Chapter 22
Islump deeper into my chair, nursing a headache that’s bloomed at the base of my neck. Thoughts circle me like starved vultures, deafening and relentless. The quiet evening leaves space to reflect on the afternoon’s events and now I’m spiraling so far into myself I fear I might never resurface.
What would my mother say if she saw me now?
Not just a mercenary or woman who’s lost her way, but an outcast of our faction.
It’s sobering to relive my astral attempt, and now I’m left with the hangover of failure.
Yaris assured me it would take some time to successfully cross into the astral plane, but there’s a piece of doubt still clawing at my chest. I know my grave mood is irrational, but… what if I don’t ever get it?
A question I refuse to answer returns again as I sit here, with head in hand.
What if, maybe, I’d been so afraid to learn from Yaris not because it’s forbidden…
but because of the potential failure? I’ve killed, stolen, and trespassed more times than I can count.
So why all of a sudden did my moral compass point true?
Because you’re a goddamn disappointment.
That truth stays lodged in my throat no matter how hard I try to swallow it.
I twist my fingers in my lap, nails biting into the sensitive flesh of my palms. My parents’ faces slice into me like I’m bathing in broken glass.
Did I truly expect to pass this test on the first try?
Fuck, I’m barely from Sovereign as is. Would I even recognize my home if I were to ever return?
Would Astora recognize me? Maybe our goddess turned her back the moment my little footsteps brought me to Smoke.
Maybe she doesn’t want me after all of these years.
Fuck this. Fuck me. Lock this shit up, Nova. Focus on the payout.
My head is too loud, my chest too tight. I need to focus on the job like I’ve always done. This is no different than any other assignment, but the memories and guilt and anger just keep nagging at me. It’s getting so fucking hard to shut them all out. How much more of this can I bear?
The chair shifts under me as a shadow falls over the room. I glance up and there he is—Jace Ashborne, leaning casually against the doorframe, hands tucked into his pockets. The firelight catches on the sharp planes of his face.
“I’m assuming it didn’t go well?” His voice is low, calm, but threaded with amusement.
“No, it went fan-fucking-tastic, King Ashborne.” The words hiss out before I can soften them.
My bluntness is unwarranted, but it feels good to lash at those around me right now.
I’ll admit, I’m a little ashamed. It’s childish and immature for a woman grown, but these boiling feelings refuse to simmer.
So, I armor myself the only way I know how. The only way I’ve been taught.
“What happened?” he asks, studying me. His voice is steady, taking the brunt of my lashing with unmatched patience.
“I—it just didn’t go well. I don’t think we’ll find anything of use here in Storm.
” I keep my eyes fixed on the crackling fire.
Its heat sends tingles over my flushed cheeks, but I welcome the subtle burn.
At least I can still feel the pain. He steps fully into the room and the air bends around him.
“Give it some time,” he says, “we’ve only just arrived. Tell me what you and Yaris have found so far. Maybe I can help.”
For some irritating reason, I’m desperate to spill the events of today to him, to let the walls drip with the truths, but I won’t.
Astral projection is punishable by death, even in Shadow.
Jace may turn his back on my crimes, but there’s no knowing he’d offer the same discretion to Yaris.
So I wrestle myself and focus on the facts.
“Of the three hundred years of documented histories, there have only been a few Ceti descendants reported in the other factions. None of which bore children. It’s a dead end.”
Lips twitching, he treads to the cabinette and pours two glasses of wine. “And what of those not documented? Surely some would have slipped through the cracks. Even House Ashborne has its estranged lines or those not listed in official records.”
Is he enjoying my frustration? Asshole. I glance at him and bite back my retort. “Most likely, but how would we even begin to track them down?”
“Shadow thrives in the unseen.” He leans on the arm of my chair. The proximity holds my breath, like I’m hanging from the edge of a blade. His thumb brushes mine as he passes the wine to me, and even the slightest of touch sends a prickle up my spine like I’m seated beside Morvayne himself.
“Those with the most information are often the ones who go unnoticed. The ones who are seemingly invisible in a crowded room. The overlooked ones. Why do you think I dismissed my staff? Why my groundskeepers found alternative employment?”
“Besides the black trade, the only continent-wide network are the temples…Of course, the priestesses.” My eyes widen. “If a noble wanted to disappear, they’d seek out Astora’s servants. Jace Ashborne you’re a genius.”
Sipping his wine, he leans back, smug and satisfied. “I’m far from it, starling, but I appreciate the ego stroke.”
I glare at him, heat burning my cheeks. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you love calling me that,” he retorts, letting the words hang between us. Our eyes lock, tense and heavy. The fire crackles as if it’s afraid to disturb the moment. His gaze is a soft challenge, like every inch closer is a question neither of us want to answer.
My lips part to reply, but he tilts his head, and I freeze, caught between irritation and intrigue. The pulse in my throat still races with his proximity, but I take another sip of my wine if only for the false courage.
“How was court?” I ask, desperate for a distraction from these traitorous feelings.
“Miss I’d rather bathe in dragonfire making casual conversation with me?” His thick lashes drop, and my complexion turns inferno.
“What else are we supposed to do? Sit in silence until we return to Shadow?”
He laughs, low and easy, taking a seat opposite me.
“Well, court was the usual ugly politics. Raine wants full access to our trade routes but refuses to lower the tariffs she’s enacted since my father’s reign.
We got into a bit of a heated match and she dismissed her council until tomorrow.
Everyone on this damned continent is pushing an agenda, and I don’t know how to please them all. Nor ensure my own faction’s wellbeing.”
The wine warms my belly as I sip it slowly.
Outside, raindrops patter on the roof, filling the lingering silence like fallen pebbles.
“Finnick once said, of all the citizens in Smoke, only the wealthy see their hair grey. Meaning none of us less fortunate are even given the opportunity to grow old, and it’s true.
Those in the mercantile district are either murdered or die of infection before they reach forty. ”
Jace leans forward and drapes his hands between his thighs.
“Do you know how many people with grey hair I’ve seen in Shadow? How many full bellies and content smiles? I’d say you’re doing just fine, King Ashborne.”
He bites his lip at the remark like I’ve offered him a prayer to the gods. “You don’t know that, starling.”
“It’s apparent you care about your people.
That’s of much higher value than Ashar’s stipenvaults.
” I shrug and drain my glass, settling into the quiet comfort of a crackling fireplace.
A shiver runs through me like the flames can’t compete with the heat between us.
My heart thuds against my chest when the silvery flecks in his eyes flare. He rises from his seat slowly.
With that serious, intense expression etched over his face, I half expect the man to approach me, drop to his knees and brush our lips together. A smaller, more daring piece of me hopes he does.
Instead, he simply paces to the door. With a voice soft yet deliberate he says, “Goodnight starling, sleep well.”