Chapter 14
J A N E
P ain radiates at my scalp, my eyes clenching shut, and my nose crinkling. “You’re so rough,” I grind out.
Rather than pausing, Donna only pulls tighter, working with a ruthless efficiency. “You’ll thank me later to have the hair out of your face.”
Never did I think getting ready to leave would involve braiding my hair. The design is tightly woven down the center of my scalp. I wish Soren was capable of doing more than loose braids, or I’d have asked him to do this for me. At least he might be able to make the pain fun . In the same breath, if he could do them, I doubt he would. There’s too much that needs to be done in such a short amount of time.
“Ruby earrings?” Donna asks from behind me.
I raise my hands to my ears, fingers brushing against the metal casing and gemstone. “They’re in.”
A requirement from the witch.
“Good,” she replies, my neck stiffening to keep my head still. “You’re almost ready.”
Almost. There’s such an unspoken promise there that she has no idea what she just alluded to. The notion that this all turns utterly sour has been at the forefront, side, and back of my mind, along with another consideration— What if Misery doesn’t have to catch me ? Cypress didn’t say it was indefinite, just highly likely, and that she can’t control free will.
What if there is an out here?
What if there’s a choice I can make that changes it all?
“Have you ever been on a pirate ship?” she asks, pulling me from the haze of my worries.
“Is it different from a normal ship?”
“Oh, yes,” she laughs. “They look out for their own, and only their own. Don’t trust a single one of them. And follow their rules. They’re very serious about their agreed-upon laws.”
Noted . “Where are we going, exactly?”
“Tempest hasn’t shared that.”
It’s strange how I actually feel better having spoken to Cypress. If I didn’t have context for what’s out there haunting me, I honestly would be fleeing during this escape. It’s simply entirely too uncomfortable to consider all these people working to protect me. If it was just for my own life, I’d see it as an absolute waste of theirs.
But not with what Cypress said. If I die, then it makes it all worse, somehow. So I have to live, and I very well can’t protect myself, by myself.
There has to be a way I can reduce the deaths while somehow avoiding getting caught…
I wince in silence as Donna is rough , because I do agree that I’ll want this hair out of my eyes, and it’ll be a lot harder for someone to yank on, like with Shade—the pain subsides as Donna is finally working on the free braid, wrapping up her task quite quickly before she says, “There, all done. Functional and fierce. Now get your boots on.”
As I stand, I touch the top of my lightly aching head; the braid is so foreign, yet relieving. It’s a skill I never really learned myself, always keeping my hair short and with bangs as a kid. Then, in Coalfell, it didn’t matter.
I near my boots, sitting back down to slide them over wool socks. “So, is everyone expecting me to have a plan?”
Glancing up at her, she leans over, an elbow on each knee, giving me the faintest smile. “Well, since no one can get close enough to chat with you, rumors do spread. I think quite a few are under the impression you know what to do. At least, that your father does.”
My fingers are quick with the laces, tightening the boot. “Do you think he does?”
“I think this god wants you dead, am I wrong in that?”
There’s a hesitancy in her voice, and I can tell that my fishing for information may be too obvious. “Well, he definitely can’t do what he needs with me if I’m alive,” I half-lie, standing when both of my boots are secured.
“If killing you brings about something devastating, then it’s clear we just need to keep you alive and safe while a plan is made. He’s getting greedy, which is scary as shit for us, but it also means there will be an opening. I imagine fighting a god requires another one… which is why Cypress is so relevant… I don’t know. Maybe the ocean god can do something?” She glances my way. “Are you worried?”
It’s funny because I’ve been asking everyone that exact question, and this is one of the first times someone is asking me . Then again, Soren doesn’t need to ask questions when it concerns my heart. “I’m worried for the people who will die.”
“That’s not your responsibility,” Donna reassures, and I cross my arms as I watch her stand before she stretches her body. “It’s the fault of this asshole, Misery, and also Blackwell for being a dingleberry and going along with this.”
“A dingleberry ?” I ask with a quiver of my lips.
She tilts her head. “It’s a word my family used growing up. Mostly when speaking to the children. Although Blackwell is such an idiot, he might as well only have the smarts of a kid. Even that might be too generous.”
This time, I let a laugh out; the moment of peace rather appreciated. We’re in the room that’s been assigned to me, one that no longer has any signs of Soren. “So seriously, what does he gain in all of this? Blackwell, I mean? It’s still mind-boggling that he would risk everything for a god who he has to know doesn’t give a shit about him.”
She shrugs. “In his eyes, he gains all of Skull’s Row. But he’s a twat for thinking that’s worth anything. If he so much as farts in the wrong direction when Misery is reigning, he’ll kill him without hesitation. It’s just like you said. Which is why he’s a fucking dingleberry.”
My laugh escapes me again, and this time Donna joins, too. She even nods to the door, and I know it’s time to follow her out of here. I hate leaving the sanctuaries Soren makes in these rooms… “We’re all just trying our best to mitigate the damage,” she says, opening it, ignorant of the raging battle inside me. “It’s just annoying when others join in to make the fight all that more complicated.”
“Well, isn’t everyone acting so unlike Skull’s Row.” A slight tease is in my voice. “You know, since Skull’s Row isn’t really known for this kind of brave behavior. To look out for others.”
I think of my mom as I say that. Of how she loved the architecture of this city, the excitement of it all, and even the freedom, but loathed the selfishness. She would probably laugh at the irony of everyone acting like knights in a song.
“It’s the natural order of things, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” I rebuke, standing in the hallway that red rubies still light.
Donna rings a bell, to which Rorge looks around the corner and holds up a hand—not yet. “My job among your father is to be the people person,” Donna explains. “And if there’s one thing I see repeated over and over again, it’s that most humans cannot resist the call of purpose. What’ll happen, if I have to guess, is this entire situation we’re all stuck in will pass and some peace will settle for a while, and we will have defeated Misery. Skull’s Row will live through the subsequent changes. Then as people forget what almost happened here, they’ll go back to thieving like this is all a fable. I mean, it will be a fable, to them.”
My mind is not ready for that kind of philosophy. “It’s hard to imagine it that way when my mother’s death is a part of what caused it all.” My gaze snaps to her, feeling like I shouldn’t have mentioned my mother in such a way. I’m so used to secrecy, I’m not sure what can be shared anymore.
There’s the slightest twitch to her umber eyes, as if indicating her mind refocusing on a new path. “I’m sorry for your family’s suffering,” she replies, her voice smoother and smokier in an attempt to comfort.
My gaze falls to the floor, a chill washing over me as I’m not used to my neck being so exposed in the back. “Me too.”
The only regret of leaving this city is that I won’t be able to visit the Silver District. There’s something permanent in this feeling of us departing, like even if I came back, would it be too dangerous for me? Would people recognize and ransom me?
That’s if I even survive.
Gooseflesh rises on my arms again as I’m so nervous for what has yet to happen that it makes me sick.
Faint echoes of many moving people make their way to this hallway, and that’s when Rorge faces us to deliver an approved nod.
“So, remember,” Donna says, walking ahead of me and speaking over her shoulder. “You are to never be alone. Either myself, Rorge, Bones, or Anya should be with you, or your father or Soren. Preferably a mixture of us all.” She looks back ahead, her black hair half braided at the top, the rest still down. “I’m sure those ruby earrings will help keep Cypress alerted as well, wherever she is.”
My heart pounds when we reach the end of the rest, the area alight with a need to move, to pack, to prepare . The sound of heavy armor makes this all sink in—so far I’ve only really seen reinforced leathers, maybe some armored pieces here or there.
At least three dozen are covered in metal.
There’s a rotation as Anya is placed on ‘keep track of Jane’ duty while Donna secures arrangements, Rorge standing near to keep an eye on everyone. I pad my body with layers and weapons, and ensure my laces are tied extra tight before placing my back against a wall.
It’s apparently imperative that I don’t leave the entirety of me open, if possible.
When it’s far too quiet between Anya and me, even the area itself is loud, I say, “So, a skin shifter.” I glance over at Anya, who is wearing her usual attire with some metal shoulder plates, metal on her thighs, and thicker vambraces.
“Not as useful of a skill now that your father has outed me,” she remarks, her arms crossed while her dark eyes scan the open area. Her slicked-black hair is fuller than normal, the few strands in her face now brushing past her nose.
“How many times have I interacted with you and didn’t know it?” I joke, leaning into the cold stone behind me. I don’t know what to do with my hands as an energy of utter nervousness floods me.
“Only once.” Her lips curve into the faintest smirk.
My jaw drops, not thinking she actually did. “Wait, who was it?”
“ That’s ruining the fun in it,” she replies smoothly. Her usual serious expression shifts to something more contemplative. “Did you find Bones useful? I hope you gained a skill or two while I was gone.”
“Not sure I’d call it useful . Couldn’t hit him to save my life.”
Her smile sharpens, an approved chuckle confusing me. “You know, the time you kicked him in the nose is one of the first direct hits he’s had in years.”
“What?”
“It’s true. There are many people in this city who would pay a lot of money to spar with him. I don’t know what the hells to call his magic, if he even has it, but he’s damn near impossible to hit. Unusually difficult. Even he thinks it’s hilarious.”
I furrow my brows, trying to recall back to when I kicked him in the face. “Really?”
“ I was going to do some sparring with you, but Bones insisted the time was best spent trying to hit him. If you’re training to attack an unhittable target, you’re more likely to land a strike against a normal man. Especially since very few are as skilled as Soren or Bones.” She reaches up, absentmindedly rubbing one of her earlobes, a small speck of gold barely existing as an earring there. “It’s actually how he used to make his money before Soren. He was either training people, or hired as an assassin.”
It never once crossed my mind to wonder how these people all met.
“Well, how did he meet Soren?”
Her faint but unmistakable smirk returns. “Someone paid him to kill Soren.”
My breath catches. “ What ?”
“Bones tried, but met his match because Soren always saw every strike coming. Soren couldn’t land a single hit on Bones, either. So, after what I’m told was an unreasonably long stalemate of trying to kill one another, they both agreed to take a break. Soren then offered to double what he was being paid, and Bones just loved that. Now, he’s more loyal than a dog.”
I smile widely, despite myself. “Why are you telling me all of this?”
There’s a pause, and she looks me in the eye. “Because you shouldn’t judge your skill against Bones. Not even Soren can stab him. Nick him, maybe. But that’s it. You might be inexperienced, but it’s not like you haven’t been in a fight. You know how to recover. You know how to handle pain. Don’t forget that.”
Oh . I glance down, not sure what to do with that sincerity. “Well, thanks. That does help.” I know it’s a bold question, but now I can’t stop wondering, “How did you meet Soren?”
Glancing back at her, I notice the corner of her mouth tightens. “Through necessity. But that’s a story for another time.”
I still can’t figure Anya out. Or her motives. But I don’t press, because I also understand that not every story can be told or shared. It makes me feel like there might even be an allyship here, at least until she stops assuming I’m bad for Soren, or that I want something from him.
Even that kind of worry seems distant now.
My heart races slightly faster when Bones and Donna approach, the crowd moving around them as if they’re stones among the sea. Bones strides with a roughness that belies how, well, graceful , he can be on his feet; his boots even scuff along the floor. Contrasting him is Donna scanning the environment like a first mate ensuring the ship is in order.
A creaking, heavy door pulls my attention in the opposite direction, Soren’s authority breaking through the air with an effect that’s so entirely impossible to describe, but is felt so immediately it makes even my back straighten. I’ll never quite get over the way his sheer size, mixing with an impossibly pale gaze that peels away at people’s emotions, commands a room. He is completely covered in full, thick leather armor, with quite a few shining metal pieces added.
As much as the red leather was haunting to witness in Coalfell, there’s something imposing about him donned in all black. Mismatched, stolen rings on his fingers stand out even more against the darkness of his attire, hair, and stubble.
I asked him about where his red leather was, and according to him, it’s primarily ceremonial, worn for official tasks or making an appearance in Skull’s Row.
This muted outfit is for actual warfare.
It’s not lost on me that only a few days ago, Mod was hitting Soren with a broom, and now he walks among them like a revered Zenith. Even if I lack the necessary powers to read someone, even I can feel the reality of everything—Dad is distinguished, but Soren is replacing that generation. Much like the miners back in Coalfell when the young boys started to turn into young men. Even if they wanted to fight him based on their loyalties, no one here can deny Soren holds a place among this world.
Soren approaches us, scanning everyone with a gaze I now recognize—he’s sensing out the space and the people within, to whatever degree he does. Those piercing eyes flash back at me, barely softening, although it’s enough for me. “It’s time to go, Jane.”