POV: Abraxes
"What a pleasant surprise this is." Nero's voice is like soft velvet. He sounds pleased—almost happy—with seeing me. The feeling is far from mutual. For he sounds like a serpent circling its prey.
I don't make eye contact. But I watch him. Through the curtain my hair makes. He doesn't sit in the chair opposite of me. But rather falls into it. He props his feet up onto the table between us. I notice how he is wearing mostly shades of grey today.
It irritates me how relaxed he is. Because he is strong. Probably the strongest in this entire room, and he knows this. This is his domain, I realise. The cold. The wind. The control.
In comparison, I am his opposite. I am weak. One of the weakest in this room. My entire body is tense with uncertainty. Anxiety is clawing at my heart. I am far from relaxed as he is.
I am shivering. My teeth are chattering, and it is out of my control. The developing bruise on my stomach aches. I can feel the cold seeping into my bones. Into my flesh and blood. It threatens to freeze me from the inside.
I have become reliant on Nero's Innate Talent. It is a challenge for me. To not activate it. But I need to resist the cold. I need to resist the temptation. But it is difficult, and I envy Nero for his freedom.
"I hear you've gotten yourself into a bit of an accident." His smirk is too sharp. Too eager. It makes me uncomfortable. I almost shift in my seat. "Do tell me what happened."
It is not a request. But a command. A threat hidden beneath his relaxed expression. His words are like his smirk. Sharp. I am reminded that I do not have a choice. It has been taken from me.
So, I nod. I comply. I pretend to be compliant. I pretend to be the subordinate he sees me as. When all I want to do is rip his throat out. Slowly, the bitterness and anger I feel for this man is beginning to emerge.
"Please, talk." Nero puts his hands into the pockets of his grey overcoat. He isn't even looking at me when he orders me. I'm reminded of the voice I have lost.
I want nothing more than to lie to him. To tell him nothing of the truth. But I know how useless it would be against him. He was blessed with the cold. With the ice. But he knows how to read people. He knows when someone is lying.
I have seen it with Kaitos. A man who has lied his entire life. A master of deception. Caught so easily. Proven guilty within moments. It is unsettling. It is what I think about when I open my mouth and speak.
"I killed him."
My answer is simple. It doesn't tell him much. But it doesn't have to. It is the truth. The truth he values so much. I do not have a choice in this. I do not have many other options. But even in the cold. My mind is sharp.
Because I can not lie. But I can control how much I say. How much I tell. I can manipulate the conversation itself. I can use the truth to hide my truth.
"Yes. You did." He nods and speaks down to me in a condescending—bored—manner. But his eyes are gleaming with amusement. My anxiety whispers that he can see right through my efforts. Right through my plan.
My mind thinks it is something else. He speaks almost theatrically. As if he is putting on a show for the Enforcers around us. Playing up his reactions for everyone's entertainment.
It is odd. Strange. But my instincts are telling me something is different here. Keres Talent is buzzing within me. It is agreeing with my instincts. Something is wrong.
But the Archon speaks before I can puzzle out what is wrong.
"Tell me why." He orders again. Pulling a familiar curved knife out of his pocket. It gleams in the light of the day. I recognise it for the knife I used to cripple Kaitos. I recognise it for the silent threat it is.
I know that I cannot reveal Rowan's truth. That he is—was—an Aureate. It is far from a good enough reason. It is a terrible reason. It labels me as nothing more than a rabid dog. One that does not hesitate in the murder of an Aureate. It makes me dangerous to the society.
Strength rules all. Strength is everything in the world. But only if you are born as something more than a Mercury. Otherwise, you are seen as a slave with a collar that is not tight enough.
Even if he was only half of one. Below even me in station. It is still golden ichor that I have spilt. Golden ichor I have no right in spilling. Golden ichor which stains my hand in crimson red.
"He thought himself smarter."
It is another truth. One that is only partially tied to the true reason Rowan died. Because he did believe himself to be smarter. To be superior. What I say is believable.
To those made of higher Alloy. We are nothing but rats. Scavengers fighting over scraps. Killing each other over small. Menial matters. It makes the fight seem as if it was caused from my pride being wounded.
There is also another reason. Nero hails from a House adorned with the Alloy of Titanium. They are below the Silvers. So, they hold no political power. No political sway. Instead, they focus entirely on physical strength.
They respect strength above all else. With strength. Comes pride. Theirs is equal to an Aureate's. It is deadly for some of them. It is a quality of his House I am trying to appeal to. A quality I am trying to manipulate.
It works.
"That, I can understand." He laughs. Grinning at me as if he is relating to me. As if we can bond over this. "The smart ones always have the most to say. All bark. No bite. All arrogance. No strength."
He sounds wistful. As if he is reliving a memory. It is theatrical again. He is making a show out of it. Nero gazes at the ceiling. Seemingly reminiscing. Before turning to face me again.
We do not make eye contact. But my hair has grown long. It covers my face. Enough to hide my emerald eyes from his icy gaze.
I expect his next question. The question of how I killed Rowan. But it never comes. It is something entirely different. Something that makes the anxiety in me spike. I feel it in my throat, and I struggle to breath. I almost forget about the cold.
"Unfortunatly, that man was an Aureate."
It is a simple sentence. But the implications are heavy. I do not hide my surprise quick enough. Nero catches it. An almost cheshire grin growing on his face.
"But you already knew that. Didn't you?" His eyes spark with something unknown. His feet are off the table within a second and he is leaning forward. He is excited. It is clear he feels gleeful.
He sounds almost proud of me.
It makes the knot in my chest grow tighter. Because something is wrong about this, and I do not know what it is.
"Good. I would have been disappointed in you if you didn't know." He is approving of my discovery. No. He is approving of my actions. It is wrong and I wonder if he has lost his mind since I last saw him.
He resembles his Bloodline right now. A wind which is cold enough to cut. It is sharp. It is powerful. It does not stop. It keeps moving and moving. Nero is like it. He has changed personalities countless times and as quickly as Sylas does.
It is an eerie connection to make.
"Ichor stains your wrist. But it must feel familiar to you." He keeps leaning closer. "You knew that he was a Mercury like yourself. Didn't you?"
I don't get a chance to respond. Because he's moved back. Fallen back onto his chair with the karambit still in his hand and he is talking again.
"But of course you did. I have seen that mind of yours. It is sharp. Oh, you truly do have potential, my friend." He laughs again. To a joke only he understands.
My confusion has grown. But so have my nerves. I am becoming stressed. It is hard to think in the cold. Facing a man who does not know how to be himself.
"You have proved yourself superior once again. If it were my way. You would have been recognised. For your bravery. For that fire in you. Truly, all things us Enlightened should strive to be."
His words are complimentary. But they fill me with dread. Because this, my life. It isn't in his control. And I am slowly beginning to realise that fact.
"You do have my apologies, my friend. A false Aureate he may have been. It is still ichor on your wrist. No matter how tainted it may be." He sighs suddenly. His earlier excitement vanishing. It is quick and sudden. It nearly gives me whiplash.
I can see he is disappointed. He is making a show of it again. But the cold is making me numb. My fingers are beginning to lose all feeling. The feeling of dread within my stomach is building. It is growing and I am becoming afraid.
Am I to face my end so soon?
"Believe me. I do not wish for you to be harmed over this you." He smiles at me. It is fake and I know that he is lying. "But those above me have asked for your punishment."
I can feel my heart beating. My senses are not enhanced, and I can still feel it. It is too fast. It feels as if it is about to burst out of my chest at any moment.
"Lucky for you. I get to decide what your punishment will be." He winks at me. As if this is some big joke for him. As if he can't see the panic I am feeling. "Ten lashes to the back sound fair. Don't you agree?"
'No. I do not.'
Because it is not fair. Because it is not just. Because this world preaches of power. Of strength. Yet I am now to be punished for it. Punished for conforming to their views. To theirtwisted ideologies.
All because some Aureate. Is not pleased with me having strength.
It makes me burn with anger. With vicious. Burning. Rage. Because I know. If I was born an Aureate. I would be celebrated for what I did. I would be rewarded for ridding their ranks of a stain.
But…I am a Mercury. I am quicksilver, and they are ichor. And I realise this has nothing to do with my strength. But their own. They worship this society that they have built. This status they have created.
But they fear what I can do. What all others of my kind can do. They call their blood ichor. They see themselves as gods. As equals to the Dievas. But they bleed red. They are human. Like we are. And they fear us realising it.
They have seen me reach too high. They have seen me go above my station. Above my label. Above my collar. My understanding of my dream begins to change. Because this is a world not built on strength. But on lies.
I would have met death today. But they sent the wrong man for the job. Because Nero sees me as something to explore. He is fascinated with me. Like a child with a new toy.
It protects me for now.
But…I am tired of such treatment.
"What about the Crown Logic?"
It is my last chance. Before I try and do something I will regret. Before the anger I feel swallows me whole. It an appeal to their religion. An appeal to their very way of life.
But it only makes Nero smirk. A deadly, razor-sharp thing that looks unnatural on a human face.
"My friend…you are a Mercury. You know your station. Your worth. Better than I do. So, tell me. What makes you think you are worthy of such right?" He lazily spins the karambit in his hand. Before, without warning, slamming it into the table between us.
It is loud and sudden, and it makes me jump in my seat. The shackles binding me to the chair shake with my movement. I see some of the Enforcers around me tense.
I glare at the karambit through the curtain of my hair. But I also notice Nero's eyes. They are different now. That familiar feeling of something being wrong manifests inside of me again.
He is looking at me. Then he is looking at the knife in the table. Before looking back at me. It makes me feel confused all over again.
"Unchain him." Nero waves his arm. Almost carelessly. It is theatrical again. And then I feel it. The temperature is rising again. Slowly the oppressive cold is leaving. His eyes are shifting between me and the knife again.
Then, he looks at the Enforcers around us.
'Is he…Is he trying to help me?' It sounds impossible. But there's an urgency in his eyes. Almost akin to a plea. It is hidden well. Visible only for me to see. But he is telling me to use the knife. To fight back as I was already planning to.
It sounds ludicrous.
But it is a weapon given freely to me. A weapon that is sharper than anything these Enforcers wield.
The shackles on my legs come off first. Then my arms.
Then…all hell breaks loose.