Page 53 of Cage of Starlight
“Oh?” Tory lopes over to snatch the letter from the slot. It smells overwhelmingly of perfume.
“Give me that.” Vantaras trips to his feet—he’s halfway out of his boots, one unlaced and the other standing beside his mattress.
He kicks the second one off as he strides toward Tory, but Tory lifts the letter away from Vantaras’ grasping hands, reading the sender’s information by the light from the window. “Hina? Who’sHina?Wouldnothave pegged you as the sort of person to be loved by anyone—”
“My little sister,” Vantaras grits out, grabbing for it.
The letter sags in Tory’s grip as he processes that, and Vantaras takes the opportunity to snatch it from his lax fingers. He tightens his grip at the last moment, and the force, between the both of them, rips the top corner of the envelope.
Pressed leaves and flowers tumble out, and Tory feels abruptly guilty. “Sorry,” he says, though it’s more an old impulse than anything.
“Apologies are useless,” Vantaras spits, kneeling to gather the pressed flowers in one gloved hand.
To fill the weighty silence that ensues, Tory says, “You’re not allowed to have a sister. That’s just weird.”
Vantaras scoffs. It’s the usual holier-than-thou coldness, all sharp edges, but it fits wrong in this room, where the only light is the fading sunset through the window and the gently rocking nebulae from the pendant. “I’ll be sure to let her know, if I see her again.”
Tory rolls his eyes. “You’re not allowed to be funny, either. I still hate you.”
“As long as we have that settled.”
Once he’s gathered all the flowers, Vantaras sets the small pile and the unopened envelope on the table beside his bed.
Tory frowns. “You not going to open it?”
“I imagine she’d like me to attend her Dedication. I’ll need to decline.”
“Why?”
“I can’t—” Vantaras doesn’t turn. “I’d prefer they remember me as I was before.”
Restless heat surges in Tory. “That’s ridiculous.”
He didn’t even say it loudly, but Sena looks away, wincing. “You don’t understand.”
“Don’t I? You have a living mother and asisterwho wants to see you, and you’re—what? Hiding from them?”
Sena’s gloved hands clench at his sides. “The last time I saw them—”
“I don’t care if you’ve grown horns since the last time you saw them! You should—” Tory cuts himself off, and shame is a sick thing in his belly. Does he have any right to talk? He left Hasra and Thatcher behind like they meant nothing, and even if his mother could be in front of him right now, he’s not sure what they could talk about. His eyes find Sena’s window.
Plants, maybe. When the meals in the camp weren’t nearly enough for a growing boy, much less aworkingone, she’d take him into the woods. Whenever he lingered too long on the high fence visible through the thick trees in the distance, she turned his eyes to the ground instead. She taught him the names of every wild edible inside that fence. It saved his life more than once when he was free. His mother acted like the trees were the wall between him and all the ugly things in the world, but she was.
He doesn’t know the names of the plants in the pots on Vantaras’ sill and hasn’t learned any new ones he could share with her.
Stubborn, he finishes his sentence. “You should still see them.”
Jaw set, Vantaras tugs at the cuffs of his shirt.
It’s weird. The gloves are still on, and even though the double-breasted uniform jacket is gone, the undershirt’s starched collar is just as high despite the few buttons he’s undone. And the boots are off, but Vantaras’ dark socks still snake up beneath his uniform trousers, so he’s no less covered than he’s ever been in front of Tory. There’s no excuse for the way Tory’s stomach flips, the way he feels like he’sintrudingwhen he sees the shape of Sena Vantaras’ slim ankles and exposed collarbones.
He looks human.
That’s it.That’sthe whole of it. He looks like a person, and for once in his stars-damned life is acting like one, too. It’s distracting, like Sena having a sister and a sense of humor.
Tory came here for a reason, though. He reminds himself of it as Sena paces past him on socked feet toward a small cage hanging from the ceiling to the left of the window, covered with a sheet.
“Don’t think you’ll distract me,” Tory says. “I’ll keep bothering you until you tell me what your power is.”
