2. Waking
CHAPTER TWO
Waking
“We cannot risk him escaping,” Vaner’s shrill order tore through my foggy mind.
Following his voice came the chill bleeding through the stone.
So frigid it seeped through my skin, curling around my bones.
It took everything in me not to shiver and make them aware I had woken.
I slit my eyes the slightest bit, and, at this angle, could see a massive form across from me. Bars of a cell separated us.
“I do not want my son tossed about like this. That is still your king,” Drusilla retorted, ice in her tone. Her voice alone caused a visceral reaction; my eyes sprang open.
“Well, until we come to an accord, he remains here.”
“You beast.”
“You cost me the girl’s body; it’s the least you deserve.”
Drusilla’s back was to the bars caging me.
Tendrils of hair escaped her coiffure and flirted with the collar of her dress.
I sprang to my feet, ignoring the soreness and pinching throughout my body.
There were too many to count. If I let myself falter, then I would crumple into a pile.
I lunged for the back of her dress, pure, unadulterated fury driving me forth.
The echoing snap of Piper’s neck rang in my memory.
Just as I plunged my arm through the bars, Vaner yanked her forward, pulling her out of my reach. Iron shoved against my breast and arm, stopping me. I pulled back and gripped the thick bars the size of my wrist. Breaths pumped from my lips, pluming into fog.
Drusilla collected herself, brushing at the bottom of her tailored black gown.
“My,” she mused, unimpressed, raking her gaze over my face. “Such anger.”
I shoved aside Branwen’s bloodied cloak to untangle it from my legs. It snagged, and I yanked it harshly.
“Where’s Piper?” I croaked, soreness radiating through my throat.
“Let us get rid of her. We can send out a newspaper discussing how she was one of the casualties,” Drusilla insisted.
Casualties of what?
“Have you not heard?” Vaner murmured, eyeing me with too much smugness. “His Highness has taken ill from the Hollow Plague. It swept through the House of Lords.” Vaner tsked, shaking his head as he tugged the sleeve of his simple ivory tunic.
“I am speaking to you, Edor! Do not jest. I know you have struck some bargain with the Alchemist to study the Elysian Pair.”
“Now, come, Drusilla,” Vaner said in response, pinching her chin and lifting her face. “We can discuss this tonight. We have many things to set in order.”
She swayed toward him, and with her angled position, I could not see her expression. Vaner curled his arm around her waist and guided her out, murmuring to her in a cajoling tone. Their steps turned faint until only the plink of a leak somewhere in the cell remained.
Torches lined the opposite wall, spaced about a pace apart. The flickering flames played along the dips of the stone. The same large, gray stones I stood on made up every surface.
A squeak brought my attention down to the iron cage braced across from my cell. Within it was Piper, her body writhing into the sawdust covering the bottom. I squeezed the bars harder.
Chittering sounds continued coming from her, but there were no words in my head.
I did not feel her. Pressing a hand to my chest, I struggled to draw breaths in. That familiar warmth was utterly gone. Not even a sliver remained.
“Piper, talk to me,” I begged. The small cage she was in was directly within my view, and it told me it hadn’t been an accident. Was it a kindness or were they driving the shard in deeper?
“Piper?” I whispered.
The ferret did not turn to me. Instead, she continued to nibble on a piece of sawdust. She had never done that. And I knew, without a doubt, that what made Piper her was gone. Obliterated by a snap.
I sagged, clinging to the bars and struggling to breathe.
She truly was gone. She was gone, yet I was still here. An impossibility that was somehow my reality. My hands shook.
It was all his fault.
I had yet to look at him, but now I did.
He lay on his side, facing me, unconscious. A chain connected to one of his ankles was attached to the stone wall. Blood still stained his mouth and streaks lined his face where it had traveled downward and dried.
He didn’t deserve such peace.
I crouched and collected a handful of dust mixed with a few stones. Drawing my arm back, I threw with my entire might. The rain of falling dust and rocks hitting iron cascaded through the cells.
“Get up!” I shouted, lunging at the bars that separated me from him.
No tears came despite the pressure of a pulsing throb that stretched to my temples. Cassiel sprang upright like the rising dead. He hissed, favoring his side while blinking with effort. His eyes widened, and he whipped his head toward me.
“Mortal.”
The relief that coated his voice roused my ire.
He had no right to be relieved. With much more effort than he used ordinarily, he climbed to his feet and staggered toward me, the chain screeching across the ground.
That look on his face . . . a clash of concern and relief as he stood before the bars and reached through.
“This is your fault.” I slapped his hand away. He flinched, but I did not move my glare. “You are why she’s not responding to me. Why I cannot hear her.” My voice rose a few octaves. Cassiel’s jaw bunched. “Why did you not believe me?”
He remained silent, but reached through the bars again. His hand spanned my cheek, and he swiped a thumb across the swell of my cheekbone.
“Why did you not believe me?” This time, I couldn’t stop the begging edge in my voice. Cassiel continued staring at me.
Piper was gone.
My knees gave out.
“Why?” I sobbed, curling forward over my thighs. Hard stone pressed against my knees. I shuddered, attempting to smother the gasps refusing to ease.
Cassiel placed his palm on my head. I did not have the strength to shove him away. Without saying a word, he combed fingers through my hair.
I hated how much I wanted to lean into his touch.
A sob burst free, and it hurt my sore throat.
Pain expanded in my chest as if it could explode through my cloak and gown to become a tangible thing.
But it remained inside me, festering suffocatingly.
All the while, Cassiel continued to touch me, and selfishly, I stayed still, closing my eyes as the contact calmed the tumultuous grief.
The sound of approaching footsteps echoing off stone lifted my head. I blinked with effort, the lids crusted shut. Rubbing at them cleared my vision in time to see the shadowed figure. Not until the person reached the torches did I make out who it was.
“Eliza,” I breathed, pushing to my feet.
She came forward, her stride uneven as she favored her leg. Her gown was in the tan shade ordained for all redblood servants. Having worn the very gowns before, I knew how itchy the fabric felt.
I crossed the cell to the corner where she approached. She gingerly crouched and set a small bundle wrapped in an ivory cloth just outside of the cell, then took a different, similarly wrapped item that had been left there. Tension lined her face until, at last, she looked up.
“Eliza,” I whispered. “You have to help me.”
Her features remained stiff, as if she had not heard my plea.
She retreated to Piper’s small cage and unwrapped the bundle she’d taken, exposing a loaf. She tore the stale bread in halves, sliding the pieces through the thin slits.
“They took my wraithling,” I blurted. Eliza hesitated, her back still to me. “Drusilla snapped her neck.” I squeezed my shaking hand into a fist.
She did not move for one beat, then two, then she began to leave, not bothering to respond to me.
“Why do you do nothing?” Accusation spilled into my voice, and it was what was needed to get her to turn.
She pierced me with a glare. “Because,” she snapped. “I am not stupid.”
A vibrating thud shook the bars I held. I gasped, pulling away from them.
Both of us turned toward Cassiel, pacing the edge of the cell like a caged beast, the clink of the chain stretched as far as it would let him, placing him one pace away from the bars.
At the angle he stood, he could reach his arms out and grasp the bars.
“Speak like that to her again. I dare it,” he threatened.
Eliza swiped the back of her trembling hand across her mouth and turned away from him.
“I will not end up like you.” She looked at Piper and at me in the same sweep. “You do that by keeping your head down.”
Even though I hated it, I also understood why she went along with this, but all this hatred toward what we were—it wasn’t how it should be. The Lore of Old had said as much.
“I understand you are scared,” I whispered. “But they will keep us like this unless we fight.”
She stared at me for a few beats then turned, her steps echoing farther and farther.
That uneven gait. It was similar to mine.
All of it—all of this—was too much. Issues upon issues compounded, splitting me open and leaving me raw. If I did not release this pressure building in me, I would break. So I fixated on her stride.
The night of the ball, Cassiel had discovered me with Egan. He hadn’t known I’d just taken the grimoire. If he had caught me with it, it would have meant everything was over.
The sneaking, the searching, the escape. All of it would have been over because I let him find me. So I shoved it in Egan’s coat. I would not have touched Egan if I had known how viciously Cassiel would react.
All of this had not been necessary. Cassiel cared for me. In his twisted, maddened way, he did. It enraged me further knowing it all could have been avoided. Eliza had always had a limp, but I never believed Cassiel had anything to do with it.
Now, I did not know what to think. Nor feel.
“Did you fuck her too?” I asked, tone dull.
“What?” he asked harshly.
He approached slowly, as if every movement caused pain.
“Did you fuck her so hard that you caused her limp too?” The vitriol spilled out like a lash. The irritation on his face made my certainty falter.
“No, mortal, I do not fuck redbloods. You know this.” His lips twitched at the corner. “Such jealousy is unnecessary—”
“Jealousy?” I interrupted, cocking my head to look at him. I slowly strode across the cell until I faced him with only the bars between us. “It is not jealousy. It is disgust.”
He flinched, but just as quickly he veiled it, then his arm was through the bars, grabbing my throat.
I lifted my chin, allowing him a better grip on my neck.
“Disgust that I had hope for a creature that cannot empathize. A monster that is better off dead.” The corners of his mouth tightened at the word monster.
I closed my eyes, waiting for the coming blow, but the hard grip on my neck didn’t tighten as I wanted. Meeting his stare again, there was only contemplation.
His features softened, and his thumb curled up to rub against the bottom of my chin. “I would never harm you.”
It took me a moment to grasp his phrase, then I laughed.
“By Saints, I wonder what ‘harm’ means to you if what you have done so far does not qualify it.” Another chuckle escaped.
“Cassiel. I have faced many injustices. I have faced hatred simply for what I am. Simply for the blood running through my veins. Simply for a small creature born alongside me. All because of what?” Nothing but lies and fear the council spewed. And Cassiel had not believed in me.
Nothing made sense anymore. Why was I here—alive? I squeezed my hands into fists until my knuckles popped.
“Why am I not dead?” Cassiel did not speak, did not react.
He offered me nothing. “A redblood cannot survive without their wraithling,” I choked out, rubbing my breastbone.
I could not bring myself to look at the animal huddled away that did not behave like Piper.
If she was gone . . . and I was here. “You have the necromancy gift.” I could barely get the words out.
He gripped the bars between us, allowing me to see his knuckles flexing.
I lunged to grab the front of his tunic. “You are why I still live.” He must have used his gift to bring me back to life.
His harsh glower softened into something akin to pity.
“Please, Cassiel.” I yanked his palm against my neck. “Just end it.”
Let me join Piper.
His fingertips pinched my skin. He studied me, so still, so painfully still.
“No.”
With that simple response, he decided my life, just as every facet had always been decided for me.
Grief threatened to consume me whole.
A muscle in the side of his cheek jumped. His hard grip softened, and the pad of his thumb softly rubbed against my lips.
Redbloods never lived long. It was rare when we reached a fortieth annum, but he so easily brushed me off. As he always did. He did not see me as anything more than my designation.
“I hope you die.”
Cassiel recoiled, grip going limp, and I easily slid free, giving him my back.
Only a few dawnlight rotations ago, I had been in a gilded cage. Now it had become a literal one. My fickle urges wanted to touch the harsh edges of his face.
I slid my hands through my hair and gripped fistfuls until my scalp pinched.