Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
MENTORS
J A N E
G ods, what a shit show.
The only silver lining has to be that while this is overwhelming , there’s simultaneously so much relief in clarity. My gaze finds its way back to where Cypress had sat, staring there for however long until I’m slowly searching the room.
“Okay,” I say to myself, tapping a hand on my thigh, “ Okay .”
Somehow, someway, I can hide all this from Soren. And that there will be a time when he can’t feel me…
He’s not going to like that?—
The door opens once more, and in the dim lighting enters Donna, her footsteps echoing softly against the worn stone. Both hands are in pockets of a cloak she wears—this one looks dry. “Thinking of your own throne?”
With a raised brow, I move my hands from the armrests when I realize what seat I’m in, scoffing slightly at the idea. Act normal, Jane. Practice on her . “I mean, the carvings are beautiful, but I wouldn’t call it a throne .”
“Eh, it’s his throne for now. Doesn’t sit on it much, really. We’ll get him a proper one once all this shit is done and over with, and we don’t have to live down here like moles.”
My mind is stuck deeply within what I just uncovered, and yet it wanders away just as fast when hearing someone speak about my father as if they know him. For so long, I refused to even whisper a hint of his identity. A deep inhale fills my lungs with musty air. “How long has he been down here?”
“We’ve centralized in these tunnels for the last five years. Although he isn’t here much, like I said.” She pierces a knowing gaze through me, and being this close, I notice her dark lashes are as thick as her eyebrows. “He’s always off as Ern.”
I still can’t tell if it comforts or annoys me that he was so close for so long.
“I’m sure you all loved being here just so he could pretend to be a barkeep.”
“Oh, there’s no issue on our end. When your father first disappeared, we all knew something was wrong in Skull’s Row. We had no problem hiding rather than sitting like an open ship at sea. We were all mostly curious to meet you .” I don’t even know how to reply to something like that, so instead, I just sit there while staring her down. She crinkles her forehead while raising her brows, looking off again. “Plus, we know what’s out there, now. We’ve known since we took up residence down here. It’s unified us.”
“You’re talking about Misery?”
She dips her head in affirmation, not looking my way. “Cypress keeps us informed, with what little information she gives. The Eyeless have seen the miasma around Blackwell, so they know that’s true, at least.”
I tilt my head slightly to the side, as if it’ll help me re-hear what she just said. “Eyeless?”
She vaguely points to one of her dark eyes. “The ones with a milky eye.”
“ Oh ,” I say, sitting straighter. “So you’re all aware of that, then? What does it do?”
She tilts her head back and forth like she’s considering what to say. “Well, where someone like Soren can feel and sense things, they can see the auras, especially with a patch over the normal eye. The world through the mirk is quite blurry and colorless, but they can see the energies. Whatever that means. It’s some witchy shit they did over the Black Sea. It’s not as intuitive as a Sensor, but they make incredible guards.”
My intrigue is so momentary. Normally, I’d be more nosy, but it just feels like something else I don’t want to worry about right now. “I still don’t understand why everyone is here ? Why not just leave and get as far away from this as possible?”
“Why not just tell a hurricane to blow right over you?” she retorts, as if my acumen disappoints her. “You can’t do that. Misery takes over, and all our families are dead, and since Cypress declares you’re to play one of the most critical roles in stopping him… well, we’ve been waiting for you. Otherwise, we’d have to uproot everyone who lives on these coasts, and even then, it would only be a matter of time before Misery’s reign or torment leeches into other lands, and by then, he’ll be so powerful it would be nearly impossible to kill him.”
I rub my eye hard enough to see little lingering spots, wishing more than ever for my mother, to ask her what I do. To confide in somebody about everything . “I feel like I need months to catch up and process.”
“Well, we don’t have that. We have a few weeks , maximum. And then it will all likely happen at once, like it usually does. If it makes you feel better, we are leaving soon. We just want to do so with caution. There’s a man known by the name of Basilisk and he was spotted recently. His true form.”
“Who in the hells is the Basilisk? And what’s a true form?”
“You really lived under a rock, didn’t you?” Her scrutinous gaze really irks me.
“Yeah, I did. It’s called Coalfell. Any other obvious questions?”
She snorts. “Fine, fine. I’m only teasing. I’m just used to most people knowing about the Basilisk. He’s from here, but I guess it’s been almost two decades since he roamed these lands. He’s akin to a Zenith, but over the seas. His golden eyes got him that name, and how if you look into them, there’s a good chance you’re dead. Mostly because he’s so accomplished he doesn’t do his dirty work anymore, so if he shows up, you’re not going to be alive for much longer. A master swordsmith, honestly. His personal circle is harder to get into than your father’s.”
I roll a hand, feeling like I’m back as a child and being taught about the history of the world. “And what does true form mean?”
“Right. He’s got someone shifting into his skin out in the Crimson Isles for some reason, while the real one is here. Your father doesn’t like the uncertainty in that. Once it’s ironed out, we’re then making our move. If Basilisk is here to claim you, then we want to avoid any confrontation.”
“Why the fuck would he claim me—” I raise both hands in the air, palms out, stopping when a sickening sensation weighs down my stomach; what if Basilisk is here to kill me? To cull Misery’s revival in the exact way Cypress warned against?In that, I can see why I shouldn’t tell anyone that Misery needs me , even if I don’t know why myself.
“Take that up with Misery for making you so interesting to everyone. Maybe Basilisk wants to see the world burn and prefers to stand among the ashes rather than suffocate, so getting ahead of the curb, really. Wouldn’t put it past him. Either way, we’re taking no chances. Not with Cypress’s protection being taken off of you.”
I rub my chin, noting that she doesn’t seem to be aware that my death would be a swift way to buy all these people a lot of peace—even if temporary. “So, what has Cypress said about me? I didn’t get much myself,” I ask, seeing what insight she truly has.
I know how to lie if I need to.
She looks surprised. “That’s annoying she didn’t say much, considering we were relying on that… she mostly just said the Scorpion’s daughter will be what we need to overcome Misery, like you’re some kind of key or tool, and that your safety is the priority of everyone. You know, because if you die, then we lose our chance to use whatever it is she has planned.”
Ah, shit. I hate to think everyone is being misled. It’s like the siren’s promise all over again.
I look back down at my lap. “That’s the gist of what I got.” I sigh heavily. “I’m sure she’ll reveal it to me, one way or another.”
Fuck. I really didn’t consider the way it would make me feel to lie to all these people, or at least, to lie to their hope .
The sharp rhythm of five knocks comes to the wooden doorframe, and Donna seems to be entirely expecting it as she turns around and heads to the door. A guard stands there, one hand lowering from rapping his knuckles and the other near the hilt of his weapon. “All clear?” she asks the man.
“Aye,” he firmly answers with a practiced formality.
Another thing I’m growing rather tired of is all this waiting until someone permits me to leave a damn room. Oh, how I miss walking to the Perch when I felt like it and the freedom that the dirt road promised at night.
Kathleen…
It’s her consideration that moves me forward without question, as I need to tell my father that her safety is non-negotiable. And also ask him about this Basilisk asshole, whoever he is.
I don’t like those undertones.
It doesn’t take long before we reach one of the Eyeless from earlier, Rorge looking down over his large, crooked nose at the both of us.
“Watch over Jane,” Donna briskly commands, her black hair the last thing I see before she disappears around a corner. My heart races as I stand against the cold wall, Rorge’s hands crossed in front of him while I stare at the floor. The sound of all those people nearby is getting to me, my father’s people.
People that have been told I’m essential to Misery’s downfall, and that they better keep me alive or their families will die.
It’s honestly unnerving to think they would all fight over who gets to gut me first if they knew that Misery’s rebirth was entirely contingent on whether I lived or died, but that my death would stop it, like snuffing out a candle.
Best part is, I don’t even know why .
Donna returns when I haven’t finished considering the ramifications of it all, waving for me to follow. Inhaling deeply while aggressively rubbing my tongue on the backside of my teeth, I enter what looks like a communal space that smells like brined meat, tobacco, and wood. The textures of all the chairs are a chaotic jumble, from velvet to wood to cotton, all clearly carved by different creators.
A nod to the fact they were probably stolen.
Spotting Soren is like finding an anchor in a new harbor when I locate the behemoth resting on a bed of hay; ankles crossed as he lies there, eyes closed. I don’t wait for anyone else’s permission and strut over straight away, only to pause a few feet from him when I remember that skin shifters exist in this world—what if this is a trap? Would that even happen among my dad’s men?
No, surely not, not with the Eyeless, right?
Pale eyes flash open, and I’m not sure an imposter could quite mimic the way that gaze penetrates. “Why the hesitancy? I was enjoying your immense relief at seeing me.”
A grin spreads across my face, that man slithering right under my skin.
A scarred brow raises in consideration. He motions next to him. “Sit. I’d get up, but I was told not to move a muscle, so I’m proving a point.”
Glancing around, only for a moment, my ass clenches when there are at least three dozen eyes on us. It’s never bothered me to really have the attention of many, but knowing they all belong to the Scorpion… I swiftly find a place to sit as if crouching down will somehow hide me, some of the hay digging through my pants. “I need to get ingredients for you,” I say, never quite finding a comfortable spot. “I should probably go do that right away, actually.”
“They already gave me a tonic.”
Out of everything that just happened, that’s the one statement that cuts personally . “ I was supposed to make that,” I say, as if taking the tonic of someone else breached something between us. “And you know what, who are you even sitting still for, anyway?”
He finally flashes a short-lived grin. “Don’t worry, love, whoever made it means nothing to me,” he teases, which does make me grin… slightly. “And there’s an old woman walking around, sweeping up the place. She told me to cease all movement because I was getting hay all over. Then she smacked me with her broom when I tried to show her it wasn’t that much.”
“ What ?” I ask, barely able to control my laughter, not wanting to bring more attention my way. “You’re clearly a Zenith . Your mask is right there—why did an old lady hit you with a broom?”
“I don’t think she gives a shit who I am.” His dark lashes part to reveal the sea glass underneath. “I’m in your daddy’s world, love. The boat is already rocking, so no point in making it worse.”
I try to inconspicuously search around for a woman with a broom, needing to see what she looks like. “You have a title .”
“This isn’t Belstead. Respect isn’t what precedes a name. And I have a feeling that the old woman is someone all these assholes have a soft spot for, so I’m going to win her over.”
I face him again, my gaze dropping to one of his bare forearms. His rough skin is covered in tattoos, from a skull to a siren, to intricate line art that scars cut through, to even a little design of braided rope, and another of an osprey.
The rest of him matches the roughened demeanor, even down to his stubble. There’s no way a woman is casually hitting him with a broom. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”
“No, actually,” he growls. “There are a lot of men here who are surprised you’re prettier than they thought. Can’t blame them. I had the same reaction when I first saw you, but I particularly dislike that some are under the assumption they wouldn’t have to fight me for you.”
Oh, that sends a prickling sensation all through me.
Gods, he has a way to make me melt at the most unpredictable times, doesn’t he? Especially when my gaze roams his torso and chest that’s on full display, rising and falling with each breath to subtly express the power he harbors.
I can't resist teasing him. “Well, if they’re paying attention, they’ll see your weakness is apparently a broom.”
He grins, and gods, does it unwind me when it’s unburdened by his mercenary warlording side, especially the way his lips curl, slightly crooked, creating those damn feelings that make my heart fill dangerously high with emotions I can’t spare right now.
I shouldn’t spare them, anyway.
It’s only stifled when, as if on cue, a woman who wears an unassuming dress and cloak steals his attention, broom in hand, with a large bag cinched around her waist. She’s swatting at a rat, her faded tattooed left hand waving at it as it scurries away. “Need more traps, Davis,” she comments, to which a man near her yells back, “Aye, aye, Mod.”
With a huff, she straightens up and places both hands atop her broom handle, vigilantly surveying the space. When her gaze lands on Soren, it flits to me and softens immediately, only to narrow back on him as if he tricked me into being there.
“You don’t need to sit with him, dear Jane,” she says, her voice deep and raspy like tobacco might have aged it as she makes her way over. Even if her skin is wrinkled, her dark eyes vibrate with youth.
Of course, everyone is watching now.
“I’m fine here, thanks,” I reply with a polite tone, wondering what Soren’s expression is. The man moves slightly to my back as I shift to look at Mod.
The woman frowns, twitching her nose. “Next to him ? Oh, come now. You’re with your father’s people. Leave this man be.”
“He might need something,” I counter.
She leans over, crinkling her nose as it twitches once more, speaking quieter as if it’s just for us, but there’s no way Soren can’t hear. “You don’t fancy him, do you? That’s the rumor I just heard. There are so many better options out there, especially with your lineage and how pretty you are. Really, Jane.”
"That’s unfair,” Soren comments with that false sound of hurt in his voice. “You haven’t even gotten to know me, Mod.”
She shoots a burning gaze at him, her thin fingers tightly gripping her broom. “Don’t call me Mod .” She looks back at me, licking her thin lips as she straightens her dress out like she’s wiping his words off of her. “You might not remember me, but I was the head organizer of the followers in your father’s company. We keep things very tidy and running properly, and sometimes cook and help with healing or mending broken things. I’d stop by you and your mother’s from time to time to bring sugared apples.”
The mention of sugary, tart treats floods my taste buds as if licking a memory. “Those were yours ?” I blink a few times. “Did I ever meet you?”
I swear when she smiles, there’s an added bit of ego, as if rubbing it into Soren. “Your father kept a very tight circle around you, and so did your mother. I would wave a few times, but that’s about it. My hair has gone white since seeing you last, so I’m sure that makes it harder to place. Age has also seemingly caught up with me when I thought I might have outran it.” She addresses Soren while raising her head, as if to ensure she has to look down her nose at him. “Which is why I know you’re better than him .”
“I haven’t moved a muscle, just as you asked,” Soren replies. “What have I ever done to you?”
I can tell there’s definitely a play in his tone, but it mixes so perfectly with his seriousness that it’s clear she can’t tell what he’s thinking.
Mod grunts at him. “I don’t like you.”
“It’s never too late to have a change of heart.”
That just seems to make her even angrier as she rolls her eyes until they land back on me, and the smile that almost appeared is wiped off without thought. “You don’t owe him anything, Jane. You’re with your father’s people now, like I said. There’s so many to meet. So many to get to know. An entire world has opened up before you. You know, let’s see… ah yes, over there, that’s Jake, and he’s the weaponsmith. So is Brett, Sam, and Cora. I bet they can get a fine, new blade made just for you… if you go over there, that is. I can take you even, if you’re just not certain where to go.”
As much as I’m confident I’m not going to be swayed by her, there’s the most curious hesitation when really considering what she just said—I’m not alone. My father has his troupe; a community . One that I can belong to. And make my own weapons?
Swallowing thickly, I manage out, “I really should ensure Soren is okay.”
She shakes her head, pity written clear across her face. “Not good enough of a hit he took if you ask me. Could have gone deeper.”
Without waiting for a reply, Mod walks off with a stamp of the broom as if it helps her pivot. I dip my head low to conceal my grin, even bringing my forefinger to my nose. “I think you shouldn’t turn your back on her.”
Soren’s long and heavy sigh precedes him, closing his eyes once more, nestling further into the hay. “ Clearly ,” his lip twitches into something like reluctant admiration. “Although I kind of like her. Her attitude stems from a deep loyalty. That’s worth everything… But that’s not the point, Miss Jane.” His pale eyes lazily lift open, the faintest lines of crow’s feet deepening as they pin me in my spot. “Tell me of your plans, love. I can tell something changed.”
My mind skips over Cypress as if it was a dream; I treat it like a dream, as that’s the only way I might be able to get away with this. “I’ve decided I’m going to channel everything I have into wanting to kill those who ruined my life, and killed my mother.”
His brow arches in a detached amusement. “Have you ever plotted revenge before?”
“Well, yeah, of course. Like when Dicky stole my socks. And my shoes. I plotted a whole series of events, actually.”
There’s a distinguished pause that stretches between us. “What now?”
“One of the kids growing up here stole my socks. I tell you… I wanted to pluck his ears for that. It was the cold season, and he didn’t even need them. Just thought it was funny. I had to walk home with frozen feet.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, his restraint cracking just enough to hint at laughter. “I’m going to suggest that what you want to do now might be more complex than that .”
There I go smiling again, helpless in his wake. “What’s your point?”
“I might be good at something like this. So don’t treat me like I’m not here.”
There’s a moment of pure peace that sits over me, a calm that is so rare it’s sacred, chasing away the biting loneliness that’s become my new normal since Coalfell. Being near Soren reminds me a lot of when I first met Kathleen and how every encounter always went right. He continues to make me feel things that normalize who I am, to validate the side that not many would understand. Even the jagged, unpolished edges of me.
I’ve never felt so… normal .
“So, then,” I ask, leaning into this moment. “What’s my first step?”
He draws in a long breath, scratching his stubbled chin to make it sound like he’s rubbing sandpaper. “Well, don’t get caught again, for starters,” he half-jokes, his tone dipping down into something more serious. “The Shade shit proves you’re being targeted. So I’d revert back to barely trusting your own shadow. Right now we are waiting for an opening to try and leave this city. So, in the meantime, I’d start practicing how to fight. Immediately.”
“You think I can just start fighting now ?”
“I’ll arrange for either Anya or Bones to do it. No one else, maybe except your father. I don’t know his men yet, so I don’t trust them . Anya’s your stature, so she’ll have good insight. Bones is a professional and won’t hold back, which is something you need.”
The absurd image of sparring with Bones floods me. “You’re going to let me beat him up?”
His grin is almost feral. “You talk a big game, love. I’m sure you’re capable.”
I pivot, bits of hay crunching under me. “What about you ? Why won’t you teach me anything?”
He leans in slightly—the first movement toward me—his voice dropping to a dangerously tempting vibrato. “You want me to pin you down again?”
I look away, refraining from lightly hitting him, biting my lip with a half-smile. “I hardly think this is the time.”
“There’s never a better time for pleasure than while death is at the door.”
That poetic thought is like a gust of wind that catches just right in one’s mouth, making it hard to breathe. So much so that I have to immediately think of other things. “I think you’re afraid to fight me,” I reply, wanting to live in this easy conversation.
His unburdened laugh warms the space between us. “Do you just miss hitting people, Jane? Is that it?”
“I mean a little ,” I laugh out. “It sure makes me feel better.”
There’s enough of a pause that it’s almost hard for me to ignore a table of men who seem to be talking about me, gesturing over here frequently. I nearly rise to strut over and ask what they’re gossiping about when I blurt out, “Can you read them at all? Or are they silent, like my father?”
When I feel the bed of hay shift, I rotate my head to look at him once more; he’s up on an elbow, looking directly at me. “About that… I can read him, actually. He took off a ring when he and I met just after I left.” He slowly licks his bottom lip, that gaze lingering behind me more and more before he adds, “It’s connected to Cypress. And I’d bet my entire coffer that Blackwell is using something similar, possibly from Misery.”
The room constricts; his words are a noose around my thoughts. My pulse thunders in my throat when presented with the possibility of knowing my father, not realizing how much I actually appreciated not knowing him. “What did you feel? Is it really him?”
His demeanor is nowhere near as rushed or panicked as mine. “He’s your father, Jane. And his heart is heavy.”
My dad .
His heart is heavy? My gaze lowers as if I’ve been looking at my father through a mirror’s reflection, only for the glass to disappear, and he’s standing in the frame.
Soren’s comforting presence morphs, too. Some part of me is confusingly annoyed now, as if my heart is too bare and open, and I’m not ready for him to explore that. Nor do I like the idea of him sitting and waiting for me to figure myself out. It’s as if he can finally see the seam that holds me together, and I don’t like that he knows how deranged its design is.
“I’m sorry you’re stuck in this, by the way,” I murmur, my voice strained. “Sitting in a bed of hay isn’t exactly worth your time.”
When I face him, his eyes deepen with that same hidden depth that seems reserved only for him—for now. “ You’re stuck in it, too.”
Inhaling deeply, I stare back down at my hands, a bruise already forming around my wrist where Shade grabbed me. A small glance through my lashes shows Soren watching me, pure displeasure overtaking his face as he stares at my wrists, although I think that’s just the emotions that escape, where I imagine something more savage plays out in his mind.
“I suppose that’s true. I often just feel like everyone is stuck because of me.” I give a half-chuckle, not wanting to think about Shade right now. Or any of it. I want conversations that have no purpose. “Anyway… did you know someone like you is called a Sensor?”
His head rises, but his gaze remains on my wrist, a callousness slowly erasing as a warmer expression overtakes it, but I can tell he’s far from forgetting these bruises.
“My old mentor never mentioned it. Didn’t know I had a proper name,” he replies, and I love that he knows I need a conversation like this.
“ Mentor ?” I ask, my curiosity piquing.
“Another, like me,” he answers, although his voice tells me his mind is still elsewhere.
My attention, on the other hand, is stuck on my spiraling imagination, considering Soren as a mentee, fascinated by this side of him. What was a young Soren like? I bet he had a mouth on him. And who in the hells was in charge of such a bastard? “Well, who is it? What was their name?”
He licks his bottom lip. “A man named The Basilisk.”