Page 15 of Feathers and Thorns

“He understands you wanted to protect him. I wish you would have told me, though.”

Enara played with the leather cuff on her wrist that Soren had gifted her. “I thought you already knew.”

Soren grabbed her hand and squeezed. “I did, but I was hoping you would admit it to yourself.”

“What can I say? I’m stubborn.”

Soren loosed a laugh before covering her mouth, worried about waking the boys.

Enara gave her a look, eyes glinting in the dying light of the singular candle that lit the room. “We both are.”

“Thank you for finding me.”

“You’re my sister. Nothing in this world could have stopped me from coming for you.”

“Enara?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Sor.”

They embraced each other, allowing all the stress from the past few weeks to fade away as the flame died out and they drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Jai’s ears perked up and his eyelids fluttered open when a faint scratching noise in the corner of the room roused him from a fitful sleep. His back was stiff as he sat up, rubbing his neck and shaking his shoulder-length hair from his eyes. Baz stilled snored beside him, blissfully unaware that something scurried in the shadowed corners of their current dwelling.

The tracker looked to the bed where Enara and Soren were affectionately curled around each other and decided not to wake them. At least three out of the four of them would get a half-decent night’s rest.

He tip-toed to the tiny, circular window against the far wall and welcomed the cool air that drifted through. It was far from a fresh breeze, but it felt good against his skin. He kept his face in the shadows as he watched questionable figures slink down the streets.

Not long ago, he had been one of them—working in the shadows, ending up in all manner of dim, dark places. He would not allow himself to feel guilty for taking payment from those with more means than what they knew what to do with. The only job he had refused payment for was when Adaryn had been taken, but the king had insisted.

He played with the gaudy turquoise ring on his finger as he leaned against the side of the wall. The boards groaned beneath his weight, and he worried the whole decrepit building would collapse around them.

Behind him, Enara was muttering in her sleep. He couldn’t make out the words, but there was a pained expression on her face.

Baz, who had remained catatonic until then, sat up, looking around the room. He gave Jai a nod before sliding one of the bedrolls over to the edge of the mattress. He tucked himself back in, reaching one hand up to entangle itself with Enara’s dangling fingers. She stiffened at the contact then immediately relaxed, the bad dreams seemingly washed away by the touch.

Though Jai was happy they had found each other, the act reminded him of what he had been missing—a lover’s touch. Not the kind you found in a brothel, but the kind that set your soul alight. He’d had that with Adaryn, and now, by his own doing, it was gone.

He mentally cursed himself for leaving the way he had. He hadn’t even had the courage to tell her why. Knowing he would have to face her again struck more fear into his heart than fending off a thousand kestrels.

He blew through his teeth, pulling the window shut. The room had been aired out as well as it could, and he noticed Soren was shivering.

He removed his collared jacket and placed it over her shoulders from the head of the bed then shuffled back over on silent feet to the two remaining bed rolls. They were decently comfortable on softer ground, but the floorboards provided little in the way of cushion for aching joints. Even the snow-tipped mountain had provided more back support.

He lay sprawled out on his back, hands clasped above his waist, fingers resting on his ring, and accepted that sleep would not be joining him.

Soren was wearing nothing but a thin, white sleeping gown, her now faded brown hair drifting behind her as she walked down the city watch’s dimly lit hallway. She was barefoot, and the wood plank flooring felt rough on the soles of her feet.

All the doors in the hallway were closed, apart from the one leading to the cold cellar. That was where they kept the bodies. She had been here before, the day they had asked her to retrieve Tarak Nightsong’s body for the undertaker.

Soren hesitated momentarily at the doorway. A draft floated up the stairwell, carrying with it the stench of death. She covered her mouth with her sleeve, offended by the smell, though it did little to save her nostrils from their plight. Then she took the stairs one at a time, each step bringing her closer to the pinnacle of her nightmare.

The space opened up into a rectangular room. There were no windows, no place for the acrid stench of rotting flesh to escape.

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