Myths and Mortals (Numina Book 2)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  She wiped her eyes and looked up, trying to find some direction. She could still go back and . . .

  But the thought of doing what he’d asked . . .

  She kept walking. Back in the morning, he’d said. Just one night. She could do one night, couldn’t she? She could just keep walking. If she never lay down, she wouldn’t fall asleep, and she wouldn’t dream. She’d stayed up all night before; she could do it again.

  Sandis pushed her knuckle into her mouth and bit down. She passed big house after big house. The sun was setting. If she waited until after dark, perhaps she could creep into a neighbor’s backyard and huddle on the stonework. No one would see her, surely. But what if they did? The people here were so unfriendly. And if the police saw the marks of the occult on her skin, it wouldn’t matter who her great-uncle was—they’d send her to Gerech. She’d die there. Even the streets in the smoke ring were better than that.

  She’d just have to go to an inn. There had to be one close by.

  Sandis’s limbs slowed and cooled as she realized she hadn’t packed the allowance Talbur had given her. She rechecked her bag, her pockets, praying to the Celestial as she did, but she found not a single kol.

  Her breaths came too fast. She slowed, forcing air in and out of her lungs. She couldn’t panic. This wasn’t the first time she’d been out on her own. She’d survived a night on the streets before meeting Rone. Granted, someone else had helped her—a woman and her son.

  If only someone would help her now.

  There was Arnae Kurtz, Rone’s old master, but she’d promised not to return to his hidden door, and she didn’t think she could find it on her own anyway. That, and it was too far to walk . . .

  Pausing, Sandis turned, looking around as the polluted sky took on shades of violet and burnt orange. She forced more air into her body. Clutched her bag. Sat down, right there on the sidewalk.

  She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

  The sky got darker. The air colder.

  She couldn’t.

  But she had to.

  Chapter 2

  Sandis’s mind floated elsewhere as her feet picked their memorized path through the neighborhood. He wasn’t far. A mile, maybe. He’d told her the address. Pointed the house out after following her on one of her deliveries. He always followed her. She never spoke a word to him, but he talked anyway. Sometimes. Sometimes he simply matched her silence.

  Sandis moved slowly, stretching out the mile until it felt like ten. The homes here were nice, sizable like Talbur’s. Most still had lights on. So long as the lights stayed on, it was okay for Sandis to take her time.

  The mansion where Rone lived was still lit, too. One of the window wells to his basement glowed yellow. He never turned in early, but seeing that light was both a relief and a trigger for her. Her muscles loosened, but her heart beat quicker in a squelching kind of way. Like it was sick.

  As she came around the house, toward the stairwell that led to Rone’s door, she heard voices. She slowed even more and turned the corner.

  Rone’s door was open, spilling yellow light into the stairwell. His elbow was up and pressed against the door frame as he spoke to a woman who stood a few feet away from him. She was tall, with rare blonde hair almost as light as Alys’s. The similarity hit her like a fist to the gut. Alys, bleeding on the floor, unconscious and alone . . . The lighting was poor, but the woman looked to be in her early twenties—somewhere between Sandis’s and Rone’s ages.

  She was pretty.

  Sandis stopped short. The heart-squelching began to hurt.

  This was a bad idea. She couldn’t stay here. She could go back to Talbur’s, maybe see if Amila would let her into the wine cellar, just for the night. Talbur never went in there, she didn’t think—

  “Well, thank you,” the woman said, tucking a lock of long hair behind her ear. So much longer than Sandis’s. More feminine. She smiled at Rone. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  She started up the stairs, and Rone’s eyes followed her before flicking to the left. To Sandis.

  The woman glimpsed her, too, and offered a tight smile before passing on.

  Sandis felt like a sewer rat.

  She couldn’t bring her feet to move, neither forward nor backward.

  “Sandis.” He said her name like she was a lost thing found. He moved away from the door frame and stepped toward her. Sandis retreated a step. Rone stopped.

  He rubbed the back of his head. “Finally taking me up on those seugrat lessons?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Sighing, Rone dropped his hand. “What’s wrong?”

  She swallowed. Move. Her legs were leaden and numb, but she managed to inch forward and not fall down the stairs. She clutched her bag. The acidic yellow light stung her eyes.

  She slipped into Rone’s flat. The air within felt too warm. The layout was a little peculiar, like the space hadn’t been designed to be an apartment. A random table stood just inside the door. The kitchen lay all against one wall. There was a couch beneath the window, and a door that might have led to a bedroom.

  Celestial above, why couldn’t she just pretend? Why couldn’t she just imagine that Rone’s exchange with Kazen never happened? That they were just as they used to be? She so badly wanted to forget. She so desperately wanted to pretend.

  Like you pretend with Talbur?

  Gritting her teeth, she banished the question from her thoughts.

  Rone came in behind her and shut the door. Looked her over. Ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “She’s just the landlord’s daughter.”

  Sandis took a step away from him, focusing her eyes on the far wall. “I didn’t ask.”

  “Sandis, I—” He paused, looking surprised. That she’d talked to him? But then his gaze fell to her shoulder. “What’s this?” He reached for one of the straps of her bag. She pulled it away from his touch. It was a mistake—heat laced her skin everywhere they had touched.

  She cleared her throat as silently as she could.

  “Can I . . . Can I stay here tonight? Please?”

  When Rone didn’t answer, she finally dared to look at him. His forehead wrinkled in the way it did when he was confused. His eyes looked so dark, so endless. His lips turned down.

  He was going to say no. He was going to reject her, maybe save the space for the blonde woman, and she’d have to find somewhere else to stay.

  His hand touched her back, right between her shoulder blades. His skin somehow burned her through her layers. He guided her to the couch, then pressed her shoulders down and made her sit. He sat next to her.

  Elbows on his knees, he said, “Tell me what happened.”

  She shook her head. “It’s just for one night.”

  “Sandis. Black ashes, if you’re talking to me, then just tell me.”

  She clenched her fists over her bag. “He said . . . He said I couldn’t stay there tonight.” Her voice was quiet and too high. She rubbed her throat to loosen it.

  “Talbur said you couldn’t stay at his house.”

  She nodded, her gaze fixed to the floor.

  He groaned. “God’s tower, that man is a piece of sh—”

  “Please don’t.” This was another of his refrains.

  A growl sounded low in Rone’s throat. “Don’t what, Sandis? Say what you won’t? He’s manipulative and greedy. Slimy. All he wants is—”

  “He’s family.” She lifted her eyes and met his. “He’s my only family. He’s all I have.”

  A flicker of something heavy crossed Rone’s features, but it vanished too quickly for Sandis to discern it. Maybe it was just the lighting. Hugging her bag, she added, “Just for one night. I can sleep on the couch . . . or by the door. I don’t mind, as long as I’m inside.”

  Rone pressed his head into his palms. “Hell, Sandis. Yes, you can stay. No, you’re not going to sleep by the door. Why would I make you sleep by the door?”

  She bit her lip, unsure of what to say. A few stiff seconds passed before Rone stood
up and strode to his bedroom. He came back a moment later with two blankets. One he rolled up so it resembled a pillow. He set it on his end of the couch. Sandis stood as he unfurled the other across the cushions.

  The last time they’d shared the same space like this, Sandis had fallen asleep in his arms.

  Turning away, she blinked rapidly. She would not cry, not now. She had come so far. No tears would fall. Not after she’d worked so hard damming them.

  Steeling herself, Sandis pretended to study the tiles near the door to buy more time. As she lifted her gaze, she noticed a letter on the shelf near it. She took a single step toward it. There was a red-inked stamp across its top she didn’t recognize.

  “What’s this?” she asked. Who would be writing Rone, and at an address he’d lived at less than a month?

  Rone turned to look, then crossed the room in three strides and picked up the envelope. “It’s a letter from my mother.” He ran his thumb reverently over the ink. “From Godobia. Picked it up from the post office.”

  Sandis clung to her bag a little harder. “I’m glad she made it.”

  Rone nodded. Stuck the envelope under his arm. “Are you hungry? I can make—”

  “I’ll just sleep. If that’s okay.” She wanted morning to come so she could go home. Maybe with everything that had happened, her mind would be too preoccupied for demonic dreams.

  Home. The word felt twisted, but she tried not to dwell on that.

  “Yeah. It’s late.” Rone blew out the lamp on the wall, then took a second one from its hook near the door and set it on the narrow table near the couch. He lingered for a moment before turning for his bedroom. He shut the door.

  Sandis set her bag down and curled up on the couch, pulling the blanket up to her chin. She licked her fingers, opened the lamp door, and extinguished the wick with a sizzle. The soft burn against the pads of her fingers made her think of Ireth, and the thought carved another hollow space inside her.

  Rolling over, Sandis pressed her face against the back of the couch as a hard lump formed in her throat, sore and relentless.

  She pushed the blanket over her eyes for fear of staining the furniture.

  Chapter 3

  Rone leaned against his bedroom door, staring at the flickering lamp near the window. He should go back out there. Grab her shoulders and say, Just tell me. Tell me what he did. What you did. Anything.

  Sandis was her great-uncle’s special pet, groomed just the way he wanted her. Talbur was incapable of doing any wrong in her eyes. So what spat could have brought her to his door?

  Was this the first time this had happened, or had Sandis been punished previous nights and chosen the streets over his company? But he would have known. God’s tower, he’d watched that damn house so carefully he wasn’t left with any time to check his drop-off sites. Not that it mattered. Without the amarinth, there was no Engel Verlad, thief for hire. Just a coward hiding in a basement, unsure what to do with his pathetic life.

  He pulled out the envelope from beneath his arm. He’d hurried home to read it, not wanting to do so at the crowded post office, only to run into Lina, the homeowner’s daughter. She’d inquired after the length of his stay, and he’d answered indefinitely—he’d stay in this basement until Sandis came to her senses and left Talbur. And if that never happened, he would never leave.

  Or was that another lie he told himself?

  Rone sat in the chair to the small desk in his room. Opened the top drawer and pushed aside the map he’d drawn from memory of Kazen’s lair, though it was incomplete. He had to go back there eventually, and not just for his amarinth. But cowards weren’t the most proactive people.

  He drew out his emigration papers. The date, though written in small writing, glared at him from the top left corner. He only had eleven days left before he left Kolingrad behind to join his mother. Only a week and a half before this invaluable treasure in his hands became nothing more than scratch paper.

  He folded the papers and stuffed them into the drawer, which he slammed shut. Leaning his elbows against the desk, Rone weaved his fingers through his hair. Eleven days, except he’d have to leave a few days before that to make it to the border in time.

  Did Sandis want him to leave? She didn’t want him to stay. Once upon a time, she would have told him to follow his dreams . . . but that was before he’d shattered hers.

  But she’d come to him tonight. Spoken to him, even. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Or was her desperation mounting its peak?

  Black ashes, did she hate him that much?

  His eyes found the letter and lingered there. He’d had to do it. His mother would have died in prison without the bribe money, and those papers had swept her away from the influence of the wealthy family who had so harshly prosecuted her for Rone’s misdeeds. It had been Sandis or his mother, and he’d come back for Sandis. They were both free now. It had worked out, in the end.

  At the cost of Sandis’s trust and his amarinth, but it had worked out.

  Rone clawed at the envelope’s flap and tore it open, letting the thick letter topple onto his desk. He unfolded it like it was water and he a man lost in the desert. The familiar handwriting was a balm to his soul, and for a moment, he didn’t feel that constant iron ball rolling around in his stomach.

  She started by expressing her concern for his behavior at the pass—his confession about being responsible for her arrest and his sudden, unexplained need to turn back. But she went on to talk about the journey through the mountains. She’d met up with a Godobian family who’d taken her under their wing, though they could hardly understand one another.

  But it didn’t matter, because when we arrived at their home, Teon’s grandfather spoke perfect Kolin. His father had been a grain merchant and had taken him on many of his ventures. He spent ten summers in Dresberg! So I was able to tell him my story, and he relayed the information to the others. I left out Gerech, of course. I confess I leaned on the tale of your father to explain why and how I left. It would make sense, after all. Surely the Angelic could use his influence to get his estranged wife emigration papers.

  Rone set his jaw and turned to the next page. His mother was always so . . . not kind, but nonchalant when it came to his father. Like they’d merely settled on a divorce, instead of him abandoning his family to further his religious career. Rone both admired and hated how easy that had become for his mother. Then again, maybe she only made it look easy, for his sake.

  She went on to talk about her search for land—something small and nearby, so she wouldn’t have to make new friends all over again. Apparently, she’d found a place one town over. A son had been looking to sell his mother’s house after her death, a modest cottage attached to a modest farm. Rone’s mother hadn’t wanted to risk purchasing the farm, for fear she’d have nothing left to subsist on until she found work, but the man had been reluctant to separate them. Apparently, after some words with this grandfather, he’d agreed to sell the house with half the land and turn the rest into horse grounds. His mother had written this letter on her first day in the house.

  I hope it reaches you—it’s such a ways to travel. I’m not sure what the turnaround is for postal service across the border, but if I don’t hear back from you in four weeks, I’ll write again. With luck, I’ll be seeing you in person by then!

  But, Rone, you know what I want. That explanation you promised me. I worry about you constantly, and I need to understand. I’ve sorted through every possible story you could tell me, and yet somehow I know none of them will be close to the truth.

  I look forward to hearing from you. Seeing you. In case you ripped this envelope, or it fell into a roadside puddle, here’s the address to the house. I tried to draw a map on the back of this paper, but you know how terrible I am with things like this.

  Love you.

  Rone took a deep breath. Started again at the beginning of the letter and read through to the end. Turned the paper over and laughed at the map she’d drawn. Had she done it
while in a carriage? None of the lines were straight, and he had a feeling the scale was inconsistent as well.

  Setting the letter aside, Rone opened one drawer, then another, trying to remember where he’d left the stationery he’d purchased in anticipation of this very moment. He found it and pulled it out, along with the quill and ink the previous resident had left atop this desk.

  He focused on the door, his gaze lingering as if, should he stare long enough, he’d be able to see through it to the sleeping form on the other side.

  He started by dating his letter in the corner, but he set it back a week.

  Then he began to write.

  Mom—

  Yes, I owe you a story. I owe you an apology. A thousand times over. I hope you’ll forgive me after you read this letter. If you can’t, we can just pretend, like we do with Dad.

  It started with theft; both my theft of the headpiece, which was pinned on you, and the theft of a treasure of mine by a woman named Sandis Gwenwig—

  Chapter 4

  Sandis ran.

  The ground shuddered beneath her feet. The heat was unbearable, turning her sweat into steam. Her lungs burned; her legs burned. Only darkness lay ahead of her, impenetrable and foreboding, but she dashed for its heart. She had to escape. Escape.

  The beast roared behind her. A sob erupted from her mouth, and she ran, ran, ran.

  Ireth, help me! she screamed inside her head. But the fire horse didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He was gone.

  Flames licked her shoulders. Sandis fell, skinning her knees. Looked back.

  The red face of a bull lowered toward her, and she screamed.

  “Sandis!”

  The heat and the flames vanished all at once, replaced by blue-hued darkness. Water dripped from her hair and chin. Soaked her dress. She coughed as it trickled down her throat. Something grabbed her, and she jumped—but these were human hands. Familiar hands.

  The shadows and shapes of Rone’s flat came into focus. His silhouette crouched before her, his face lowered close to hers. A discarded cup lay on the floor beside him. Water still ran from the pump in the kitchen to her right.