Eight Gemma #3
Tears I hadn’t even noticed blurred the rest of the fable about a boy falling in love with a sparrow, feeding it, wanting to keep it, then sinking into madness when it flew away.
Closing the book, I went to the next bed.
The same book of Fables waited, but this copy belonged to Maliki. Chosen from Fable of Fortune. Chapter Twelve: Hard-working Maliki.
I skipped to chapter twelve where a juvenile giraffe diligently swept the savannah with a broken broom all while a herd of lazy rhino looked on. He was paid in dust and scorn until his hard work took him to an oasis where his fortune changed in the form of rain and delicious grass.
What was this book?
What does it mean?
Placing Maliki’s copy back on his pillow, I turned to the next bed. Rushing to know what each one hid.
Flipping open the third, I glanced at the title page, frowning as a heavily scratched sentence shouted at me through the years it’d been penned: I won’t choose a slave name from a stupid fable.
I choose Neo. I’m Neo from The Matrix. I have powers.
I just don’t know it yet. I will end you. You’ll see.
Another sentence had been written beneath that. The penmanship beautiful, but the words icy and brutal: As you wish, Neo. You can believe you have powers. You will prove to be your own fable. A Fable of Disappointment. Signed, Storymaker.
I dropped the book.
Storymaker.
Kas had mentioned him enough times in his nightmares for me to know he was the devil. Worse than the devil. He was the man who’d sourced, trapped, and conditioned an untold number of sexual servants.
I wanted to kill a man I’d never met.
Kas.
My heart tugged me to go check on him.
I hadn’t been to visit all morning. He’d been furious when he’d last woken.
Dangerously violent and messed up. Demanding to know how much longer his family would be forced to serve.
Snarling that I’d broken my promise not to hurt them.
He’d clawed at his chest and thrown himself at my feet, pleading in that murderous tone of his to use him and not them.
I’d clutched my knife, just waiting for him to launch upward and attack me—for my leash around his ankle to fail.
It’d only been through quick thinking that I’d been able to defuse him.
I’d backed away and thrown a chocolate bar in his direction, repeating a lie that’d become so smooth on my tongue.
“You’ve already pleasured me today, Kas.
You served me well, and your family is safe.
You can rest now. In fact, I command you to rest.”
His narrowed eyes had softened. His shoulders had rolled. And the switch from savage slave to obedient prisoner unnerved me.
He’d cradled his chocolate bar as if it was a reward for what he’d done for me. He stroked it as if it was gold not sugar, a gold key that could free him from this hell.
I’d left.
I’d turned my back on him because I was inching closer and closer to my limit. It hurt. It hurt so damn much seeing him so confused and concussed.
I wanted to walk out of this place and never come back.
But I couldn’t.
I’ll go to him and—
Wait.
Something caught my eye, drawing me toward the first bed by the door. The closest to danger. The one in the path of anyone who walked over the threshold and into the bedroom.
That was Kas’s bed.
I know it.
It wasn’t even debatable.
I didn’t need to smell the neatly folded blankets or fluffed pillow to know it was his. It wouldn’t smell stale like the others but lived in. Slept in. Knowing what I did of him now, he would’ve taken this bed in order to protect everyone in this room.
He was their gatekeeper, their first defense, their martyr.
The bed was so small. So uncomfortable.
Kas was tall and lean with wiry muscles. He’d struggle to be comfortable in a queen bed, let alone a single. He lived alone and would rather sleep in a tiny cot in a room rigged with locks instead of one of the decadent suites upstairs.
He’d chosen to stay in this room where he’d once watched over his friends.
Friends who’d abandoned him.
My feet carried me to Kas’s bed even as my mind scrambled with his past. The more I learned about him, the more I hurt for him.
I would never accept his aggression toward me, but it made everything so much easier to understand.
It made me painfully empathetic. I would go to the ends of the earth for my younger sibling.
And Kas would kill anyone who laid a finger on his.
We were programmed the same in that respect.
We had the protective gene. The only difference was, mine hadn’t twisted me up into a thousand undoable knots like him.
Stopping by the bed, I sucked in a breath.
On the floor beneath the iron frame rested my smashed phone and PLB. I ought to snatch them up and run out of the room. But I had to know. Had to read what fable Kas chose his name from.
It’s not even his real name, just an address from a book.
I’d been so grateful to finally know his name.
But it wasn’t his.
Not truly.
Lifting up his copy of the identical book, I shook as I opened the front page.
Kassen. Chosen from the Fable of Happiness. Chapter Twenty-Three: The Poor Cousin & His Wishes.
Racing to chapter twenty-three, I read with tears streaming down my cheeks about a selfless, poverty-ridden man who gave up his magical wishes to benefit his villagers, friends, and even his enemies. He gave away each one without any malice or expectation.
And in return, he earned the greatest gift that couldn’t be wish-given. Something that had to be fought for.
Happiness.
My knees gave out, and I sat on his lumpy, squeaky bed.
I allowed wetness to streak my face as I hugged the book to my chest and vowed upon a vow that one day, someday, Kas would be happy.
He would smile.
He would laugh.
I’ll make sure of it.