Chapter 15
J A N E
I straighten my shoulders with purpose, padding the dagger at my right hip that I’m most familiar with. I eye the stubble of a man who has broken down so many of my barriers; such a subtle detail, and yet it’s him, especially on his right jaw, where a segment is missing from a scar.
There are moments like these where I can tell, years from now, I’ll revisit them in my heart. Just like the baths that mom had drawn for me, the calm before the storm. I can only hope that when I visit them for comfort, Soren is still alive. Still right around a corner, waiting on me.
He reaches a hand out, those powerful fingers landing somewhere between my neck and shoulder, and he leans in—he smells so much like oiled metal. “I honestly can’t promise things will be okay once we leave here. You’re to go with your father, since he can shift into another whereas I’m harder to hide,” he quietly warns in my ear. “But you’re not alone, love. If we get separated at all, I know how to find you. Do you understand?”
His gritty voice is absolute perfection to me, and I can’t resist leaning my cheek into his— fuck, that means something to me, to the lost girl that grew up not knowing how to find her family. I click my tongue, agreeing with that but also not liking this. “Where will you be if I’m with my father?”
“Close,” he reassures, his tone soothing.
To my shock, as he pulls back, his warm lips and stubble graze my forehead, then he surveys the space before we all follow him, his deadly stare returning after softening for me.
There’s something to being so public with such gentle affection that makes this all worth it.
But as I start to reach the entrance, I become paralyzed.
A cold chill snakes down my spine as if I want to scream to everyone to not leave and beg the gods to pause time—I have too much to do. Too many questions for my father, too much time with Soren that I have yet to spend, and I still have Kathleen to see.
Without a doubt, there are people in this room who are already marked for death.Just like my mother was before she stepped out onto our front patio that connected to the streets.
It’s as if I can see that all over again, the light of the outside world flooding my vision in a memory.
If only I could go back to the moment before she entered the sunlight, to tell her to stay. To ask her about being a Cinder, to learn where she grew up. To ask her when she knew that Dad was a skin shifter.
Donna loudly says, “We’re finally leaving this fucking place!” The people around cheer, some raising their weapons. My gaze latches to the back of Soren’s head when it’s clear I’m the only one that’s nervous; his hair tied back into a low bun, ready for a fight.
Gods, I wish I was more powerful. That I was useful . That I could do more than just not be burned .
I want to do so much right now, and yet I can’t. I physically can’t.
As if pulled over by the very earrings I wear, my head moves to a ruby in the wall. That’s not entirely true…
No. I’m not yet prepared to give up on finding an alternative?—
“Jane, you’ll be with the Scorpion,” Soren says, indicating a man who looks exactly like Ern, down to the facial hair.
That penetrates through absolutely every ounce of fear I have. My subconscious wants to momentarily ask him what he’s doing here, and ask how he is.
Despite everything I feel, I almost laugh at the way he’s dressed. “It’s not right seeing Ern dressed like an assassin,” I quietly remark, looking him over. I made the comment more for Soren, given that I still haven’t had a conversation with my dad since I got here, but it’s Ern—well, my father—that replies with, “I thought to walk beside you with a face you at least somewhat recognize.”
That suggestion pierces a soft spot in my heart, tempting me with the notion that he might actually care. Although the hole is entirely too small to matter.
“I don’t understand you, or why you don’t seem interested in me, but promise me you won’t die,” I grind out, that humor fleeting. “I have a lot of questions, and you owe me.”
Ern’s eyes soften, and it’s truly messing with me to think it’s my dad when I feel like I know this person more than him. “We both know we can’t promise that. It’s why I did what I did with Cypress, because that’s the closest I can get to promising I’ll take care of you.”
Take care of me.
My jaw clenches shut, my eyes vibrating back and forth as I look all over a face that hid my father for so long.
‘I’ll take care of you .’
He said that once before, didn’t he... with my head burrowed in his neck as I sobbed when he carried me away, my mother’s blood still on my hands from when I tried to heal her. I remember how much he smelled like the ocean.
“Again, we have a lot to cover,” I say, clearing my throat. “Just don’t die, alright?”
“I’ll try.”
My heart numbs itself again, just wanting to get all this over with so we can be on the other side—the sound of a raven makes me narrow my eyes. What—why…
The double door that separates this space from the rest of Skull’s Row cracks open, seemingly on its own accord, as a black bird enters the space, its feathers splayed out as it glides over to an unlit torch, perching on the metal with a curling of its feet. The eyes are completely red like a white rat’s, its head turning with an unnatural acuity as it looks at my father.
“It’s time to go,” my dad loudly proclaims. “You’re with me, Jane. Soren and the rest will trail behind.”
I glance back at Soren, already despising the mere suggestion of this distance. What if we get separated? How am I supposed to find him among the sea of people, hells, the vastness of this continent?
I know he can look for me, but I don’t want to have to sit and wait again. My chest constricts with rapid breathing, feeling like this is losing my father all over?—
“Let’s go,” Ern commands—my dad . The raven flies out of the space, and I’ve been around long enough to be aware that a chain of actions has started, like igniting the wick of a candle that can never be put out.
Following Ern, my dissociation is strong as I keep glancing back at Soren whose lips part, almost as if he is about to tell them to wait—is there hurt in his eyes?
It doesn’t matter, as Donna gently touches my shoulder and guides me forward.
An ache in my chest blooms from roots that have entrenched in my soul before, wishing at least Anya or Bones was with me.
They could find Soren, no doubt, so I wouldn’t have to wait. Or wonder.
The comfort from everything Soren has given me is completely ruined by an uncontrollable sense of betrayal. I went so long without loving anyone—save for Kathleen—and now I find I don’t know what to do with all these feelings.
Facing ahead as I follow a man I’ve thought about nearly every single day, it’s utterly confusing when, deep down, I choose Soren. I want to stay with him . Or maybe I’ve already lived through losing my father, so it’s a pain I don’t fear.
I can’t do it again with someone else.
“You’re with us, Jane, because I can look like another,” Dad explains, as if he knows what plagues my heart. “I can’t read much past that from you, but I can see your aura grows thicker with betrayal the further we walk.”
Oh, shit, I forgot about that.
“I can’t lose him like I lost you,” I say, the desperately lonely part of me speaking to him with slight poison on my tongue. “I don’t…”
I don’t want to do this .
Maryanne’s voice screams at me: COWARD .
That’s when he pauses and looks back at me, his face morphing into the Scorpion. It’s the first sentiment in his eyes, aside from when he spoke about Mother. Surprise and grief haunt his mahogany stare, and honestly, I’d rather look at him than Ern.
It makes me feel better to look at a man that I know is capable. Someone that might be able to get me back to Soren.
“Jane, when this is all done, it’s done . Rest is coming for you li—” he pauses, a humorous expression momentarily winning out. “Was about to call you little menace.”
I’m so jumbled inside I don’t even know what to do with that. That once would have made me cry because it’s a name he called me as a kid, and I loved it. “I’m still little, and a menace. Guess I never outgrew it,” I reply, although my voice is completely void of emotion.
It’s weird interacting with him like this.
He dips his chin in a nod, the face of Ern returning, like he knows to move past that. “This truly is almost done. The hardest part is coming, but it will pass.”
My mind scatters in the vastness that’s my misery, searching for something truly solid to hold onto. Surprisingly, it’s when Soren’s sister enters my mind that I feel some semblance of control.
Soren needs me to be strong so I can deliver my word. I’ll take care of his heart if I am to take care of anything.
Even if I’m not ready for this.
Leaving the sanctuary that Cypress carved out is not like I first imagined it would be. My nerves scream like freed banshees who have been gagged—every movement from somebody else sends me on edge.
I brush one hand against rough walls when we pass through and around people, my other hand resting on the hilt of my dagger. I don’t know where Soren is, or his men, or even my father’s men. Just that Ern guides me, and Donna trails behind. Those clad in armor wear cloaks buttoned down to their waist in some concealment, but I’ve lost them in the crowd.
Distant shouts and clanging of metal keeps the underground streets alive, firelight our only illumination whether from braziers or through windows of homes and shops.
“Hood,” Donna instructs from behind. As casually as possible, I raise mine over my head. Dad’s brown hair remains visible, and I’m actually grateful that if he does have to wear the face of another, he looks like Ern because it’s easy to keep track of him. Ern’s face looks back at me, motioning to walk alongside him.
“The auras are different,” he says. “Keep closer.”
“So you can see things?”
“It’s easier when the milky eye is out,” he replies, tapping at the temple housing the eye that was recently a milky orb. “But yes, I can see if anyone has Misery’s miasma clinging to them. Or anyone from Ash. I haven’t seen it here yet, but there’s a distortion I don’t like.”
I keep glancing up at the sharp lines of his profile. “So can we talk at all?” I carelessly ask.
What if it’s one of the last times I can speak to him?
“Quietly.”
The single word is a cautious permission, and I seize that opportunity. “I never met your men.” I eye what appears to be a homeless man sleeping in a bundle of soiled furs, a filthy film on his skin, although now I can’t help but wonder if he’s just a skin shifter spying on the world around them. “I didn’t even know you had any.”
“I didn’t want you growing up too close in my shadow,” he explains, his tone guarded as he continues to focus ahead of him.
“I wanted to, you know,” I say, nostalgia nipping at my heart when we step out onto a much wider street that horses clack their hooves on, carriages attached to them. “I knew you were a, you know, important person, and that everyone revered your type. It was fun keeping it a secret, but I also was bursting at the seams to tell everyone.”
My gang of friends no doubt suspected something , but we were all in it for our own interest, one way or another. It was never safe to confide in them, and I knew that. Kathleen was honestly the first person I opened up to, and even then, she never knew my secrets until recently .
“Your mother was against it,” he answers, partially looking over his shoulder at me, and I wish he looked like himself when he said that. “I was, too.”
My gaze drops down to the cobblestone. I don’t want to speak about Mom to him, not when he looks like Ern.
“Is there a reason you haven’t hugged me once?” I pluck the question from a random thought passing by.
His silence makes me regret asking, dreading that he might only have something unsavory to answer me with. “Yes,” he finally replies. “I can’t say more.”
My throat tightens, but I nod, clinging to the hope that, for once, it’s not all negative. That someone’s motive isn’t soured, or selfish.
“So you were seriously, you know, the man at the tavern this whole time?” I ask, still not fully certain about giving away details like that when I have no idea who could be listening. Mentioning Ern might be a poor decision.
“It was so much harder than you can imagine to see you broken, and not tell you the truth.” He glances down at me, his voice carrying an edge of heartache, the kind that’s nearly impossible to mimic. “ Nothing has broken me like that, Jane. Nothing.”
Questions. Focus on those while you can. “How did you live knowing you knew mom’s killers?”
“I could have fought them. Chased after them. Probably would have killed them. But then I’d risk making you an orphan and completely unprotected. Your mother would have ensured my torture in the afterlife if I abandoned you for rage.”
A shattered childhood resurfaces, and it’s pretty damn hard to ask my father questions when they’re all burdened with traumatic memories.
“Why did you have my chest branded, with your design?”
“Cypress told me to,” he flippantly answers. “Said it would serve more than one purpose.”
Any answer relating to Cypress means I won’t get to know more than whatever surface-level explanation she’s given.
“Alright… well, why did you not teach me of the gods much?” I sidestep a pile of shit in a bucket, nearly vomiting at the stench. Some things I’m not used to. “I had no idea they actually influenced things. Always just sounded like something we mentioned in passing but never really followed.”
“Well, because that’s how I see it, in my book. They seem to answer to very few, and you can’t change what they want. They don’t give a shit if we hurt. What’s the point of knowing them, then?”
“Sounds like a shit deal that they have power, and we don’t.”
“That’s why I never gave it thought. Cypress, on the other hand, is so entrenched with hers that she’s like his literal right hand.” His glance at me is quick, but our gazes still connect. “ You have one, you know. With your healing powers.”
That revelation nearly stops my feet in their tracks. “Mom never mentioned it,” I mutter nearly so fast the words have no space between them. “Or, well, I kind of remember a blue candle, but that’s it.”
“There’s an entire ritual with the blue candle. It can aid with the healing powers.”
I glare at him in the dim lighting. “No one has mentioned that to me.”
His eyes move all over in their sockets, which is so interesting because, for Soren, his gaze usually steadies rather than searches. “You lived in Coalfell as a healer. They don’t have healers out there, not trained ones, and they’re the only ones that use the candle—properly educated healers get hired out left and right, or live in the cities. It makes sense they wouldn’t tell you. I thought about mentioning it in passing, but I honestly didn’t want you to use it so as not to draw attention to yourself.”
Torches highlight the cracks and bumps of the walls, a few walking too close to me, like they might want to steal my things.
I had never once considered there are various levels of healers. Well shit, now I want to live just so I can learn that .
When a woman strides by and glares at me with hardly any other interpretation, I partially pull out my dagger. No, idiot, what if she’s a distraction?
Quickly, I step to the side so only the wall of a building is to my left. A glance over my shoulder reveals a scabrous man suspiciously closing in on us. Before that man can make another move, my father turns around, Donna’s hand quietly moving to the blade at her thigh.
The Scorpion, as Ern, speaks. “You touch her, and I’ll cut off your ears and then your tongue.”
The man pauses.
I raise my brows as we slow down as if to say, ‘Sorry, can’t stop him.’
The woman comes into view, Donna watching her with calm anticipation. The woman’s dark eyes flash with concern as she draws her lips tight, waving a dismissive hand. “Let’s go, Adam. There’ll be other fresh ones.”
The pair disperse almost as quickly as they appeared, disappearing behind two opposing carriages crossing the street. When I meet Donna’s eyes, I spin on my heels and follow my father once more like nothing happened.
We just need to get out of here.
Even if this place has been forbidden since I was a child, so far, it doesn’t seem much different than Skull’s Row—“Hold on,” I demand, getting so close I nearly step on the back of his heels. “Did you have me watched the entire time I was a kid? I was never able to sneak down here.”
“You had many handlers that you never met. Mod was one. They’re all keeping a distance in case they’re recognized.”
Makes sense, I guess.
It’s easy to get lost in the detail of the carved stone once we near the more centralized part of this multi-layered maze. It reminds me of the Spiraling Stone, just underground, and one of my persisting thoughts is how many chisels were needed to carve so much of it.
My eyes widen when I swear I spot the soft illumination of true sunlight, the hues of the buildings and carved pillars gaining a subtle blue. That massive grate, that’s right. I bet we’re nearing it . “Why does this place exist like this? This is immense.”
“When Skull’s Row was founded, it was just a bunch of pirates looking for refuge,” he replies, maintaining hawkish eye contact with someone else as they pass us by. “Some of them moved into the cave network to weather out the storms, and before they knew it, this city exploded in growth. Piracy couldn’t maintain what was growing, so a new economy emerged in trade routes. Which meant bigger, stronger buildings could be built, and these caves became a place for all things hidden.”
There are remnants of lives lived in all corners, many things weathered and forgotten as new inhabitants carry on with their own tales while I’m busy making a mad dash for my life, hunted by something they can’t even fathom.
It really feels like I don’t know this place at all, which used to live in a romanticized bubble in my mind. What did I do all day, as a kid? Did I really never ask more about how that city came to be, or why certain districts had different flares than others? I can almost recall the sun on my face as I ran about the Silver District, my lips always chapped. Whenever Dad was home, we’d spend all of our time practicing how to sharpen blades, throwing them, spotting a pickpocketer from a league away, and also playing pranks on locals.
Mom would take me to homes to assist in births, or to the Infirmary to heal injuries; it’s actually where I met pirates who could afford to be transported inland. Some days, we went to the apothecary, and she was always teaching me how to heal.
I never felt the need to ask more.
“Why do I feel like I was never really taught about Skull’s Row?” I ask. “I know I didn’t ask about it, but nobody ever told me, either.”
A deep sigh escapes his lips. "Your mother fell in love with me , not me being a Zenith,” he admits.
I bittersweetly smile at the idea of my mother as a young woman, in love with a violent man. “Why did you become one?”
“I had a lot of anger in my youth and enjoyed killing,” he freely admits. “Then I liked the riches. Then , I liked the security of the power it offered.” He pauses as a group of kids chases a rat, one of them throwing a rock at it as the other screams. “By the time I feared what having that kind of power means, I was entirely entrenched in this world. Nora and I talked about leaving many times, you know.” He looks at me, my heart catching at hearing her shortened name. “Going across the Black Sea. Having Tempest take us—she was the only one your mother trusted to travel with.” His expression darkens, and even if he has the face of another man, I can tell it’s him . “And then everything happened that tore us apart.”
My gods, does it feel better than I could ever have imagined to hold such clarity? I really did have a normal family, at least normal to me ; just a mother and father who dreamed of more, like so many in Coalfell, although many of them spoke of Belstead as their reprieve, or north into the vast woods.
Very few ever wanted to even visit Skull’s Row.
Once we’re bathed in a beaming ray of sunshine from the giant grate above us, I have to squint when looking up at the pattern, the natural light searing what feels like my entire eyeball. When I quickly lower my head to protect my vision, little spots from the light clouding everything I see.
I feel like a mole accidentally surfacing from its tunnels.
When the spots finally fade is when we come to a halt at a very long, stoney bridge. A man sits on a barrel and waves for people to stop, a table next to him with a pitcher of some kind, and a mug he drinks from. I peer around my father, repositioning my hood to keep my face hidden as much as possible while still being able to see.
That bridge looks utterly terrifying.
The entire thing is made of stone, tall pillars with crisscrossing rope as the side barriers, which has some gaping holes in places where someone could tumble right off and down into the black abyss below. Craning my neck upward, I guess it’s better than what connects the different tiers—long, low-dipping wooden bridges.
I’d rather walk on solid material.
“Why are we waiting?” I ask, the three of us standing among a small collection of people.
“Crowd control. That bridge can only carry so much, and there’s a caravan coming our way.”
Sure enough, a donkey carrying a small wagon leads a seven-carriage convoy, all moving very slowly to cross. “How did we get stuck if we had a magical know-it-all tell us when it’s the perfect time to move? Or did we just walk too slow?”
“I imagine the timing of this is larger than we can understand.” He crosses a hand over his wrist, leaning in to quietly add, “Although yes, this is quite annoying.”
I didn’t realize how much walking made it feel like we were progressing, even to somewhere unknown. Now, we’re planted right next to a tavern where many sit outside—probably basking in the scarce sunlight—drinking, no, draining , their horns. I can’t help but watch in horrific anticipation as one man sprawls his hand out on the wooden table, and another uses a blade to stab in-between each finger. It’s a game I saw played as a child, and one that produced carnage that my mother had me heal countless times so I could learn.
The sound of a blade hitting a table seems to grow louder in my head as I know the man will miss the longer they play, as they always do—the man’s hand is punctured.
Many hoot and holler.
The one with the blade in his hand cries out in pain, frantically nodding for someone to pull it out. When he does, blood spills everywhere.
Without even thinking, I almost step forward, about to roll my eyes and tell him he’s an idiot as I close the wound with my magic.
Dad leans over. “Don’t even think about it. Healers don’t frequent down here without everyone noticing. We don’t need the eyes on us.”
“I didn’t—sorry,” I mumble.
Checking on the bridge to refocus, they’re all finally on the stone pathway, but still moving annoyingly slowly, probably trying to avoid getting too close to the rope that’s the ‘border.’
Glancing back at the man with the bleeding hand, my gaze flits to another who seems keen on staring at us. I don’t maintain eye contact, as that seems to be a recurring theme around here. Until I move only my eyes to look back at him, and he’s staring right at me.
My heart triples in its pulse.
There’s something to him that appears more astute than the rest, like Soren—he looks well muscled, and there are too many straps on his body for weapons to be just a normal spectator of this place. My body stiffens when he rises from his corner, and I swear he’s making his way to us. “Dad,” I breathe through my mouth. I’m already considering the ways Dad will probably attack him—because I’m not stupid enough to take someone head-on when a skilled killer is right next to me, including Donna. I’ll be prepared to come in from behind to stab the stranger, like Bones told me to do, then assess any wounds any of us might have.
“I’m aware,” he states, his voice steady.
“We just ride it out, then?” I ask, looking back at the bridge, the little donkey finally almost crossing over.
“We’re not alone. If this escalates, we’ll deal with it. Either way, we’re waiting here until we’re given the all-clear to leave. Fights happen all the time, but ones comprising of entire gangs of trained fighters is not common. We need to not draw attention.”
The man continues to near us, moving through the rowdy chatter like a breeze—if I wasn’t so on edge, there’s a chance I’d completely miss him. Well, maybe not. He’s taller than most, and his chin-length black hair is partially pulled back like Donna’s, his scruff slightly thicker than Soren’s; he just looks like a mercenary. The more I take him in, the more I can’t mistake that his clothes are very well-fitted, black metal armor on his shoulders, forearms, and chest.
Just like Soren, this man has eyes that pierce right through a person?—
No.
Oh… oh no.
His eyes are a bright gold, and there’s a controlled chaos about him.
That’s when it dawns on me—The Basilisk.