16. Niamh

CHAPTER 16

Niamh

P reparation for a show begins with blood and sweat. Hours upon hours of practice. There is more to it than meets the eye. Balance is required on what Minchae calls a trapeze. So much strength is necessary to sustain the required movements. So much grace.

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."

"See?" Minchae appears by my side and slips her arm around my shoulders. "She's fine. Together we will put on a show the audience will never forget. That I promise you."

"Why does that sound less like you being a good girl, and more like a threat?" Smirking, Cyrus glances at the chains which encircle her ankles. "Don't forget what happened the last time you tried to pull off one of your slick little schemes." His voice is harsh, scorching hot against my cheek. "Did you tell her all about how you sold out the last little slut we had you perform with? Got her sold to save your own skin. A naughty girl, this one is. You'd do good to watch your back," he says to me. "Before she slips a knife into it."

Minchae does not even flinch. "I don't know what you mean," she murmurs, her voice the picture of innocence.

"Next time, I won't leave your bruises in discrete places where you can hide them. I'll beat you to a pulp, you fucking half-breed. With your new replacement, I no longer need you. So watch yourself."

As Minchae stares blankly into the distance, her expression remains unchanged. Emotionless. "Of course," she intones.

When Cyrus finally storms off, she scoffs and spits on the dirt at her feet. "That blasted, puffed-up son of a bitch! Ugh!" Her hands curl in and out of fists as she paces. There are goons still around, mucking out cages and carrying equipment around the arena—not that she seems to care if they witness her anger. Cyrus is the one she cares to maintain her calm around. It's the only shred of power she has over him.

I know the feeling.

"God damned bastard!" A cloud of dust rises from her feet as she spins around and sighs. "Are you sure you're ready tonight?" she asks, with her back to me. "You won't chicken out? You're okay on the trapeze?"

There is a hidden meaning to her words. At night, huddled in her tent, we barely slept on the pile of ratty blankets that seemed to be her makeshift bed. Instead, we plotted and schemed. Or, at least, she did. I listened. Rapt at attention, I listened. She made rebellion sound so beautiful in her husky voice. More than mindless rebellion. A carefully constructed plan with little left to chance.

The role I played was simple, but pivotal.

I nod. "Yes, I am ready."

"Good—" She turns to face me and takes my hands in hers. "We're in this together, for better or for worse. Got it?"

I nod again. "Yes."

"Good." A sudden shadow appears over her beautiful features, dimming her expression. She seems lost. A ghost that forgot their tie to the corporeal realm. Fae, especially, were prone to lingering long after death. It's why they as a whole devised fae stones to make use of those wayward souls yearning for a purpose.

Or so they tell us.

Now I am not so sure. If they were just a sacred end, then why did they litter the walls of the portal? Neglected. Haphazardly shoved into black stone.

It doesn't make sense.

"I can't last another second in this wretched place," Minchae hisses, hugging herself tight. She appears so small in this yawning space. A speck of glistening green amid an ocean of red and yellow.

I stand out as well, wearing my borrowed robe, but I am not sure what picture I make. Not glistening and pretty. A hollow spot, perhaps. One too barren for anything but moss and neglect to take root. A dead tree in an endless forest, covered in overgrowth.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to bring you down too." With a heavy sigh, Minchae collapses right there on the dusty floor and sits with her legs splayed out before her. "I get so wrapped up in myself sometimes. It's how you had to be, growing up in the Desinan. They snuff out all weakness there. Brainwash this stupid ‘obedient' bullshit into our heads. Damn. Growing up, I couldn't wait to get the hell out of that place. But sometimes…" She looks back at me, both colored eyes reflective. "Sometimes, I do miss it. Having a bunch of people tell you what to do can be a hell of a lot more comforting than trying to wing it alone. Here—" She pats the space beside her and draws the edge of her robe aside. "Come sit."

A giddy feeling fills me as I do so. It isn't the excitement or freedom I felt while ‘flying.' It isn't the desperate, anxious need I felt around Caspian. There was no thought then, in those moments. Just reacting to whatever my body wanted.

This requires thought. Tact. Skill. Navigating a conversation with someone when there is no clear end. No real aim. Their problems weigh heavily on their minds, and speaking them out into the open is the only way to find relief. Mortals do the same. They flutter and fret about certain subjects, never landing on them. Like butterflies avoiding a flower they desperately want.

"I think she is my mother," I say, voicing my problem for all to hear. In my head, it sounded pathetic. Out loud, the longing is clear. The pain is clear. There is no denying it. "My mother…who abandoned me in the Citadel. I've never even seen her face. I don't know what she smells like or looks like. I don't even know who my father is. Or if my father is…"

Someone other than Night Aurelius, the only man it possibly could be.

"She left me without a second thought, and I know why," I admit. "She had a purpose to attend to. Other children to produce. I was an abomination. I wasn't meant to exist. Even so… It hurts to be abandoned." I hug my arms to myself as she did, but I don't find comfort in the meaningless embrace. I miss Caspian. I miss his strength, and his voice hissed into my ear, telling me what I was, daring me to question and challenge. With him, there was always a challenge. That was the point.

He called me ‘It'.

I demanded he know me as Niamh.

So, he did. Mockingly, derisively, he did so without question.

I told him not to leave me.

He said he wouldn't.

So why hasn't he come?

"He won't come," I say out loud. "Caspian has abandoned me too. At least… I hope he has."

It would be a betrayal worse than that of Night Aurelia, the woman who gave birth to me. The prospect hurts so damn much—almost as much as the prospect that he is in danger himself does. In any case I need to find him. Somehow…

"Oh dear, I've done it now," Minchae murmurs. "I'm sorry, honey. I sometimes forget that I'm not the only one in the world with problems. Here." She fishes something from the inner pocket of her robe and offers it to me. A delicate square of white fabric that she uses to dab away my falling tears. "Trust me, I know the feeling," she says, once my face is patted dry. "I've been abandoned my fair share. Done plenty of abandoning too, on my end. I know how it feels. I know how utterly worthless the people you're supposed to trust can make you feel."

There is more she wants to say, but the words won't come. They stick in her throat, as unvoiced intakes of air. Yet, she doesn't cry. She bites her lip rather than let herself.

I try to embody the same determination. Enough tears. Enough wallowing. I am so very tired of wallowing. Caspian left me, yes. Night Aurelia left me. Day left me. Everyone, eventually, will leave me.

Except for Niamh. I can never leave me. That should be comfort enough.

Maybe it is.

"There is… There is something I should have told you before," Minchae admits, fingering the dusty hem of her robe. "It's awful of me, I know. I thought… I thought you were just like all the other girls. The other riffraff. They blow through here a dime a dozen, thinking they can charm their way from rags to riches. I've seen girls far uglier than you are charm those around them, get everyone to eat out of the palm of their hand to get benefits and special privileges the lot of us don't." She scoffs, scowling at the memories. "I thought you were like that too. Girls that like… Like me. We know better than to trust anyone else. We scheme and plot and stab each other in the back. It's how we are. I thought you were like that too. Which is why…" She swallows hard and inclines her head, meeting my gaze through a fringe of black hair. "Which is why I was planning from the start to sell you out. Cyrus doesn't leave his ledger in that fucking desk like an idiot. If that were the case, I would have stolen it a long time ago."

She smiles a sad smile.

"No, he has it guarded by two jackdaws. I don't know how the bastard came across them, but one jackdaw is vicious enough to take on, let alone two. The only way I feasibly saw a way around it was to find some stupid patsy to use as bait. Have them grab the journal, and while the jackdaws feast, take the blasted ledger for myself and run. It sounds like murder, I know it does." Her face turns white as she shakes her head. "But if you were the kind of girl I thought you were, you'd have seen right through my act. You'd know. You would come up with a scheme of your own and we'd stab each other in the back. We might both end up bloodied and busted for it, but alive at least. I thought you were like that."

I sit quietly, taking in every word she said. The picture they paint is surreal. I may not know what a jackdaw is, but I recognize her barely suppressed shudder for what it is: utter terror. The creatures scare her. They ‘feast' on victims, and she would have gladly served me up to save her own skin.

I should be angry.

I should feel even more pain.

More and more tears should fall down my face and I should curl into a ball of agonized loathing, never to move again.

Perhaps I will.

But…

I need to know.

"Who are you looking for?" I ask. More than once, she has referred to the ledger. Mentioned how valuable the information contained inside is—but she thought I was like her. Cunning and devious. Money alone would appeal to someone like that, and they would never stop to think what truth could actually be hiding underneath.

"I betrayed someone a long time ago," Minchae says, her voice hoarse. "Someone I thought was a conner, but she was like you. She trusted me instantly like you do. I watched her be sold to the wolves. I owe her. I spent three damn years trying to find her, to make it right. I've been after that ledger for three whole fucking years!" She laughs, and an unfathomable sadness floods her gaze. "Her name is in it, and where she was sold to. I should want to find her badly enough to take on a whole fucking pack of jackdaws. She would do it for me, I know she would. But I've been scared to act for three fucking years…" She's crying. Tears spill down her face more elegantly than they could ever adorn my own.

I reach toward her with her strip of fabric in hand. Carefully, I dab at her tears.

She laughs, frowning. "You know, it's hard to believe this isn't all an act. But it isn't. Is it? You aren't from…" She breaks off and inhales as if trying to find the right words. Then she leans closer, making her voice soft for only me to hear. "You aren't a mundane, are you? You're a pure-blooded fae."

"Not pure," I reply woodenly. "A half-breed. A hybrid of some sort."

Or a monster, as Altaris claimed.

But Minchae doesn't recoil in disgust and derision. "Holy fucking hell," she rasps, her eyes wide. "You're the real deal. In this place!" She glances around and leans in even closer. "If Cyrus finds out, he won't just have you performing in his shows, honey. He'll sell you off to the highest bidder. You should have gotten out of this place yesterday. There's no telling what he'd do with an honest to God fae in his grasp. Forget the ledger. I'll cause a distraction right now and you run. The bastard hasn't chained you yet. They think you're too weak. Go, now!" She lurches to her feet. "I'll call the guards over and?—"

"Wait!" I reach out and brush my hand along her shoulder. I don't know what else to do. Interacting with other beings at all is still so new to me. Even so, she pauses, her head cocked, body radiating nervous energy.

"What? Honey, we've got to get you out of here. It's one thing if you were a mundane, but I would rather die than see that greedy bastard have a real payday fall into his lap."

"I… I want the ledger," I say. "I need it."

More than anything else. More than the way I ache for Caspian, even. I need to see my mother's face so badly it hurts. Even if it's a sketch in a ledger. Even if it's just her name.

Even a scrap of paper is something to cling to.

Minchae scoffs. "Honey, do you even know what a jackdaw is? What they do? They're hellhounds with wings! They guard an object to the death. Once they get a taste of your blood, they don't stop until you're dead. I don't know how the bastard came across them, but he has two—two! Just one was enough to haunt our nightmares in the Desinan. They claimed it guarded the High Master, but I never saw it for myself." She shudders and holds herself so tightly her knuckles whiten. "My plan was to let the brutes go at you and somehow sneak the ledger away, but that's done and over with now. It was wishful thinking anyway. It would have never worked."

Feed me to the jackdaws. Me with dirty, corrupted blood. An abomination Altaris can't even stand the sight of. I've never heard of those creatures before. Don't know if they are magic or mortal creations.

In either case…

I'm willing to try. I survived being torn apart by a monster once. Twice.

Perhaps I can do so again. If it means seeing my mother—a fragment, a sliver—I'll suffer anything. What else do I have?

"Oh no!" Minchae shakes her head and jabs a finger at me. "I know that look. Fuck, you're just like Dabne. I said no! No! Don't make me regret growing a conscience. Maybe I was never gonna do it anyway. There was a guy once. Who tried to run from the enclave. They displayed him for us, and he was in pieces. Literally, neat little pieces! They said the jackdaw did it, and we never fucking questioned after that." Her voice trembles. She's speaking too quickly to enunciate every word properly. Her eyes are wide and stuck in the past. She's horrified.

Like my Caspian, there is a nightmare world inside her head that she's desperate to avoid reliving. Perhaps…

In the same way she aimed to use me, I can use this to my benefit. To help us both. To get us both what we want.

"I think our plan will work," I say, curling my fingers tight. "It will. It must. We must trust each other."

Only for now.

Only until then.

I'm holding my breath as I wait for her reaction. I'm so anxious, my belly churns and throbs. I feel sick. At the same time, I feel electric all over again. Plotting and scheming is almost as fun as flying.

"You're serious," Minchae rasps. "Oh, fuck! What have I gotten myself into?"

"A plan," I say with a stern nod. "We have a plan."

A plan as seemingly hopeless as running away to the mortal realm with a vamryre in tow, all to see a museum. Crazy. Reckless. Stupid.

I lived it once.

I aim to achieve one more success again.

Even if the face of Night Aurelia is the last thing I see.

I'll try.

Whatever it takes, I will try.