Page 23 of Lux

The woman laughs. Then scoffs. “Right this way.”

“I think we may have to add onto your contract, my friend. Come,” Altaris prods, nodding toward the doorway. “Let’s hurry before Marin comes up with something else to charge you with out of spite.”

I stalk forward, surprised to feel more blood dripping from me. My own. My skull is slow to heal. I’m still bleeding. My vision is still partially blurred. I laugh. Away from Cassius, I must not heal the way I used to. Not lightning quick with barely any pain to feel.

Here, I suffer.

Oh fun.

Swiping away the blood, I follow Altaris from the chain room and into a narrow hallway. Mortals mill around here, all dressed in variations of black leather. Most of them sport silver sticks. The ones that don’t lurk behind heavy desks that line the space at varying intervals.

We enter a plain room adorned with only a long metal table in the center. At one end sits a figure, dressed in white. Not one of my old siblings. Not Cassius himself.

Another. Two guards dressed in green robes loom behind the figure, ready to defend at a moment’s notice. I sniff the air and frown. Spicy. Like Niamh, yet harsher, with none of her floral notes that mark her scent. Still, they are fae.

And they are here, far from their den of safety.

“Oh my,” Altaris says, stepping forward. He inclines his head, but there is no respect in the gesture. Instead, the jerky movements seem insulting. “To what do we owe this great honor?”

The figure cocks their head. Long, white hair frames an impassive face, composed of indiscernible features. The sharp eyes and harsh bone structure are the hallmarks of an elder fae--and not just any. A name comes to me, stolen from Niamh’s thoughts.

Lord Master. The one she feared. The one who mutilated her body with numerous scars. In contrast, their body seems whole beneath their white robes. A subtle lump at the base of their neck alludes to the presence of the appendages Niamh lacks: wings.

“This vamryre is a fugitive from the laws of the Citadel,” the figure says. “To maintain the established order, we request that it is returned, along with the creature it fled with.” Their voice is low and even-pitched. In spite of that, there is a power resonating through it that puts even Altaris's to shame. Their body may be old--yet, still a child to any vamryre--but their mind… It is incredibly ancient.

Almost as if they alone contain their own private hive mind.

Perhaps they do. Among the many reasons why my old master hated them was their love of mystery and secrets. They knew things that even vamryre did not.

Such as how to circumvent the rules of the realm they created. Altaris told Niamh that no fae can enter this world. A lie, it seems.

Yet, when I eye the vamryre, he does not seem surprised,per se. His eyes scan the envoy’s front, honing on a silver chain drapedaround their slender neck. I soon notice that the guards also sport a similar, gaudy piece of jewelry: silvery chains supporting a small, blue stone. Is that the answer, perhaps?

“Ah, well, I am afraid that any vamryre who enters this realm and is rejected by their master, falls undermydomain,” Altaris says, drawing all attention to him. “It must be an oversight the boneys didn’t convey. I apologize for the inconvenience. I am sure you travelled quite the distance.” He doesn’t move to sit, leaving himself and the table as a makeshift barrier between me and the fae.

As if he thinkstheyneed protecting.

The Lord Master creature blinks. “The fae is not under your purview. We request its return--”

“I’m sorry!” The door behind me opens, and a woman stumbles in. Her long brown hair obscures her features; she sputters, and she tries to bat most of it out of her eyes. She’s slight, average height, wearing a brown jacket and matching skirt--not the black that seems the chosen color of the other mortals who inhabit this building. She runs a trembling hand down her front and smiles warily. “I am Anna Greeves, the newly elected mayor. I wasn’t expecting an official delegation or I would have--”

“It doesn’t seem that there is much to discuss,” Altaris says, clasping his hands together. “Caspian is now under my protection, no longer a member of his collective. As for the other… She is not my concern--”

“No,” I snarl. My gaze is on the Lord Master. The fae are rumored to have powerful magic, but I'll take my chances. Its figure is thin and lithe, liable to snap under my strength. I’d rip their throat out before they could utter any incantations.

“There is no need for theatrics, Caspian,” Altaris warns in his authoritative tone.

“Oh, of course not,” the mortal woman interjects. “There is a bureaucratic answer to this, I think.” She sways, rocking from one foot to the other. A ball of energy, she exudes a nervous quality that Cassius would scorn.

Yet, Altaris doesn’t wrinkle his nostrils at her as he did to the other woman, Marin. He holds himself rigid, his posture almost… Deferential. As if she, this fragile mortal, holds power of her own that I cannot see.

The Lord Master, does not seem of the same opinion. “I do not understand,” they say. “On behalf of the council, I--”

“I am afraid that any official extradition requests must be submitted in writing and argued before an official hearing. I am sure you understand.” The woman, Anna Greeves, nods and nearly trips in her haste. “The soonest we could schedule one would be…oh, a week, I believe. There is a horrific murder investigation underway at the moment, and the boneys are stretched thin. In a few days, I am sure there will be plenty of time to hear these arguments.”

“Is that a denial?” The Lord Master raises a white eyebrow. Behind them, the guards step forward, their expressions unreadable. The twitching of their robes indicates the presence of wings. In such a setting, would they dare to reveal them? I hope so.

“We exercise our right to reclaim our citizens by any means necessary,” the Lord Master insists.

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