The Storm Crow (The Storm Crow, #1)(60)

“My family’s in Seahalla,” he began softly. “My mother was a baker, and my father…” He clenched his jaw. “My parents were poor, so my siblings and I learned trades. I apprenticed with a blacksmith. That’s where I learned…” He trailed off again, gesturing at the workshop.

“When I was thirteen, my dad lost his job. He started drinking. Picked up gambling.” He pulled his hands into his lap, wrung them. “The Drexels run the gambling houses. He took me with him one day, and I figured out pretty fast if you kept track of the cards, you could cheat the game. I didn’t know that’s what I was doing, but my dad did. He pulled me out of my apprenticeship and started bringing me to the gambling house whenever he went.”

My stomach churned. I’d heard stories of what the Drexels did to people they caught cheating.

“They found us out a few weeks later. Didn’t know how we were cheating, just that we were. We ran for it, and my dad… He said they’d go easier on me since I was a kid. He left me to be caught, but they asked who I’d been with. At first, I didn’t answer, but they…forced me to.” His left hand curled around his right. “Then they broke my hand for stealing.”

I swallowed hard, a quiet heat gathering in my stomach. I wanted to hurt whoever had hurt him.

Caylus seemed to have forgotten I was there, as if the only way he could tell this story was to pretend he was alone. “They went to my dad demanding he pay back his winnings. He said he couldn’t pay the debt, but he’d give them me instead. That I was good with numbers and fixing things. They agreed.”

“He sold you?” I asked weakly.

“He called it a job. I would be paid, and once I’d earned back my father’s debt, I’d be free to go,” he said. “I served Malkin Drexel. He started training me to fight. I didn’t want to, but… I kept thinking, especially with the fights I was winning, that I’d pay off my dad’s debt soon. But Malkin kept finding other things for me to owe him for. Food, clothes, lodging, lost fights. Years passed. My room, it didn’t have any windows. That’s why…” He trailed off again, flexing his hands in front of him.

“The punching nearly destroyed my hands. I broke my knuckles more times than I can count. Then just over two months ago, I got the news my mother had died. When Malkin told me—” He paused. “He told me my father had paid off his debt months ago, but Malkin said I still owed him. That I had my own debts now, and my father hadn’t used a bit of the money he’d made to help.” His fisted hands tightened. “It finally sunk in that no one was coming for me, and Malkin was never going to let me go.

“I’d been saving portions of my winnings without him knowing for some time. I had enough to convince a smuggler to get me out of the city to Sordell.”

My lips parted, and I stared at him, the words biting like acid eating through my skin. No wonder he jumped at every sound and flinched at every touch. Caylus had left the Drexels’ service without paying his debt; they’d be looking for him. It certainly explained the locks on his doors, not that they would do him any good against the Drexels.

I’m tired of fighting, he’d said the day I asked why he hadn’t joined the rebels. Tired, because he’d done so much of it. And yet when I’d asked for his help, he’d given it willingly, knowing each moment he spent with me embroiled him deeper and deeper in this conflict.

“Yet you’re still helping me,” I whispered.

He bowed his head. “A few weeks ago, a contact of mine said Malkin killed my younger sister. Because I left.” His breath came out in a shudder. “She was the only one who ever visited me. The only one who tried to help. And now—” His voice died.

My throat tightened. I didn’t know what to say.

“Malkin’s only in power because of what Illucia’s done to the Ambriels,” he said, voice low. “If they were free from Illucia, free from him…”

Then maybe no one else would have to go through what he did. Was that why he aided the rebels despite his hatred of fighting? To stop Malkin?

He lifted his gaze to mine, and I drew a sharp breath. That was it. The look I’d seen in Caylus’s eyes from the beginning. The look of someone who’d had a pit gouged so deep inside them, filling it again seemed impossible. Someone like me.

He wasn’t looking at me, but I could still see the pain in his eyes. I wanted to take it away.

Slowly, I reached out. My fingers brushed his cheek, then cupped it, and I let my thumb smooth along his warm skin. His eyes closed, and he leaned into my touch. My skin tingled where it met his, the feeling dancing up my arm like the hum of the egg’s magic. He was tall enough that even sitting, he wasn’t far, but the space between us was still too much. I wanted it gone.

I leaned forward and kissed him.

It was like being in a Rhodairen storm, thunder and rain all around, equal parts soothing and shocking. Heat flushed my face, my neck, my chest. He brought a hand to my head, entangling it in my still-damp hair. Then he stood, and I was looking up at him, our lips a breath apart. He leaned in, kissing me this time, and I slid my hands back onto the table to catch myself.

“Saints!” I jerked back and ripped my hand from the table to find my palm bleeding from a shallow cut. I looked around for the offending object, ready to condemn it to a vicious death, and found a piece of bloody glass.