Page 38 of Lux

To fall is to rattle bone and batter skin. To fly is to fling yourself at nothing and pray that your grip alone can save you from falling. It is like jumping off a roof on command but there is no Caspian to catch me.

No stone floor to fall to, either.

If I slip from this height, a skinned knee might be the least of my worries. I must close my eyes just to gather up the nerve to swing my weight forward, allowing gravity to guide me.

All in all, it is the most thrilling, exhilarating, exciting thing I have ever done. Second, perhaps, only to escaping from the other realm hand-in-hand with a vamryer.

“You’re catching on quick,” Minchae chides from below. “Just watch your posture. Keep your grip nice and clean. Feet pointed! Ok, now let’s see if you can fly.”

Fly. Or in this case, swing myself in the right rhythm and catch the bar she’ll swing to me. It seems dangerous. Too dangerous and risky to be the regular pace of any training.

Nevertheless, she has a plan to implement. If I can’t perform my role, there is no point in trying. I might as well get used to being a pretty bird in gaudy clothes.

Because Caspian isn’t coming for me. I don’t know how I know, I just do. It’s a pain I don’t even have the space in my mind to process just yet. So, I ignore it. I blot it out by swinging on a wooden bar as though I don’t have a care in the world.

As though I’m not dying on the inside.

As though it doesn’t gut me to the core of my being to realize that he left me again. He isn’t coming. He would have been here, otherwise. He would have tracked me down. Kept me safe.

But it doesn't matter.

I can ignore the pain as long as I open my eyes to spy the dirt floor of the arena down below. As long as I wait for Minchae’s cue to “Go!”

I release my grip on the bar. Fling myself forward.

Feel nothing but ice-cold air and falling, falling, falling.

I can’t rely on anyone. Not the Lord Master. Not Day. Not Caspian. Not even Night Aurelia.

But…

These bones have been honed over years of sneaking onto rooftops to find their footing. Having scurried and hidden for years, I can rely on my reflexes as well. When others fail to catch me, I can trust these hands, skilled at handling any book.

Suddenly, my fall is halted. My fingers curl around a firm surface and I let my body do the work to propel me forward.

I fly, devoid of wings or true fae heritage.

I fly without my Caspian there to catch me.

For a heart-shattering moment, I fly and it’s more than enough to fill my heart and erase the painful jagged edges. For a second at least.

Until my body stops moving under its own accord and the cold reality bites back into my consciousness. My muscles are cramping. My sweaty fingers tremble with exertion, fighting to maintain their grip. I’m slipping.

Down below, Minchae claps. “Bravo!”

Suddenly, a newcomer enters our rehearsal, his red coat billowing out behind him. “Minchae, what in the hell? You trying to get her killed? I said teach her the ropes, not try to break her fucking neck. Get her down from there!” he snaps, Cyrus.

With an exaggerated sigh, Minchae stands and crosses to the lever that controls the height of the trapeze bars. Slowly, slowly, the one I’m clinging to is lowered until my bare feet hit the dusty earth.

Surprisingly, I don’t feel relieved. Break my neck? It would be worth breaking every bone if it meant tasting even a second longer of freedom. Devoid of wings, I flew.

I don't expect to taste that freedom again for a very long time. Despair grips me. I choke back tears. The burning pain creeps down my throat and sears my eyes. Still, I grit my teeth rather than give in. I won’t cry. I won’t?—

“Bloody hell, look at her. The poor thing is scared to death! You, missy, better watch yourself.” He jabs a finger angrily in Minchae’s direction. “You may have gotten used to being the main attraction around here, but sabotage of your co-performer isn’t very ‘fae’ like.” He makes it sound like some mocking, playful thing. A mask one wears to play pretend. “Just get her to sit there and look pretty. No flying or jumping?—”

“I want to fly,” I say. I meet his skeptical gaze and I don’t know what he finds in me. His expression changes. He swallows. Frowns.

“I want to,” I insist. “I can learn. I can try.”

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