14. Niamh

CHAPTER 14

Niamh

"... T he beautiful, the mesmerizing, the indescribable Minchae!"

Until now, I hadn't experienced such emotions. What jealousy can do to your soul and make parts of you sting and burn. How it can sit like poison in your chest, weighing down your heart with every breath. It can corrupt and change everything you thought about yourself.

At the same time, it instills within you a hunger. One I never felt in the archives while I watched the other fae interact or while I saw Day wander the halls unchallenged, with his head held high. I looked at them and felt shame for what I lacked.

Never once, did I stare in seething envy and wonder…

How do I do this?

How do I unfurl myself from a strip of painted wood hanging from two strings above a massive, cavernous space filled with spectators? How do I move as though their gasps and thrilled murmurs don't affect me? How do I manipulate my body through the air, as though in flight, without ever needing a pair of wings?

I watch Minchae, wide-eyed, open-mouthed and shame or guilt isn't what I feel. A burning, itchy need takes root in my limbs instead. I need to move like that. Carry myself the way she does. I want to fly in a way that no one can ever bring me down to earth again.

"Found wandering the jungles of the far east, this beauty is a creature unknown to this realm, whispered about in legends and rumors. The spawn of myths. A siren of incomparable grace. I give you…"

A thudding sound comes from nearby—the result of a man dressed in bright orange clothing beating on a round object with a taut end.

As Cyrus stands in the center of the ring, Minchae slowly undulates her hips until only her bent knees bind her to the wooden bar above.

My heart stops as a cold sweat prickles up and down my spine. There has never been a time when I have been so captivated. Not even as Day told me rare stories of his day-to-day life in the fae section of the Citadel. The story intrigued me, but I didn't sit glued to my seat, waiting for the next twist with bated breath.

Then…

"I give you a breathing, flying, real, live fae!"

Suddenly, Minchae comes to life. Wings spring from her costume—delicate ones made of wire and fabric. As a result, her glowing eyes and shimmering skin are every bit as captivating as the sight of a true fae in flight.

In this moment, as she glides through the air, leaping effortlessly from wooden rod to wooden rod, she is flying. No one could tell her otherwise.

And I…

I will not stop until I am able to do so myself.

Yet, as enraptured as I am, the novelty has worn off for most of this crowd. Some boo. Some snicker and make snide remarks as to the body of the woman above them. What other ways could she "use those knees," they wonder.

Such careless sentiments make me angry and bitter. How dare they? Don't they know…

Don't they know that some souls spent their whole lives merely dreaming of witnessing something so remarkable? Souls who could never even imagine what it could feel like to be so damn free?

My heart aches the longer I watch her. When she is finally lowered to the floor of the arena and takes a bow before Cyrus, I am in tears.

"The incredible, Minchae, everyone!" he bellows.

Despite their loud clapping and hollering, the crowd's accolades ring hollow. As Cyrus proclaims, "And next, a spectacle sure to dazzle your senses…I bring you, the fighting goblins!" The reaction is much more ecstatic.

Fools.

Idiots.

Dumbasses.

Caspian would declare them all worthless imbeciles and worse.

I am not so inclined. These people are spoiled and rotten. They know nothing of beauty when they see it. Most of them would stand in a museum and yawn. Or see a fae grace the sky with real wings and crave bloodshed instead.

"Was I really that bad?" an amused woman wonders.

Minchae. I didn't even notice her come up beside me, draped in a purple robe that obscures her costume. "It's not a matinee night, and I've done that particular performance a million bloody times, but the bastard insists. Perhaps I can use your advice to get him to let me change it?"

"Oh no!" I stammer, nearly biting my tongue in my rush to add, "You were amazing! Incredible! I can't even imagine?—"

"Enough." Smiling, she raises a hand to render me silent. A faint flush paints her cheeks. Her gaze is clouded. Confused.

"I'm sorry if I offended you," I croak. "Truly. It's just that you were…"

Magnificent.

She sighs. "Don't worry yourself. I know you mean well. It's been a while since I've come across anyone so green. They really didn't let you out of their commune, did they?"

She doesn't mean the other realm and the fae. Her disdain is for a "settlement" where they marry sister to brother. To what ends? Something that results in beings like her. Like me. Half-formed creatures deemed different by most.

Yet, the sentiment is all the same, no matter what place she refers to.

"Yes," I say with a nod. "I was not allowed out."

Her eyes widen and another emotion flits across her face too quickly to name. A shudder runs through her as she drops the edges of her robe tighter together, then crosses her arms around herself. The gesture is universal, as naive and sheltered as I may be, she is unnerved by me. I make her uncomfortable.

Shame creeps in, eating away my thrilling excitement. I am that creature again, who lurked within the halls of the archives, forgotten and unwanted. I am unworthy of notice and shiny, beautiful things.

I deserve nothing.

"Come on." Minchae has turned her attention from me, and frowns as Cyrus continues his rambling speech. "Let's get out of here before the bastard makes me do an encore."

She leads me back to her tent but holds up a hand before I can follow her inside. "Just a moment." She darts between the fabric and reappears a moment later with a silk robe nearly identical to hers, but a vibrant, emerald green.

"Put this on. No use in giving these sick bastards a free show."

She gestures to my red costume, and I tug on the edge of the short skirt. As I slip the robe around me, I marvel at its softness and comfortable length. Some greedy part of me recognizes it as the same color the fae wear in their robes in the other realm. Like Day.

I may never wear clothing of the same status, but this is just as good. In this smooth, watery silk I feel as regal as the Lord Master ever could.

"Frankly, I'm surprised that anyone managed to pay attention to me with you gaping like you were. I looked down at you and nearly slipped off my trapeze."

She laughs.

I feel my face turn bloody red.

"Oh, I am so sorry! So sorry!" Perhaps I should hide my face like Caspian does in the sun. Rather than for my own protection, it would be for those around me. If my excitement can cause such disruption to others, how dare I express it so openly.

Yet, a niggling doubt creeps in. Caspian saw me just as excited as this, if not more. He thought me beautiful then, worthy of devouring. He wanted me more.

"Goodness, you are a strange little thing," Minchae says, still smiling. Another laugh escapes her, but it is strained. Exasperated. "I thought it was an act at first. I know plenty of beautiful girls who pretend like they don't notice. It's an act they put on to make the men around them swoon and drool. I've worked with countless vain, spoiled, greedy bitches. Frankly, I'm jaded. But you…" She spins to face me, her gaze thoughtful. Inquisitive. "You are the real deal. You have no idea, do you? The effect you have on people?" She gestures around us with a wave.

I follow her stare, confused. Around us are tents and cages of creatures and beings of all sizes and shapes. There are noises and smells and sounds. There are crowds of people milling to and from the main stage and random bursts of gasps and laughter.

Minchae has led me away from the chaos. Even so, people gather here. Staring. Lurking. They pretend as if they aren't enthralled by one sight, yet it draws their interest over and over.

Me?

No, her. Obviously, her.

I look back to her, questioning.

She laughs. "You're an odd one, alright. Very, very odd. Cyrus is probably counting up the gold he plans to make off you as we speak."

She leans against a nearby cage and sticks her fingers between the bars. Inside of it is a strange creature. It resembles a goat of some sort, but with too-large eyes the color of moonlight.

"It's called a Grivet," Minchae explains, reaching out to stroke the creature's dark fur. "Supposedly they can tell the future, but it's one of those ‘at midnight, on a full moon after you bleed a chicken dry and stand on your head ritual type things.'" She sighs as the Grivet leans into her touch. Then she pulls away and continues drifting toward the outskirts of the cluster of tents and chaos.

"You aren't from a commune, are you?" she wonders, turning back to stare at me with a long, searching glance. "You can't be. They would have eaten you alive or kept you for themselves. One look at those eyes and they'd never let you out of their sight. I used to think I was the closest they'd come to recreating some mythical fucking fae. Ta-da!" She gestures to her body with a sad, forlorn expression. "I was wrong. I was wrong about so many things, and now I'm stuck here, rotting away on a high wire. Cyrus will never let me leave. Never."

She tilts her head back and laughs, letting the flame of a nearby torch illuminate the streaks of blue in her hair. I can't imagine her feeling shame or guilt at her appearance. Even stranger is the thought that… She could be comparing herself to me.

I shake my head to banish the thought. No. Never.

"You're fucking perfect, aren't you," she says, eyeing me once more. "Cyrus can count his lucky damn stars. He certainly doesn't need me anymore. He'll never come across anyone who looks half as fae as you do."

"But he has," I croak, staggering toward her. My fingers twitch. I want so badly to rip off my robe and show her my back again. I am not fae, not even close. They mutilated me to make it so. I would give anything—anything!—to have even one beautiful, half-formed wing. Anything at all…

Except Caspian. He is my hope in the darkness, and I cling to his memory. Even if he left me behind, the memory of him is all I need. I'll hang onto it until I die.

For now, another being who abandoned me takes his place. Suddenly, she seems closer than ever, within my reach.

"There was another fae," I say in response to Minchae's puzzled expression. "More than twenty years ago. He taunted me about her. Do you remember?"

She shakes her head. "I've only been with the bastard for three years. Before that, his main act was a three-headed hydra, so I doubt he had his hands on a real fairy. But…" She pauses and strokes her chin. The blue tips of her nails sparkle in the firelight as she muses quietly to herself.

Suspense builds. It's rude, but I can't help it. I must ask.

"But?"

"Hmm?" She looks up as if she'd forgotten I was even here. "Well, if Cyrus did have another fae, he'd have marked her in his ledger. I'm sure you saw it?"

"Ledger?" I shake my head.

Minchae frowns. "It's where he catalogs all his creatures. Where he bought them from. Who he sells them to. It's his entire business right there. I think he even lists his suppliers in there. Not everyone his goons find winds up in this shitshow. He has buyers of all sorts. Information like that would fetch a pretty penny on the black market. Enough to purchase a nice future far away from this shithole. Besides, if he ever did have a fae in his collection, she'll be in there. You could at least see if you recognize her?—"

"See?" I feel my heart stop and then flutter back to life. I can't hide it. Disguise it. Just how badly I want that possibility: to see her for myself. An image. A snippet. I'll take anything.

Minchae eyes me warily, an eyebrow raised. "He catalogues all of us," she says with obvious disgust. "I guess he hasn't gotten around to you yet. He's probably waiting to see how big of a crowd you draw in tomorrow night. Or, tonight, I guess…" She sighs and looks up at the dark sky above. "I suppose it's already past midnight. The show will die down. He'll have one of his lackeys do the send-off while he counts his hoard of coin. Come." She beckons me onward with a wave of her head. Voice a whisper, she adds, "we'll need to be quiet. Stealthy. Think you can manage?"

I nod and make my steps soft as I creep in the shadow of hers. Stealth was the only way of life for me in the other realm. There was no choice but to avoid being seen. Stay hidden. Be meek, modest, and ashamed of my being.

Here, as I follow Minchae around cages of strange beasts and a thinning crowd, my heart races. This is a feeling I never felt while scurrying through the archives. Like my heart might burst out of my chest with one wrong movement. As if pure electricity prickles beneath my skin—a lightning storm of nerves and anxious energy.

I'm excited, I realize. This is fun, in the strangest, most complicated sense of the word. Fun to keep quiet and hide. Fun to crawl behind a massive yellow tent and peek inside through a gap in the fabric.

Validating, to spy Cyrus the Ringmaster, hunched over a desk, flipping through an old book with worn, yellow pages.

"That's it," Minchae whispers into my ear. "We'll never be able to get it, though. He watches it closely and has wards guarding the desk he keeps it in. We'd need a distraction to get to it. Something to keep him busy…"

Keep him busy. I nod along as I watch the man paw aimlessly through his book. Was he lying? Is my mother really captured within those pages? A memory. A photograph. I'd take anything.

It hurts. Only now can I realize just how badly it hurts, to have her so close. To know that someone somewhere—make that two someones, here in the mortal realm alone—have seen her. Glimpsed her. Enough to recognize her form in me.

I hate myself for never questioning Day about her before. It seemed so rude then to question. So greedy.

But now those regrets are all I can dwell upon. Feast upon. Day, my beautiful, poor, confused Day, may be the closest to her I may ever come.

My eyes burn. Tears spill out. Minchae taps me gently on the shoulder and we crawl away back to her tent. Only there does she see my face and notice the glistening wetness.

"Oh, honey…" She reaches out. Thinks better of it. Instead, she grabs the rag left discarded among her makeup and gingerly dabs at my eyes with it. "I'm sorry. I guess this means a lot to you. Whoever you're looking for."

I nod. It's all I can do. Nod and nod. My mother is a creature always on the verge of my existence. In the other realm, it was easy to forget her. Easy to ignore the pain festering in my chest from the day I was born. I wanted her then, but I had to content myself with my meaningless, worthless existence.

Here…

The world brims with possibilities. I can wonder about things I couldn't even dream of before. I can think dangerous thoughts, and I can yearn for that which has always been beyond my reach. My mother may hate and despise me—that is her right.

But I want to see her, at least. To know in which ways I am like her. Is it our eyes? The way we smile? I need something. Anything.

"Okay, hear me out." Minchae tosses her rag aside and pulls her stool toward me. She perches herself on the edge of it and draws her knees up to her chest—a beautiful, effortless display of balance. "I have a plan. I've been toying it around in my head for years. It's time I blow this joint and move on to greener pastures."

Blow? I struggle to keep up with her terms, but I nod regardless.

"Cyrus guards that book with his fucking life, but I think if we work together, we can devise a plan just devious enough to work. Are you in?"

In? I nod.

She smiles. "Good. Luckily for us, your new performance will give us the perfect cover. I'll go over your role. Memorize it as best you can, then leave the rest to me."

I nod.

I will.

I will scheme and plot and plan.

I will see my mother's face, any way I can.

At least then…

It might be enough.