2. Caspian

For us vamryre, freedom comes at a price—our souls. After death, no great equalizer will right all wrongs, reward the good and punish the bad.

There is only more. More existence. More agony. More suffering.

More.

It's an endless dance, and no one is left standing at its end. As a new pair takes their place in the twisted fucking waltz, only bloodied marks remain on the floor. The thread is what we vamryre call it, this horrible game of life. A woven tapestry composed of too many souls to name. A purpose that binds us in perpetuity.

Our master dresses it up with intrigue and claims that our being chosen by him is a gift.

A calling to Godhood.

He spends eternities trying to find new ways to glowingly describe what, in essence, is a curse. A festering charade of living that we carry on for his benefit. Oh, how we play pretend for him.

The reality is that we are all dead without the benefit of coffins for comfort. Though we pretend to be creatures that care little for our immortality, we will stop at nothing to extend it. This is what we are by nature as undead, lingering beings shunned by nature.

We want, and we take, and that is our truth.

We are no better than the mortals who supplicant us with their warm bodies and decadent blood. We hate them. We envy them. We cut their lives short to meet our own ends.

Over and over and over again.

Thiscreature, however, meets none of the criteria our masters crave and desire. She lurks on top of that goddamned bell tower, always scraping. Waiting. Watching. Like a rat or a mouse. Some scurrying creature born in filth and darkness, she lingers in the shadow, never showing her face to the light. Worthless. Disgusting. Vermin.

So why was she, this foul creature, presented to me?

Why does Cassius want me to kill her so brutally?

Don't care.

I relish the chance.

It must be a test.

Or a reminder—I am always a dog on his leash.

His slave. How ironic that the promise of this realm is freedom, where all races live in supposed harmony. Bullshit. I hate these damn walls of stone. This sprawling city of glass and gold. A pretty, gilded cage of invisible bars. Our beloved Citadel.

It's a prison—but to think as much is to sin.

No matter, according to Cassius, I am all sin.

Caspian,he warns, his thoughts seeping into my own. I wince, feeling his pull from halfway across the city. As if space matters. Through centuries, he has had a hold over me. Over us all. Though the others crave his presence, squeaking like monotonous mice—Our beloved Cassius. Our Master. Ours…

I resist, biting deeper into my thoughts. Those fragile, pathetic recollections I can call mine.

Her. She is mine. Cassius may have commanded it, but a toy given by another is still, in essence, owned by the one who has it.

Therefore, she is mine, that ugly, little, deformed fae.

I have her in my grasp, and I don't care if it's part of someone else's game. I'll crush her. Break her. Scatter the pieces at Cassius' feet. I'll do his bidding with a smile, but in the end…

He can't make me do it cleanly and quickly. He can't stipulate that there be no lingering. No drawn-out moments until the end.

He can't make me waste what little time I have, freed from under his thumb.

Caspian!

The force of the command brings me to my knees in the middle of a fucking street. A glistening avenue lined with buildings of glass and gray stone. Our perfect, perpetual city. Strange looks are cast my way, and I can see the pathetic fleeting thoughts that cross their isolated brains. Strange vamryre. Must stay away.

Good.

They can run and hide all they want. When Cassius has his way, they will all be pawns to dance and sway at his whim. No longer will I be the only one to?—

You dare to disobey me, boy?

Boy. Still crouched, I grit my teeth. Trying and failing to stand, I growl in frustration. How he loves to throw that hated word in my face. He relishes in the anger that heats my skin. He believes it puts me in my place. Swallowed by a mind as vast as his, I am a mere boy in comparison. A worm. Insignificant wiggling pest.

But he's the one who plucked me from the mortal masses. At his behest, the others turned me. At his begging.

He chose me.

Caspian, come.

My reply is terse, spoken out loud and within. "I work." Belatedly, I add, "As you wish, Master. I do this work for you."

Come,he snarls, unswayed.

No.No! "I work," I say, knees shaking, muscles straining. "For you. I do this for you!"

He relents—because he has no fucking choice but to. I can sense him lingering like a cat waiting to pounce. A lion, perhaps. He wants so badly to roar and take charge.

But he can't. His own words tie him.

He can't be implicated in this great scheme, oh no. The rest of the high council wouldn't like that. This sin is all mine. He would have me wait until the ceremony to strike. Maybe I would.

Until she looked at me, the little broken bird. So fragile. I see those black eyes even now, and I hoard the image away from Cassius and the others. It's mine. They remind me of something. A color I used to love. I think. Ebony. Black, black, black.

Doesn't matter,Cassius says, batting the thought away, out of reach. Bastard.

When I see her again…I'll poke those eyes until I remember more. Oh, how I want to play with my little bird, locked in her stone cage. What point is a surprise attack, anyway? No. True betrayal is crueler than that. It's stealing away inside the victim's skull and making a home there.

It's turning their own body into a despised enemy.

It's becoming their puppet master before they even realize they're being strangled by the strings.

I want that little fae to hurt. Can't explain why, but I want those black eyes wet with tears. It will be fun.

Easy, Caspian, I sense Cassius warn. Always warning. Always twisting. He told me once that my darkness was what drew him to me.

A gem among stones. A black heart, a perfect match for his own. Oh, how he resents that weakness. He reached out and took a pretty trinket for his collection.

He took me.

However, his virus did not infect me as perfectly as the others.

I do not love Cassius, my benevolent master.

I hate?—

You don't, he replies, his tone so damn assured. My loyal Caspian.

Oh, how he loves to turn my disgust into a game at my own expense. I hate him. Love, love, love.

My master, my creator. Oh, how I love and adore him.

"No." Teeth gritted, I keep moving, pushing past a group of startled fae, single-mindedly focused on one goal. Cassius won't take this from me. I won't let him. "I do this work for you," I say. I lie. "For you, I do this."

Sweating, I reach my prize and brandish it in a fist—a delicate blossom taken from a cart sporting hundreds of the damned things. Smelly things.

The merchant—a dark-skinned lunaria—eyes me and sniffs. Only they, the wolf kind, can leave this damn realm and ferret back mortal trinkets to hawk for coin. Or so they think.

"I want it," I say.

He grunts and names his price for it—two silver—a fortune these days. All for what?

A stupid flower. A rose to be exact, white, and pristine among the dark stone surrounding it.

Cassius wants me to wait and strike like he would. Like a snake with fangs bared and poison at the ready.

But where is the fun in that?

I will do this my way. My own devious, deceitful way.

I will kill her on my own.

At the ceremony.

Maybe before.

Her life is mine alone to take.