Nocte, p.7
Nocte, page 7
Dirty subjects.
My fingers shake as I pry the particular volume loose from a collection near the middle of the archives. It isn’t dusty like the others deeper in, and a simple, brown cover and dark script seem relatively anti-climactic for what it contains. It’s only after I finish my chores that I find a corner and read by lamplight in the few minutes I have before the other workers awaken.
With every word, my cheeks flame. My eyes widen. I feel like a child learning about the wonders and magic of the fae—then learning in the same moment that I will never be able to experience such wonders for myself. Only, this act I can experience. Maybe with the red-eyed vamryre.
A worthy trade. I tell myself that over and over. In exchange for information on the mortal realm, any price would be worth it. And it is. I don’t need much convincing.
I continue to read, fingers shaking, unease growing. I push it aside and study this volume the same way I would any other text. I strip any emotion from the act and interpret it simply. Limbs and bones. An organ that goes there, a reaction here.
Nothing serious. Nothing vital. It’s less taboo than giving up blood.
“Sister?”
I never even heard him approach and my body relatedly has to remember how to work. I startle back, dropping the book entirely. The clatter is violent, echoing throughout the room. At a glance I can tell that no one else is here—yet. No one but Day.
He watches me warily, his head cocked, a question in his gaze.
I stammer. “Day. I didn’t hear you.”
“Are you busy?” He gives me that almost smile and stoops for the partially open book. I nearly trip in my rush for it, but he’s too quick. His friendly demeanor lasts right until the second he scans the title. Then his lips shift downward and scarlet creeps across his high cheekbones.
“I was returning it,” I say. My voice sounds odd. Then I realize that it’s because I lied. Even accidentally. Even a little bit. I have never lied. The panic doesn’t sink in as I reach for the book. My hands are upturned waiting and empty.
Because I can’t take it. Politeness dictates that I wait for him to return it.
He doesn’t. Instead, he steps back and flips through the volume, an eyebrow raised skeptically. When he scans the last page, he laughs outright and slams it shut with none of the care that should be taken. Thunk!
“I’m surprised they keep such tawdry trash in here,” he says, his voice too loud. I scan the room like a hungry mouse. There’s no one here, but my heart is racing. No one here, but a part of me still despairs. I lied. I’m filthy, less than tawdry trash.
“I should return it,” I say weakly. Finally, he slowly lowers the book into my grasp. I turn and nearly run past dozens of towering shelves deep into the back corner. There, I shove the book back and then jump away as if burned.
What on earth was I thinking, reading such things? Despite my disgust, my brain is already processing the newfound information and storing it away for later. What I once never considered now seems imminent. Inevitable. Sooner or later, the vamryre will do those things to me. Wicked, sinful things.
“You are distracted today,” Day remarks. It’s a second before I process his low tone. Then I see the confusion in his eyes. “Are you not happy to see me?”
“Yes,” I blurt out with a nod. “Of course. Always!”
It used to be the moment of every week I lived for. Wait… Used to? No, it is. No one else could take his place, because he is fae and we are blood. He sees me even though it is forbidden to. The risk he takes is so great I could never repay the kindness. Never.
“I’m sorry, I am just… Thinking about the ceremony,” I say.
He scoffs and some of the light returns to his expression. He’s himself again. “How silly to worry about something so boring. Though, this year is supposedly a ‘special’ anniversary.” He sneers. How silly.
To me, it is everything. I would give anything to leave these walls, if not the realm. Anything to see the Citadel proper with my own eyes. Would I ask such a thing of him, my dearest Day? No. The risk would be too great, and his presence is enough of a gift. Besides, there is nothing I have that he could want.
He isn’t a rabid dog hungry for a bone.
“Should I leave if you are determined to ignore me? Me, the only one that bothers to speak to you like an equal? Who teaches you purely out of kindness?” His voice rises. “It’s only because of me that you can even enjoy this damn place as you do!”
I stiffen and nearly sink to my knees in contrition. “I’m sorry,” I breathe out. I’m so sorry. I’m being so rude—so horribly rude. It’s as if the vamryre has infected me, stripping away my manners as easily as he did my robes.
My skin grows cold at the memory. At the same time, a deep-seated shame heats up within me, but it doesn’t feel like shame should. It’s not painful to endure. It causes my heart to race and my belly to flip.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat to poor, confused Day.
“I accept your apology. Now get up.” He nods and adjusts his bright green robes—his normal style this time. “What shall you read for me today?”
My lips twitch though it would be obscene to smile. “Whatever you like.”
His choice is the same as always: a volume from the olden days. One rife with bloodshed and violence and depictions of the horrific wars that eventually led to the Treaty of races. He gobbles up every word and licks his lips every time I mention the word death.
“What a shame we don’t live that way anymore,” he says when I finish a particularly brutal passage. “Out in the open, rather than here—hiding in a false realm like herded animals. Forced to walk alongside scum like lunaria and vermin like the vamryre. Safe in here, you don’t see. You don’t have to deal with their infernal stink.” His nostrils wrinkle, his disgust palpable. “The other day, you asked of vamryre. I will tell you of them: a slavish horde controlled by three. Cassius, Pol and Nataniel—the only one with real authority. Soon, they will not traipse around, flaunting our rules as they do.”
I swallow hard. Cassius must be the master from whom Caspian descends. One of the three, yet Day makes it seem as though… They will not maintain their status for long. Am I curious? I shouldn’t be. Yet, I don’t implore him to stop. Instead, I ask, “Oh?”
He sneers. “Our high council will put those bloodthirsty rats in their place. At the ceremony, the entire realm will see the way. The rightful authority is not with some pointless treaty, but with the fae alone.”
My heart twinges. The boast would sound odd coming from anyone else. Coming from Day, descended from one of the very figures who composed the first council, the words are merely reflective. Right?
Yes, I tell myself. It was the fae, after all, who devised this realm—a haven from the chaos of the mortal world where they were persecuted to near extinction.
“Sister?” Day claps his hands loudly enough to draw notice. “You may continue reading.”
“Of course.” I read to him until our hour is up and he has to leave. He does so quietly, his head bowed, flaming red hair blazing a path through the shadow. I’m not exactly sure how he sneaks in. Perhaps there is a tunnel or a passage somewhere. Maybe one day I could be brave enough to ask him—
Stop! I shake my head firmly and return to the bell tower, my hidden haven. I should read or attend to fixing the old books the workers leave for me. There is so much work to be done.
Yet I pace instead. I pace in circles and tear at my hair. I adjust my robes—my remaining set. The other one is ripped beyond repair, folded, and hidden in the same corner where I keep the sketchbook of art. And now my rose. His rose.
I own nothing. I am nothing. It is the way of the world.
One vamryre can’t change that—even if he holds the potential to upend my entire world. Expand it beyond the boundaries I have been taught to always obey. Damn these greedy feelings.
I close my eyes and try to drive him out of my mind through sheer will. It’s futile. By nightfall, I’m creeping onto the edge of the roof, watching and waiting. My body is alight with all the shameful things I’ve learned. It’s like I’ve been given a million pieces of silver—the exact price of the only thing I’ve ever wanted. I’ll spend it all without a second thought. I’ll throw it all away just for a glimpse. A chance. A tiny piece of hope.
He has my hope in his fist, the vamryre does.
Over the course of the night, he shatters it into a million tiny pieces.
Because he doesn’t come.
As far as he was concerned, it was all a game.
CHAPTER 8
Caspian
I disobeyed. Therefore, I should be punished.
Oh, how the bastard makes me pay.
A simple game of torture is his favorite.
I sit in a room with nothing in it. No furniture. No window. No him. No light, either.
Should be paradise in theory. I’d kill for a world without him.
But then he plays, oh, how he plays. He twists my thoughts to suit his needs and makes me see what he wants me to be. In my own damn skull, he makes me play pretend. As a benevolent master with me as his slave.
I can’t resist—not when the fantasy is his creation. The only thing I can do is watch as this simpering, twisted wretch wears my face and submits to him. Moans for him. Begs for him.
I’d rip off my skin if I could. Gouge out my eyes. I’d tear my throat to pieces if only to give him the satisfaction of watching me choke on a pool of blood at his feet.
But he won’t let me. In this dance, he holds all the cards, a cruel puppet master. I can only sit and watch. And watch. And seethe.
His fantasy begins the same way they always do. I thank him for rescuing me from the bonds of mortal life. Oh, how I simper and carry on. What a fucking fool this fake Caspian makes of himself.
Usually, he shows me what he wants from me in these deranged mental theaters. Disgusting shit. Twisted shit. I have to beat it out of my mind later—literally. I ram my face against a wall until my skull splits, and the pain rips me in half. As I heal, the others will whine and whimper. They’ve grown weak in their immortality, sheltered like the well-fed lambs they are. It’s Cassius who enjoys my agony. He enjoys it too damn much.
The only way to forget is through the pain. To numb the part of my brain only he can touch and exploit for his own uses. He never lets the others see these sick fantasies of me. Only he and I can play this game.
And now her. He takes my fantasy of Niamh and corrupts it. It’s him that I watch sling her against that wall and rip at her delicate robes. He is the only one in those dark, haunting eyes. He is the one who breaks her. Who makes her scream. He paints that ugly face with tears.
No. No. No.
It should be me. Me!
During his torture, I normally feel hatred, not this. This is rage. Anger. No. She’s mine. Mine!
Suddenly, his fantasy breaks. The fake Caspian lunges, eyes blazing, a knife conjured from nowhere. Maybe I created it. Maybe it’s a memory…
“Enough.”
He’s here now, in this room, and I’m back in my own skin. Fists clenched, teeth bared.
Cassius isn’t smiling either. “You go too far, boy,” he snarls, and his face reveals itself for what it is: a mask of skin stretched taut over a skeleton that should have long since faded to dust. “Your disobedience is a novelty to me.”
At least he admits it. To hear him admit it…doesn’t fill me with the glee it should. It sounds like a warning.
“But outright defiance? I will not allow it.” His voice raises and echoes throughout the house. Our siblings cringe and shudder. He isn’t like this: angry and unseemly. All because of some stupid little fae.
A fae who is mine.
“She isn’t yours,” he corrects, flicking through my thoughts as if they were a swarm of flies. He sees me watching her, well before I ever approached. Then he sees me touch her. Kiss. Crave.
He knows what I really want: to remember. To take her. To feel that body envelope mine in a way I’ve never craved anyone. Never him.
No! He hisses. Anger makes him ugly and strips away the beautiful veneer. Any other time, I would revel in this. I did it, finally. I pissed him off well and truly.
But I’m not gloating. His rage carries a risk this time. He can batter me. Hurt me. Torture. But I don’t want him to—
“It was a mistake to trust you with such a vital task,” he says, and my vision turns red. “I’ll ask one of your brothers instead. Then sweep your memories clean.”
“No!” My teeth are gritted, muscles chorded, body on all fours like a snarling beast. I paw at the blood-red carpeting. Can’t do much more than that. Still, I snarl, “She’s mine. You gave her to me!”
“Wrong.” He raises his hand. “I did no such thing. Tell me why I should let you keep your little toy? Your recent naughtiness does not warrant a prize.”
Bastard. Motherfucker. Piece of shit.
I think every fucking insult I can muster.
He laughs and laughs. This is the Caspian that appeals to him. A monster fixated only on him. But her…
The fae complicates things. Ruins things. He can’t let me have her.
Then I won’t remember. Won’t remember that I will never want him.
“I may change my mind,” he says, his voice a slithering snake winding around me. “For a price.”
I hate him. He’s thrown my own words back in my face. On the receiving end, they aren’t so much fun. They are a demand. A test.
How badly do I want her?
You don’t, he tells me, his smile wide, voice inescapable. You don’t want her. You will surrender. Give in. Be my good, loyal Caspian. Your past is gone. Dead. Accept it.
I do. I will. The past is dead.
“One of your brothers will take over from here,” he repeats, but I know a knife is hidden within that offer. None of our brothers have their own will, not anymore. They’ll do his bidding, and it will be him. Him touching her. Killing her. Tasting that sweet fae blood.
No. I’ll kill him first. I’ll kill them all first.
“Now, now, Caspian.” He clicks his tongue, and in an instant, I’m flat on the ground, writhing in agony. It’s as if he dropped a ton of bricks onto my skull and stripped away my ability to heal. Then he goes further, oh dear, Master Cassius. He turns my brain into a sieve and lets the others in. I’m inundated with them all. Stupid, mundane, insipid creatures that only think of him. Long for him.
Cassius, our lord Cassius…
Through gritted teeth, I counter him the only way I can. “N-No. No! I…want…her.”
“Insolent wretch!” The pressure relents, and he begins to pace, his robes swishing out behind him. Then he stops. His smile returns. Damn. I know that look. He’s devised a new plan. A more twisted game to play, he and I.
“You can have her,” he declares. “For a price. Whatever you derive from that fae, you must also give to me.”
Fuck. No. No. No. I’d rather die. But I can’t let him know. Can’t show that he has me dangling on a string. “I gave her a rose and a lie,” I hiss. “Is that what you want, Lord Cassius?”
“No,” he says with no inflection. “You gave her a kiss. A slow, savoring kiss.” His disgust laces the air. I can only imagine how angry he was after that. To lose control over me. To watch. “That and anything more, you must give to me. Or, you can carry out your original plan. Attack her at the ceremony. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
Sick fucker. He thinks he’s won. Thinks I’ll back down without a fight. I should. Nothing is worth touching him. Enduring him. Nothing. Nothing!
“Until you square our debt, you are forbidden from seeing her,” he says. “Not until the day of the ceremony.”
There is not much time left until then, of course. He’s already taken one night from me. I’ve spent hours locked in here, at his mercy. What has she gotten up to in that time, the little fae? I picture her face. I see those eyes.
Worth touching Cassius for? No. Never. Never!
“Then we are agreed,” he says. “The ceremony is in a fortnight. I can ease your mind before then. Wipe your thoughts clean.”
Take her away, those minutes I stole. Minutes when I wasn’t crushed under his thumb. Seconds when I did what I wanted. Without him. Seconds when I almost remembered…something.
Are those memories worth a kiss? A dance with the devil? No. No…
“Wait.” The word rips from me just as his consciousness descends on mine. I get a glimpse of his true self then, old Cassius. So very badly does he crave to wipe my fae away. Replace her image in my head with his. Maybe then I’ll crave him?
Never. Never.
Regardless, I step forward, hands clenched, head bowed. My hackles raise with every step. I hate this. I hate the way this monster’s eyes widen in shock and desire as I draw near. When he reaches for me, trailing a finger along my jaw, his hand shakes and I have to choke down my revulsion. He wants this more than he wants her gone. A chance to touch me if I can touch her? A fair trade.
A sick trade.
A bitter bargain I will make, for I need to see her again, sweet little Niamh.
As Cassius traces my mouth with the pad of his thumb, her fate is sealed. For this, I will make her pay. As he crushes his lips to mine, I count the ways I’ll make the fae return the favor.
She will suffer as I suffer.
It’s just that she’s so damn naive...
She might enjoy her punishment.
CHAPTER 9
Niamh
Here in the archives, apart from any race, I have learned to create my own creed by which to live by. A purpose. That of a fae is to fly on the rays of the sun, majestic and wise. The lunaria live by the light of the moon, powerful and bold. Aloof and mysterious, the vamryre dwell in shadow, comforted by their distorted truth.
And I…
I thrive in disappointment. Resilience. Honesty. I have learned not to expect anything from anyone. It was a lesson I thought I’d ingrained within myself.
