Page 43 of Lux

Her kind, sweet naivety is an act, that much I know. A lie. False. Yet her words ring true. Still, I should refuse. Deny. I should take my dear one to the portal and together, we can kill Cassius once and for all. The sight of his blood will heal her brain, the same way Niamh’s screams healed mine.

Wait…

Her screams. They tugged on me then, but the world is silent now. Wherever she is, she is not in pain. I would know, and I would come for her. She is lost but not in pain.

Yet, I do not want her to be. Those screams do not appeal to me like they used to. Her laugh is prettier. As if I care for pretty things. I don’t. But her laugh…

It’s the most beautiful thing in the world to me.

“Go.” The strange one, Poppy, fully enters this space and crouches down beside Cassiopeia. She pats her back and shushes her in gentle tones. Fake of course. She is wise beneath it all, and she knows far better than I do. My dear one's pain isn't normal. Those eyes reveal the truth—she is afraid.

I try to banish the thought as I leave. Go. Then I stop in the middle of a dark hallway and try to remember where I'm supposed to go. Basement. Ginni.

No. I need to go out. Into the city. Before she can scream for me, I must find Niamh. I need to find her. Grip her tight and hold her close. In her peace, I may remember more. I may recall moreabout my life with Cassiopeia before the pain. Before the bastard tore her out of my brain.

Before I failed her, too.

But I must find her first. Find a way out of this hovel. I storm forward into another narrow room. Find a door. Reach for it.

A man appears from nowhere to block the doorknob from my grasp. Not nowhere. He is stealth incarnate. Dark, soulless eyes. Bright blue hair that was once golden. I know who he belonged to without much thought. He reeks of violence and sin. A violence well beyond what Cassius enjoyed.

This is one of Pol’s. She of blood and war. She who led the vamryre’s response to the fae and lunaria in the old wars. How do I know this? My Niamh. She read to me in her precious archives, a book she thought I didn’t ingest. That paired with older knowledge floating around my skull. Probably that of my old master.

He despised Nataniel, his wise brother, but dear Cassius feared Pol. Only the strongest and most brutal pets were chosen for her brood. Known to have an iron fist, I’m surprised she allowed any of her past spawn to wander off. Cassius always thought she ate those she became bored with. Bored. Because unlike what they shoved down our throats, becoming one with the collective was not for eternity. Not always. They would pick and choose their pets and grow disgusted with those they deemed useless.

How do I know this?

I am not sure. Being with Cassiopeia jarred another memory free. One that we hoarded and protected for when the time came for it to be of use. To leave the collective was not to die. We knew it beforehand. He made me forget.

And now the wayward spawn of him and his brothers seek to plague me still.

“Move, brother,” I hiss at the Pol-spawn.

He doesn’t flinch. He nods his head, indicating another doorway. Then he approaches it first, expecting me to follow.

Bastard.

I dig my heels in, intending to watch him go. Then slip out while his back is turned. I am done with Altaris and his games. Done with this house of broken toys. I need my fae and she needs me. The itch for her grows stronger. Impatient. Irritating.

Niamh. Niamh. Niamh.Her name plays on my skull in a haunting melody. A part of me fears her screams will be the crescendo of it. Her agonized, pained cries.

And I will have failed her again.

A door is opened. The Pol-spawn stands beside it. Once again, he nods toward the darkened space beyond.

My response is to clench my fists. “I need to leave.”

He says nothing. Another firm and stern nod. Grunts and jerky movements are all he speaks in. Yet, I understand completely. I try to leave, and he will stop me.

More time wasted.

So, I storm in the direction he indicated. Down the stairs, into a gray room with bulbs dangling from the ceiling casting a greenish light. It's only mortal magic, nothing fae. Still, the light is softer to vamryre eyes. It enhances the appearance of finer details. For instance, I can see every angle and plane of the Pol-one’s face. His disgust.

He does not like this place, but he goes where he is told. Moving past me, he raps his knuckles hard on a battered metal door.

“Coming!” trills a voice from the other side. A humming sound emanates. The door is shoved open. A tiny figure darts away without bothering to see who steps inside.

“Ah, at last.” Altaris stands at the back of the room, a piece of black fabric pressed to his nose. “I trust you helped dear Daisy get settled in?”

---