Chapter 13
J A N E
I refuse to acknowledge the part of me that is fucked up and may have enjoyed the way it felt to have Soren pin me down, to frame it from an angle of caring about me, as if I matter. I don’t care if that’s not healthy—I’m not a healthy person, and I don’t know if I ever will be.
If I even want to be.
I don’t know this man as if it’s been years, but I’m pretty confident in saying his expressions are everything—I think he means it that he doesn’t want me to hide anything from him.
While I lie there in the bed, staring at the ceiling that’s barely lit by the dwindling hearth, I’m pretty certain Soren’s asleep. We’ve eaten, washed off our bodies, and now he’s resting. I roll my head over to stare at the side of his face, fascinated with how mundane he is when he sleeps.How much he’s just a man who has had to cull so many parts of his soul to thicken it enough to weather this world.
A man with fears.
I want to ask so many questions about his sister, about the girl who was fascinated with a world outside of here while someone like me always dreamed of returning.
I let my guilt spill out while he sleeps, mulling over what Cypress said. My heart will shatter a little when he realizes he will not only be unable to read me, but that Misery might get his hands on me, too… and I knew. The whole time, I knew, and I will have hid that from him.
How much are Cypress’s warnings true? How much would telling Soren truly disrupt everything?
I’m not dumb enough to think he wouldn’t take immediate action. He’d absolutely inform the Scorpion, and then I’d have two Zenith trying to wedge their way between what’s supposed to happen.
I don’t even care what the fates have planned for me at this point with Misery, not if it’s the best chance for survival . I want to make sure Kathleen is safe, that Soren won’t die, and that I somehow live to help him recover Serena.Cypress nearly promised that, but I have to see myself as a weapon, not some noble sacrifice.
Soren’s head slightly rolls to face me, his eyes still closed and his breathing long and slow. I stare at him without any reservation in this silent peace. I barely scraped the surface of seeing his true heart, and by the gods, do I want it all. I want him .
Rising from the bed is something I finally commit to, wrapping myself in one of the many blankets here, and sit right in front of the diminishing fire. I jump when my ass touches the cold stone floor, re-positioning so it’s on the inside of the fur before I get comfortable.
I stare at the crackle, remembering that I forgot to ask Cypress about being a Cinder. Is that important? Useful at all? Or is it just something about me that’s as relevant as my hair color?
I reach out to stick my hand in one of the small flames, a burn never charring my flesh. It oddly makes me start to cry, to think of Maryanne and the villagers. I could have saved so many more people if I’d known I didn’t have to be afraid of burning.What if fighting Cypress is akin to me being afraid of fire?
Mindlessly, my hand lowers to do something I’ve never quite done, and I rest it on the burning log, touching the white, ashen parts that are ready to fall off. It’s just really warm, like it might start burning me if I’m not careful, but nothing amounts from there.
The yearning for my mother, to ask her about her experience as a Cinder and a healer, is like floating in a body of water and constantly being taken under, wondering if I’ll ever surface again.
It’s so immensely unfair I don’t have her, and I’ll never be able to ask her questions about life. About hers .
The bed shifts—I glance over my shoulder to see pale eyes staring at me. I try to cork every emotion I just felt so he won’t have to worry, not while he needs to recover. Not while I’m still mulling over it all.
“Go back to sleep,” I gently say. “I’m just playing with fire.”
He gives a crooked grin, and his eyes gently close. I know he’s absolutely exhausted, and his body no doubt has to be begging to sleep.I rarely see him like this, which just confirms how much he needs to rest.
And in that, once I feel like Soren is slumbering once more, I move to one of the chairs, unable to return to the bed just yet, settling in as I stare at Soren. It feels a little creepy, but who knows when I’ll be able to do this again? What if visions of this are the only thing to get me through what’s to come? What if this is one of the last few good days of my life?I know how fleeting they can be…
If there’s one thing I regret about my mother’s death, it’s that I didn’t spend enough time to ensure I burned certain moments in my brain like a tattoo.
Yes, I’ll unabashedly enjoy this quiet for now. Because tomorrow, I start training. Until my legs fall off.
I will do whatever it takes to protect this man and keep him in my life.
The wooden blade cracks against my calf, stinging as my buckling knee sends me to the ground.
My fingers clamp tight on the training sword, pivoting while falling, the act more instinctual already after doing it countless times. On the ground, I parry the next blow as the two pieces of wood clack against each other.
The iron grip I thought I had means nothing as the training blade flies out of my hand.
“In sword fighting, your strength is not in brute force, dying pigeon,” Bones remarks, standing above me. “You’re not quite strong enough to take the pressure of someone else’s blade right now.”
I snarl at Bones, panting as I reach over to grab mine. Gritting my teeth, I rise to my feet, wiping at my brow. “So just don’t parry, then? I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.”
“Wouldn’t say that, but you held the sword up like that was your only tactic and that it might actually work,” he remarks, raising the tip of his to motion to me. “You should have deflected my blade, but also had your other hand ready to grab one of the smaller blades on your chest to stab me in the thigh with.”
I nearly roll my eyes, as I’m too fucking tired to implement something like that . I glance around the storage room that’s been partially cleared for fighters to keep in somewhat shape down here. The fire lanterns above us aren’t as optimal as the sun, and I’m already growing tired of being down here. “So what’s my strength then? Let’s just start focusing on that. We’ve been sparring like this for three days.”
“We’re starting here because you need to know how this feels, so your instinct doesn’t go to it. You can’t evade attacks if you’re not used to it.” Bones strides in his spot, his armor removed to leave only his leathers and cotton shirt. “From what you’ve shared, you’re used to the streets as a child, or the taverns at Coalfell. Not active combat. How many times have you been able to overpower me?”
I breathe heavily, eyeing a box that I’d really like to sit on right now. “None… yet .”
“Precisely.” He eyes the space as he talks. “Your fighting tactic stems from something you’re already used to—element of surprise, and very close quarters. Very pirate-like in style, but you’re using none of the evasion. If you’re up against a fucker in armor, just literally dance around until his arms get tired of swinging a long sword. Again, evasion . I’ve been waiting to see if that would spark on its own, but, well, can’t all be winners. You take pain well, though.”
I tut, walking over to the pail of water for a drink, sliding the wooden blade under my armpit to hold it. “Then these last three days have been a waste.”
I admit I could have said something prior to now, but I also wanted to give it a real shot. It wasn’t until today that I started to realize I might not be as good at sparring as I thought. I can’t even be mad at Bones for his criticisms, because he’s not wrong .
I’ve hardly been able to land a hit on him.
“Ha! A waste. So many men would pay their entire inheritance to train with me for three solid days, and you’re getting it for free . Which also includes cheap shots.” Bones is advancing on me fast enough that I drop the cup of water, pull out the sword, and wonder what the hells do I do as he lifts his like he might swing it—how do I focus on evasion versus taking the hit?
“What—” I bend backward to avoid the strike, stepping back, grinning when it worked.
“You’re not watching my footwork,” he chides, coming in again, and I use my hand to grab the wood, so damn tired of it hitting me or knocking my blade out of my hands. The sting from the contact travels into my bones, but it’s also when I realize Bones is slightly open, and I heavily prod his chest with my training sword.
“ Ha! ” I exclaim.
His mismatched eyes flash with pride as the action seems to wind him, coughing slightly as he takes a few steps back. “There you are,” he says through a strained voice, rubbing his chest. “Might not have a left hand if that was a real sword, but that’s for another day. You’ll just have to get good at sewing yourself back together, so maybe just keep leaning into that.”
I place a hand over my stomach where Anya stabbed me, sliding it off so as not to make it obvious. “I hate blades.”
“Well, there will be many slashing at you. Not a great time to hate them,” he warns, although there’s such a lightheartedness to him. “Let’s take a break and eat. I smell food.”
Limping with a lower leg that no doubt needs a lot of healing magic put into it, I lay the sword against a box in silent agreement. “You didn’t have to hit my leg that hard.”
“On the contrary. Your body will remember that sting.”
“Maybe I’m not meant for combat,” I remark. “I prefer the stealthy stuff.”
“Too bad, little rogue. Even thieves need to know how to fight.”
For a moment, I consider making an excuse not to join him in the Commons, in case Soren is in there. Today is the third day since we arrived down here, and Soren has yet to ask me about what Cypress wanted with me. I’ve also not questioned him on anything further related to Basilisk, or any of his history, in case Soren wants to use that moment to dig deeper.
I’ve just been a good little healer, taking care of him and then spending the rest of my time training.
My father has also been as available as he always was—a ghost. We haven’t spoken once. Can’t say I’ve wanted to complain, though. Keeping a distance from both of them is better for me so I can focus.
At least, I’m attempting to. I’ve poured nearly all my energy into trying to beat the shit out of Bones, but he’s admittedly quite impressive on his feet, even with a training sword.
“You’re deep in thought again,” Bones says as we’re already at one of the small tables in the Commons, the sound of everyone around me appearing as if there was a fog hiding them.
I glance up to catch Bones’s steady gaze as we settle in at the empty table. Based on what hangs off a hook on the wall—a large piece of wood painted yellow with a black stripe running through—it’s apparently midday, and stew is almost ready. It’s how they all tell time down here: a black stripe signifying food will be ready within the hour.
“It’s hard not to let my mind wander when I don’t even remember what the sun looks like,” I retort, looking up at a few of the hanging lanterns before dropping my gaze to Bones. He has the smallest bruise on his chin from where I got him earlier. “That will turn a nice purple,” I say, nodding to him.
“ You’d have a lot more if you didn’t heal them all,” he counters, looking around as if his attention has completely wandered away, until it’s clear he spots a pitcher of water.
“Must be real proud to overpower someone like me,” I say, my voice lifting just enough to carry over the crowd that gathers for a warm meal. He strides over to grab the pitcher and a few cups, sitting back down with a little bounce from the force.
“I don’t have any pride,” he comments. “I just want what I want.”
I try not to laugh, biting my bottom lip as I glance around the dark space with warm fire lighting it. I can’t deny the bastard is a little funny.
A little bit.
My wandering gaze lands on Soren as if he’s magnetic to me; he’s speaking with one of the weaponsmiths Mod pointed out. His black tunic that’s too long is tucked into his leather pants that have a thick belt cinching around his entire waist, his weapons properly adorning him—probably over there discussing getting a new one made. He looks so refreshed compared to the alley with Shade.
Which makes me nervous, because that means he’ll have a lot more energy to wear me down. He glances back at me as if he can feel that, and I reach for the cup of water, my cheeks reddening.
Gods, I dread him asking about what Cypress said.
Soren legitimately slept for nearly two days straight, only awake to fill his belly with food or water, drinking a blood tonic every morning. What am I going to do if he holds me to that declaration of the third day?What can I possibly tell him so he doesn’t do it? If he finds out, he’s going to lose his mind.
I’m still trying to decide how I really fit into all of this. That's what a leader would do, isn’t it? Know when to act independently? If Misery wants me , then why shouldn’t I go to him? I know damn well if this is my father, he would go. Get right up close and personal, before striking.
At least, with Cypress supporting me, I feel as if I have a chance .
“Did we ever figure out what happened with Shade?” I ask, trying to think of something else. Anything else, because I can sense Soren is still watching me.
Bones’s expression hardens instantly. “Oh, we’re on it. Given strict orders to capture him as unharmed as possible, because Soren wants to inflict it all. I personally think he means to make a message out of Shade. But I can’t share those details.”
“And you’re certain that Kathleen is alright? I don’t want her near anywhere that affiliates with Shade.”
He starts twirling one of his rings in between his fingers. “Kitten is where she needs to be, and I won’t share that, either.” His mismatched eyes flash at me. “She said you wouldn’t take that for an answer, by the way. So I’m already extra prepared to tell you no .”
I inhale, not quite sure what I want to say but I’m far from satisfied. She knows me well . He holds up a hand as if sensing my protest. “I’m not saying where she is, so you can stop. She truly has been put somewhere very safe. She’s a massive target to get to you, and both your daddy and Soren want her as impossible to find as buried treasure.”
I hate the idea of having to open up to Bones, to give him a fraction of my vulnerability, but I may not have any other choice. I lean over slightly on the table. “Bones, I feel really weird having no idea where my closest friend is.”
“Perfectly reasonable,” he casually replies, looking to the side as one of the followers brings over a bowl of stew and fresh bread. The woman looks at me and smiles warmly, while cautiously eyeing Bones. The rest of the crew all get up to get in line for it—we don’t have to, apparently—and the woman is gone just as fast as she arrived. “But that’s also why you can’t know. Just think of it as protecting her. If you knew about Kitten, and if someone like Soren gets ahold of you, they’ll rip that information right out of you. Then all that person has to do is find and threaten Kathleen, and your savior complex won’t be able to say no, and then we’re all fucked.”
“I do not —” I halt, not having seen the conversation taking that direction.
He raises his brows, shifting so he’s facing his steaming bowl of food. “I’ve got zero judgment for it. I get it. But that is your biggest weakness. Soren’s technically a target, too, but they kidnap him, and they’ll have Death’s Wing after him, along with his people. And he’d be hard as shit to crack. No, it’s better to take Kitten if they want to get to you.”
I tap my finger on the table, watching him bring the spoon to his lips before blowing on it. My mouth parts at times, until I manage out, “Who put you in charge of analyzing me?”
“Soren, when he told me to train you.”
My jaw drops; not really meaning that question. I was just being sarcastic. “Wait, seriously? You know what, where is Anya while we’re at it? She was supposed to help. It’s just been you for the last three days. Maybe it’s time to switch it up.”
He shrugs, ripping some bread into pieces and dipping it into the broth, the crumbly bread slowly turning soggy in his fingers. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Kathleen loves my company, and you love Kathleen,” he calmly says, almost smugly.
I grab a piece of bread as my hunger betrays my irritation, my stomach obscenely grumbling at the smell of onion beef stew. I rip apart the baked goodness more aggressively than is probably necessary. “Whatever… I wouldn’t say no to someone else coming over. Maybe we should invite one of these people to the table? Or would that interrupt your analysis of me?”
“You know they won’t come over here.”
I hotly sigh. He’s not wrong. So far, no one has approached us when we’ve sat here for food between training sessions. It was apparently Soren’s orders that, for some reason, my father’s men agreed to. That doesn’t stop them from staring, probably because they see me training all day if they pass the storage room and wonder why I fight like a flopping fish.
I’ve never really had a sense of shame, though. They don’t know what I face, and I’ll be damned if I let another moment go by that isn’t about helping me prepare for what’s coming.
I owe Soren.
I won’t let him down.
Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate that I’ve properly got to be aware of a reputation to live up to, however that works.
Bones tears into another piece of bread as he smirks. “But seriously, you need to work on over-gripping your dagger. It’s what you’re doing right now to your spoon.”
I glance down, my brows furrowing when I see that I am, indeed, gripping it as if hanging on for dear life.
“I like a firm grip,” I comment, relaxing my fingers as the stiffness releases. “Don’t make any sexual jokes.”
He grins mischievously. “Who me? I would never .” He licks his lips, straightening up again. “Anyway, this is important because your grip is something you can work on without a partner. I’d still focus mostly on evasion, but having the right grip could be the difference between life and death.” He takes another bite, the remainder of the bread dripping into the broth. “But if, and when, shit gets real, there won’t be time to heal or recover. It’s all about muscle memory, so being aware at all times, even eating your soup, is pragmatic.”
Pragmatic . I loosen my grip, trying to eat my soup with loose fingers. Can’t believe I’m being lectured about pragmatism by Bones . “Are you nervous at all?” I ask.
He cants his head to the side. “No point in being nervous. I’ll either live, or I’ll die.” He seems to consider something else, sucking on a thumb. “Really, it’s mostly Kathleen I worry about. I’ve stashed her away pretty good, but I really don’t like not being able to tell what’s happening on an hour-to-hour basis.”
It’s hard not to laugh like he’s a squirrel stashing away his nuts. I don’t reply as I scarf the meal down. The savory onions are so perfectly delicious after all that exertion today, even through my anxious nausea. And honestly, there’s something that actually makes me feel a little better about Bones with his statement.
Maybe I can let go of my worry for Kathleen, for now. Just focus on training. On how to fight a god .
No fucking pressure.
“I’m getting stiff again,” I say, starting to feel the beating of our sessions settle in my muscles. “You can hold back a little, you know, and I’ll still get the same message.”
“Try saying that to the enemy,” he says, pretending to be looking at someone. “Yes, sir, please wait a moment while I stretch before you stab me. Oh, and I need this splinter removed. Maybe grab a drink while we wait, and some tweezers.”
I quirk a smile, shoving my mouth with more soup before I can’t hold back a laugh. He’s so damn annoying, especially when he’s right. Then I point my empty spoon at him. “You know you mock that, but I bet it would work for a second . Like you said, element of surprise. Think about it, they’re going to hear the question and wonder what’s going on, and that’s when you stab.”
He shrugs, although his smile shows he’s a little approving. “You know what, I’ll give it a try next time I’m about to gut someone.” He downs his water, setting the cup down with a heavy sigh. “How is Soren healing, by the way? Looks really good today.”
“Mostly just sleeping. The tonics will do that. Today is the first day he has real color in his face, as you’ve noticed. He’ll be feeling back to normal in a few days, although I wouldn’t recommend him to get stabbed again. The tonics replace the sensation of being drained, but he’s still low on blood.”
He shakes his head. “Must be odd to see that man sleep so much when he basically never does.”
Huh .
Come to think of it, Soren is always up before I wake, and I never bothered to ask when he left the bed. He just always seemed busy. “He really does run on very little sleep, doesn’t he?”
“Wait, you don’t—Oh, then maybe I shouldn’t say more.”
I frown, tilting my head. “Say more about what?”
“If you don’t know, I’m not telling you.”
I growl with exasperation, glaring at him. “This must be what it’s like to have siblings.”
“I’m the middle child, myself.”
I grunt, shaking my head, although that just brings to life the stiffness in my neck—I need a massage from a healer, like the ones I give to Soren, where I can channel magic into his muscles.
It's hard to be completely mad at Bones, especially since I can’t deny he’s actually helped an immense amount with my fighting style?—
The sonance of shifting chairs makes me look up.There’s a sudden shift in the room’s energy, and I glance at the main entry to the room to see my father standing in the threshold.
The air is stolen from my lungs to see him without warning, still absolutely not used to the Scorpion making random appearances like this, especially when he’s been gone for the last three days. He’s a man that might make the room quiet, but I have the fondest memories from a childhood with a warm father, even if I feel so confused about him now. I want so badly to demand to know why he’s as distant as ever, but my heart is simply too exhausted to ask further.
He silently surveys the room, and maybe I also feel different since he looks so altered with the shorter hair and tattoos.
It’s not clear who he’s motioning to when his hand moves, until a few people walk in behind him, one of them guiding Anya with a blade at her neck.
What the hells?
In true Anya fashion, she doesn’t even seem bothered.
Bones slightly scoots back in his chair, his demeanor mirroring the alleyway. I nearly do the same, feeling like I actually can contribute something now—wait, he would be attacking my dad .
“You said we were possibly allies,” my father states, addressing someone across the room. Sharply turning my head, my breathing quickens as Soren is intently watching the Scorpion.
Oh no, what the fuck is happening?
What are they doing?
My body tenses when they’re rough with Anya, pulling on her hair to straighten out her neck, stretching the vulnerability of her throat. Dad unsheathes a blade, indenting Anya’s cheek with it, who merely sneers in response. “Then explain her .”
“Only if you state clearly what you want rather than being so vague ,” Soren replies without missing a beat, hostility clear in his voice, although he hasn’t moved from his position, still leaning against a table.
I nearly rise to my feet in shock when one of my dad’s eyes slowly turns milky like Rorge’s, in a fascinatingly grotesque way. “I can see she’s not mine. So where is the original, and who is she ?”
What the hells—so Dad is like one of them?
“Remove the blade and put her down, Ritter, and we’ll have a real conversation. Because if you slit her throat, we’ll become like the Ballad of the Blood, and then this will all be fucking useless. Don’t be an idiot.” Soren’s bitter tone is cutting , despite how calm he makes himself seem.
“Maeve has been with us for a very long time,” Dad responds, and a woman comes out from behind them, sort of awkwardly trying to make her way in as if she’s reluctant to be here. “Which also made it easy to find her, and then locate your skin shifter. Which would be something you’d want to inform an ally, no?”
Skin—Anya?
Is she a skin shifter?
My sensation of being lost returns to me, feeling so small against all these people who are capable of so much; meanwhile, I can barely hit Bones with a training sword. Oh, but at least my skin won’t burn.
So fucking useful, right?
My father inhales through his nose, his eyes nearly rolling with his blink as he faces the one holding Anya, nodding.
The man releases her, and she slowly steps away from him as if he were a mere nuisance. “It was necessary for reconnaissance,” Anya states, adjusting one of her bracers. “You’d have done the same. She’s unharmed, as you can see.”
My father ignores her as he holds an arm out in Anya’s direction to indicate her, and then faces Soren, who I don’t know if he’s even blinked. “Anyone else I need to know about? Any more of my people missing?”
“She’s the only one,” Soren tightly replies.
A certain hatred crosses my father’s eyes, although that expression is immediately replaced with concern and confusion; the same reaction washes over the room as the rubies in the wall and ceiling glow, much like when I was alone with Cypress.
A red cast settles on us all.
“This is why, sir,” the one named Maeve says unconfidently, her voice shaking. “I didn’t come to you. I wasn’t treated poorly, but I stayed put. The witch told me when I came back is when we’d have to leave. And when, well, when things will get hard .”
Immediately, my father’s gaze darts over to me, the expression so vividly similar to when he found me on our front porch, clenching my mom all those years ago. My dad then looks back at the men behind him. “Send a raven to Tempest. It’s time we leave Skull’s Row. We move to the sea.”