Page 15

Chapter

Fifteen

O ne good thing about the Lowers is its proximity to the water. A cool breeze moves through the district, carrying the briny scent of the fish market. The sun peeks its shy head over the horizon, sending orange and pink beams reflecting across the sea. They stretch toward the coast but never meet it.

The streets aren’t crowded yet, relieving me of the need to become invisible. Leaning next to the front entrance of the pub, I feel strangely exposed. I think I’ve come to rely on my invisibility too much as of late, using it as a crutch. I’ve reveled in the comfort of anonymity to the point that being visible, even without an audience, sets my nerves on edge. Revealing myself right now is an exercise in control.

“This is healthy,” I whisper as I push my toes into the ground to stop my knees from twitching.

“If you’re talking about getting breakfast at the pub, I’d have to disagree,” an amused voice says.

Pushing away from the wall, I find Thorne approaching. His dark hair is still slightly damp, curling around the ends. Is he staying nearby? For some reason, I can’t imagine him renting a room. It’s too mundane for someone like him. He’s dressed in the same dark colors as always, though he’s forgone the cloak today. He carries no sword, but I spot a dagger at his hip. Practical.

“Reaper.”

“Angel.”

“You didn’t sneak up on me, you know,” I tell him honestly. “I sensed you coming. You have a very distinct presence.”

“It’s too early for flattery.” He examines my face, no doubt noticing the dark circles under my eyes. “How did you sleep?”

“Perfectly,” I lie. “You?”

“I dreamed I was being eaten by a giant monster with tentacles.”

“Condolences.”

I ignore the amusement in his eyes as I begin walking in the direction of the Darby house, his footsteps following close behind me. Thankfully, one of the guards was able to give me the address after they found me wandering through the forest last night. They gave me a ride back to the palace where Remy was waiting for me. Fortunately, he only sustained minor cuts and bruises from our time in the tunnels.

I expected Thorne to be distant this morning, but he’s still acting irreverent and amused. After the way he responded when I tried to touch him, I know he’s not as unbothered as he appears to be. I peek over my shoulder, catching his eye.

He raises a brow. “Need something?”

“Just making sure you aren’t falling behind,” I tell him as I turn back around.

When he speaks again, he’s much closer than before, his breath coasting over my ear.

“I wouldn’t advise it,” he warns.

I swallow. “What?”

“Underestimating me.”

I speed up, quietly scolding myself. I’m not here to be his friend. But Baylor expects me to get some sort of useful information out of my dear companion, and he won’t be pleased if I come back empty-handed. Trying not to be too obvious, I settle for a safe conversation starter.

“Are you staying nearby?” I ask, giving him time to catch up.

His lazy gaze slides over to me. “I’ve made accommodations.”

“Where?”

“Solmare.”

“Which part?”

“One of the districts.”

I sigh. Of course he would make this difficult. “Please, don’t be so forthright. You have an air of mystery to uphold.”

His lips twitch. “My apologies.”

I shake my head. “Such an embarrassment.”

“I hate disappointing my fans.”

“In your dreams,” I scoff.

“My lady, don’t flatter yourself.” He runs a hand through his hair. “My dreams are reserved for tentacled monsters.”

I start to laugh, but it catches in my throat as I stop dead in my tracks.

The strangest sensation settles over me. It’s as if some invisible chord is tugging me to the right. Hesitantly, I turn to find a dilapidated two-story house. The once white siding has been stained by time, fading into a muddy gray. A single blue shutter clings to the house, narrowly avoiding the fate of its fallen friends, who now rot in the damp soil of the overgrown garden.

It’s no worse off than the other homes we’ve passed in the Lowers, but something about this one feels sinister, as if it’s rotting from the inside out. Yet, it still calls to me. I take a step forward, noticing the collar pulse as it grows hot against my skin. It’s the same thing that happened last night when we found the other path in the tunnels. The invisible tether tightens as I move closer, helpless against this instinct.

“Angel?”

Thorne’s voice pulls me out of my haze, snapping the chord that was tugging me toward the house. I face the reaper, finding him staring at me with concern.

“Sorry,” I mutter, blinking several times to clear my mind. “Just tired.”

His eyes narrow. “I thought you said you slept perfectly?”

I give him a bland look. “I lied.”

He gasps, pretending to be shocked.

“Get used to it,” I tell him. “I do it all the time.”

“For such a beautiful angel, your hobbies veer toward the demonic.”

I shrug. “Even angels have their vices.”

“Trust me, I’m aware,” he murmurs, a faint note of sadness ringing in his tone.

Before I can ask what he means, he starts walking. I follow behind him, but I can’t stop myself from glancing back at the house one last time. Movement in the upstairs window catches my attention.

The outline of a person stands on the other side of the glass, hidden by shadows. My skin tingles as a familiar awareness settles over me. They’re watching us.

“Coming?” Thorne calls.

I drag my gaze away, finding him several feet ahead of me. “Yeah.”

His eyes harden as he shifts his attention to the house. I glance back, stiffening when I notice the upstairs window is now empty.

Brushing off the paranoia, I force myself to keep walking. After a few minutes, we turn a corner, and the Darby house comes into view. It’s small, but the contrast between this home and the previous one is striking. And when compared to the residences that line the outskirts of the Lowers, this is practically a mansion. It’s not extravagant by any sense of the word, but you can tell those who live here take care of what’s theirs.

Two soldiers stand guard outside the house. Recognizing me, they bow their heads and let us pass immediately. A few seconds after we knock on the door, it swings open to reveal a mortal woman.

Alice Darby appears to be in her early thirties. It’s clear that she’s usually quite pretty, but recent events have taken their toll. Her dirty blonde hair is tied back by a ribbon, though at least half of it has come loose. Based on the wrinkled state of her simple dress, I’d say she slept in it. Dark circles haunt her bloodshot eyes as they stare right through us. It’s remarkable the impact heartbreak can have on the body after only one day.

In this moment, I hate Grell Darby for putting her through this.

“Hello, Mrs. Darby. I’m Iverson Pomeroy.” I speak to her in a soothing tone, noting the spark of recognition when she hears my name. Even in the Lowers, people are aware of the king’s wraith . “This is my associate, Thorne. We’re here to speak with you about your husband.”

“He’s not home,” she says harshly, trying to slam the door.

I catch it with my hand, using my strength to hold it open. “We were hoping to ask you some questions about him, if that’s alright?”

She glares at me for a few more moments before her shoulders slump. Mrs. Darby steps away from the door, leaving it open for us to follow her.

The inside of their home is warm. The bottom floor is a single room, divided by a half wall separating the kitchen and seating area. I’d guess there are two bedrooms upstairs. The furnishings are dated but well-made. Bright yellow curtains hang in front of the windows, adding life to the room. On the floor, a handmade doll sits with her back to the wall, a tiny wooden tea cup knocked over by her feet.

I spot three oil lamps scattered through the room. With poverty rampant in this part of the city, many families are lucky to have a single candle to chase away the night. Clearly the Darby’s are doing well for themselves.

Or they were.

“We’re sorry to bother you this early, Mrs. Darby.”

“Not sorry enough to leave,” she mutters while gesturing for us to take a seat on the small couch.

We both ignore the loud screech as she slowly drags a chair over from the kitchen, positioning it across from us before plopping down in it. Thorne catches my eye, nodding toward the corner where two travel bags sit on the floor.

“Planning a trip?” he asks impassively.

She shakes her head. “I’m sending my children to stay with my parents, not that it’s any of your business.”

“It is my business, actually.” He leans forward, resting an elbow on his knee. “Considering the item your husband stole was promised to the God of Death.”

Mrs. Darby’s eyes widen at that news.

“D-Death?” she stammers.

“Yes. And since I speak with his authority, you’d be wise to be forthcoming.”

The room darkens as shadows creep along the walls and stretch over the floorboards. Mrs. Darby’s face pales, her chin quivering as she glances toward the stairs, no doubt worried for her children. As the shadows continue spreading over the ground, getting closer to us, she lifts her feet onto her chair, hugging her knees to her chest with shaking hands.

“My lord?” I instill as much condescension as I can into the title.

Slowly, he turns his head toward me, his eyes colder than I’ve seen them.

I arch a single brow. “Are the dramatics necessary?”

“I’m merely ensuring she understands the gravity of the situation,” he explains. “And who she’d be angering if she chooses to lie to us.”

I nod toward Mrs. Darby, who’s currently rocking back and forth in her seat while she whispers muffled prayers to the Fates.

“I’d say she gets it.”

The reaper follows my gaze and shrugs. “Fair enough.”

The shadows immediately recede, shrinking back into the corners like a predator in hibernation. The mortal woman releases a loud exhale, both hands covering her racing heart. I offer her a warm smile, hoping in vain to reassure her.

“Mrs. Darby, would you mind if my associate takes a look around while you and I talk?”

Thorne’s head whips in my direction. “And why would I do that?”

I offer him a bright smile. “Because I asked you to.”

He watches me for a few moments, annoyance battling with something else I don’t recognize.

“Fair enough,” he says, echoing his earlier words.

I turn back to Mrs. Darby. “Well?”

“You’re giving me a choice?” she asks, shock evident in her voice.

I wonder if her thoughts are turning toward how she was treated yesterday morning, when soldiers busted through her door without asking. I remember the day soldiers stormed into my home and ripped my entire world apart. How helpless it made me feel to not be given a choice. Shame curls in my stomach. Putting on a mask of politeness doesn’t make me better than them.

“No, ma’am,” I whisper. “I’m not.”

“Then I guess it’s fine,” she says, waving off the demand. I imagine she’s reached the stage where she’s tired of fighting useless battles.

Thorne rises from the couch and wanders into the kitchen. He disappears behind the half wall, creating the illusion that we’re alone now. I appreciate him letting me take the lead on this interview, since his cold demeanor hasn’t been much help here.

But he’s not cold with you , my subconscious protests.

He was last nigh t, I remind myself.

Shaking away the thought, I return my focus to the matter at hand. “Do you know where your husband is?”

She shakes her head.

“Have you noticed any odd behavior from him recently?”

Mrs. Darby shrugs, avoiding my eyes.

Sighing, I lean forward and rest my hands on my thighs. “I know this is difficult, but I need you to answer my questions honestly.”

Her gaze drifts to the window, peering through the gap between the curtains. From the outside, little would be visible, but from here, we can see the early risers walking past.

“Not one of my neighbors has come to check on me.” Her voice takes on a distant quality. “None of them have brought food or offered their support. They think we deserve this.”

My brows scrunch together. “Why would they think that?”

“Because we reached too high,” she says, a sad smile on her lips. “Even when Grell was stationed on the wall, he made a good living. More than most folks around here. But when he was reassigned six months ago, his salary tripled. That’s when the whispers started.”

I tense as my thoughts turn toward Baylor’s warning. “Whispers?”

“About how we didn’t deserve it. How we thought we were too good for them now.”

My shoulders slump with relief. “You mean gossip.”

She nods. “They thought they were being quiet, but I heard them. It never occurred to any of them that I’d give up the money if it meant my husband would go back to how he was before.”

“What do you mean?”

“That job changed him.” Her eyes drift in my direction, but it’s as if she’s staring right through me. “Ever since he got reassigned, he’s been different.” Her pretty features twist. “Distant. Mean.”

“Did he have a temper?” I ask, afraid of where this story is going.

Her gaze drops to the floor. “He never hurt the children.”

“But he’s hurt you?” I ask softly.

She doesn’t answer, but I know. I’ve heard similar stories from the women Della brings into MASQ. Most of the waitstaff came from similar situations.

“He’s paranoid,” she whispers. “One night last month, I could hear him from the other room. He was shouting at someone to leave him alone. I rushed in, thinking he was screaming at one of the children, but there was no one there. It was just him.”

“Mama?” a small voice calls.

Turning toward the stairs, I spy a child dressed in a nightgown. Judging by her size, she can’t be more than five years old. Her hair is the same dirty blonde shade as her mother’s. Her big eyes are full of fear as they glance between us.

“Go help your sister get dressed, Bess,” Mrs. Darby says, her voice brighter than before. If she didn’t have her children to care for, I wonder if she’d still be trying at all. “We need to leave soon.”

The little girl runs back up the stairs, and Mrs. Darby faces me once more, slumping forward with exhaustion.

“I understand how you’re feeling,” I tell her.

She snorts. “No offense, my lady, but I know who you are. What could someone like you possibly understand about my situation?”

It’s a fair question. I know how my life looks from the outside. Growing up in the palace and becoming the king’s favorite would be a dream for most people. But despite our differences, I relate to this woman more than any of the courtiers at the castle. Our lives are distorted versions of the same story.

“You used to feel lucky,” I say softly. “Your life wasn’t perfect, but it was better than most around here. Even though you didn’t grow up with that kind of stability, you started to rely on it.” My gaze moves back to the window, watching strangers through the curtains as they move about their lives. “You forgot how fragile it was, how tenuous. You gave him your love and trust… Your youth. And now you feel like a fool because, despite all his promises, he left you with nothing.”

Her eyes are wide as I return my attention to her. It’s clear she’s shocked by my words.

“So now, you hate him,” I tell her, forcing a deep breath into my lungs before I admit the next part. “But you also miss him, who you thought he was. And worst of all, you blame yourself because you should have known better. You should have remembered that good things aren’t meant for you. Believe me, Alice, I understand that kind of disappointment very well.”

Silence fills the room as my confession settles around us. After a few moments, a throat clears and we turn to find Thorne returning from the kitchen. My heart quickens, but I force it to slow down. A wave of self-disgust settles in my gut. I shouldn’t have revealed that much. I’m meant to be spying on him, not sharing my deepest secrets.

The questions in his eyes confirm he heard our conversation. He looks me up and down, as if the emotional wounds I spoke of left physical marks on my body. The urge to squirm under his inspection is strong, but I sit still in my seat. I learned long ago that the best deceptions are external. Appearances lie better than words ever could.

He clears his throat, turning his attention to the woman across from me.

“Your husband was here the night before last,” he says, the accusation dropping into the room like a bomb. “He was injured, and you helped him.”

My gaze snaps back to her.

She jumps up, putting space between herself and Thorne. “How do you?—”

“You did a good job cleaning the bloodstains on the floor,” he tells her. “But you didn’t throw out the rags you used to wipe it up.”

“Please,” she begs him. “I don’t want trouble.”

His face is cold. Not a single hint of compassion fills his ice-blue eyes as the room darkens again. “I told you there would be consequences for lying to me.”

My pulse quickens. Is he actually going to hurt her? I thought he was bluffing, but the fury on his face can’t be faked.

“Please,” I implore her. Reaching out, I grab her freezing hand in mine and squeeze it tight. “I won’t let anything happen to you, but you have to tell us the truth. Have you seen your husband?”

Her bottom lip trembles as her gaze flits back and forth between us.

“He was here.” Her quiet voice is barely audible. “He showed up in the middle of the night, but he wasn’t supposed to be done with his shift until morning. And his clothes were soaking wet.” Her face pales. “And the blood… There was so much of it.”

Sounds like he got dragged into the river too, only he wasn’t as lucky.

“Did he have a weapon with him?” Thorne demands.

She shakes her head. “Not that I saw. I think something tried to take a bite out of his leg.” Her mouth twists into a grimace. “I stitched him up as best I could, but I’m no healer.”

“What else happened?” Thorne asks.

“He kept trying to get me to go with him. Kept telling me that he had something to show me, and I needed to follow him. I told him I couldn’t leave the children, but that made him angry. That’s when he grabbed me. Hard.”

Her voice grows softer as her eyes become glassy. She rolls up her right sleeve, revealing the bracelet of bruises that decorate her wrist. “He was trying to drag me out the door, but I kept fighting him. Bess ran down the stairs. She was crying, and when he saw her, he dropped me. I expected him to apologize like he always does, but instead, he walked out. Grell left and he hasn’t been back since.”

She stares at the wall, tears streaming down her face. She appears so lost, and I’m filled with hatred again. I want to find Darby and paint the walls with his blood. Forcing myself to calm down, I place a hand on Mrs. Darby’s shoulder.

“Thank you for telling us the truth. We’ll go now.”

She nods, not looking at either of us. I pull a folded piece of paper from my pocket. Grabbing her hand, I tuck it into her palm and close her fist around it as I capture her gaze with mine.

“If you need work, go to this address tomorrow. Ask to speak with Della and tell her Ivy sent you. She’ll pay you enough to support yourself and your children.”

Squeezing the paper in her hands, her eyes fill with tears again. “Thank you, my lady.”

Uncomfortable with her gratitude, I head for the door where Thorne is waiting for me with curious eyes.

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Darby,” I say as I exit.

“Alice.” Her quiet voice trails after us. “Please call me Alice.”