Page 48 of Lux

I leave. Then I race, panting and sweating as I head for Cyrus’s tent. There is no need for stealth. I can hear the shouts from here. As I wrench aside the entrance to the tent, I hear Minchae’s scream.

“You think you could trick me, you little bitch?” Cyrus has her pinned flat against this desk. His hat is askew, his teeth bared, eyes blazing. His fingers are clenched tightly around her throat and he aims to kill her.

I can feel his intentions wafting through the air. He doesn’t need her anymore. Not with an honest to god, real, damn fae in his clutches. He knew what I was from the second he saw me. It’s why he didn’t bother to chain me. Without wings, as weak and frail as I am, I pose no threat to him. No chance I could ever escape.

Not like the other one. Not like her.

But the name that pops into my head is wrong. Not Aurelia.

Parna.

But I am being silly. My brain conjured that name from nowhere. Fae cannot read thoughts, even though Caspian’s… Caspian is different. We shared body, mind, and blood. He is different.

Yet…

I can look at his man and see his fears and hatred spill out onto the air. He hates Minchae in a way beyond pure annoyance. She needles him. Challenges him. He hates her because she has never ceased to remind him just how weak and powerless he truly is.

“Let her go!”

“N-No!” Her multicolored eyes fixated on me, blazing with anger. “Run!” she chokes out. “Get the hell out of?—”

“Did you really think this fucking stupid plan would work?” Cyrus laughs and shoves Minchae aside. “That you could waltz in here, steal from me and then take your new little companion away? She’s planning on selling you to the black market,” he says to me with another cold bark of laughter. “I bet she spotted you the same way I fucking did. A broken, distorted fae, but fae all the same. You’re gonna make me so much fucking money once the boneys hear. They’ll have no choice but to extend their protection. Now get the fuck back on stage?—”

So intent on me he was, he didn’t see Minchae clamor to her feet. Didn’t see her grab a long wooden stick from the corner of the room. Never even saw her wind up and slam it into his skull.

He isn’t dead. Not yet. But she’s bought us minutes, at least.

Panting, Minchae tosses the stick aside and meets my gaze. “Help me find the ledger.”

I nod. Then, without a word spoken between us, we both lunge toward different sections of the tent. She moves to a bookshelf, I approach the desk. I open a drawer and find nothing but parchment. Open another. Another.

“Here,” I say, spying a leather book. Somehow I know instantly what it is. Cyrus’s ledger. His most prized position, lying unattended in an unlocked drawer.

“Wait!” I hear Minchae cry out as I start to reach for it. “Let me do it! The jackdaws!”

Too late. My fingers brush the leather surface and a cold, rustling wind rushes past my ears. It seems like a breeze—as though someone left the tent flaps open and a gale storm has blown in.

Knocked me back.

Off my feet.

A storm of swirling knives.

CAW!

CAW!

CAW!

The shrieking noise deafens me. Sharp, stabbing pains rip through me. Everything is a blur of pain and ice and agony. I’m being torn to pieces. Slice, by slice, by slice…

“That’s enough boys,” a cold, cruel voice calls out. “Leave her body intact. The stupid, little bitch.”

I blink as Cyrus appears, hovering above. He crouches low, his gaze cold, his voice unnaturally hot against my skin.

“You stupid, little bitch. You know, I thought you were defective. Different from the other one, that little cunt. I guess not!”

His foot swings out, slams into my side. A scream rises in my throat, but I bite it back. Fight it down. I am done screaming and crying.

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