entire time “—that you were Ern . As in, we spoke countless times…”
I could say more and even have to fight back words I want to sling around like daggers, but I bite my tongue—metaphorically and physically.
The Scorpion needs to clarify everything .
“Circumstances that prevented me from reaching out to you are still in effect, but loosened,” my father carefully says. Dad doesn’t let that settle for long before looking at Soren. “Which means whatever’s going on here is done now that I’ve returned. I’m not letting you sit there because I think you deserve to. I simply don’t want to fight that battle right now while speaking with Jane.”
“Need me to be injured this badly to finally face me?” Soren replies without missing a beat, his grating voice bringing texture to my thoughts.
Dad sneers. “Honor doesn’t mean shit around here. I’ll always take advantage of a weakness, especially to cull the bastards ruining her .”
“You seem to miss the part where she’s alive and well, Ritter. It is hard to notice such things when you’re not around, though.”
My father’s expression grows colder with each breath. “My daughter is alive, aye, but you’ve been keeping her tethered.”
“Because letting her out would not have been safe.”
Dad scoffs, shifting even more in his seat as he sneers. “ Safety .”
“ Stop it. ” I nearly yell at the both of them, but when my rage speaks for me, it has me turning to my father instead of Soren. “I have been through a lot of shit recently, and the last thing I need is you bickering with Soren.”
Dad doesn’t look at me as he says, “You’re surviving right now, Jane. Soren is the best anchor for that.”
There’s something annoying about him acting like my father at this moment, especially when he hasn’t even asked how I am . “Just finish explaining whatever it is you have to tell me. Why did you bring me down here?” I ask, gesturing around before adding, “And while you’re at it, explain the rubies. How is she tied into this? I want this all wrapped up with a pretty bow before I step a toe out of this room. It’s the least you owe me.”
With a deep sigh that seems to re-center him, the Scorpion looks down at his hands and remains still for a long moment. “Everything that has commenced has done so for a reason, Jane. Whether we like those reasons, or not. Cypress, for all the shit she’s put us through, did hide you for over a decade, protecting you in that village from Misery, until for whatever reason, she’s revealed you back to the world. At least, that’s my assumption, or else Soren wouldn’t have found you. Or the Order of Ash.”
Thirst morphs into nausea, my stomach tightening. “Wait, she’s the one that hid me?”
When our gazes connect, there’s a falter of emotion once more before it’s solid again. “That was the deal. She’d ensure that Ash couldn’t find you, nor could Misery. And somehow, Ash did on the same night that Soren found you, which, again, is why I’m assuming her protection was removed. She told me I could come to you once the world knew you. Which is why I’m here now…
“Either way, that’s outside of our control and not worth worrying about. Not right now. The issue at hand is Blackwell. I believe Misery intends for Blackwell to rule over Skull’s Row and bloody the Council. It’s the true reason that Blackwell sought you out, Jane. Not because of the tattoo. He wanted you captured, as instructed by his puppeteer.
“They’re moving again. Ash is in Skull’s Row at the behest of Misery, while Blackwell is trying to gain control over the Council. They’re connected to Blackwell somehow, too, but that secret has been guarded enough that even I can’t find it. I also don’t know why Ash would come for you when Blackwell sent Soren, and that’s the chaos I don’t like right now.” He cants his head at Soren. “Speaking of all of this, you’re supposed to be able to sense danger. So why in the hells have you been holed up here for weeks instead of fleeing? Even Corvus looks like he’s about to leave. And Jane was nearly taken just now. It would be dangerous to assume I’m not aware of that lack of good judgment.”
Soren’s gaze glints with something vicious. “Blackwell has an odd, neutral aura about him that makes it nearly impossible to read his motives… just like Shade. And you, Ritter.”
I—
What?
Clasping my hands together as I place my weight on my hip, I narrow my eyes on my father.
The hells does that mean?
Dad stiffens, something flashing in his eyes that reveals he didn’t expect that. “So you’re useless to bring, then,” he replies. “He doesn’t owe you anything, Jane. I don’t trust him anyway.”
I scoff. “He’s clearly far from useless . And what does he mean that you’re hard to read?”
Dad looks at me like a parent who pities their child’s poor decision. “You saw that neck wound. Even the baker could have seen that coming, let alone what followed.”
Soren’s annoyed laugh is almost like a threat. “I felt the need to let it hit me, Ritter. Seems it has set into motion the perfect waves that need to wash over us. I’m unafraid of the damage, unlike you, who seems to be worried about pissing off his precious Blackwell. You could always try sucking his cock if you’re that worried.”
Dad’s entire posture stiffens, and I swear his hand pulls back—even for a fraction of a moment—as if he might reach for his blade.
“ No . We are not doing this right now,” I interject, taking a step forward as if my being between them might change something. Even if Soren’s pallor is off, I still have no doubt that someone fighting him will be punishing up until his last breath. “We need to have a plan for whatever the hells is happening here, not fight. Blackwell, Order of Ash… I don’t even honestly know if I know what’s happening?—”
I pause when I’m about to mention that my life is at risk, and that that is the priority. It’s not even because I’m concerned about my beating heart, but rather…
I can get revenge for my mom. For what happened to me .
But my awareness of the selfishness in such a statement is almost instantaneous. I’d be asking for them to give up everything just to defend me. Especially Soren. He owes me nothing, which means I can’t ask him to risk everything, not with his sister .
What of his revenge?
I need to let it go—all of it. If I die at their hands, it means my mother's death was for nothing. I need out of here, if I am to stay a step ahead. That’s my priority.
Emotional ice settles over my heart, freezing this moment of time like it’s done countless times before to help me survive. I can drop everything here and follow my father across the Black Sea—he’s the only one who has any reason to owe me. I don’t have to forgive him, but it would prevent this cunt named Misery from touching me, and maybe I could find these fire worshippers and gut every one of them.
And it would get the putrid breath of death out of everyone’s shadow that seems to be haunting mine.
“Are you alright, Jane?” Dad asks.
Snapping my gaze up, I breathe sharply to steady myself. “I have a lot to process,” I say with a flat tone. “Are we in danger? Sounds like everyone else is, especially if they’re associated with me. Should I leave now? Is there a ship that can take me within the day?”
My father eyes me with a scrutiny that’s almost familiar. “We need to make a move soon, aye. Ships across the Black Sea are rare, but we can sail to other lands as we wait for them,” Dad calmly answers. “And if Soren is worth anything, he’ll make sure to prevent you from running off if you’re worried that you’ll get anyone killed and would rather turn yourself over—” he holds a hand up when I’m about to defend myself “—you remained in Coalfell because of your fear of others getting hurt. You told me, or Ern, so many times that you made an oath to stay, and a few times let it slip it was to a siren. It’s clear what guided your decision. While admirable, this is a very different encounter. Misery getting a hold of you will cascade a dark era over us all until any and all prosperity is forgotten. He cannot return to power. And for whatever reason, he’s completely honed in on you . Which means you’re not going anywhere without us knowing.”
My lips press together as I don’t have a single reply. The ease of shutting up tells me I’m far from complying—I just want this conversation to end so I can find my own way out.
I also need fresh air, which I can’t get stuck down here.
I don’t require Soren’s powers to know that the behemoth’s gaze is burning into my back, but I can’t look at him. My world, just as swiftly as the blade that struck Mom’s heart, is changed within this entire conversation.
The familiar desire to build my walls returns, telling me that if it comes down to it, Soren can become a man of my imagination, living in a place I’ll visit when I’m lonely.
I can die getting the revenge I never knew I needed to seek.
Can Soren feel that at all?
A knock in the pattern of three raps fills the silence, and I glance over my shoulder with Soren in my peripheral. The two Zenith in the room stiffen in ways that only experienced, confident men do; nothing akin to jumping to their feet or looking frightened. No. Instead, I swear I can see them both holding their breath and waiting, in case a strike might come from somewhere else.
When Soren finally lifts his gaze to see who is opening the door, Dad does something… different.
My jaw drops as his features completely change. His nose, mouth, eyes, and even ears all shift like sand that’s being rearranged. His hair changes from brown to blonde, his eyes now a stark green. His long nose becomes short and chunky, his upper lip much larger than the bottom. Even the scar fades, his tattoos gone.
My lips part, so many pieces of my childhood swirling together as I can’t stop my mind from piecing it together.
He really is a skin shifter, isn’t he?
Soren’s posture remains strong, yet his eyes reveal how wound up he’s becoming. Especially when Rorge enters. “Sir, we’ve got Evan at the door,” he says, clearing his throat.
I don’t know who or what Evan is, or why it makes my father stand as if he’s going to leave.
“I’ll be out, Rorge,” Dad answers, barely moving to look my way as our eyes connect. “Rorge or Donna will be tending to you and Soren while everything gets set into motion. I understand you trust that brute right now, Jane, so I’ll permit him to stay while you process everything in here. If you need anything, Rorge is outside the door.”
As my father walks by me, I reach out without thought to request something, pausing just before I touch him; I can’t commit to that. He doesn’t flinch, or move away, and instead looks at my hand and then at me, and I retract my attempt to touch him.
It’s honestly easier talking to him when he’s not wearing his face.
“I need supplies to help Soren. That’s why I was at the apothecary.”
It’s so odd to see something entirely emotional flash through a stranger’s face when they’re looking at me like I’m a long-lost relative. “I’ll get those things gathered for you.”
“Do you know what I need?”
“Your mother ensured I do. I’d often get it for her.” The corner of his lips twitch like he might hint at a smile, but it’s gone before I can even savor the concept.
The Scorpion moves quickly past Soren and out the door, as if whoever this Evan person is holds the most importance.
I’m not even jealous—just nosy about who my father really is, and to know the people he keeps around him. As the door to this makeshift throne room shuts—Rorge glaring at Soren like he’s a very unwelcome guest—Soren and I are left inside, alone.
Breathing steadily, I know I have to be honest with him, and immediately. The reprieve we made over the last few weeks is now stained with this hunt over my head.
How can he possibly stay in my life without threatening his own?