Page 13 of The Secrets of Jane: Forgotten (Improper Bastards #1)

There’s not much to say as we ride.

It feels important to consider my life and the options before me. The weight of knowing that I’ll be entering Skull's Row in less than a week’s time—a place that already burns my throat with the bitter memories of how my family fell apart. It leaves me feeling very small.

And I hate feeling small.

Behave Jane, so you can ask to speak with Kathleen.

I had seen Kathleen in the distance with Bones, utterly relieved to see she’s alive. I know I have to find a way to talk to her, even if Soren keeps me utterly separated from the rest.

All I want is to tell Kathleen everything, like a deathbed confession. But instead I’m stuck riding next to this behemoth that’s mounted on an even bigger beast.

I can’t trust him for shit, and I hate to think he might be able to feel my affection for Kathleen, making her an unintentional target.

The best decision feels so murky, like I’m staring through salt water while trying to read.

What would my father’s advice be? For most of my life, he always managed to be at the right place at the right time, scaring men away even if they didn’t know I was a Zenith’s daughter; it’s why he branded me so young. If something happened when he couldn’t be around, maybe the tattoo would make them reconsider.

As I yearn for him, I also battle with my anger for what happened to me. Why would he brand me if he didn’t think we were in danger? Why didn’t he tell me to be extra careful?

I once loved the life I lived, the way my parents emboldened me to be as rough as leather, Mother reminding me to also be gentle with my healing gifts. Then it all disintegrated. Mother was murdered. My father disappeared. Then, I was alone, and not a soul to care for me.

Maybe my father ran off, abandoning me.

Soren is as selfish as the rest. One way or another, he’s going to reveal his mercenary motives and I have to remind myself his offers to save me will always have a limit.

“You’re a thinker,” Soren says at some point while we’re riding to wherever the hells he’s taking us.

I’ve been aimlessly eyeing the world around me, his voice drawing me to look directly at him before back at our surroundings. We’re on a dirt road that carriage wheels have dug small grooves into. Tall trees tower over us, but I know in a few days they’ll reveal open terrain and green pastures. It’s just the two of us, with half of his small caravan quite a ways ahead, and the rest far behind.

“You’ve been quiet yourself,” I counter.

“I do well not to die by staying focused on the task at hand.” His voice grates against the soothing terrain of a late summer’s day.

“Same,” is all I say, my mind in too many places to concentrate. Even as I stare off at a woodpecker drilling into some bark, I swear I can feel Soren’s gaze penetrate. “What am I feeling right now, since I know you’re reading me?” I challenge, my tone clipped. I wish he wouldn’t use that gift of his, even if just for half of a day.

He scoffs, straightening his back as he faces ahead. “I'm not your fucking tarot card reader.”

Now I just want to know for the sake of it. “Answer the question.”

He’s quiet before settling on, “Something with dread, and something bittersweet. I’ve learned that usually means people are thinking about their past, or about something significant that breaks their heart.”

The conversation after hours of silence scratches at my boredom, which also eases some of the anxiety. “When did you know you could feel people?” I ask, needing the abstraction.

“That’s a very personal question.”

“You licked my stomach.”

He wickedly grins, rubbing his chin as he breathes out, “We’ll see how the Council goes before I tell you details about my life.”

I huff in disappointment, his response ruining my hope of a proper distraction. Why do I have to be tied to this man when every breath brings me closer to the Council, who will no doubt rip my heart out while it still beats?

“You’re just like all the others, then,” I utter in frustration, shifting in my seat when my ass starts to hurt. “Always hiding behind a mystery, but in reality, you’re nowhere near as complex as you portray.”

“That’s a lazy perception,” he chides.

“I’ve only ever been burned by those from Skull's Row. It’s a pretty well-established observation.”

“It’s still an over-simplified observation from you, even if I never claimed to surround myself with men of high morals.”

I make a funny sound as I force a cough, my lips twitching in a threatened grin. “If I wasn’t tied to your damn horse, I might actually be able to relax and consider your propositions.”

His laugh is loud enough to make someone ahead look back. “Even if you could escape, I’d catch you. So, I’m eliminating the failed attempt preemptively. I don’t have time to mind you like a child. No, actually, I do have the time. I just don’t want to.”

What a prick.

Fine, if he’s not going to talk to me, then it’s back to my imagination. Scenarios of escaping flood my mind. Crossing the Black Sea is one’s true escape, sailing it to reach outside the Balar Coasts and onto lands that are more wild than here. I hear that if one goes even deeper, where it’s colder... peace settles like snowflakes on a cold morning.

It's a hard life in the bitter winds, but people out there are left alone.

Is that where I can go?

My heart tells me no. I need the warmth and the ocean. Perhaps escaping to Belstead will prove useful, the largest city of the Free People, just beyond the Restless Peaks. The tang of blood stains my tongue from biting the inside of my lip too hard, worried that I can’t go there with the mark of Skull’s Row on my chest. If anyone ever saw that, they’d hogtie me and deliver my sorry ass straight to the Zenith.

I only ended up in a pacifist’s village because Father said he’d meet me there…

“You’re deeply afraid, over there,” Soren hums, ever entrenched without invitation into my heart.

I swallow away all the passive-aggressive remarks clawing in my throat. He’s not wrong, I am afraid, and I need to talk to someone, even if it’s Soren. “I fear the unknown of it all.”

“Do you think you’ll die?” he asks, his grating voice bearing no comfort.

“Maybe. Probably.” I decide to turn it back on him. “How often do you chat with those you are carrying to death, anyway?”

“I can count on a single hand the times I’ve felt some version of sympathy, or curiosity, for those I’ve killed or captured.” He takes a swig from his canteen after popping the cork out. “You’re probably the third.”

For some reason, that surprises me. “Do you not regret the other two?”

“Everyone has a code. Every Zenith has their role and a task we perform when it’s necessary. We have a few Zenith that kill indiscriminately, even if it’s a newborn babe. I don’t go after those that haven’t properly pissed me off or earned it through a heavy bounty, so no, I don’t regret it.”

“And have I earned it?” I ask, lightly tugging on the rope that connects our horses.

He doesn't answer.

Fucking great. That just makes it worse. I have to look truly pathetic for someone like Soren to feel sorry for me.

He offers me the canteen with a lazy gesture, and rather than give him my suspicion, I greedily take it, put it to my lips, and drink until it’s drained.

“Well, that was fucking rude,” he says.

I wipe at the dribbles of water with my shoulder before tossing him the empty thing, Soren catching it with one hand. “Was really parched,” I say, my belly full of water now.

“If you wanted to get wet again, there was no need to down my entire fucking canteen,” he smoothly says. “Unless you just like to be fucked hard and without mercy.”

“You should find a whore to fuck,” I boldly state, controlling the squeak in my voice. “I’ll take care of myself.”

Oddly enough, he only gives a small snort as he ties his canteen at his waist again. I don’t understand him or why he flirts with me. Maybe he’s trying to undo me through methods other than torture so my feelings on my father bleed through with ease.

Perhaps I’m also in over my head and have no way to gauge what’s best for me.

Silence sits between us for the rest of the ride, Soren never more than a few feet from me. By nightfall, we arrive at the next city—a bustling trade post that grows richer every year, known as Dryhill. It used to be infamous for banning all liquor, in the era before the Zenith were even invented. Now it’s as wet as I am for Soren…

I’ve been here before with Kathleen as it’s always nice to have a little change of scenery, but I try to avoid frequenting too often since Skull’s Row bleeds heavily into it.

Soren’s men wait for him at the walls—it’s a giant fortress that’s all packed together inside, winding alleyways connecting to the main roads. A black flag with a golden skull hangs above, gently waving in the wind. I immediately lower my head, wanting to scoot my horse closer to Soren in some last-ditch effort at survival.

Anyone bearing the flag of a Zenith owes their loyalty to Skull’s Row and carries out their traditions and laws.

Soren’s words will be as strong as iron here.

It didn’t used to bother me when I was just staying for a night with Kathleen, always feeling like that threat was far away. Now, though? It’s those very laws that will have me swinging from the gallows, or get my head spiked.

We wait for his other men to arrive, the first group lost in jovial snickering and telling stories of their greatest kills. Soren remains silent as he stares into the blackness of night that surrounds the settlement, his maroon leather standing out against his steed.

My expression hardens when Soren speaks quietly, so only I hear him. “You’ll be sticking with me in Dryhill. Don’t say anything about why you’re wanted, or I’ll gag you—” There's no sexual innuendo in his tone “—If, on the other hand, you behave, I’ll let you sleep without rope binding you.”

I sigh. “Will it be at the foot of your bed this time?”

He leans closer, speaking lowly. “If that’s what Miss Jane likes, then I can indulge.”

I grip the reins, trying to embrace those wild thoughts so they may suppress the excitement I have for being alone with him. There may be little I can do about the Zenith, but I didn’t grow up as a baker’s daughter. My “daddy”, as Soren likes to put it, was a damn Zenith.

My silence from earlier stemmed not only from my fear, but I’ve also been trying to consider a plan for escape while convoluting it with other thoughts so Soren doesn’t register it.

If I’m to make a bold attempt to escape, this is where it will be. I’ve got one single shot, and I’m going to make it count. And I’m going to need Soren alone, his guard completely down.

Gods help me.