Page 17 of Nocte

I remember something else. Fragments of a memory he doesn’t want me to fully grasp. Someone. Female, her voice a mocking imitation of his…

“Cassiopeia,” I grate out her name and it’s like yanking away a blindfold. I see her. Remember. My sister in bondage. She was punished, and he promised... “I do your bidding. You free her.”

Was it our agreement in the first place? I can’t remember. He dangles the true memory just beyond my reach, chuckling the harder I try to grasp at it.

“Our dear sister, Cassiopeia, who attempted to betray us all,” he says, his voice low with disapproval. “Do my bidding in this matter, save your bloodshed until the ceremony and I will consider...”

No. Liar!

“You promised.”

“I will reconsider her punishment,” he says, smiling. Gloating. He holds all the cards, and we both know it. The whole damn collective knows it, simmering with the echo of his smug glee. He threatens to let them back in. To shatter this moment.

As pathetic as it is, I lower my head in deference. I don’t want this quiet to end just yet. It’s almost like my thoughts are mine alone. I only have to contend with his. Even so, I can grasp at thoughts just beyond my reach. Almost touch them.Ebony. Ivory. Art. Museum. Canvas…

“Are we agreed?” Cassius wonders, greedy to be my sole focus, always.

“As you wish, brother Cassius. I won’t hurt her.”

Yet. I won’t leave marks. I’ll make her bleed in ways that won’t draw her pretty blood. Don’t know how, but I will. I’ll find a new word at the sight of her pain.

Sadist,Cassius interjects, supplying me with one I already know well.

“It is in your nature,” he says out loud, sounding sad. Sounding pleased. “Always has been, before I rescued you from mortal obscurity. A fact that you have never forgiven me for it seems.”

Forgiven. But what is there to forgive? He made me a perfect, immortal creature.

No. He corrupted me. Ruined. He?—

“I saved you. One day, my dear boy, you will see that. I am your lover. Your only. Your savior. But for now, you may have your fun.”

His permission is a gift. I’ll take it anyway. Yes. I picture her, the fae. Those black eyes, pale skin. Ebony and ivory. I’ll rip her to pieces before this is all done. I’ll smear her blood all over the Citadel stone. I’ll relish it all.

And, for once, he won’t stop me.

“Just remember,” he says. “Keep her in one piece until the ceremony. But have your fun.”

He doesn’t approve. The fae unnerves him. Disgusts him. She isn’t a pretty, sweet thing ripe for the plucking like my “siblings” are. She is ugly and different and distasteful.

But what really bothers him is that I want her.

Never, not once, have I ever wanted him.

CHAPTER5

Niamh

My days are simple and orderly. I wake up before dawn and gather the firewood for the two large fires in the heart of the underground archives. I must do this in darkness before the others wake up. Even when my lungs are filled with soot from stoking the fires alone, the old stone rooms are warm and comfortable.

Then I go to the main archives, wipe the floors, and clear the loose scrolls and bound books. The workers leave them for me to find, left open on desks and in stray corners. My duty is to collect them all like wayward children and tuck them back in amongst their brethren. Every volume has a place, no matter how dusty or tattered or neglected. Every one. When nestled in their home, they seem to sigh and settle into the cobweb-coated shelf with content. Yes, there they belong.

They don’t despise their nature or rail against their fate. It doesn’t matter that they may not be read as often as others. They matter, for they are in the Citadel halls, which means something.

Even for living beings, it means something.

I toil away like this until the sun begins to rise over the horizon. Then I tiptoe back to the empty east wing, climb into the bell tower, and then into the room above.

I am meant to stay there, out of sight, until sunset. Sometimes, I do stay.

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