Chapter 43
“So, was anyone going to tell me about Roe’s lineage?”
Jace and Isra exchange a look but say nothing. We pass vacant streets of quaint little cottages and shop fronts, each laid from smooth, sea stone in various shades of blue.
“We’ll head to the temple tomorrow morning. Until then let’s find an inn, I’m starving and my balls have definitely frozen off.” Isra chuckles to Jace, as if I no longer exist. Are they really going to pretend I’m not here to avoid the question?
Fucking assholes. Both of them.
My blood boils as we continue through Sea’s central port.
Dusk falls when we round another block, stopping to catch our bearings in front of an open-air market.
Smooth, rounded chimes of sea glass clatter from a merchant’s cart beside me.
If I wasn’t fighting the urge to punch both of my companions square in their mouths, I’d stop to browse.
Right now, though, my thoughts spiral like they’re trapped in a whirlpool, spinning so violently I fear I might vomit.
Roe was so adamant about staying in Shadow, so quick to cut the subject when discussing Mercora’s border terms…holy shit.
“Plan A was giving them Roe.” I cut the quiet chatter between the two men with one swift bite. “We risked our lives retrieving Queen Ashborne’s circlet so she wouldn’t have to face her duty as heir?”
Jace’s eyes narrow as he turns to me. “It’s not that simple, starling.”
“Seeing as I’ve danced with death more times than I can count since you three took me captive, I think I deserve the truth.” My fists tighten at my sides.
Maybe this rage isn’t solely seeded in Roe’s secret, but I can’t help it. It feels good to stay angry, to fight. I’ve been fighting my entire fucking life. Maybe it’s all I know how to do, and maybe Jace’s rejection earlier hurt more than I’d like to admit.
“I thought there were no more secrets, King Ashborne,” I hiss, my nails digging into my palms.
“It isn’t my secret to spill, starling. Just let it go, please,” he replies. I glance toward Isra, now tight-lipped and silent. “Ask Roe yourself when we return home if you’d like, but I doubt she’ll offer much more than I have.”
“Her selfishness almost got us killed. We went into that tomb, faced all of those soulless riders, because of her.” I throw an index finger toward him. “And you’re going to stand there and tell me to just let it go?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Anger bubbles through me, lighting my thoughts like tinder. Of course I know I’m being a hypocrite. I understand Roe’s reluctance to share.
Whatever’s keeping her over the border—whether it be her dickhead brother, or noble duty—I get it. Am I not also fighting for scraps of a life I want? But to keep this from me has proven again that Jace, nor Isra for that matter, trust me.
“Pin this conversation for a moment.” Isra gestures to the tavern across the street.
“No. You’ve both lied to me from the start. I need answers. How can you expect a successful outcome of this mission if you refuse time and again to tell me the truth?”
“Nova, please.” With serious eyes, Jace points to the window booth. Seated there are three pink-faced soldiers laughing over a shared, drunken joke. The crimson cloak draped lazily over one of their chairs sets fire under my boots.
Smoke riders.
“Fuck, are we too late?” Isra mutters.
“I’m not sure, but if those three assholes made their way into Sea, I’ll bet Samkiel is here too,” Jace replies. “We should get off the streets before any civilians are caught in the crossfire.”
My teeth grind when I lock on the three younger men. The Smoke insignia pinned to their collars, the golden scabbards balancing beside the table. These aren’t just riders, but Ashar’s personal guards.
“Nova…” Isra places a hand on my shoulder. “Come on.”
My feet don’t follow, though. Yaris’s face flashes through me, grey and bloodied.
I’m mere steps from those that took him from me.
It’s irrational, but the shortsword sheathed across my back hums for vengeance.
I could barge into that tavern and send them straight to Morvayne.
Spilled blood and dying men echo through me.
The journey here pissed me off enough to entertain a plan, and now I’m ripe to execute it.
“Starling,” Jace whispers, his ringed fingers brushing away the trembles. “There will be another opportunity.”
Furious tears well in my eyes.
“Nova. Remember what I said about that damned temper of yours…” He grasps my wrist.
“Fuck, fine,” I say, turning on my heels. I follow my companions and disappear into the bustling marketplace.
The inn Jace deems acceptable is tucked in a back alley filled with algae-bloomed puddles and rats. The three adjoined rooms he secured are even worse—cold, dust, and covered in sea-salted grime.
A lonely fireplace, doused in ash, sits cold in the corner opposite a cot. The woolen blanket is much closer to what I’m accustomed to back in Smoke, but I still cringe as I tuck under the covers, settling into the restless night.
Tomorrow we’ll travel to the temple and question the priestesses. Isra assured us they’ll be forthcoming.
Over a brief dinner, Jace admitted that during her time in Sea, Roe spent most of her days with Neressa’s servants. They’ll talk to us, solely because they’re on the side of whatever familial war sent Roe fleeing to Shadow.
An insidious twinge of doubt curls through me though, because neither of the two men offered any further discussion on the subject. Isra’s thrown an empathetic glance or two, but he’s shown his cards.
He’s loyal to Jace, to Roe. Even after all of our training and late night conversations. I’m still an outsider.
Part of me wonders if I’ll ever truly assimilate into Jace’s inner circle, but another part chides me for even caring.
I sigh and roll to my side, watching the gentle shadows writhe on the barren, cracked walls.
A single candle flickers by the door connecting my room to Jace’s. I’m furious and exhausted by all of his secrets, yet my eyes wander to the doorknob time and again. Is he thinking of me as he, too, waits for sleep? Or am I just another tool for this mission?
I don’t doubt he feels something toward me, otherwise why would he have been jealous of Isra? Even still the glances I share with his second don’t go unnoticed. The smirk turns sour whenever Isra and I share a joke or train in the yard.
Fuck. I roll away from the door.
I should be focusing on the mission, on the payout, like I’ve commanded myself to do time and again, yet all I can think of are those hands. Those lips against mine. His scent shielding me from the cold.
I’m lonely and broken and Jace Ashborne fills every one of my cracks.
Regardless of the lies. He’s as toxic and villainous as I am, and maybe that’s why he’s so perfect. His darkness matches my own in every way, even with the nightmare under his skin.
Before I convince myself otherwise, I throw off the blanket and stomp to the door. A quick knock on the knotted wood sends a wave of regret up my throat.
My nostrils flare when a shadow appears on the other side of the threshold.
The door creaks open. Jace stands in the entrance, candlelight framing his bare chest in golden hues.
Like a greedy little creature, I take in his steel-cut body, the midnight hair across his pectorals and down his low-rise sleep pants.
He watches me lazily, not speaking, not fighting. There’s so much I beg myself to say, so much I want to pour into existence, but I don’t. I can’t. Maybe I’m a coward. Maybe I can barely contain the pulse booming through me. Regardless, I straighten and meet his gaze head on.
“You should have told me about Roe.”
Good, focus on the mission, on the facts.
“You’re right,” he says plainly.
“I don’t trust you.” My teeth dig into the fleshy part of my cheek.
“You shouldn’t.”
His blunt response steals the next words from my lips. Fuck, this was a mistake. I should have left this alone, but now, like a scab, I’ve picked it enough to draw blood.
“You’re such an asshole,” I whisper.
Jace leans over the doorframe—not crossing it or edging into my space—but his gesture still feels like a challenge.
“And you’re a greedy little starling.”
His eyes blink to my parted lips then to the shirt hanging loosely down my bare breasts.
I shift my weight, battling the reaction he draws so easily from me.
I don’t pretend to hate his wandering gaze or the seconds they linger on my puckered nipples.
He knows I welcome the heat flooding through my system, there’s no sense in denying it.
“Was there something else?” The muscle in his jaw flexes when I lean in, my nipples brushing against his bare chest.
“What happened between us was real,” I whisper.
“Nova…” Growling, low and predatory he reaches through the doorway and tips my chin. “It was real for me, too.”
My heart stops beating. “It was?”
“You really don’t see what power you have over me?” He laughs, almost incredulously, and drags his thumb down my bottom lip. “I haven’t once stopped thinking about that perfect little pussy of yours clenching my fingers.”
Every word I planned out in my head dissipates instantly. My throat dries and my vision dilates. The man has barely touched me, and I’m already combusting. His bold, devilish words root through me, sparking a godsdamn wildfire of need and lust and feral fucking rage.
“You want me to touch you again,” he whispers. Not a question, but a low breathy statement.
All I can manage is a measly nod. Wow, I’m pathetic, but honestly, I’ve found myself right back in his orbit, falling faster than light.
I close the distance between us, but I’m met with a firm hand on my shoulder.
“I meant what I said, though. It can’t happen again. I’m not in control when I’m around you.” His voice is ragged and restrained. “I won’t put you at risk. If I killed you or drained you…I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”
Oh. Well, this isn’t how I expected this conversation to go. My inner walls shudder with unmet need.
“Jace, I—” My skin blazes with newfound embarrassment. Gods this man pulls the worst from me. I’m so pathetic standing before him, with soaked underclothes and scorched flesh.
Of course he puts space between us. His boundary was set and I dared to cross it again.
But that agonizing thrill of coaxing him out of the shadows, seeing the monster under his skin, refuses to simmer.
My logical sense tells me to run, to hide, to play it safe.
But am I not a creature of darkness myself?
A reaper? A wraith? A fucking nightmare?
His malice calls to mine.
“Goodnight, Nova,” he says before gently closing the door.