Page 46 of Lux

We had a sense of self-preservation.

When it comes to her strange, creepy interests, she is fearless.

“Oh, and one other thing,” she says before slamming the door in our faces. From behind it, her next words are muffled, broken by cackling laughter. “The fae one. Her blood is naughty and wicked. You mustn't let her be bitten. Only chopped. Those who bite her will meet a cruel fate! Bye bye!”

Her words ring out in a haunting echo. I try to ignore them. Try to.

That was something I already knew.

Fae blood—Niamh’s blood—is the key recipe to a dangerous fate.

It makes one care for her.

Crave her.

To the ends of the earth, I will crave her.

CHAPTER 18

Niamh

Ifeel as if my entire life has been a performance. An elaborate rehearsal for an event that never took place. In the grand finale, I would perform, then the curtain would fall, and my moment would come to an end.

Maybe that day was meant to be the centennial celebration. My moment to shine. To be paraded before all the fae—before all the realm, even—and displayed in full before a violent, dramatic end.

I tell myself it would have been a fitting death regardless. I should have been honored to be shown and displayed. Honored that some lone vamryre knew of my wickedness and wanted to exploit my death for his own unknown purpose. Certainly a far better end than the one I'd always imagined, alone, in obscurity, with nothing but dust and cobwebs to bury me.

Perhaps.

Perhaps…

A real stage, however, is contained and small. Only the rapt attention of the audience matters. Their oohs and ahs of wild acclaim. Their enjoyment.

After all, that's the point of a performance. It is for the viewer's and performer's enjoyment.

Atop a strip of wood, dangling above an arena made of metal pillars and striped fabric, I realize something that guts me. Tears fall down my face unnoticed – down, down, down, but I don’t bother to wipe them away.

In order for a performance to be enjoyable, the performers must enjoy it themselves. Even Minchae, as much as she hates Cyrus and this work, lives for the moments she preens upon the stage, bathed in the glow of spotlight.

I can’t recall any other moment--prior to entering the mortal realm--when I felt as I do now. Afraid. Excited. Terrified. Undaunted. At peace. Compelled to act regardless of my fear.

I sit on a swing, high above the earth, with death just a fall away, and I feel happier than I ever did in the bell tower. More at peace than I ever have in the archives. I was numb and dumb, ignorant of anything beyond my narrow courtyard then.

Here, I am angry. The lies of the past twenty-four years are piling up. The damage done to me—both in mind and body—is piling up. As are the horrific crimes inflicted upon me by those I once trusted.

However, I can let go now and die, shattered into a million pieces, and feel more at peace than ever before. Death didn’t scare me before. I would have gladly welcomed it.

But now?

Death is a cat hungry to give chase, and I am a mouse, scurrying just beyond its reach. A terrifying experience, far beyond my sheltered, safe environment.

But, oh, is it fun. As if Caspian himself is on my heels, ready to spill my blood once and for all--only he can’t hurt me here. He can’t leave me here.

All I have to do is lower my body until only my trembling fingers keep me aloft. Then I let go. I leap into the void!

“I give you, the magnificent wild fae!” The voice explodes against my eardrums along with the roar of a full crowd. I didn’t notice until now. It's only when the spotlight falls on me that I see the rest of the arena beyond Cyrus' little circle of dirt.

So many people sit below. Blank, expressionless, staring faces. I can’t make any of them out. Which is a good thing. Oh, how is it a good thing! There is no judgment up this high. No whispers to avoid. No gazes to hide from.

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