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 ^{(it's beta!)}

Cherub's first memory is waking in the bed of an unnamed tavern and inn and seeing the face of a human woman who was apparently caring for him. For a long while he watched her tend to tedious activities around the room, drowning in confusion and unexplained feelings of malice.

When the woman noticed he was awake, she quickly rushed to his bed side, and began to speak. Without truly knowing why, he shot up and reached for her throat, then squeezed, cutting her off before she could utter a word. Her eyes widened and she croaked for air as she clawed uselessly at his hand. He did not bother to wonder why he enjoyed her helplessness.

After moments of watching her struggle, he let go, apparently satisfied. The woman backed up and coughed, hunching over as she held her aching neck with both hands. He only watched indifferently. She looked up with a pleading expression.

He briefly looked her over. Her face was bruised and there was a bandage on her arm. It wasn't from him.

"Cherub, it's okay," she gasped hoarsely. "I won't hurt you. No one will hurt you anymore."

He narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"

Still caressing her sore throat, she straightened up and tilted her head, her eyebrows scrunching together. "You... you don't know?"

He stared at her.

"It's me! Natalie? You remember, don't you? You've known me your whole life!"

He took his eyes off her and stared at his bed covers. Her face wasn't the slightest bit familiar. She was lying. Wasn't she?

But as he thought about it, he realized he couldn't remember anything. He glanced around the room. It was completely strange to him. He tried to search his memory for... for... Nothing. There was nothing. He couldn't even remember his own name. Hadn't she called him Cherub?

"Where am I?"

"Deepsol," she said softly, approaching his bed again. He shot her a menacing look, and she stopped. "We... we brought you to an inn. You were hurt pretty badly. You've been in a coma for days. No one thought you would make it."

He glanced down. There was a bandage wrapped around his waist. He ran his fingers over it, and winced. Then he lifted his hand. His finger tips were dry and cracked, fingernails worn down to stubs. Overwhelmed by confusion, he ran his hand through his hair. There was a lump on his forehead.

"The bump on your head is my fault." Natalie edged closer to him. "It was hard dragging you up the stairs."

Stairs?

"What..." No memory. None at all. He was Aria. He was male. That was the extent of his knowledge. "Who am I?"

"You really don't remember, do you?"

He gritted his teeth. An anger surged through him violently, but had no idea where it sourced from. He wasn't sure he really cared. "No," he growled. "I don't."

"But... how can you forget? Our entire lives we--"

"Just answer me."

She stopped, looking down as she bit her lip. "At least you haven't changed at all." She lifted her head again, a sad smile on her face. "You never told me your real name. You always wanted us to call you Cherub."

So that was his name. The monicker seemed slightly familiar. He clung to it desperately.

"You were one of the s--"

"Stop." Panic shot through his body like a static shock. That was followed by dread and hatred. He lost his breath, hunching over in his bed. His back ached, but that didn't match the dizziness that blurred his mind.

He wanted to remember, to know who he was. At the same time, everything inside his being begged him not to inquire. No, ordered. His chest felt tight. He couldn't breathe. He didn't want to know.

"You don't want to remember, do you? I guess I don't blame you..."

"Shut up." He rubbed his head. His thumb touched the sore spot on his forehead. He flicked back his covers and stood up. The room tilted, and he fought to keep his balanced, swaying for a few brief seconds. His left leg ached, and forced him to limp. That didn't interest him as much as his lack of clothing.

Natalie flitted to a nearby table, picking up a folded silk robe. She walked up to Cherub cautiously, and held out the robe. As he took it and pulled it on, he began working out just how he planned to defeat the numbness in his head with the hatred he felt.

There was a mirror in the corner. Tying the robe, he limped over to it, unable to take his eyes off himself. His hair was a matted rat's nest. There was a cut across his cheek, and a reddened spot on his forehead. His gaze was intensely dark. For some reason, he'd expected a more defeated look.

"Everything will be okay, Cherub."

"I don't need your reassurance."

He watched her stare at the ground in the mirror.

It was difficult not to feel pity for her, even knowing what she was, and what her people had done. Every time I passed her cell, she looked at me. I wondered if she knew it was me who had been given the task of reading through her journal. If she knew that I was now a witness to everything she’d documented in her life for the past five years. Whenever she failed to hide the sadness in her eyes, I knew why it was there.

The Council leader Aeacus had asked me to analyze what the Unseelie had written, and look for any clues or hints about a conspiracy to invade our city of Deepsol. I had spent three weeks reading and re-reading all of it, but I couldn’t find anything to suggest that she had any part in the uprising of her people, their attack and ascent upon the Grand Stair, or the relentless assault they had been unleashing on the humans and Aria of Deepsol.

Still, Aeacus was certain that something there was written in code, something that pointed to a strategy or a leader of the Unseelie militia. He strongly believed, or in my opinion, desperately hoped, that somewhere in this young woman’s diary was a perfect tactic to dismantle and defeat the revolution, and win back Deepsol.

When I said there was nothing, he declared that I was an imbecile and very nearly fired me. Said I couldn’t handle being a librarian, let alone a Council secretary administrator. He took the journal to analyze it himself.

So now I had little to do while our Miner’s Guild-composed civilian police force gradually failed to save Deepsol from the invasion of Unseelie, except question the wounded and lend morale and false hope to the frightened. I wasn’t a fighter, I was a politician. Aeacus and Tulluket and the other council members all had their prized Artifacts, and knew how to use them, but they themselves seemed reluctant to lead the frontlines. They only fought when Unseelie forces broke through and we were directly under attack.

However, as gravely important as I knew all of this was, none of it seemed to matter to me anyway. Despite the chaos and violence that threatened to destroy Deepsol, all I could think of was Lani Rumbin.

No matter how much I tried to put her out of my mind, I could still see her in my head, trapped in the lower floor of the council building in a jail cell, hugging her knees and staring quietly as she sat in a shadowy corner. In her journal, she seemed to have been surprised as everyone else to see that Unseelie boy steal Don Seragar from Deepsol’s custody and then vanish. To the other Unseelie, that seemed to be their cue to reveal themselves from hiding and assault the Grand Stair from their shanty towns all around the base of the city.

I wanted to ask her so many things, but not about the Unseelie, or Deepsol. I wanted to know more about her brother, Lars, and about her experiences working for the Mafia. What was her childhood like, growing up in a society constantly at war with the monstrous creatures that clawed at the borders of the Imperious? I wanted to know how the hell she managed to stay hopeful despite all of the obstacles she’d had to face. How she managed to keep pressing on and keep trying, and not giving up or dying inside after everything she’d been through and how long she’d been alone. I wanted to hear her sing the songs she’d written on the pages of her journal, even though she wrote that she didn’t sing anymore.

Every time I passed her cell, and I caught her eyes on me, I wondered if she realized how well I already knew her, and how I still wanted to know much more.

I was glad it was Tulluket, and not me, who had been given the task of watching her, interrogating her, and getting inside her head.

I gave Tulluket too much credit.

“Oh, Lariot. There you are.”

I glanced over my shoulder. Tulluket was standing in the doorway behind me, wearing the only expression I had ever seen him use. A smile that wasn’t quite a smile, and a look in his eye that was cunning, but more than anything else, exhausted. He only had one eye. Aeacus had said that when he was younger, Tulluket used to wear an eye patch. But I had only seen him use his long dark hair to cover the sightless half of his face. When I first met him, I couldn’t help but stare, and try to find his missing eye. But Tulluket was always amused by my effort, and made me feel a fool.

“Councilman Tulluket,” I said with a tired, but diplomatic grin, turning casually to face him. I was now much more accustomed to looking at his good eye when I spoke to him. “What can I do for you?”

His smirk widened slightly and he studied me for a few seconds before responding. “I heard Aeacus is disappointed in you. He asked me if you should be demoted back to customs, if not removed from the council’s secretary staff completely.”

I shrugged. “He’s under a lot of stress. There’s a lot happening. I can’t blame him for overreacting.”

Tulluket strode across the room, glancing through a window at a brawl in the streets below. The right sleeve of his silk overcoat fluttered lifelessly as he moved. One of his arms was missing as well. When I asked, he’d told me he lost it to an overzealous opponent in an arm wrestling match. The thought of Tulluket engaging in such a petty contest of strength had made me laugh. “If you were demoted, you’d lose any chance at becoming a part of the great Council.” He snorted indignantly. “Wouldn’t that be a TRAGEDY.”

I rested my hand on my fist, watching the back of his head. “I don’t think Aeacus will actually do anything,” I replied. “He’s too busy dealing with all this violence and mayhem. I think we’re losing this war.” I paused. “Aren’t you supposed to be watching that Unseelie?”

“It’s only a matter of time before Aeacus does something drastic.” Tulluket avoided my question and continued to stare through the window. I could tell from his voice that his smile had faded. “Anyway, I was wondering what you’d uncovered in that woman’s diary.”

I wafted my hand dismissively. “You already heard from Aeacus, there was nothing in it.”

“Nothing of tactical importance.” Tulluket turned to me again, his familiar smirk returning. “But what did you learn about her?”

I raised my eyebrows, pretending that a million thoughts about her personal memories and wishes didn’t immediately come to the forefront of my mind. “What do you mean?”

“All those weeks divulging in her personal thoughts, you must have learned quite a lot about her.” Tulluket wouldn’t take his eye off me. “Any interesting dreams? She must have had some unique experiences. Does she have any friends or family?”

I raised an eyebrow nonchalantly. “Who cares? She’s just an Unseelie.”

“Oh really?” Tulluket squinted at me skeptically and cocked his head.

I hesitated. I was going to say that she didn’t matter to me, but I could see that somehow Tulluket had already figured me out. I sighed with chagrin and bemusement. “She had a brother, named Lars.”

“Yes?”

I peered cautiously into Tulluket’s penetrating blue eye. Was he mocking me, or did he really want to know more? “He died in the Long Charge, when the Unseelie first attacked Deepsol. I thought it was strange that he’d find his death here, from the weapons of Men, after he spent years fighting with Illex and ratkings and all the other monsters she described that live underground.”

Tulluket gave a half laugh and tried to look amused, but I could see a shudder go through him. I remembered that he had a strong aversion to the Illex, something the rest of the Council had encouraged me not to ask about. Even Tulluket who could make a joke out of anything, never seemed amused by them.

“Sorry,” I said, glancing downward. Although I’d read about them in Lani’s journal, I still wasn’t sure the Illex were actually real. I couldn’t believe that a girl like her, who looked so small and frail, had been able to stand off against one of those giant, squid-like creatures, and survive. Her people probably used the term loosely to describe any ocean spawn they encountered.

Tulluket shoved his hand in a pocket. “So you know her quite well, I’d bet.”

“The Unseelie girl? I suppose so.” I scratched my head. It was all I could do to keep my mind off of Lani. All this talk of her was making me increasingly uncomfortable. I shuffled and shifted my balance in my chair. “What are you getting at, Tulluket?”

The councilmember shrugged, and began to walk toward the door again. “Some more important matters require my attention. I need someone watch the Unseelie girl. Despite my best efforts, I’m not getting a lot of information out of her anyway.”

I slumped visibly. Anneh was plotting against me. He couldn’t possibly be serious. “So you want me to do it.”

“Talk to her and see what you can find out. You know more about her than I do.”

I couldn’t do this. I shot up out of my chair in a momentary panic, but I managed to quell my voice as I called out to him. “Tulluket I really don’t think I’m qualified to—”

“Oh, it’ll be easy,” he laughed, waving his hand at me as he left the room. “Thanks a ton, Lariot. Be seeing you.”

I fell back in my chair in defeat, running my hand through my hair. While I knew how difficult this was going to make things for me, I couldn’t help but just be the smallest bit eager to speak to Lani.

Evelyn lazily opened her eyes, her blurry vision slowly coming into focus as she lied curled up beneath a thin, knitted blanket. A strange noise had disturbed her sleep, but she quickly forgot about it as she stared out of the open window at the starry night sky. Wispy curtains fluttered restlessly in the cool breeze, lit aglow by the crescent moon. Hypnotized by their quiet rhythm, her mind returned to consciousness as the dream world faded away.

Her heart sank as she remembered Jonah was gone. She closed her eyes again, squeezing the blanket in her fist. She hadn’t been out of bed very often over the last few days. As the search efforts wore on unsuccessfully, she’d begun to lose hope that she would ever see her son again.

With a heaving sigh, she shuffled underneath the thin blanket and rolled onto her other side. It took her a few moments to realize that next to her bed was an unfamiliar shadow. Narrowing her eyes she examined it closer, looking up at it. It was a person, a man, sitting in the chair she had been using as a nightstand. A stranger in her home. She probably should have been alarmed, but with Jonah gone she just didn’t care about… wait…

A gray-blue eye watched her silently, sparkling in the dull moonlight. A pale face, mostly hidden behind graying black hair. It looked like Jonah, all grown up. Was she dreaming?

No. It wasn’t a dream. And that wasn’t Jonah.

Evelyn quickly sat up in bed, her fatigue melting away. "…Rowan?"

He smiled faintly.

Evelyn studied him a few minutes further to be absolutely certain she wasn’t dreaming. It really was him, wasn’t it? Rowan, her husband, who had disappeared nearly a year ago. But that didn’t matter, anyway. The Rowan she had married had been gone since he left for Talon close to ten years ago. The man who came back was someone different. Distant. Hollow. She never felt close to him again after that.

"I know I should be surprised to see you," Evelyn said, having accepted that he was really sitting there. "But showing up unannounced in the middle of the night after being gone for that long. That’s so like you."

"Am I that predictable?" Rowan maintained his placid hint of a smile. “I suppose I was never one for grand entrances.”

Evelyn made a half-hearted attempt to tame her tangled hair, brushing it out of her face. She had a hard time knowing what to feel. Part of her felt comforted and pleased by his presence, but something about him being there was unsettling.

She remembered when he first came back. Rowan set out to Talon ten years ago to discuss some trading agreement, and then… his caravan had been attacked. Aeacus told her he was dead. But four years later, there he was on her doorstep one morning. His arm was missing, but like his eye, he never explained how he lost it. He was just sitting there, as if he had always been there.

"You already know what questions I’m going to ask." Evelyn stared into that one gray eye, looking for the man she used to know.

Rowan raised an eyebrow, but he knew what Evelyn meant. "Where have I been? Oh, here and there. I’ve been busy."

"Aeacus said I may as well accept that you were probably dead." Evelyn stared at the foot of her bed. She hadn’t expected a straight answer.

"That’s not entirely untrue," Rowan said, looking down. The cool night air was permeated by a heavy silence. A million thoughts raced through Evelyn’s head as she waited for him to speak again. Memories mostly, about the way Rowan was before he lost his arm. Her thoughts slowly drifted toward Jonah, and the role of a father Rowan had never played for him.

"As for what I’m doing here," Rowan continued after several minutes, looking back at her again, "I came to see you."

Evelyn smiled in irritation. He came to see her? She knew there was more to that than he implied, but he wasn’t about to explain it. She would have to wait until he made his intentions clear.

Was it about Jonah? Rowan had never shown any love for his son. He had barely ever noticed Jonah existed. Would he even care that he was gone?

"Jonah is missing." Evelyn ran a hand through her hair, frowning and struggling not to cry again. "Did you know that?"

"Yes."

A sudden feeling of dread shot through her at the readiness of his answer. "You do…?" But how would…?

She turned her head sharply and glared at him accusingly. "You… you have him, don’t you?"

"Yes."

She noticed something unusual about Rowan’s expression. It was less aimless and blank than it had always been before. He seemed more focused and calculated, like something had become clear to him that wasn’t before. It was powerful, almost menacing.

For the first time, Evelyn looked into Rowan’s only eye and felt the slightest twinge of fear.

"Why?!" she demanded. "What do you want with him? I don’t care if you go off and do your own thing. I know I can’t control you. But leave Jonah out of it. At least I can give him a normal life."

"That’s what I came to see you about."

"Really? Did you decide you want to be a father, suddenly?" Evelyn made no effort to hide the resentment in her voice. "You never even tried to get to know him. Anneh knows you’ve wanted nothing to do with me ever since you left for Talon but Jonah—"

"Relax," Rowan cut in calmly. The smirk on his face made his blank stare unnaturally warm. It felt wrong. "I don’t want to argue. Let me make us a batch of tea. Do you still take honey in yours?"

Evelyn sighed, and hesitated. She nodded as Rowan rose out of the chair beside her bed. She was about to get up, to show him where everything was in her new home, but Rowan motioned for her to stay.

Was he really here? Evelyn rested her forehead in her hand. There was something so unnerving about his visit, beyond his usual being quiet and aloof. He was more civil and talkative than usual. He was… he was here for something specific, wasn’t he? All this conversation was just a prelude. What did he want?

It was a long while before Rowan returned. It takes time to heat up the water, but she could barely hear him in the other room. In his absence, she wondered if this had all been just a dream and he was never really here.

Then he walked through the door again into Evelyn’s room. He brought a lantern with him, hanging from his fingers as he carried a tin serving tray in the same hand, two teacups balanced on top. Evelyn quickly took the tray from him, so he could set down the lantern. Though she coddled him as if he had a handicap, he had never seemed burdened by his missing arm.

The warm glow of the lantern light was soothing, she thought. She picked up one of the teacups and handed the other to Rowan, who took it gratefully and began sipping at it, cautiously as not to burn his tongue.

“I’m sorry that you had to go through the ordeal of losing Jonah,” he said quietly. It sounded sincere, and as an apology, it meant a lot more to Evelyn than she expected. “But he is alive and well, and he is in my care.”

Evelyn sipped her tea, savoring the sweetness of the honey. She was impressed that Rowan still knew exactly how she liked her tea. “You’re not going to stay, are you.” It wasn’t a question. Evelyn already knew.

“No.”

“And you’re not going to bring Jonah back.”

“No, I’m not.”

Evelyn sighed. She was elated that Jonah was alive, but how could she live without him? Thinking about not being able to see him again made her feel sick. The neon moonlight seemed dim, and colors all seemed to be shades of gray. Even her tea tasted a little off.

“What are you going to do with our son?”

Rowan was silent. Every second that passed without an answer made Evelyn panic, more and more.

She stared at him, wide-eyed. “You’re not going to… hurt him or anything, are you?”

Rowan stared at his teacup. “You don’t have to worry about that, Evelyn.”

Evelyn froze. Something struck her about the way he had said her name. She knew for certain now that there was something different about Rowan that she had never seen before. Something discolored. Something wicked.

Her head began to feel fuzzy and light. She shook her head and wiped her eyes but the grogginess persisted. She leaned back against the wall for balance and held her cup with both hands, not wanting to spill the drink in her bed. Feeling suddenly parched, she sipped her tea again.

Rowan sipped from his cup as well. “I know that I haven’t been much of a husband to you since I came back.”

The room was growing warmer. Evelyn wiped some sweat off her brow and loosened her blanket. “You never told me how you lost your arm. You barely spoke to me at all. I was so happy to see you again… but you never really came back, did you? The real you… the Rowan who loved me, he never came back.”

“Honestly, it’s hard for me to say.” Rowan finished his tea and set his cup back on the serving tray on the bed. “I don’t really know if there was ever a ‘real me.’ But I am sorry you had to get caught in my self-centered façades.”

The fatigue was back with a vengeance. All Evelyn wanted to do now was go back to sleep. She was still overly warm, and no matter how times she wiped the sweat away, her forehead was still wet. Her vision had gone blurry again too, and the dizziness was getting much worse.

Suddenly she realized why.

“You poisoned my tea.”

“Yes.”

Rowan was killing her. That’s why he came to see her. Evelyn wanted to ask why, but she knew even as she was dying, he wouldn’t tell her.

She didn’t feel panicked, afraid, or even angry. Maybe something in the poison was placating. Or maybe she had stopped feeling alive ever since Jonah had gone.

“Why?” she asked anyway.

“Rest, Evelyn. You don’t have to worry about anything, anymore.”

She could sense her death. There was no stopping it. Once she closed her eyes, she would never open them again. Still, all she could think about was Jonah.

“I won’t be able to… see him again…”

“I’m afraid not.”

What would Rowan do with Jonah? Would he be all right?

“You’ll… take care of our… son…” She wheezed as breathing became difficult.

“I will.”

Her eyelids grew heavy. She slid back down on the bed, resting her head on the pillow. Rowan leaned over, pulling Evelyn’s blanket over her shoulder.

It was becoming almost impossible to breathe. She could no longer move any part of her body, yet she could still feel the breeze from the window.

Evelyn allowed her eyes to close. The teacup fell out of her hand. Her poisoned tea spilled onto the bed. “Tell Jonah… I l-lov…lo…”

Rowan waited for her to finish. She did not. So instead he sat there next to her bed, watching his silent wife.

Several moments passed before Rowan finally stood up. He bent over and brushed his fingers over Evelyn’s hair. Then he turned and left the room.