3. Niamh

Only those entrusted with safeguarding the repository are permitted to enter the catacombs below the Citadel proper, where the old knowledge is stored.

To enter without permission is forbidden.

As a keeper, my only role is to protect this place from outside eyes, but as I hear the sound of approaching footsteps, I swallow. My lips twitch. Maybe I smile.

"I can hear you," I call out tentatively. Quietly.

"I can see you." The voice is disembodied, and I can't tell which direction it originated from. Still, I spin around. My lips twitch again. It's a smile—not really. To do so would be an insult.

For one such as myself should never dare to greet an unblemished fae as an equal.

"Day," I say instead, wrestling my lips into a neutral line. "You came."

He steps forward from behind a row of wooden shelves. Bathed in lamplight, his eyes twinkle though his lips also remain in a flat line. Once I strived to find any resemblance between us. Any at all. Maybe the shape of our eyes was the same, though his are green, mine black. Our hair, at one point, might have been the same dark hue until his took on the redder tones of a fae at the height of youth and beauty.

Once… Perhaps in the womb, we were the same.

Watching him now, Day and I couldn't be further apart in both stature and status. He is so beautiful, destined to head house Aurelius, with his rightful counterpart beside him.

That is the one miracle of my birth, one could say. Poor Day wasn't born alone without a half to share his future with. Upon that fateful hour, the house of Aurelius was rewarded with two healthy fae children suitable to uphold the family name.

And one shameful spare.

Pairs are inherent to the fae. Like the night and its lover, the day, we must accept life's duality. Every true fae is born with a twin, a rightful counterpart. Three children in one birthing is unheard of. Forbidden. Taboo.

Three parts of one whole cannot exist.

"You're frowning," Day points out, his voice musical in the stuffy air. "Do I not look dashing in my ceremonial robes?" He extends his hand and I lower my gaze for the first time. He is right. Instead of the usual green garments that are a hallmark of house Aurelius, he wears silk in a brighter emerald hue, trimmed in gold.

Ceremonial robes. He showed me them once before, years ago, though they were far less ornate back then. Simple robes to mark his transition from a young Dawn to an adult Day. I wish I could have seen him then, standing tall before the elder council. Oh, how brave he must have looked, with our sister Day beside him—his sister. Day Aurelius and Day Aurelia. Were I included, I'm not even sure what moniker would be left for me to take.

Therefore, I technically have no name, though I devised one for me in secret. It feels like a small, invisible ball of warmth tucked next to my heart, known only to me. Maybe one day I will tell it to Day.

Maybe one day.

"You look so grown up," I say instead. "Accomplished."

"You've been learning new words without me," he scolds, but his tone is playful.

"Yes." Again, I almost smile. "I found an old thesaurus the other day. I will read it to you."

The back of my neck prickles as if warning of the Lord Master's disapproval—but what the high elder doesn't know does not hurt. I use my skills only to further my work in the archives.

But if I were discovered, my sin alone wouldn't be exposed. It was Day who taught me this rare, special magic: how to convert these strange runes written on old parchment into sounds. Then words. Then stories.

"Perhaps later." He nods, stroking his chin, now absent of any hair. One day—in decades perhaps—he will grow a beard before transitioning into the role of Night of House Aurelius. For now, his youth is his crowning glory unblemished. The planes of his handsome features are devoid of any wrinkle or flaw, and his red hair gleams like a living flame.

"Though I am accomplished," he replies, his eyes sparkling with pride. "After the ceremony, I will have a place on the high council. A true place."

"With Day Aurelia," I add.

His lips quirk downward. "Day Aurelia," he repeats, but his tone is flat. "She won't enjoy the role like you would."

Something uncomfortable twists in my stomach. I turn away and dust the books nearest me with my bare fingers. These old books remind me much of myself, abandoned in the dark, cared for only out of necessity. However, it doesn't make them any less valuable than the sparkly volumes on display on the higher levels. They hold their own secrets and hidden bits of knowledge. To those who care enough to seek them out, they matter. Maybe once every few centuries, but it's vital all the same.

"She won't," Day continues, his eyes narrowed. "She will be too busy sneering at the others to tend to our duties. Such arrogance is beneath House Aurelius. She has no humility. No pride in her modest role as a woman. Some days it's as if she thinks herself an Aurelius—not an Aurelia." He scowls, and my heart pangs with guilt.

"Then it is your role to guide her," I say gently, but I understand his frustration. The role of a fae is their only purpose, and that of an Aurelia is to support her fellow Day. To be beautiful and fleeting. To be honorable and obedient.

"She is not easily guided," he grunts, shrugging off the suggestion. "She doesn't listen to a word I say. She's defiant. Flighty. Easily distracted by trivial things. You would enjoy the main Citadel beyond these walls."

I can't stop myself from sighing in longing. I've only glimpsed bits and pieces of the famed Citadel city, heart of our society, in old volumes and through the windows. And…

From the roof.

The Citadel proper is the building at the city's center where all ceremonies take place—a huge, sprawling complex mockingly close. The main chamber is meant to be crafted out of pure black stone. Breathtaking is the only word to describe it.

"See?" Day prods. "You would enjoy it, and you would know your place; by my side and not in front."

He nods in approval at the imagery, but it seems like an unimaginable fantasy to me. Even now, to walk behind Day would be an honor well beyond my reach.

"How can I interact with those I am not allowed to speak to?" I ask of the row of books before me.

Day scoffs. "Hypothetically, of course. In this imaginary world you would be allowed to. By my side, no one would dare deny you anything—" He curls a fist, and his lips quirk upwards. Almost a smile. "I would be respected. They would have no choice."

A world where I would have been born a normal fae. It stings to think about. Perhaps it's just the remnants of my punishment that plague me so? My back is sore, chafing with every brush of my robe's coarse material. Restless, I slink deeper into the shadows where I know Day won't follow. The dark unnerves him. Threatens. Fae belong in the daylight, relishing in the open sky and taking wing in the sun's warm rays. Only unwanted creatures seek the dark for shelter. Vermin and vamryre and, of course, me.

"You won't be able to visit me, then. Once you ascend," I say. "You would be too busy with your duties on the high council." Why do I sound so sad?

"I will come anyway," Day demands, taking a step toward me, in half shadow. "I always will. No matter what. As the heir of House Aurelius no one would dare stop me."

No matter what. I cherish those words even though they are the antithesis to what I know in my heart. Even though they are a lie—a nice one—I cherish them still.

Poor Day will never admit out loud what we both know in our hearts.

Eventually, he will become an elder, perhaps even a Lord Master. If not, his magic will form the very veil that shields our realm from the mortal world, proving vital even in death. For eons, his soul will live on in the Citadel's foundation.

By then? I will be gone.

I will be dust.

Although it's a chilling thought, it shouldn't bother me. Honesty is my sole purpose. To despair is to regret, and to regret is to feel shame. I am not allowed to indulge in either emotion.

So, I grit my teeth and tell myself that I am fine. Content. At peace.

Then an errant thought slips into my mind, unbidden. Before I can stop myself, it's flying off my tongue, posed as a question, "Day, have you ever seen a vamryer?"

He laughs and I go rigid. My cheeks flame at the amusement sparkling in his eyes. "I forget how naive you are," he admits, his tone playful. "Vamryer are not allowed beyond the Citadel proper and certainly not in here. I see them at the ceremonies, or on the street. To speak to one is to speak to them all, for they are all husks controlled by their elder three. Mindless vermin, far beneath your curiosity."

I nod along. Mindless vermin. Not creatures with their own will. Certainly not a beautiful male who creeps into this very complex to watch me sin.

"Of course," I say, still nodding. His wisdom should ease my confusion and put it to rest. It's time to stop asking questions. Stop wondering.

In spite of that logic, the feeling persists long after Day leaves.

When my chores are finished, I should return to the bell tower. I start to, only to wind up on the roof as the sun begins to set below the horizon. So marks the time when the fae retire and the lunairia take their reign. The time of the vamryre, of course, is dusk and dawn, and though it is wrong, I claim my time in the few seconds of sunset. Just a handful of seconds, all mine.

At least before him.

The vamryre's smell reaches me even before I see him. Sickly sweet and pungent, so different from his usual icy scent. When he appears at the mouth of the courtyard, I see why.

In one hand he holds a white rose—a rare occurrence in this part of the realm. Any awe I might feel is smothered by wariness. Why is he here?

As if knowing the workers will flee rather than confront him, he stalks forward, boldly and unashamed. He is vamryre, and at their core, they are dangerous. Killing to them is what flying is to the fae. A way of life. A favorite game.

Why doesn't that unsettle me? I wait for the uneasy feeling, but it doesn't come.

"Hello, little fae."

I blink. Stare. It's another long second before I realize that he spoke to me. His eyes don't waver, his head upturned, gaze predatory and mocking.

I should disappear. Obey my only role. Never speak. Never be seen.

My lips part.

"Don't be scared now," the vamryre taunts. His voice is ragged, as though he is always on the verge of a laugh. Or a growl. "Come closer, little bird."

"You don't belong here, vamryre." That strong voice. I don't recognize it. It's a shadow of the stern Lord Master's, but the part of me cowed by authority shivers. Then I realize: it was mine.

The night creature smiles, and my breathing stops.

"So, it speaks."

It. That word itches more than Day's delusional fantasies. It.

I step back.

He lunges forward, standing almost directly below me. His rose looks so fragile in his grasp. So delicate, quivering in a stone-like grip. Pity for it is why I reach out. Without meaning to, I reach out, letting my fingers tease the empty air.

The vamryre grimaces. I think he meant to smile. "Come."

"Why?" I say. A question. A statement. Why bring that rose to me, if he has?

"Fly down to me, little bird, and find out. Secrets should be whispered."

A secret. A whisper. It's dangerous, a deceitful lie. I know that vamryres used to feed on our kind once—fae kind. Could this one be desperate enough to seek out a half-fae unprotected by the council?

If so, it would be a smart course of action. Were I in his shoes, I would do the same. And if so… I would want that prey to run. To scream. To make it fun.

How boring would it be if they put up no fight at all?

Slowly, I inch forward, unsure of how to proceed. I've never climbed down from this height. Never roamed the actual courtyard floor. I never have, but I don't feel afraid. Perhaps…thrilled. Disobedience has never been this exciting.

"Jump," my visitor says to goad on the rebellion. "I'll catch you."

He won't. I can see it in his eyes: the glee and the hate. He wants me to fall and bleed. He wants to test me. Can I fly like other fae, or is my deformity more crippling than it looks?

He's right.

I hate that he is right.

There isn't time to think. So, I step forward and raise my arms.

And I fall.

Thudding pain. The ground slams into me, driving the breath from my lungs. It hurts. Hard stone digs into my ankles, cutting and ripping. The front of my robes is covered in dust. My knees smart, bloodied and torn. Then, just as the sharp pain bites deep, I'm lifted into the air. Spun around. Set down gently on a crumpled piece of wall with the vamryre standing before me. Between my legs. Too close for comfort.

"You're bleeding," he says, his eyes glowing, teeth peeking from his upper lip. Sharp teeth. Fangs. He's ecstatic. Surprised. I've made it too easy for him, but I've also made it more fun. He lives for fun, this strange vamryre.

I thought his kind wanted only what the others wanted. Craved only what they all crave. Power. Wealth. Luxury.

None of which can be found here, in an old building that serves as a monument to their loss of freedom. The council elders want us to believe that all races live in harmony. The old texts say otherwise. The gossip circling even this old, neglected part of the Citadel claims otherwise.

The vamryre fought unity the hardest of all. In the end, it was only self-preservation that made them join forces with the fae and ultimately create our other realm. By that time, only three of the pure vamryre were left. Centuries later, only they and their spawn remain still.

Which one created him? A vicious one.

"You let me fall," I tell him, craning my neck to see his face.

Neither of us is surprised.

"You knew I would," he tells me, but he frowns at that. I wonder what he's thinking—which, should, in essence, be what every vamryre is thinking. They are one and the same after all.

So, what do they want from me?

Blood. In his gaze, I can see only hunger. This creature isn't like Day or Lord Master.

They pity me. Despise me.

He wants to devour. Me. The stone I'm perched on. The sky.

He doesn't care. He'll take anything he can sink his teeth into, leading to a stranger realization. Titles and status matter little to him.

"I can hear your heart beating, little bird," he murmurs, bringing his face near mine. A perfect face composed of impeccable bone structure. Lips unnaturally pink. Eyes unnaturally bright. Teeth unnaturally sharp. "I didn't know you perfect fae could bleed."

I am. Smears of red seep from a patch of missing skin on my right knee. As I watch, more blood comes forth. Drip drop.

I'm horrified. The wounds inflicted by my "punishments" are invisible to me, on my back, hidden by my robes. I've never even seen them for myself. Just felt the neat row of scars.

My blood is a novel sight. I gape. Stare.

The vamryre is electrified. He breathes in, pale nostrils flaring. Then his tongue shoots out along his lower lip.

I feel like I'm falling all over again.

"We bleed," I say. Then, I correct myself. "I bleed."

"You make it sound so novel." He rakes his fingers through my hair. The touch is harsh, snagging at my scalp. At the same time, it renders me paralyzed, awed by the sensation. He is ice cold, devoid of warmth.

He is the first stranger I can recall to ever touch me. Ever.

"What is your name?" His gaze rakes over me, bright and alarming. "Are you a Day or a Dawn?"

I frown. Dawn. Day. It is how we are named in accordance with our clan title. Since I have no clan, I have no name, not one sanctioned by our covenants, at least. So, I made one up.

I say it, and he scoffs. Sneers. In that cold, hissed voice, he repeats it, and I have goosebumps. "Neeve."

He makes it sound harsh and vile.

"Niamh," I repeat. So soft and gentle. I love it still, even in the face of his amusement. It's all I have, and I love it still. "I found it in an old text. It's an old mortal script—" I break off, betraying a forbidden secret. Mortal lore shouldn't appeal to fae. Especially not a name, ancient and beautiful.

But to me, it was a marvel. If one could not be blessed with a clan moniker, then what could be better than choosing one?

He sneers. "You fae. Is that your family name?"

"I found it in an archive," I repeat. "What is your name?"

I don't care. It's not a mystery. All vamryre are named for their masters, one of a collective. The same could be said about the fae, but our family names come with a wealth of heritage and ancestry. Vamryres are just dolls, meant to please their owners.

"Caspian," he says in disgust.

I don't know why. It is a simple name that sounds nice to the ears. C must be the initial of his master, from which all the names of progeny are derived. I am not familiar with their hierarchy, though, just the name of the main leader who signed their end of the treaty: Nataniel.

"Your name isn't in the archives," I say.

His eyes gleam even more. "Your archives. You fae and your historical references. I thought your kind named each other like categories. Boy. Girl. Day. Night."

He laughs at our sacred traditions, though again, they are not mine.

"What do you want with me, vamryre?" I ask.

His smile falls. "What could I possibly want with a lone little fae?"

His voice deepened. I think he aimed to scare me, but I have nothing to fear. As long as I have the shelter of the Citadel and the grace of the Lord Master, what more could I want?

There is one thing,a part of me murmurs. One secret thing too sacred to voice out loud. A private thought. A wish.

"I brought you something." He raises the rose I'd forgotten he had. So beautiful and fragile it quivers in his grasp.

I take it, surprised by its softness. Its sweetness. I sniff the air and gasp in shock.

Caspian laughs, and the sound echoes in a dangerous rasp.

"I knew you'd like it," he declares.

I eye the object in question. Do I like it? I shouldn't, of course. It is a forbidden taboo—an imported luxury from the human realm that vamryres indulge in, but fae should shun.

I read about them all in the archives, roses.

However, none of the texts mention how sweet they smell. Pungent but soft in the same breath. I inhale again. Sigh. In this realm, such a bloom is a rare, coveted luxury.

It had to cost a fortune.

"Look at me, little bird." His fingers run through my hair once more. "Do something for me in return," he commands, his lips near the base of my throat.

"Is that how this goes?" I ask, mainly to myself. The archives are scarce when it comes to vamryre social customs. I don't know much about how they conduct themselves. Perhaps this type of exchange is unique to them? Given their transactional nature, I wouldn't be surprised.

But how should I respond? The fae don't…

Wait.I am an abomination.

Though, the vamryre doesn't seem to care to hear my response. His eyes wander, creeping over my gray robes and downward. When he spies the naked flesh of my thigh, where the skirt rose up, he grasps it with the flat of his palm.

I tense, my next breath trapped in my throat. He is ice, his skin flawlessly smooth but a dangerous strength resonates through his touch. He could break this limb if he wanted to. Shatter the very bone. A dark intent lurks in those scarlet eyes when I look up. Perhaps he intends to do that to me.

"I've always been curious what fae blood tastes like," he says. "Let me bite?—"

"No!" I bat his hand away and jump down from my perch. Chuckling softly, he watches me go.

"It is forbidden," I say. Then I fumble my tongue and add. "Besides, I am not recognized as fae. Not officially?—"

"You smell like the fae." He smiles in that beautiful, icy way. "See me tomorrow. Right here."

"No," I say, inching back toward the shadow of the building proper.

"Come," he commands, his eyes flashing. Then he cocks his head and beams. "I'll bring you something else, not-fae. Spend the night wracking your little brain as to what it might be. Consider what I am owed in return."

I owe him nothing. Nothing but a fortune in exchange for the rose. A foul rose I should return.

But I don't. As I clutch it, something the vamryre said echoes in my brain. It's night. The sun has already set, the best part of my day missed.

"Tomorrow," the vamryre says, drawing my attention back to him. "You bring me something in exchange for that—" He nods to the rose I still hold.

I want to let it go. I can't.

Personal items are fleeting. Besides my name, this is the only one I have. I cradle it to my chest as if to protect it from the vamryre's gaze. Another term from the archives comes to mind as I watch him: unhinged.

He is unhinged incarnate.

"Until tomorrow, little ebony bird." He turns and lopes up the ruined section of the wall with a grace that catches me off guard. From the roof, his movements looked jerky and unnatural. Animalistic.

Up close…

He is fluid and sure, much in the way a true fae would be before they take flight.

Not that I would know. I've never seen it.