21. Lucy #2
If I strain, I can make out the chancellor’s footsteps retreating and the growing clack, clack of Ignatius’s feet. I inch myself back from the bars, trying to keep the chains from making a godsawful racket, and lie on the cold stone floor in the position I woke and pretend to be unconscious.
I swear if Ignatius cared to, he’d be able to hear my heartbeat whacking against my ribs.
Cold water splashes my body. I yelp as it sinks into my already chilled muscles and pull myself upright.
“Pleasant as ever, Father.”
But he’s not in the mood for talk. His jaw is swelling, the hint of a purple hue blushing under his stubble. He’ll have to magically cover that, or it will be obvious in a couple of hours.
“You’re going to help me take control of this city, rebuild my reputation and then we’re going to get rid of Arcadius once and for all.”
“I see we’ve dropped the doting father act already.”
He glowers at me. “Do I need to remind you that I am very willing to make this harder for you? Help me and I’ll locate you to better quarters. Help me again and I’ll see about some luxuries and even some freedoms eventually. Make it difficult and I will be decidedly less benevolent.”
He calls a dank cell and chains benevolent? He’s more deluded than I realised. I’ll need to play this carefully. I want to know how much he knows about me and the runes covering my body.
“How exactly do you propose I help you? I’m trapped in a cell with no demon magic.”
He sneers, as if I’m ignorant and the answer is the most obvious thing in the world.
“It’s not your demon magic I want, darling. It never was.”
I frown, my brow creasing as I scan his features. I always thought they were the kind of cold that screamed cruel. His jaw cuts like blades and weapons, his hair is as dark as a void. He should be handsome; instead he’s cold and vicious.
“Then what is it you seem to think I can help you with?”
His smile grows so severe it sends a shiver down my spine and my feet scrambling back.
“Oh, it’s rather easy. You need to be a good girl and sit there while I slowly strip you of your power.”
I shake my head. “I don’t have any power.”
He laughs. It’s thick and booming and makes the iron bars shudder. It’s a blatant lie; I’m not fooling him. I would have blown in the apartment if it weren’t for him cuffing me and dousing the magic.
What I want to understand is how much he knows about my runes, and more specifically, how they work. Not that he’d give me anything that would help me, not if it jeopardises what he wants.
My arms hum and vibrate and then fall quiet in a cycle. Like the runes are brimming to life trying to join the fight only to be suppressed by the cuffs all over again.
The room glows, light emanating from my body as entropy moths burst into existence.
“What are you doing?” I say, backing away from him as the moths coalesce and form a funnel, the peak of its spiral aimed right at me.
“Ignatius?” I yell this time, unable to hide the coiling in my gut.
“You don’t have any power?” Ignatius asks, only it’s rhetorical. He continues his tirade. “My love, all you are is power. Pure. Unadulterated. Power. You are more than me, or Architecti. You are more than Arcadius. Fuck, you are probably more than all of us put together. Such a waste.”
More?
“What are you talking about?”
He sighs, and flicks dust off his suit.
“Once your contract was broken, all that was left of you was the raw power that made you.”
That much I’d already figured out, but I don’t interrupt him. I need to see how much he’ll give. There’s nothing a narcissist loves more than the stage with an audience willing to listen.
“You are a rare agreement between a celestial and a demon. We carved pieces of ourselves into this covenant-deal, and we formed a power beyond even our comprehension. You are everything I could have dreamed of, the perfect daughter. And now I’m going to use you in order to fix this city, fix my reputation and rid myself of Arcadius once and for all. ”
I have to clamp my teeth together to stop them from chattering. My fingers have gone cold at the realisation that my father’s ego, his drive for power and prestige will always surpass his love for me.
Maybe there never was any love there.
My chest cracks and my heart breaks. I want to stifle the hurt, but it spills between my lips in a sob as I realise my father loves status more than he loves me.
The memories of sitting by the Veil entrance on a full moon and making up stories about the shades. Or the way he would clap and cheer when I’d bring him scrolls I’d scribbled on, stating they were deals I’d struck.
All of those shatter and dissolve. It was all a lie. He wasn’t caring for me or nurturing me. He was protecting his asset.
“So what? You’re just going to harvest me until there’s nothing left?”
He shrugs as if that’s the most sensible thing I’ve suggested.
“You sick fuck,” I spit.
But the hate seems to fuel him, and his features twist into a snarl as he waves his hands and the moth swarm blooms bigger.
“It’s just a little bit of power, baby girl. And you have so much. I’m only taking a little…”
He swipes his hand through the air and the moths dart across the cell in my direction.
I scream and swipe at them. But it’s futile. My runes flare so bright I have to shield my eyes and then they die just as fast, unable to break the bonds of the cuffs.
I’ve never been afraid of moths. I love them. But as they drive towards me, it’s an attack. They’re not normal entropy moths. These are designed to stab and scrape and slice. They fly towards my chest and pummel into me vanishing inside my body.
I wail and writhe on the floor, ripping and scratching at my skin to get them out. An orb of light grows in the centre of my chest. Heat radiates from between my ribs and a blinding pain sears through every cell in my body.
It rips.
And slices.
And shreds.
And then the moths are flowing out of my chest and hurtling towards Ignatius. They are no longer dark little creatures. They’re suns and stars and the brightest insects I’ve ever seen. They blossom and twinkle and burn their way across the cell, scattering crumbs of light and power in their wake.
The last thing I see before I give up to the darkness is Ignatius’s mouth distending unnaturally low as he consumes them. His throat, then his chest glows as the moths dissolve inside him, and he stands a little straighter, a little bolder.
And then there’s nothing.