8. Ash
Ash
After a few drinks with Caspian, I excused myself from the tavern.
The noise of laughter, clinking mugs, and the low hum of voices thick with drink followed me out for a moment before the night swallowed it whole.
By the time I reached my room, all that remained was the quiet creak of old wood beneath my boots and the distant whistle of wind slipping through the window shutters. One of the nails was coming loose.
I shut the door behind me and crossed to the desk. It was old, one leg just slightly shorter than the others so it rocked if you leaned too hard. I struck a match and lit the candle, watching the flame catch and bloom.
Dim light flickered across the thin walls. I’d barely settled into the chair when the sounds started next door, soft at first, then transforming into unmistakable moans, followed by a rhythm that built, breath catching, bodies shifting.
I snorted under my breath, shaking my head as I leaned back. “Of course,” I muttered.
I stretched my fingers out in front of me, rolling my shoulders once before beginning the slow, familiar ritual of slipping each ring from my fingers, one by one.
Metal scraped softly as I set them down onto the small plate on the desk.
Silver. Steel. A few pieces I’d picked up along the way.
Each one earned from the coin I earned after my missions. Each one mine.
The noise next door faded into background static as I opened my sketchbook. The charcoal pencil was worn down to nearly nothing, barely more than a stub between my fingers.
My hand moved on instinct, the lines coming easily as I leaned forward into the dim glow of the candle. The world narrowed into just paper, charcoal, and movement.
This was the only time my mind ever went quiet.
Page after page in that book held fragments of my life—things I’d seen, things I couldn’t quite let go of.
Creatures that shouldn’t exist but did. Night skies so vast, they made you feel like nothing.
Faces of strangers I’d passed once and never forgotten.
Moments captured before they slipped away.
Every now and then, the urge to draw would hit me, and I’d lose myself in it until the rest of the world blurred.
Tonight was no different. The candle burned lower. The sounds next door eventually quieted.
And still, I drew.
Until...
The charcoal hovered just above the page as a sharp realization cut through the haze.
“…Shit.”
I leaned back, staring down at what I’d done. Claire Briarwood looked back at me from the page.
I’d caught her midmotion at the exact moment she’d turned from me on that porch, skirts flaring as she spun away. The ruffles swept around her like they had a life of their own, and her head was tipped back, laughing. I’d even caught her dimples.
I dragged a hand down my face, cursing under my breath. That moment. That sound.
That joy.
I couldn’t get it out of my head because it didn’t make sense.
I understood women like her, or at least, I thought I did.
The kind who dreamed of marriage, of stability, of being taken care of.
The kind who looked at a person with coin and saw safety.
That’s what she wanted, and that’s what she thought Garrick offered.
Except, Garrick was a monster, and she had no idea.
My jaw tightened as I looked back at the drawing, irritation flickering low in my chest. And still…
I couldn’t deny it. There had been something about her.
Something bright, unfiltered, radiating the kind of happiness that didn’t hesitate, didn’t question, didn’t hold itself back.
My fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the desk as I studied the page again, the charcoal smudged along the curve of her cheek.
I didn’t believe in much, but especially not luck or fate or divine will from the gods.
But the kind of joy that made someone spin across a porch like the world had just handed them everything they’d ever wanted…
It was almost unsettling to realize it still existed at all.
In a world like this?
Yeah.
That was worth remembering.