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Castor hums. “I did not bring you by my collection. Would you like a tour now of my lonely home of statues?”
“Absolutely not. That doesn’t sound age appropriate.”
I’m on something soft. I can feel my clothes, just like I can feel the pressure in my skull, the sand streaming through an hourglass in my ears. The scarf I was wearing seems to have been tied around my head…so since I doubt Castor would take that precaution, Andromeda must be in a place that can reach me. We haven’t been separated.
She sounds okay.
“Age appropriate…” Castor murmurs somewhere deeper in whatever room he has us in. “Pollux truly has raised you in tame waters. Let’s play a game.”
“What are you doing?” Andromeda whispers.
“She’s awake,” Castor says.
My heart jerks—cold, hard fear running like ice into my veins.
Andromeda’s voice hardens, impenetrable. “Mrs. Role, he’s taken his blindfold off. Keep your eyes closed in case he takes your scarf off.”
“Please. Would I really do something terrible like that?” Castor chuckles. “I can say it’s nice to have a role reversal now and again, isn’t it, Mrs. Role?”
Cautiously, limbs trembling, I dare to sit up on what might very well be a bed. I’m not bound in any way, so I lift my hands and tighten the scarf. “Why did you bring us here?”
“I only needed Andromeda. You refused to separate yourself from her. But, well, it’s still all working out in the end, isn’t it? Clever of you to call Pollux through the cracks in my barrier. How silly of me to put them there…no?”
Stomach swirling, I feel my way across the comforter, toward Andromeda’s voice and a dip in the mattress. I find her, and her small hand grips mine. I ask, “Why did you need Andromeda?”
“Because she has a little bit of your magic on her, doesn’t she? Shame she’s buried it in her body, isn’t it?” Sounding entirely unbothered, Castor says, “Alas, alas, my plans surely aren’t going as smoothly as I hoped, are they?”
The phrasing prickles somewhere deep in me, raising all sorts of red flags. “Why are you speaking in questions?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Is this exactly going to plan?”
“Are you suggesting that I, after centuries and centuries of existence, made a plan involving one of the two people I know best in this entire world, and it’s going exactly how I expected? Now, don’t be silly, child. I have said already I did not mean to bring you. That is a deviance from the plan in and of itself. However…you could use this opportunity, if you so desire.”
So. This is going exactly to plan, and depending on his definition of opportunity, I don’t know if I should even be asking. “What do you mean?”
“You could end this. You could be strong enough to take Andromeda away with you. You could slice open the world and step through to wherever you want. You are capable of bending reality and creating your own personal trods. The only thing stopping you is the human parts you cling to. Your salvation from my grasp is accepting that you are meant to be fae. Your salvation is casting off the burden of your humanity.”
“Burden?” I hiss. “What makes you think my humanity has been a burden?”
“Because,” he murmurs, “I’ve been watching you since shortly after Andromeda found you and Cael’s betrayal came to light. Humans love to share poetic stories about what makes them human. They love to pretend it’s their desire for connection, or their capacity for love. Do you know what really makes a human, human?”
“I’m sure you have a definition that doesn’t align with mine.”
“Likely. Unlike you, I have not found myself inundated with the propaganda of humanity’s glorious conquests. Humans are mistakes bound together with selfishness. Every sacrifice you have made to fit into the community stems from a deep-seated desire to be accepted. To want acceptance is greed. Humanity is wicked. It is humanity’s need for salvation that makes it human. Therefore, to be human is a burden that someone must bear.”
His words roll over in my brain as I attempt to ease the unfamiliar panic in my heart. “That’s…an oddly Christian point of view, Castor.”
“There’s too much guilt associated with that term for my liking. Christianity in this modern world too often has become a lifestyle of sanctified judgment beneath the banner of the One who says I am judge. Damnation never changed the heart. Fear of punishment leads to actions based only on preservation. Preservation, at its core, is selfish. Yet again, the human nature reigns supreme. It is why your Scriptures say unto death you are loved and only into death can you accept that love.”
Maybe it’s just the horrible headache crawling up my neck and beating a drum into my ears, but it is getting harder for me to be upset with Castor. Which, of course, is a simple enough thing for someone well-versed in manipulation to achieve. Believing truths doesn’t mean he abides by them.
“Anyway,” Castor murmurs, “the point is, you lose nothing by accepting what you actually are and getting rid of your humanity. It may not save your soul on some cosmic scale, if that is what you believe, but it will free it from the burden of many appearances. At the very least, the fae are more upfront about their sins.”
“And,” I mutter, “as a bonus, I could get us out of here, right?”
“Precisely.”
