Chapter 15: Crumbling - Hunger & Harmony

Maybe he’s a good friend. Or maybe Ezren is just sick of my moping when he flops onto the couch next to me. His blond curls are damp, and he smells like cucumber soap.

“Hey,” he says, adding a little wave for good measure.

All I can muster is a half-smile in response.

Awkward isn’t the right word. Tense is better, but still not enough to describe the past two days. Niko locked himself away and made it abundantly clear that only Arteria can enter his room on the bus.

“You doing okay?”

I’m halfway through shrugging when I’m smushed into a hug.

“Cadence! This is weird,” he whines. “Where’s Little Miss Sunshine?”

“She’s a bit more of a rain cloud right now,” I mumble into his shoulder.

Ezren pulls back, his face scrunched in worry as he grasps my shoulders.

“Is it Sancte Noctis?” His brows slide together earnestly. “I know it’s intimidating, but we’ll protect you. You’re not the only human, either.”

I wish I could tell him yes. Maybe I should be more concerned about the city shrouded in mystery and blood. Instead, I’m tending to the wound on my heart.

Only Selene knows. She found me not long after Niko left, bloody lip and all. I didn’t have to tell her anything; she just helped me back to the bus. As Niko keeps his distance, Selene’s silent presence has been grounding. Comforting. Clearly, no one looped Ezren in, and I can only hope Ryel will never be able to hold this over my head.

“Well . . .”

I slump in his grasp.

“Everyone’s wiped, but this is the last stop,” Ezren says, his assurance only worsening my heartache.

Because he’s right. This is the last city, and the tour will end. No more excuses to be this close. No more traveling or opportunities to stay by Niko’s side.

Maybe no more reason to have me around.

If my contract isn’t flat-out canceled, I already know the distance between us will widen. I’ll be kept busy in other ways. He’s already making that a reality.

“Why’re you crying?”

Snapped out of my spiraling thoughts, Ezren’s pout is blurred by tears. I try to blink them away and only succeed at helping a few escape. Being a crybaby is so unfair.

“How long until we’re there?” I ask to try to shift the subject, rubbing my face with my sleeve.

Before Ezren can speak, a monotone voice answers from the table.

“Not long,” Cass says before he takes a sip of his black coffee. “We’re approaching Mount Umbra.”

I have to put aside my embarrassment that Cass witnessed my tears. After exchanging a look with Ezren, we then turn to the window, lifting the shade to have a look.

“Holy shit.”

We’re climbing higher than roads should allow. My stomach lurches, and I’m not even scared of heights.

Up into the jagged hush of Aurea’s spine, these barren mountains are said to be uninhabitable for humans. The sun hasn’t set, yet we’re swallowed by the mountain's shadow. Only dusk remains.

Etched into the ribs of ancient igneous and sedimentary layers, Sancte Noctis wasn’t meant to be found by those with a pulse. The temperature continues plummeting, vicious to my already red nose, and we’re not yet out in the dry air. A metallic taste gathers at the back of my throat; blood and limestone are synonymous.

Sancte Noctis doesn’t rise from the stone—it’s carved into it.

The bus slows, and beyond the glass, our bleak surroundings start to shimmer. Not sparkling, and not in a beautiful way. More like the heat off a blade.

“Glamour ward,” Ezren murmurs, almost to himself.

The gates we're moving towards weren’t there a moment ago.

They’re wrought iron, with threatening spikes fused into stone. It’s clear that no one uninvited gets in, but I wonder how anyone would get out. Gnarled trees sprout from cracks in the cliffs, their roots like veins.

This isn’t a city. It's an enclave built for concealment. There are no tourists, and definitely no fans.

“This doesn’t feel like a tour stop,” I say, and Ezren laughs dryly.

“I guess it’s not.” I meet his darkened eyes. “You're not gonna hear any cheers.”

All my worries lump in my throat.

We roll forward, entering the mouth of a beast. There’s only one winding path through the cragged slopes, and it’s barren. The monstrous structure up ahead doesn’t need a grand entrance. It looks down on us all on its own.

“Have you been here before?” I whisper to Ezren.

A ceremonial hush is only interrupted by the hum of the engine and tires over gravel. I fear that if I raise my voice in the slightest, there’ll be a price to pay.

“Many times,” he says before he quickly adds, “Not that it gets any easier.”

When we slow to a stop, the destination waits atop Mount Umber’s largest cleft. Even if I didn’t already know, nothing about Sancte Noctis feels mortal. It’s alive, but not in a way I recognize. Black spires pierce the empty sky, and I swear, the gargoyles perched above are watching.

Is this a castle or a cathedral? Does the distinction even matter to vampires?

My eyes scan the figures standing on the sweeping stone steps. Eight people lined at the bottom, tall and cloaked in oxblood cloaks. They wait, still as statues, with their focus trained on our bus. At least, that’s what I gather. I can’t see their faces within the hoods. I swallow hard.

“Everyone,” Niko says from behind. I didn’t notice him enter, but I hear the others shuffling into the main area. “The time has come. I go first, then the rest of Arteria, and everyone else last.”

I slowly turn to see the man who left me breathless and brokenhearted. That damned necklace I can’t bring myself to take off heats under my shirt, the guitar pick pulsing against my skin as I stare.

There’s no mistaking who he is. He wears his power in the form of an ivory crown. It’s smooth and dull, indistinguishable from bone. It has no jewels or embellishments. My teeth worry at my bottom lip, catching on the wound that’s still healing.

The black suit must’ve been tailored to be one with his body. I can only see the rich brocade of the shirt and intricate embroidery along his pants and structured coat when the light hits him just right. The all-black outfit is subtle. They know he doesn’t need gaudy announcements.

Behind the calculated opulence, I see his weariness so clearly. Who he really is, and how he actually feels. I wish I could enjoy that. Be petty and revel in his misery after how he left me. All it does is destroy my heart, and I hate every string of fate that leads me away from him.

I hadn’t noticed, but Ezren is dressed just as stiffly. Selene stands in a formal, sleek black dress, and Ryel is ready, too. Of course. This is where the Court watches most closely.

“Those underlings are waiting,” Ryel says after peering out the windows, glaring at the cloaked figures.

“Yes.”

Niko’s shoulders square. His features harden, all emotion being turned off in mere moments. Like a puppet, his body moves mechanically, walking another man’s rhythm off the bus.

I want to look away, but I can’t. I’m stuck watching as he strides towards Sancte Noctis. His home. His kingdom. Those underlings move in eerie synchronicity, flanking Niko as he ascends the steps to the imposing onyx doors.

It’s surreal knowing I’ll cross through them, too.

I catch Ezren’s knee bouncing again. Nudging him, I muster up an encouraging smile.

“You’ll be fine,” I say. “Many times, right?”

“Yeah.” His grin doesn’t reach his eyes. “What’s one more?”

Lorelai waves me over, and I’m not given time to watch the rest of Arteria file out. It’s now just me, her, and Cass, as they both openly scrutinize me.

When I glance down, I know sweatpants and a pajama shirt aren’t going to cut it.

“They have a lot of rules here,” Lorelai says, snatching my wrist before dragging me forward. “Let’s go over them.”

We move at warp speed, her hands working as fast as her mouth. Etiquette and standards go in one ear and right out of the other. I try to keep up, but I’m out of breath by the time she’s done with me, and I didn’t do much.

“And remember,” she says, pointing her pink stiletto nail at me. “Compliance, Cadence. Compliance! That’s rule number one.”

I salute her.

“Got it.”

Maybe I don’t, but I’m not as unsettled.

The dress helps. I feel like a princess, black chiffon flowing from the high-neck to the leather pumps Lorelai had me borrow. The back is open, and a sheer scarf tumbles over my bare shoulders down to the back of my legs. I haven’t worn this much black since New Lure. Lorelai also did my makeup and dabbed some of my cherry gloss on for good measure.

Am I worthy to stand in Niko’s shadow? At least I look like I belong.

I make sure to tuck the necklace under the fabric—something tells me I don’t want to draw that kind of attention.

Lorelai hurries to finish dressing, carefully placing a fascinator hat on as the final touch. With her pink hair twisted into a bun and the black veil obscuring her face, I hardly recognize her.

“Do I need one of those?” I ask.

She shakes her head, not bothering to respond as she shoos me forward and off the bus. I’m quick to stuff both of my phones into a black clutch.

Cass is waiting for us in his own formal wear. The air is thick with silence, not even the wind daring to interrupt. I crane my neck to take in the cathedral before us. Its ebony stone is stark against the pale peaks.

Navigating the steps with wobbly legs, I hold my purse under my arm and cling to Lorelai to make it to the top. This is what I get for never wearing heels.

At least I’m too distracted trying to balance to be anxious. It hits me full force once we’re standing in front of the doors. Only one man stands at the ready, looming like the building he guards. When he sees us, he steps to the side wordlessly. The doors groan open.

My stomach twists. We step into the jaws of Sancte Noctis.

Bitter air is traded for a haze of incense. I nearly choke on how heavy it is, and combined with the smell of iron, I have to give myself a moment to not hack like an old man.

As I look around, the weight of being one of the few mortals to witness this settles over me.

It’s not as quiet anymore. Music echoes through the narrow antechamber so faintly, I wonder if I’m imagining it. No one is actually plucking at a violin or running their fingers over piano keys. These scattered notes null the sounds of our footsteps along the dark, parquet flooring, which is disorienting as I follow Cass and Lorelai’s lead.

Torches with blue-white flames line the walls between arched alcoves, casting a harsh light that doesn’t reach the shadows of the vaulted ceiling. It’s enough to reveal the sculptures watching from each recess, mouths open as if mid-hymn.

Everything is sharp and devoid of warmth. What kind of architect makes an entry point so uninviting?

Arteria are long gone, and so are the cloaked figures. Instead, two people wait at the only exit point, their clothing more humble. I suddenly crave Niko’s hand in mine, or even Ezren and Selene. I hate how my heart thunders and my palms sweat. It can’t be wise to act like prey.

“Mortals,” the woman greets.

Her pristine black and white livery is identical to her male counterpart. Same for their platinum hair that’s been cropped and slicked down. Even their dull, maroon eyes are parallel, with nothing out of place. Getting a closer look, they are rather androgynous, and it’s hard to tell who is who the longer I look.

“We are your guides within these walls. After you are settled in your rooms, there will be no tolerance for wandering,” he says, to which the woman nods curtly.

“You may only leave your designated wing when escorted.”

Lorelai bows her head graciously. Cass is just as silent. I lower my gaze, really wishing Arteria were still around.

“Follow us.”

I hang at the back of our small group, the scale of Sancte Noctis bizarre as we’re led from the narrow entrance to the main hall.

There’s no grand staircase or sweeping balconies. No patterned mosaic to lead down winding paths, with maybe a moonlit garden or library waiting at the end. This isn’t a castle from ‌fairytales.

Stone flooring meets stone walls. While massive, this hall is sobering, only functioning as a connector for the two archways on either side. Nothing wrong with being pragmatic, but I did expect a bit of flourish from such ancient beings. It’s nothing more than a medieval scullery on a movie set. Not even finished!

Regardless of how barren it is, the music swells. Louder, but not frenzied. It echoes between cobblestones, creating a rich, hypnotic distraction from the lack of furnishings.

“This way,” one guide says, and I hurry to keep up with their long strides.

We head to the right. It’s only after we’ve almost left that something recessed in the ceiling catches my eye. A massive chandelier hangs in the shadows, crystals shimmering along the structure. The main material resembles Niko’s crown: bone.

Could it be the source of the music? I’m given no time to inspect further. We’re led out of the music’s reach, the floor beneath us becoming creaky mahogany and worn tapestries.

“This is your designated wing.”

Our guides stop at the end of a long hallway, and the grip on my purse tightens as I peer at each shadowed door. There’s only one candle at the entrance, and it isn’t accomplishing much over here.

“You each get a room. Your belongings will be delivered by the witching hour’s arrival.”

Cass doesn’t hesitate to pick a random room, the door to our left shutting behind him with a solid thud. I glance at Lorelei, wondering if she’ll abandon me as quickly.

The door next to his creaks closed, answering that question.

Well, I’m not going to be left alone with these guides. I can feel their dual stares until I close myself into the last room across from Cass and Lorelai. Not that it’s any better to be all alone.

I lean against the heavy door, glancing around. It’s big. The bed looks comfy enough. There’s even a velvet canopy I can draw for privacy.

But it’s so cold, with no window or decorations or even a source of heat. Just a queen-sized bed, a wooden desk and chair, and another door to the left.

I drag my feet over to the bed, tossing my purse unceremoniously on top as I take a seat on the edge. It’s not like I have my luggage, either. I’m stuck in this dress until it arrives.

When will that be? My sense of time is slipping the longer I’m here.

I’m not even sure how long I’ve been contemplating that one question when scattered violin notes call from behind the door. My head snaps up, and I peer at the unassuming wood like it’s at fault. I know that music isn’t coming from anywhere in this entire wing.

The chandelier.

No.

The crown.

Like it knows I can hear, notes string together coherently. I sit stone-still, heart thrumming and hands bunching up the skirt of my dress. Because it sounds beautiful. Because it sounds like wrong notes when Niko fixes them.

It’s not the first time I’ve heard this version. I hope it isn’t the last.

I’m pulled to my feet. The enchanting melody is the furthest thing from meek. Especially as the violin picks up, the heart of the song is vibrant and grand. It brings color to this dull room, and without much thought, I’m drawn forward.

My hand touches the door handle, and the song flows through me. The violin is no longer alone, and as I slowly open the door, an entire chordal accompaniment dances alongside. It sweeps me away, all reason and hesitation lost to its exhilarating tempo.

The once somber hallway is alive with music. I don’t think much of it as I pass ‌clusters of candles, their cream wax pooling from hours of heat. Nor do I acknowledge the arrangements of mauve chrysanthemums and scarlet snapdragons lining the path, these flowers fresh and in full bloom. I only walk to the lilting rhythm, a smile touching my lips as my eyes flutter closed.

I go by instinct. Apparitions of dancers fill my mind, and I try to match their graceful movements. Pairs glide and whirl joyfully around me, their feet brisk. It’s dizzying, but I don’t mind. I’ve never felt so light.

Until an imperfection cuts through the reverie. Only one note is off, but it sets a chain reaction, instruments falling away, and the romantic melody now jarring and disorderly.

It’s enough for the dancers to dissolve and the music to cease. Only when the spell is broken do I open my eyes to cold darkness and realize what I’ve done.

There’s no music. No bouquets or flames, either. It’s as empty as I remember it. I don’t recognize this hallway I stand in.

I freeze. Where do I go? What should I do? I don’t even have a guess as to which way would lead me back to my room. Who knows how long until someone here would find me. Who’s to say it’d be friend, not foe?

Shit. Both of my phones are still on the bed, too. I fuss with my dress, like smoothing the fabric will make anything better.

Soft laughter chimes like a bell through the darkness. I tilt my head, trying to find the source. It sounds like a small group of women, their giggles and muffled words playing off ‌each other.

I fight the urge to call out. Instead, I move in silence, trying to keep my steps light. After I round the corner, I spot a door up ahead, ajar enough to show the faint glow of light.

There’s no relief yet. I don’t know who could be in there, but it’s my best shot.

Tiptoeing, I creep up close enough to peek through the crack.

It hits me like a bullet. A bullet with Niko’s name engraved on it.

I’m shattered as another wave of giggles curls out of the door, wrapping around and squeezing my faltering heart.

Three women lounge on a chaise near the window of an intimate lounge, Niko in the middle. Moonlight spills over them, highlighting ample cleavage and wanting eyes. The blonde is closest. She drapes along his clothed chest, wearing nothing but a satin robe and a gorgeous smile. They’re clearly human, but closer than most groupies I see around Arteria. For every tabloid that claims Niko is a womanizer and serial heartbreaker, I’ve yet to see that in action. Until now.

As she bares her throat to him, I take a step back. He doesn’t make any moves, even with her right there. His hands remain neutral, and his face is just as measured. But it’s enough. It’s too much to see him breathing her in, with two others touching him and murmuring encouragement.

The guitar pick sears my skin, and I reach my hand up instinctively. When my fingers grasp the heat through my dress, Niko’s eyes snap up.

Our eyes meet. Unlike any other time, I wish he would look away.

It’s not that he’s unfaithful. These women are as painful a reminder as the necklace against my skin. I wrap my hands around the burning pendant, fingers shaking. I have every intention to rip it off.

This has to stop. Even as his mask falters, and a blend of confusion and guilt has him pushing the woman off to sit up, I still turn. My feet glide over tapestries, willing myself not to be a crybaby this one time.

This ends here. Despite my heart screaming at me to run right back to him, I won’t. I knew well and truly that this was doomed from the start.

Because he’s the king of vampires. I don’t belong in his world. I don’t even like rock music, right?

My throat constricts. I won’t cry. I won’t cry.

Wrong notes chase me through these winding halls, snapping at my ankles like beasts. My sobs catch in my chest as I manage to stumble back to my room and hide in the cold bed, heaving with exhaustion and misery.

Only for something else to come knocking. Dread slips into the safety of the blanket and makes a home in my bones when I realize there’s only one source for the wrong notes left now.

Me.