Page 33 of Nocte
“You’re shaking. Are you cold?” Day’s frustration has turned to concern. He grabs my forearm and steers me toward the hearth at the front of the chamber—or, he tries to. Something happens the second his fingers make contact with the fabric of my sleeve. It’s like I’m electrified—struck by lightning like the bell tower is during a particularly fierce storm. Jolted. I trip over my feet and crash into a shelf, knocking books off their perches and sending a teeth-grinding pain through my shoulder.
He shouts in alarm, Day does—but I barely hear him. I can’t hear him. All I can see is a creature molded from the shadows, threatening to descend. I shake my head. I’d plead with him aloud if my voice worked.Don’t. Please.
And somehow… The shadow stills and fades back into the darkness.
“You’re ill.” Day’s tone carries a knowing dip in inflection. As if my pale presence confirms a deep-seated fear. As if he finally realized that I’m broken and might corrupt him with my taint. He steps back, and it hurts. I don’t know why it does.
The vamryre leaves me in disgust, and I hate him.
Day cringes from me and alarm, and it hurts me.
“I’m sorry. I’m fine,” I rasp. My right hand won’t stop stroking my left shoulder. It aches and aches. My eyes water if I touch it. It burns if I don’t.
Still, I push the pain deep, deep down and smile.
Day is at ease again. He steps out into the main chamber and beckons for me to follow. We’re at our familiar corner within seconds, and all should be well again. Should be. His visits bring me such pleasure—at any other time. When he isn’t in danger. When I’m not gritting my teeth in agony. When a bloodthirsty creature isn’t watching us from the shadows, leeching anger and bitterness into the air.
Unconcerned, Day heads to the nearest bookshelf—the one that contains his favorite volumes. He picks up a well-worn leather book, a different one than the other day.
“Read to me?” He asks, or rather, demands.
But it is a request I always fulfill so happily without question. When a monster isn’t near, hungry for me, seething that his meal was cut short.
“Of course.” I take his preferred book like I always do and flip it open to the first page. Then I read. I try to. My voice is a croak, but I try so very hard to.
Luckily, Day doesn’t notice or care. He gets his story told in a halting, hesitant near-whisper. Even so, he nods, content.
When I finish, I return the volume to its proper shelf. Then I face Day. Smile.
He doesn’t leave. Instead, he leans against a bookshelf and watches me. He lingers. It’s the first time he’s done this. My fingers tremble as I trace the spine of another book. Wait for him to speak.
“I’ve noticed that you’ve been distracted lately,” he finally says, his disappointment clear. Suddenly, my heart hurts more than my shoulder. I’ve upset him. All my fault.
“I’m sorry?—”
“I think I know why.” He tilts his head to eye me solemnly, his hands clasped at his front. The stance is so similar to Lord Master’s that I blink. At the pinnacle of youth, it’s like Day has morphed into an elder overnight. Then his half-smile returns, and the illusion is shattered. He is still my almost, not really sibling. We are blood again.
“I’m sure you heard the rumors.” His tone is a prompt, but I don’t know the correct answer. What to say? What to say?
I stammer. “Rumors?”
He nods, a red eyebrow raised in suspicion. Or is he merely skeptical? “About the ceremony.”
Ceremony. Ah, that ceremony. The one the Lord Master hinted about. The one Caspian claimed I would attend. The centennial anniversary of the only order our society has ever known.
“The ceremony.” I nod.
Day’s brows furrow. Wrong. I’ve given him an incorrect answer. “Perhaps I misunderstood.” He starts to leave without uttering his customary goodbye. It’s not that he’s angry, but that he’s stuck in his head, much like I am. But why? Over what?
Suddenly, he stops. Spins, the edges of his robes swishing out in an emerald wave behind him.
“The book you were reading,” he says. “The other day. I’m sure you know.”
My cheeks flame. I can’t breathe, and the shame has nothing to do with the taboo topic tucked away on that very back shelf. It’s because of who is here to hear it. My filthy indiscretion. That, more than anything, has caught the vamryre’s interest. I can feel him listening, hunting for any topic to use against me.
“I… I was returning it,” I rasp.
Day frowns. Then he sighs. “I am ascending early on the centennial.”