Chapter 9
J A N E
I ’m never complaining again after this is all said and done.
Every time my mind touches a concept of what we discussed, it dissolves like wet sand between my fingers.
My hands are restless as I twirl my hair so much it’s almost a permanent ringlet. My eyes haven’t moved from the dark wood of my father’s seat; if I look away, it makes it all too real. I also can’t stop examining every memory, wishing I could desperately go back in time to pay attention to everything .
What else is he hiding? If anything at all? How much of my childhood is true? Was Mom in on all of these secrets? Did ‘Ern’ ever tell me anything that was a hint? It’s all just…
I’m stunned that everything could be explained with what Dad told me. It’s actually a massive relief that I didn’t make up my entire life in my head and that what happened to me was real. But with that comes an incredibly difficult concept— accepting it also means welcoming in the absolutely monstrous concept that a god is after me.
Every time that sinks in, my gaze wanders back to a certain detail of the chair that comforts me like nothing else has in a very long time—at the top are dahlias carved into the wood.
Mom always grabbed fresh ones when she could.
My actual family.
There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason when I finally make the decision to stand, approaching the chair from the side as the totality of my life settles in my heart like ash once a fire is no more than a crackle. Running my hand over the smooth wood, my fingers roll with the indents and raises. Touching the dahlias breathes so much life into someone that’s become a distant memory for me.
Bringing her to life also pulls forward the image of her lying on the wooden deck with blood blooming on her peach dress. I can even see her blonde hair stuck to her jawline, everything stained in crimson.
“ Mom ,” I seethe through clenched teeth, trying to grip the carved wood, my fingers creating a squeaky whine as it slides along the polish. My vision blurs from tears, my chest constricting. “You should be here .”
That deep, aching loss of knowing I’ll never see her again is a chasm in my soul, a cruel robbery of what should have been my mother’s presence. Even after all this time, all this pain, all this suffering, all I have of her are stagnant mementos, like these dahlias.
I really will never see her again.
Not in this life.
I’ll never share the tale of how I escaped with a siren, about Kathleen, or see her hair gain silver streaks, or smell her faint perfume, or hear her say ‘Jane’ with trepidation when she thought she lost sight of me, because now that I’m older, I see how desperately she wanted to keep me safe in a city far too easy to get hurt… of how dangerous it was that my father is Charles Ritter.
My chest hurts. That same regret burns my veins like acid; if I had stabbed Mom’s killer when I first saw him, right as he had grabbed his blade… I just didn’t think he’d actually stab my mother . Dad always had people around?—
I revoke my hand to grip my face a little too hard; my shudder muffled through my fingers. My fingernails dig into my cheeks, violent retribution tightening my windpipes. I want to stab someone.
My lips curl in as my shudder morphs into something similar to Maryanne’s cries, and I slowly move away from the chair, my watery eyes unblinking as my jaw trembles, my breathing shaky. Even through this immeasurable pain, there’s a calm that steadies me as if I never used to be afraid.
My purpose has never been clearer.
The entire life my family was supposed to relish in was utterly ruined for the cunts that broke us apart. Coalfell became such a new normal that its mirage temporarily blinded me, even if I remember how home is supposed to look.
Oh, how I will gut these men.
I need it?—
The door to the room opens, and where I might have once spun quickly on my heels like a mouse afraid of its own tail, I instead slowly pivot, already knowing that I’d grab the candle stick next to me if I needed to use it.
The Council doesn’t mean shit anymore?—
What the fuck?
Cypress?
The rhythmic taps of her leather boots click on the stone floors. Faint whispers of conversations outside breech through the open door until, on rusted hinges, it shuts on its own. The rubies inside radiate like candles doused in oxygen, casting a rich red glow as if the light is filtered through stained glass.
My heart races like I’m seeing this woman for the first time. I can’t stand the way she glides, or the way the whites of her eyes surround her entire iris.
“What are you doing in here,” I state through tight lips, glaring at the witch.
Cypress scans the room, lingering her attention on the chair next to me, her black eyes suffused with power. “There is something that needs tending to.”
A gust of wind blows through the open holes in the ceilings, lifting dirt from the floor, rustling hooks from ropes that clink along the stone, and strands of my hair twirling in my face.
The room darkens as her black irises eat away at the white, giving her two glistening onyx voids for eyes; the rubies in the walls only seem brighter, her milky pallor now almost pink from how the entirety of the room reddens. I hardly blink, afraid that any closure of my eyes will result in Cypress suddenly appearing before me when they open again.
That resilience I just felt, admittedly, is very weak right now.
How am I supposed to handle a god if I can’t handle her?
“That is the appropriate thought, Jane.” Cypress sits in a chair with such elegance that it’s as if gravity doesn’t affect her. “We have a lot to cover, don’t we?”
My head slowly moves as my eyes dart around like I’ve drank too much coffee. She’s so fucking creepy. “Is this really necessary?” I ask, clearing my shaky voice, vaguely pointing around. “All of this?”
“Quite, actually. It’s how my magic works, Jane, and how I can read a singular wave of everything relevant to you. Including how I can tell that your heart is most hungry for the truth . I am here to confirm that your father spoke with veracity, and now, it’s time that you’re given purpose .”
Oh, gods. I don’t need purpose anymore if it’s from her .
“There are very few things I’d be willing to die for,” the witch continues. “And one of them is to prevent Misery from taking over the Balar Coasts. My god needs these lands. If there is one thing I do not lie about, it’s my role to ensure you don’t end up as Misery’s catalyst.”
When those black voids seem to peer right at me, I feel haunted . Soren’s gaze might dig deep into me, but Cypress seems to see through me, like she can see my past, present, and future all in this very room.
“Now hold on,” I begin with more confidence, even if she freaks me out. “You knew about him wanting me , then. You clearly know about so much and yet only tell everyone crumbs.”
She weaves her bony fingers through the air. “A starving man won’t seek food if I give him more than crumbs.”
I scoff, loathing that she isn’t fucking wrong. Which means there’s a really good chance she knows exactly how all of this will go, and won’t tell any of us.
She threads her fingers together and places them on a crossed knee. “Jane, you have incredibly high odds of encountering Misery. I want to protect you from his powers if that is to happen.”
The recent rush of fear once again rescinds… wait, she wants to help me take on Misery? Petty vengeance is loud in my heart, telling me that if there’s a way to fuck with this god, I should at least hear her out.I cross my arms, shivering as some of my clothes are still soaked. “I don’t believe you aren’t about to send me to my deathbed.”
She slowly smiles, something about the humor unnerving. “It amuses me that when I’m finally being forthcoming, you refuse to trust an inch of it.”
I look down as if it can give me a sense of privacy, and when I glance back up, her eyes are already boring into me with that inky stare. “What are you going to do, or with, me?”
“What I have planned will be extremely minimal.”
That somehow does nothing to comfort me.
I glare at Cypress, and something hits me in the chest that tells me she will do whatever she wants with me, whether I like it or not. “Do the others know you’re in here?”
“I’m the one that made these tunnels possible. It makes it rather easy to slip in and out.”
I hesitate, almost wanting to scream at the idea, because I’m so damn tired of everything not making sense. “Why can’t another god help, or something? I mean, why me?”
Her face contorts with frustration, as if the mere idea of involving anyone other than her god is the first and only thing to offend her. “Only three gods have any strength out here that are worth anything. The ocean god, mine , and Misery. We are the first line of defeating him, and seeing as how we’re on land, it’s rather up to me , then.”
“And I seriously cannot run from this?”
Fuck it. It’s worth one last shot of trying to avoid this.
Cypress looks around, cracking her neck before flashing that haunting gaze back at me. “The truth is, Jane, when I look at you… I see Misery’s burning eyes right behind you.”
My shoulders immediately pull upward, as if to cover my neck from chills that threaten to wash over. I even glance slightly to the side as if I might see something terrifying, but it’s just more of the same floor.
My arms come out from the fold, holding my hands to the side. “Then what the fuck was the last ten years for?”
“The last ten years were necessary to reach this point in time. If my intention was to push you off a bridge onto a passing boat, it would be nonsensical to do it before the boat is even in sight. Metaphorically, the boat is currently right underneath us.”
“Indulge me,” I suggest with a weak laugh. The sound is dry and humorless. “You claim it’s important I avoid Misery, and yet you’re more than confident that I’ll cross his path. You’re clearly powerful. Why don’t you protect me, then? You said I’m a catalyst, but I bet you won’t even tell me what that means.”
“Oh, I have protected you, Jane. I do . Which means if he is likely to take you, then I will equip you with what you need.”
My lips tightly press together, not fully realizing that while I loathe her mystery, I also can’t deny she hasn’t helped, even if I barely understand just who she is.
“If you know the future, then why does any of this matter?” I quip.
“Free will ensures the future is in constant flux.” Her smile is uncanny, as if pulled up by another. “I’ve become adept at reading human behavior and guessing what their next actions will be. Otherwise, I can’t read the future as if it’s been written in a book. No one can. Not even Misery… and to answer… no, I will not reveal what he wants with you. Not right now. It won’t help anything in the immediate, and some rest could do you good.”
I nearly chortle at her acting like she cares. Do I need her sympathy, though? Temptation tugs at me to go along with whatever she schemes, just wanting to get her out of this room. As I look away, I feel like I can’t think without her eavesdropping in on that . “What does your god want? What is he really after?”
“The gods are greedy. Morvock, or Misery as the rest call him, is perpetually parched for an army of devout followers. It’s said that to be in his inner circle is the opposite of what everyone else is subjected to—he provides utter luxury to those most loyal. Once he has a grip on society, everyone will be willing to kill whoever they have to in order to even witness a second of it, lest they return to their miserable lives.” Her sigh is heavy, like it’s weighed down by a thousand considerations. “ My god,” she continues, quieter now,“wants these Balar Coasts free of Morvock, or else he loses power. It’s that simple.”
The suggestion of someone having such a hold on society makes me shiver, and also feels so fictitious. “If these gods are so powerful, then why don’t they just take care of this themselves? Why be so convoluted?”
“Have you ever wondered what a fish would think of a jar of rum?”
I—what?
My breathing halts as if any movement will only add to the confusion. “Come again?” I ask slowly.
She motions in the direction behind me. “Directly that way, through the stone, is where the ocean meets this city. There’s a vast world in which aquatic life is born, lives, and dies within. Meanwhile, we exist on dry land. They will never know the refreshing smell of campfire smoke, and we will never know how refreshing freezing water might actually feel.
“Humans are like the fish underneath the ocean’s surface, and the gods are like us , above the water. It’s hard for them to exert perfect control when they can only skim the surface, so they have conduits like me to do it for them.” She pauses and glances at me with a mixture of pity and pride in her onyx eyes. “And Misery plans to exist in the ocean without consequence… to which the Cinders, like you , will allow.”
“No, Dad made it seem like Misery needed me .”
Her lips tighten, her eyes widening before narrowing; I don’t think she intended for that. “Then I will say this—you are uniquely qualified, in ways you do not know, to be the conduit for Misery. Do not ask me further on that.” Her voice rises like a crescendo, as if to speak over my thoughts.
If I thought I felt murderous before, then I’m not quite sure how to describe the violence inside of me now. “You know how messed up it is to tell someone these things and then just demand that they ask no more questions?” I shake my head, placing my hands on my hips. “Also, I’d literally jump off a cliff before then. Hells, I can get pretty creative on how to off myself before that happens. Actually,” I pause, the concept a morbid one, my hand raised slightly as my finger lazily points upward. “Why don’t you just kill me now? Rob him of that? Come to think of it, why isn’t there a bounty on my head? If I’m a conduit , as you say.”
“Because no one knows other than his close followers, and your willingness to keep it that way will do great good for you,” she purrs, her approval making me slightly lurch. “But I do warn you not to allow yourself to die, Jane. You partaking in Misery’s undoing is essential to minimizing the catastrophe that otherwise would occur. Because if he takes over the Balar Coasts, then his moniker will be understood to a depth that will scar these lands for hundreds of years, if not thousands. Where he might need you to regain a human form in this decade , you’re not essential in the grand web of the fates. Instead, it’s his steadfast focus on you that is essential to his demise , especially with my helping you. We have one chance to make this happen.
“You’re a distraction I have been very patient in waiting for, while also maximizing your likelihood of living. You are, in essence, my ultimate gamble, and even if he’s aware of that, I think he’s too greedy to care, and too self-important to see me as a true threat. You dying would mean I’d have to start entirely over, and that gives him an upper hand I’m not willing to risk.” She bores her gaze into me. “You die, and I can guarantee many on this continent will die. Especially those associated with you.”
The only way I can describe this out-of-body experience is as if I’ve stumbled upon an ancient curse that exists only in nighttime folklores told next to candlelight, and it turns out it’s actually real, undeniable, and utterly mind-blowing. It’s so tempting to immediately believe her, because in many ways, so much is explained. But there’s a resistance that screams at me that I’m an idiot for even thinking about considering her words.
Well, what if whatever she does to me is minimal? I can work with that. “Okay… say I agree to this. Can I even take on a god? Are we sure of that? I’m not exactly qualified.”
“ Everything has a weakness, especially in our realm. Morvock’s soul is raw in this state, and I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you have incredible influence over what happens next.”
It’s like there’s a bunch of river stones in my gut, sinking lower with each breath. My mind races with everything that’s ever happened in my life, to every scar I’ve earned, to the latency of my teens and early twenties. It’s not that I even really fear dying ,but I dread the unknown of it all, the demand beyond my skill.
I loathe not knowing if I have to bury another person I love. Gods, even the thought of that makes my heart turn to lead.
My gaze only rises once I swear I can hear my mother’s voice again, always there to comfort me in the recesses of my mind. This isn't just about me or my revenge. No, this would be for Soren’s sister, and the heartache that humanizes him to me. For Maryanne and her children. If Cypress is being truthful, then it sounds like she’s gambling with my life, and she’s placing a lot of worth on that bet.
What’s the worst that happens? I gain a defense against Misery? He’s coming for me, so that seems like an obvious answer. “What did you want to do with me?” I quietly ask.
“I will implant something under your skin that prevents anyone from reading you,” she gently replies. “The time isn’t right now. Not yet. I thought it best to give you a warning, so you’d have time to really consider it. But as I said—minimal.”
“I—Even Soren ? As in, he couldn’t read me?” The question tumbles from my lips before I can restrain myself, my voice utterly saturated with concern. No, I love that he can read me .
“Even him.”
My breathing grows labored, my chest heaving with each inhale. “I don’t want Soren to not read me.”
“He will, again. One day. Once I remove it when Morvock is no longer a threat. Morvock has the same ability to read people, and it’s best to prevent him from using it on you.”
“But if Soren can sense when someone is blocked, won't Misery also be able to detect it in me?" I protest, examining the scenario as if it’s a precious stone and I need to rule out all compromising details.
“Oh, yes. He will be able to tell, almost certainly right away. And he will not be surprised that I have taken precautions,” Cypress reassures. “He will not have a choice on whether he keeps you. He requires you, at least, to fulfill this grand scheme he’s plotting.”
The question about what exactly he wants with me rests on the tip of my tongue, but I know she won’t answer. She’ll probably just give another fucking metaphor about a boat or some rum. I finally sit in my father’s seat when it’s the closest to me, and my knees are about to give out; closing my eyes, placing a hand over my face, and speaking through my fingers, “You are so exhausting.”
“I should let you know that I plan to do this to you whether you like it or not. It is important you have time to mull this over, so when the time comes, you are ready.”
“Such a considerate person,” I quip, throwing her a look through my parted fingers and then focus back on my hands, only to close them again when those damn eyes are still completely black. “Do you mean for me to kill him or something? Because I want a lot more than something implanted in me for that. Like a new, special skill. Something a lot more useful than not being able to burn. Maybe a dagger that makes me stronger, or something like a Zenith’s mask.”
I swear I hear genuine humor in her barely audible chuckle. “All those things can and will be taken from you, if he apprehends you. And I don’t know if you will kill him or not, but you have immense potential to be the toughest challenge he will face. If you do not hold the blade that will stab him, I have no doubt you will pass it to the person who will .”
I’m tired of this and lean back in my father’s makeshift throne, staring at the floor. “When will it happen?”
No matter the intensity of what’s occurring here, there’s so much relief in having a real plan. Something crafted by Cypress herself, a lifeline promised by the witch that, for better or worse, I believe might actually help me because she’s desperate to make her god happy.
It’s better than nothing.
“Soon, and when it feels right for me to come back to you. It’s also pertinent to mention that I wouldn’t tell anyone of this, either,” she warns, leaving that statement to hang between us for a moment. “If someone gets the idea that your death robs Misery of his rebirth, then you’ll have the largest bounty on your head since Scarlet Ironjaw.”
I frown at the name, having no freaking idea who that is. Cypress stands up, her gaze sweeping over me with an unreadable intensity. “I also wouldn’t tell Soren about what is planned, about the fact that I intend to block the ability to feel you. Or your father. They will take that to mean Misery will get you, and take extreme actions that will ruin the ripples I have so carefully orchestrated. This plan is between you and me , because remember Jane, you’re capable within your own right. It’s in your blood… we’ll see each other again, very soon.”
My lips twitch with many replies, but nothing makes it even to a small whisper as I watch Cypress depart, the intensity of the rubies diminishing back to normal as if she never walked in.
How in the fuck do I keep this secret from someone who can read if I’m lying to him or not?