Page 18 of Lux

Crowded around the wooden pillar, three men stand before me. One is dressed in vibrant red that reflects off the bars of my cage as he approaches. His suit is as elegant as one Altaris wore, but small details diminish its grandeur. There are subtle stains hereand there. Wayward wrinkles. Even his black hat, trimmed with crimson string, seems slightly askew on his head of dark hair. With a sigh, he kicks the metal, sending a clang throughout the narrow space.

“I’ll tell you why,” he repeats, scanning my face with two intense gray eyes. “Take a good look at her. No fae stone around her neck. No glimmers in her skin. Most important of all, and listen closely now, boys… Do you see any fucking wings?”

“Well, uh…” A shorter man tiptoes into view, rubbing his balding head. “She’s got a sweater on, don’t she? Besides, look at her! If she ain’t fae, then I’m the fucking queen. Here, let’s take her top off and see if she--”

The slender man shifts, raising his arm. A sharp sound pierces the air. Flesh on flesh. The second man howls.

“Well, your bloody highness! I don’t give a damn what she looks like. No wings, no fae. No fae, means no high price. You dumbasses have never seen a real damn fairy, but I have. Ain’t no shirt that can hide those wings. At least the mundane brat has something to show for her heritage. This one is pretty, but she’ll fetch the price of a mere human. Nothing special about her.”

I blink as my eyes adjust to the harsh brightness. Slowly it fades to a dull yellow coming from a lamp dangling above. This entire room is not quite a room at all. The walls are fabric instead of wood or stone. A bright, gaudy red, they sway and buckle with the lightest movement, yet they are thick. Impenetrable. The floor beyond my cage isn’t a floor at all but grass and dirt. Crates upon crates fill nearly every available space in here, but there is an order to the chaos, unlike in Altaris’s domain.

These men are not vamryre either. Their eyes do not glow an unholy red or green or silver. Their skin is flushed pink, and everything about them seems mortal. Except there is an air about the one in red. Something Caspian would deem abnormal. He moves with a jerky, brutal grace and looks at me with a sense of practiced boredom rather than awe.

He knows of the fae. He’s seen one. More than one.

But how? How?

I need to know. So, I listen, head bowed, vision obscured by my falling hair. I curl into a ball and watch them all watch me.

“She ain’t no mere human,” the deeper-voiced man rasps. He wears black from head to toe and sports a long, forked beard awkwardly balanced on a narrow chin. “I mean, look at her, Cyrus! Maybe she’s one of those vamryre?—”

“She isn’t vamryre, either,” the man in scarlet claims. He stalks forward and crouches before me, his head cocked, brown eyes bright with interest. They scan my face and limbs with calculated glee.

As the seconds pass, my heart flinches at what I see in that gaze. He’s lied to his two companions. He is interested in me for some reason. A skin crawling, hair-raising reason. I am a piece of meat to him, but one he does not want to devour himself. A darkness flickers in his gaze. As faint and chilling as a lingering shadow.

Caspian knew such looks well. As a predator, it was how he assessed his prey. How he measured their worth for Cassius. Those with the rarest attributes garnered him the most praise. A sated Cassius loosened his leash, and poor Caspian desired nothing more than freedom from him.

This man’s intentions are not so basic and not so noble.

He looks at me, and he sees silver. Piles upon piles of silver. Wealth that he does not intend to share.

“You two clear out,” he commands without looking to see if his orders are followed—they will be. “Go muck out the goblin pens. I’ll see what we can salvage out of this so-called fairy.”

The other two leave through a gap in the fabric walls, muttering between them.

Which just leaves the man in red, eyeing me skeptically. Without his cohorts near, he lets more of his real emotions peek through. Avid interest. Marked concern. Something else. Fear?

Not of me. Can’t be of me. Fae are peaceful creatures.

Yet, he is cautious. Perhaps like Altaris, he thinks me something else, beyond my true heritage.

A monster.

“What’s your name?” he demands. When I don’t answer fast enough, he raps on the metal bars with a fist, making them jangle. “Come on! Is it sunrise, or daylight or whatever the fuck your kind call themselves. Oh, that’s right, darling—” He chuckles and raises a dark eyebrow. “I know damn well where you’re from. The stink of the other realm is all over you. But I also know that whatever you are…it isn’t fae, even if they raised you.So, tell me your name.” His voice breaks then, almost as if his true manner of speaking is far different to the poise and polished words.

He reminds me of Altaris—yet different. Altaris, if the man were trying to pretend to be anything but what he is. A powerful creature.

A creature not to be trifled with.

He wants my name, but Niamh is for me alone. Only Caspian is worthy to utter it, and perhaps Poppy and Colleen. Not him, this creature lurking before me.

Lying is a sin, but only there. Out here, there are no rules. Just games to be played. So, I swallow, and eye him fearfully through my lashes.

“Aurelia,” I say.

He whistles. His eyes widen. Somehow, I have said the right thing.

The wrong thing.

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