Chapter Thirty-Seven The Nova #2
A golden mask with wings by the ears, bronzy hands covering the eyes, with a patronly halo above.
The costume had wings tucked around the shoulders, crossing in front of the chest. The rest was finely tailored and embroidered with golden beads that flickered in the firelight.
Black gloves covered the hands, metallic claws capping the fingers.
Behind him, six more wings, a horaltic pose as they postured themselves out.
I stayed put.
We were trapped in a stalemate, neither one of us willing to make any more moves. By now the game was tired, the push and pull beginning to fray the rope between us at last.
He hesitated—I would remember that.
He sidestepped, moving along the fire, clownish theatrical players dancing around him as if he weren’t the maestro to this orchestration.
As he grew closer, those final instincts of self-preservation kicked in.
A twist in my stomach that wanted me to run, that recognized a predator’s advance.
He stopped before me, toe to toe.
I looked to the fire, his wings translucent and littered with small specks of light.
The gloved hand cupped my face.
I turned my head, but I kept my eyes down.
His shadow obscured the light, my body cold where it didn’t reach.
“Will you not look at me, sweet Iris?” he pleaded, but it was not a kindness afforded by any sincerity. It was the kindness of a man who wanted something.
“Will you see me, Beast?” I finally looked at him.
I couldn’t see his eyes behind the faux-gilt hands that covered them, perhaps a subconscious guilt that had led to his choice of mask.
“I do,” he said.
“Yet you keep me here.”
“You came here voluntarily.” He brushed his hand along my arm. “Most would fight to be where you are now, the opportunity at your fingertips, on the tip of your tongue”—he leaned close, a slight smirk—“so close you could taste it.”
“I want to go home.”
“You know your options,” he hummed, taking my hand in his and pulling me as he walked backward toward the edge of the camp.
I bit my tongue.
“You would no longer feel things like hunger or thirst, sadness or grief, death or decay. There is no need for that when you’re here.” He walked me through the trees, a short path.
The tree line opened up to a long cliff.
“I could show you everything. Every wonder that has ever existed, every question you’ve ever had—I can show you, teach you,” he said, a joyous smile when he turned back to me, pulling me closer to the ledge.
Water sloshed below. The black surface reflected like onyx. Yet there was no litter, no sign that humans had ever desecrated it. It smelled earthy, somewhat reminiscent of decay. Salty air swept against my lips. The wind was so harsh it made me miss an inhale.
Off in the distance was blackness.
Then, a light.
First it was an arc, a wavering glow over the horizon as it rose. Soon it revealed a ring in the sky, an eclipse.
“There is nothing in that world that is worth it,” he said breathlessly, his face tipped toward the sky.
I stared at him, then at the wonder before us.
He squeezed my hand and looked back at me.
I turned to him, and he prepared for an embrace. He placed his hands on my waist.
But I reached for his mask, slipping it backward off his head, and my hands cupped his cheek.
“I can’t stay with you,” I said.
The iridescent glow of his eyes was a little brighter, searching my face for my reason.
“What is there for you in that world that I can’t give you?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he held me close.
“Humanity,” I said.
He blinked, a frustrated sigh as he looked off.
“Why was I created for this bargain?” I asked. “My purpose.”
“I did not lie when I told you my intentions,” he said, his voice firm, assertive. “I have tried for many years to pass. Hundreds of failed protégés, thousands of bargains, and you were the first strong enough to let me pass through.”
“What was supposed to happen after?” The words were brave. A small part of me didn’t want to know.
“You”—he brushed the hair from my face, an attempt at comfort before those next treacherous words—“were supposed to take my place.”
It was like my body went numb.
All that time convincing me he wasn’t out for anything, all that time helping me find a way to get here. He was just watching a mouse walk right into the trap.
“So this is why I cannot leave?” I pulled away from him. “All this time you knew, and you still let me believe you were protecting me.”
“You were upsetting a balance that must be paid.”
“This entire time you were trying to convince me you could be good for me, dare I say, hold some sort of love for me.” I spat the word, as if the taste caused great offense to my tongue.
“I did not lie.”
“Then why? Get it over with!” I swept my hand over the landscape. The abyss surrounded us. “Leave me in the Otherside! Go!”
“You did change my mind”—his voice now changed, distorting—“however, we cannot exist in your world together. But we can both exist in mine.”
My heart thrummed like a hive. “You are a selfish beast! You would never be able to understand what it is to be a person, a real person. You are a parasite.”
“You belong to me, not them!” he seethed, pointing to his chest. Now I could see that his eyes were glassy, his head shaking with rage.
A couple of strands of midnight-black forelock whipped in front of his face.
“You do not know your own potential, and you will never live up to that greatness, your creation, in that world.”