Myths and Mortals (Numina Book 2)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  “Always tried to stay on his right side, I did,” Snuffs went on.

  Rone blinked. “His right side?”

  Snuffs tugged on his ear. “Pretty sure he’s deaf in that one.”

  Rone chewed the inside of his lip, mulling. The man—Verger—did have a habit of tilting his head when he threw a punch. He turned a lot, too, like they were in a boxing ring. Was that due to this older style of seugrat or because it was the only way he could listen to what might be behind him?

  This could be useful. Not a solid tip—Rone wouldn’t rely on it if he and Verger crossed paths again—but the information could prove handy. “How do I find him?”

  Snuffs shrugged, and that spark of hope fizzled out. “No idea. I didn’t handle him, just Bens, and he’s dead. Sherig?”

  “Never heard of him.” Sherig turned a page. “That’s all I got, Jase. Sorry.”

  Rone sighed. “Sorry won’t cut it this time.” But he had a name and a potential weakness. He should be thankful for that. He touched his bruised ribs.

  “There’s your freebie.” Sherig closed the book and set it aside, then stood, reminding Rone just how imposing her large frame was. “Next time, it’s a trade or your ass is on the street, hear me?”

  Rone gave her a mock salute. “Loud and clear.”

  Snuffs escorted him back out; a new guard stood by the stairs, but he was no less beefy than his predecessor. Rone pushed past him, apologized with a nod, and headed back into the city. There was a market not far from here, and he still wanted to pick up a few amenities, although he’d have to take a complicated way back to make sure he wasn’t being followed—

  He paused as he crossed the street, earning a hard word from a middle-aged man he’d cut off.

  Sorry doesn’t cut it.

  Sorry.

  He felt like his bones had turned to ice water. His heart shrunk in on itself.

  Sorry. God’s tower . . . he’d never actually apologized to Sandis, had he? All the things he’d done—coming back to rescue her, teaching her how to defend herself, following her when she worked to make sure she’d be safe, buying the rifle—it had all been as penitence. To show her he was sorry. That he cared. That he—

  But he’d never actually said the words, had he?

  He sifted through his memories as the crowd finally pushed him toward the gutter. Their fight after escaping Kazen’s lair. His time following her on Talbur’s jobs. The nights they’d spent hiding. The attack on Kazen’s lair. All of it . . . He couldn’t remember saying it once. There had been awkward silences and defenses and arguments . . . but no apology. Not for that.

  He felt like wet laundry being wrung dry. Was it too late to tell her? Too late to atone for misleading her, betraying her? Or was it all simply not enough, just as his actions to date had never broken through the wall she’d built around her? The wall made of bricks he had supplied?

  He had to try. It was all or nothing at this point. And if it were the latter, then it was finally time for Rone to stop hoping and move on.

  As if the option of moving on were that easy.

  Chapter 22

  Kazen’s age gave him the upper hand in this place. Everyone who might have recognized him was dead.

  The gray pilgrimage band cinched around his upper arm like a tourniquet, but he suffered it patiently. Suffered it, the other moon-eyed pilgrims, the wayward priests and priestesses, even the hypocritical droning of the Angelic himself. How easy it would be to . . . but no, it would be no different than before. Patience, he crooned to himself. That was the key to their destruction. Patience.

  He choked down a meal quietly, exchanging pleasantries with a single mother and her teenaged daughter as he did so. It took an amazing amount of concentration not to reach up for his hat. He’d left it behind, exposing every angle of his face and thinning hair. Patience.

  Kazen didn’t ask to see the pilgrimage records from years past; he knew where they were. He slipped between marble columns and moved silently across plush carpets to the small records room. Went straight to the drawer he needed, as he knew how they were organized. He thumbed through them until he found the desired ledger. Opening it, he scanned name after name, slow and precise. His reward came easily.

  “There you are,” he murmured, tearing the page from the center of the ledger. But . . . oh, it wasn’t merely a pilgrimage, was it? How interesting.

  Kazen tucked that tidbit of knowledge into the back of his mind and slipped from the room. A little more sleuthing and he’d have the information he needed. Winding deeper into the tower, he ventured toward where the acolyte records were kept.

  If memory served him right, he knew exactly where to find them.

  Chapter 23

  Sandis put her blanket on Bastien’s lap as he sipped cold tea, which was little more than water with some herbs floating in it. Kaili didn’t have the means of heating up the water without borrowing the fire from the beggars who lived down the corridor. They only lit that on occasion, and only at night. Sandis couldn’t see the sky from their underground hideaway, but it was certainly evening by now. Rone had been gone a long time.

  She focused her attention on Bastien to evade her worry—and to distract herself from the things that liked to lurk in her thoughts when she was idle. Bastien’s recovery was slow, perhaps because their food was so sparse. Kaili, at least, had medicine left over from her battle with infection, and that seemed to help Bastien’s summoning pain. He didn’t say much after Sandis explained their situation to him, however, and Sandis hadn’t felt a need to break the silence. Perhaps she should have, to counter the loudness of her anxiety.

  The Riggers’ headquarters weren’t terribly far, were they? What if Rone had been wrong and the stranger had waited for him to emerge so he could kill him? But then the mercenary would have come for Sandis, Bastien, and Kaili by now, right? Could Rone have run into other trouble?

  Had the Riggers simply been an excuse to leave?

  Needing time alone, Sandis retreated to her little room and attempted to meditate. She closed the door and sat in the light of the nearly spent candle, crossing her legs in front of her. Focused on her breathing.

  She couldn’t get past the first pattern.

  When Rist got back, would they leave without Rone? Should they look for him? What if his body was floating in a canal somewhere or stuffed into a garbage bin?

  What if he didn’t want her to look for him?

  The idea pierced her core with needles, and she cringed. If he left . . . but she had Bastien now. And Rist and Kaili. They would be fine. They would . . .

  Celestial save me, I don’t know what I’ll do if he leaves again.

  She hated this constant war inside her, this battle between fear and want and anger. The raw hunger at her center. It was the same broken part of herself she’d tried to give Talbur. The one Anon had left gaping. The one Rone had begun to fill before stripping her bare.

  Was it so wrong to be wanted by just one person? To love and be loved in return? To just . . . mean something to someone?

  Rubbing a knot in her shoulder, Sandis looked at Rone’s pack. He hadn’t buttoned it up all the way after retrieving his shirt last night. It sat there, staring at her.

  He’ll come back, she told herself. Yet an insidious whisper insisted she couldn’t trust anything about Rone, no matter how badly she wanted to.

  Her stomach tightened and rumbled. Giving in, she crawled to Rone’s bag. Surely he had something to eat in there.

  She pulled the buttons apart, finding a torn pair of slacks on top. She removed them, his soiled shirt, then his underclothes. A mess of bandages clumped under those, intermixed with candles, matches, a pocket knife, and other knickknacks and essentials.

  An apple.

  She snatched it but hesitated. This was Rone’s food. Not hers.

  Why couldn’t she stop depending on him?

  She put the apple and the other things back, then pushed the pack away. Something crinkled beneath he
r hand.

  Pausing, she noticed a pocket on the side of the pack. She opened it and found an envelope full of cash. She shrunk the moment she pulled it free, worthlessness spiraling around her like a serpent. It was the money Kazen had given Rone to betray her. He mustn’t have spent much of it.

  She fingered through the bills. There were so many . . . her lips parted when she read the numbers on their centers.

  This was a lot more than a thousand kol, the amount Kazen had told her he’d paid for her. A lot more. Kazen had lied about this, too.

  As Sandis put the envelope back, her fingers brushed something else. Papers. She grabbed them and pulled them free. Loose papers, four of them, folded together. She opened them and tilted the pages toward the light.

  Her hands went cold.

  She stared at the first paper. Read it, reread it. Turned to the second page and read, then the third, then back to the first.

  This was a set of emigration papers. But how? She knew a set of papers had been part of the deal, but Rone’s mother had used them to leave the country. Travel to Godobia. She would have needed them for every checkpoint.

  So how were these here?

  It hit her like a gun hammer fired. Kazen had given Rone two sets of emigration papers. Two sets. Rone hadn’t just meant to leave her, but the country. Alongside his mother. So why was he still here?

  She moved closer to the candle and set the papers right beside it. Her eyes hadn’t fooled her. Legal papers, notarized and everything. Why was he still here? Why?

  A single tear traced the shape of her cheek. Me?

  She struggled to believe it, but what else could it be? He hadn’t taken a real job since they’d run from Kazen’s lair. Even after getting his amarinth back. He hadn’t done anything but stay with her.

  She wiped the tear away. Saw the numbers in the upper left-hand corner of the page. An expiration date.

  It was two days from today.

  She stared at the numbers for a long moment, numb, until her thoughts stirred enough to do the math.

  Didn’t it take four days to reach the Fortitude Mountains and the pass out of Kolingrad?

  The door opened. Sandis blinked, sending more tears cascading down her cheeks. She turned to see Rone standing in the doorway.

  His eyes went straight to her, then to the papers in her hands. He stepped inside and closed the door.

  Her fingers shook, making the expiration date dance in the candlelight. “You’ll never make it in time,” she whispered.

  Rone stood there a moment, then stepped over to his bag. Was he angry she’d gone through his things? But this, how could he not have told her about—

  “I’m sorry.”

  His voice was low and soft, like feathers. She clutched the papers in her hands. “Why are you—”

  “I’m sorry, Sandis.” He took another step toward her, then another. “I did it for my mother, yes, but I should have told you. We could have figured out a way to thwart them and still save her . . . maybe. I don’t know. But, Sandis.” He reached forward and clasped her shoulders. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  His voice hitched again, just like it had this morning. She stared at him, his dark eyes endless as the night sky, a soft glisten to them.

  Her heart daggered in her chest.

  His hands slid down her arms. He dropped to his knees in front of her. “R-Rone,” she croaked, but her throat swelled shut. More tears slipped from her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “God, Sandis, if I could do it again . . .” He pressed his forehead to her stomach. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  Something broke inside her. Cracked, split, crumbled.

  He wasn’t the same. This was not the same Rone who had lured her into an alleyway. Who had broken his promises. Who had broken her heart.

  She dropped the papers and pressed a hand over her mouth as a sob escaped her. She fell into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, his soft curls brushing the bridge of her nose. She wept into his hair, and his arms encircled her, crushing her against him.

  Sandis wanted to whisper her own apologies, but she couldn’t speak. So she held him tighter, wetting his neck with her tears. He didn’t complain, didn’t adjust, didn’t move. His breath swept across her collar in uneven spurts, and when she pulled back, there was moisture on his lower eyelashes.

  A weird pressure came up her throat, something halfway between a laugh and a sob. She carefully ran the pad of her thumb under one of his eyes. “I-I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry for not listening. For always thinking—”

  “God’s tower, Sandis.” Rone shook his head and stood, pulling her against his chest. He spoke into her hair. “Don’t apologize. Please don’t.”

  His shirt absorbed another tear. The fabric smelled of smoke and rain and Rone.

  He kissed the top of her head. Lightning coursed down her limbs from the soft pressure of his lips. “When this is all done, we’ll start over,” he murmured, and the candlelight flickered in the corner of Sandis’s eye. “You won’t be running from anything, and I won’t be an ass.”

  A hoarse laugh trapped itself between Sandis’s mouth and Rone’s chest.

  “We’ll go off somewhere, and it’ll be just you and me. No city, no scarlets, no vessels, no Kazen. No deals or jobs or psychotic uncles.” He held her tighter and bowed down, brushed his cheek against her temple. “I’ll follow you anywhere, Sandis. To the Arctic Ribbon or the heart of hell. Anywhere you want. I promise.”

  Sandis knew those two words—I promise—were the truest words she’d ever heard. They enveloped her in an unfamiliar but blissful warmth. She pulled away from him, just enough to see the beautiful sincerity in his eyes.

  He was so close, she didn’t even have to stand on her toes to kiss him.

  There was no hesitation in Rone’s response. He gave in to her with an eagerness that made her heart fly to the stars and back. She clutched fistfuls of his shirt, and they stumbled back, clumsy with their balance, but Rone’s arm snaked around her waist and steadied her. His free hand grabbed the shelf, jolting the candle. The kiss didn’t break, but Rone turned his head and claimed her lips with a new and undeniable wanting.

  The shock of it burned through her mouth and across her jaw, down her neck . . . waking parts of her she hadn’t known she had. Filling her with fire and light. Rone’s hand released the shelf and knit into her hair, pulling her even closer, like he was the desert and she was water.

  A small sound escaped her throat, and Rone pulled back, misinterpreting it. He didn’t get far. Sandis followed him, releasing his shirt so she could hold both sides of his face and guide him back to her.

  His mouth swallowed her lower lip, sucking on it gently. The stubble on his cheeks tickled her fingers. She swam in the masculine scent of him until up was down and she was entirely lost.

  She didn’t want to be found.

  She broke away for air, only for his mouth to crash down on hers again halfway through the breath. But air didn’t matter. His mouth danced across hers, his hands knotted in her hair. Sandis parted her lips, and Rone’s tongue traced the shape of her mouth, seeking hers. She gave it to him, barely hearing the knock on the door—

  The hinges creaked. Rone groaned. Rather than break their connection immediately, he slowed the fervor of the kiss, which only served to build a defiant ache in Sandis’s chest. When he did pull away from her, he moved just enough to angle his head toward the light splitting the doorway. Sandis’s hands trailed down his shoulders and chest as she followed suit. Her hazy vision barely made out the form of Kaili.

  “Rist is back,” she said. Her voice carried no indication of embarrassment. If anything, it was anxious. “If we’re leaving tonight, we should do it now.”

  Rone’s arms slackened. “Make sure Bastien’s ready.”

  Kaili nodded and closed the door to a crack.

  Shifting back to her, Rone leaned his forehead against hers. Closed his eyes.

  San
dis carefully kissed his mouth. “I never stopped loving you, Rone.”

  His dark eyes shot open. “Sandis—”

  “Rone?” It was Bastien’s voice outside the door. It sounded pathetic and tired. “Do you have more of that pain powder?”

  Sandis licked her lips. They were swollen, but she wanted nothing more than to torture them to their limits. To curl up in Rone’s arms forever. She kissed him once more, stopping any words he might say. He’d made enough promises to her tonight. She wouldn’t expect any more.

  Chapter 24

  Rone felt strangely rejuvenated when he stepped into the small hallway between the rooms. Energetic to the point of being antsy, but full of frustration at having been interrupted. If he hadn’t seen Rist immediately, a pack strapped to his back, he would have accused Kaili of subterfuge.

  More than anything, he was . . . happy. Weirdly so. He was sneaking into the night with four illegal vessels, hoping to find refuge from an assassin trying to kill the lot of them, while stopping the man’s boss from summoning a scriptural monster, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning like he was hopped up on brain dust. His stomach felt better than it had in weeks. A strange sort of peace filled him, soothing all the cuts and scrapes caused by not knowing. It was like . . . Well, Rone had never really felt this way before. Unfortunately, the current situation did not allow him to savor it.

  He forced his attention to Rist. For a moment he thought to lecture the man for potentially putting all of them at risk, but Kaili already whispered to him with a worried expression on her face, and Rist looked more broody than usual. The job was probably already done.

  Sandis murmured a few things to Bastien before looking at Rone almost sheepishly. God’s tower, she was beautiful. He wasn’t sure he deserved her, but he wasn’t going to complain, either.