Page 19 of Lux

The piles of silver he envisioned before are morphing as his smile widens. They’ve become gold. Platinum, even.

“Oh, holy fuck. You stupid little bird. How the hell have you wandered out here and fallen right into my lap? No worries.” He rises to his feet, still chuckling low. “Old Uncle Cyrus will take good care of you from here on out. Good fucking care!”

He stares into space and laughs and laughs. It's not just my appearance that amuses him so. He is remembering something. Recalling someone. Another fae perhaps, that he had in his capture once upon a time. He looked at her and saw silver and gold. She had two wings. A fae name.

“Who?” I croak. Too many questions within me attempt to break free at once. Only disjointed fragments spill out. “Another fae? Who was she? Tell me!”

He cocks his head at my tone. Too loud. Too demanding.

Oh no. I went too far and dropped my ruse. Caspian’s insights are all I have to draw from and even in his absence, he has taught me well. Predators react best to docile prey. Those they can toy with. Hunt. Those who they know won’t ever fight back.

For a second, he saw me as something else. He didn’t like that glimpse of her, naughty Niamh.

I bow my head again. Cower again. I’ll do anything to make him speak. I need him to speak.

Because a part of me already knows the answers he may give, even if they are impossible. Even if they are fantastical.

“A pushy little thing, aren’t you?” he wonders, stalking back toward this cage. “Not a smartass like the other one. That one. I wonder if she ever made it back, the little bitch. I gave her fame and fortune. She gave me this—” He pulls back the sleeve of his right forearm, revealing a scar etched into tanned flesh. It’s silvery white, shaped in the form of a crescent moon. Bite marks.

“Yeah, a tricky little bitch. Made me a fucking fortune, though.” He lowers his sleeve with a grisly smile. “I gave her sumthin to remember me by, too. Should be about your age by now. I wonder if you’ve seen it. What?” he questions in response to my gasp. “You didn’t think I could tell you all apart? It’s in the eyes.”

He points at his own with those spindly fingers. “All you little bitches wear your age right in the eyes. Pretty and shiny until the light goes out. Right before they grind your kind into dust and use what’s left of yous to power that little hidden city. Ah, I bet you all think you’re so damn smart. That we haven’t figured it out by now. We have.” He reaches up and taps the rim of his black hat. “Luckily, we use our brains for what they’re meantfor. Not hiding like rats in a cage, but for making money. You, sweetheart, are going to be my new main attraction.”

He spins on his heel and lifts a corner of the heavy fabric, revealing a gap. “Minchae, get your sweet lil’ ass in here! Say hello to your new lil’ sister.”

A slender figure appears, slipping past him. Though she walks on two feet, it would be a crime to call her movements with such a crude, simple term. She floats. Practically flies, though—like me—she has no wings. Grace imbues every inch of her tall, delicate frame. Even Day didn’t carry himself with half her poise.

Her posture isn’t due to elegance alone. Heavy, rusted chains encircle her ankles, threatening to weigh her down. She must work twice as hard to counteract them, keeping her head high in the air, gaze fixed ahead. As a result, her lean frame is all muscle, visible beneath milky white skin. Her clothing is unlike anything I’ve ever seen—even on the mortals that wander the city streets, or the strange figures who frequented Altaris’s shop. Shiny green fabric encircles her breasts and winds down to her hips, covering little else. Leather sandals protect her feet from the harsh ground. Even so, she is more regal than the Lord Master, cloaked in their robes of pristine white.

Then she looks at me, and I am more confused than ever. She isn’t fae, I know that. Yet, she could be one. Her face is as beautiful as a sculpted doll’s. The only minor flaw is that one of her eyes is a brilliant blue and the other green—anomaly, the Lord Master would declare, even if she were born of fae. Her features alone would bar her from belonging to any sole house.

Then she approaches and a shimmering glow catches my attention, emanating from her left side.

“Where did you find this one?” Her voice is whisper-soft, yet the man in red flinches in response as though she shouted.

“Never you mind that,” the man snaps. “Just clean her up and get her ready. You two will go on tomorrow night as the new star attraction. The Fae Twins.” He raises his hands and paints the letters onto the air, beaming as he does so. “Teach her the routines and get her ready. Simple preening and waving stuff. And Minchae?”

An expression of disgust washes over the woman's face. Instead of responding, she simply tilts her head in acknowledgment.

“If I sniff even a hint of funny business out of you both, I’ll cut you to pieces and make a pair of wings out of you. I only need one bloody fae.”

Again, she doesn’t reply, but her strange eyes meet mine and I shiver. Something passes between us. Not thoughts or words, but a shared sentiment.

A quiet longing.

We are both creatures cast aside as strange and unwanted, made to feel unique in our wickedness.

Lo’ and behold, we are not the only ones after all. There is solace to be found in that lie.

Whatever demented creature I am, so is she.

A not-fae with one painted wing.

CHAPTER 11

Caspian

Ibash my skull against anything available. Beat these brains out of the bones and flesh. It feels good to watch my own blood drip down. Onto my face and dry into a crust. I need to feel muscle and tendons meld, and flesh become whole, driven to knit together again by the vamryre curse.

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