Chapter 15
In the Dark Days, we were all prey for the Monster.”
I was eight years old when my instructor told me that.
She painted scenes of spoil and horror, where a terrible beast prowled among men and attacked the easiest prey—children and homeless beggars—while a corrupt figurehead sat idly by, letting his people suffer with pieces of greed glittering around his neck.
He had the means to end his people’s agony, and yet he chose to do nothing.
“It was a society heading for disaster,” Miss Dolores said. “Until thirteen holy saviors from another land found us in chaos.”
I remember her describing the Guardians as stronger and faster than regular humans: their skin harder, their teeth sharper, their bones less breakable. They were the only ones who had the physical ability to fight the Monster, and fight him they did.
When our ancestors witnessed the Guardians vanquish what their leader wouldn’t and build the Wall to protect the city for good, they called for a new government. One with thirteen thrones instead of one.
“It was a tragedy when the Thirteenth Guardian perished in the war that followed,” Miss Dolores said, and I remember several of my peers and I hanging our heads to mimic her apparent sorrow.
“But it was a war that was necessary. You see, the current leader at the time didn’t want to give up his place in the Blood Moon Palace, so he sent all his remaining loyalists to fight the Guardians. ”
“Fight the Guardians?” one of my classmates exclaimed in shock.
“Yes. But nobody can fight the Holy Guardians and win,” Miss Dolores warned.
“As is evidenced by the fact that our current Twelve only lost one of their own while the leader at the time lost everything. So the Twelve tossed away his crown and established the superior society we have today, with the Monster forever locked outside of our safety bubble.”
First there was corruption, death, and the Monster. Then there were the Guardians who saved us—with Rules and a uniform society. That’s all I’ve ever known.
Now, I utter the single word that will give me more.
Yes.
Yes, I want to know.
Even if I still can’t fully trust the Monster, I want to learn what he thinks is the truth. I want to hear his perspective from the other side of the Wall.
Lucan sighs, but not as if he’s tired. It sounds like he’s reeling in one long breath to prepare himself. Or me.
The Guardians didn’t come upon a city of chaos, Saskia. They came upon a kingdom of peace—and realized how much they could benefit from controlling and consuming it.
In the mirror still propped up against my wall, I catch sight of my forehead furrowing in confusion.
What do you mean by consuming? They don’t eat us if that’s what you—
No, but they do drink your blood, right? Lucan’s voice pinches as if such a thing disgusts him.
Only the Chosen Ones, I say quickly, pedaling backward to sit on the edge of my bed. But it doesn’t kill them. It’s supposed to be an honor, to give sustenance to the beings who protect us from… well…
Me, Lucan says.
Yes. You.
Even as I say it, a sheepish blush warms up my cheeks.
The more I think about it, the more it all seems rather disproportionate.
If the Wall is as strong as they say it is, it should keep the Monster out regardless of whether the Guardians get blood from their Chosen Ones.
And while the Monster hasn’t actually bitten into anyone in living memory, the Guardians bite into someone new every blood moon.
That’s because unlike the parasites who stole my throne, I would only bite you if it would bring you pleasure, Lucan growls. Not to take your very source of life.
I jolt in bed, and not just because of what he said about biting.
Your throne?
Yes, my throne, Saskia. Possessiveness slides into Lucan’s voice, gripping my mind like a vice.
It was not a human who ruled the kingdom from that palace before the Guardians—it was what you’d call a Monster.
Only back then, his people didn’t fear him like you do me. Back then, they called him king.
Chills filter down my spine as if the Monster is howling. But it’s quiet outside my window, because the Monster is in my head, listening to my thoughts spin as loudly as my own heartbeat.
King, I repeat and lower my head onto my pillow.
Like jewelry, the word is only vaguely familiar, as if I learned it once long ago and never heard of it again.
But yes, king was the word that Miss Dolores used to describe the figurehead of the Dark Days.
I just never imagined that king was anything like Lucan—not lazy or greedy, but full of intelligence and rage.
Back then, Lucan continued, we had a wall made of wood surrounding the kingdom, not to keep out actual Monsters, but to keep out the wild animals of the forest—cougars and bears and…
wolves. He pauses on that last word, but keeps going before I can question why.
There were no Choosings or Chosen Ones because my grandfather didn’t need to take anything away from anyone else to rule.
It was a flourishing kingdom, and people were happy. There wasn’t any suffering.
His grandfather? It’s a good thing I’m already lying down in bed, because I feel faint. If his grandfather was the king from five hundred years ago, then that would make him…
A wicked laugh. For simplicity’s sake, let’s say I’m twenty-five. That would be about the human equivalent. But I’ve been circling this wretched Wall for a lot longer than that.
My head spins harder. If Lucan is telling the truth, then that means everything we’ve ever learned about the Monster is a lie. He doesn’t prowl around Xantera because he’s starved for meat and bone; he does so because it’s his lost kingdom. Or, at least, his ancestor’s lost kingdom.
Exactly, he growls now. When the Guardians came, my grandfather was ripped away from his people and forced to watch as they turned our wall of wood into stone.
Then he was killed, and my father and his family were forced to flee outside the Wall while the Guardians kept everyone else on the inside like cattle to be bred and slaughtered.
And when my father died, he passed it down to me: the mission to tear down the Wall so we can take back our throne and vanquish the real Monsters.
The real Monsters as in them. The Twelve Guardians.
I massage the bridge of my nose where my freckles are, not knowing what to believe.
On the one hand, part of Lucan’s story clicks into place in my brain, filling in the gaps I’ve been taught never to peer too closely at.
On the other, I can’t forget that I’m talking to the Monster—at least the kind I’ve always known.
Whatever he is, he’s not human, and he could be lying to me, spinning a story to get me on his side so that I’ll do his bidding. Perhaps to lure me closer to him.
Clever woman, Lucan says, his tone a mixture of appreciation and impatience. Not believing what you’re told immediately. I’m surprised they ever managed to beat all that curiosity and suspicion out of you.
They didn’t beat anything out of me, I snap back, for some reason irked that his praise sends tingles down my belly. There is no violence here. We aren’t being slaughtered like you think we are.
There is no violence that you see, Lucan corrects. There is no slaughtering that you know of.
I think I’d know if my own neighbors were being killed.
What about the Chosen Ones, then? he retorts immediately. They cease to be your neighbors as soon as they’re dragged into that palace. I caught that much from my limited connection with Diggory.
The Chosen Ones are given a lifetime of comfort and ease until the day they pass of old age, I force out, although the words sound regurgitated even to my own ears. They only sacrifice their blood so that the Guardians can continue to protect us, and it isn’t painful.
Oh yeah? I can practically feel Lucan’s angry smirk. Then why do the Chosen Ones stop coming to the balcony after a few years? Why does Diggory think his daughter is dead?
The words slam into my chest and stop my heart in its racing track.
After all this time of suppressing that secret curled against my heart, it’s threatening to rise to the surface once again.
Tears spring in my eyes, and I grit my teeth in an attempt to smother the secret before Lucan can sense it and use it against me.
What do you want from me, Monster?
I feel him wince at the name, but I don’t care.
I need him to get to the point, because as much as I’d love to think otherwise, I know his attention must have a deeper purpose.
He can call me beautiful all he wants, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m a means to an end for him.
Diggory couldn’t give him what he needs, so he’s turned his sights to the next person who picked up the necklace. Me.
A quick spark of emotions flares through our connection, but it’s gone too quickly for me to catch hold of it. Whatever Lucan feels in response to those thoughts of mine, he’s able to suppress it with ease.
Only someone from the inside can open the Wall, he croons, and then his howl erupts from outside my window.
I suck in a breath as the same noise echoes in my own mind, wishing I could hate the overlapping of sounds the same way I hate Malcolm’s chewing and snoring. Instead, I find myself only wanting to sink into it, to bathe in goosebumps forever.
He stops all too soon, though, and I find my thighs clenching together as his voice whispers through my mind, like his mouth is pressed right up against my ear.
What do I want from you, little nightmare? A dark, heavy pause hovers between his words. I want you to let me in.
Today is one of the rare days that I don’t feel like healing.
No, that’s not true. I’d still want to be a healer. I just wish I was the healer who was running these tests and studying Odette’s blood under a microscope.
Then I’d be more in control over this situation.