Nameless: A Tale of Beauty and Madness by Lili St. Crow Read Free Book Online

man, and as I thrash against the handcuffs his expression twists. It is familiar, a lean dark face; he is in a leather jerkin and breeches, a collage of brown and green muted by the dimness of my cell.
    Her shriek ends, and her contorted face smoothes itself. She hisses between her teeth, a long catlike sigh, as the silver medallion at her breast, its spot of bleeding crimson in the center, runs with diseased pale light.
    This one’s heart is fiery
.
    They leave, the cell door swinging shut, and I am alone. No, not alone. There is a strange lipless voice throbbing all through me, and my head feels funny from the smoke. Empty and too-big, as if I am in a place I cannot remember, not this small concrete cell. The voice always says the same thing.
    You are nobody. You are nothing.
    And I know it is true, but I pull against the handcuffs. I twist them back and forth, and I am making a sound like a bird’s thin cry, because my throat is crushed.
     
    “Shhh.” Nico’s hand at her mouth. “It’s me.”
    Cami sat bolt-upright, pale sheets and blankets caught to her chest, her sides heaving and sweat dewing her forehead.
Nightmare.
It was familiar, and she had felt it coming as she lay stiff as a poker, waiting to fall asleep.
    The white bedroom was full of shifting shadow. The curtains were drawn over the huge bay windows, but the glimmer of the parchment walls, the creamy carpet, the pale wood and white-painted furniture made it brighter than night should be—only by a shade or two.
    She let out a garbled sound, the high piping of a bird, and Nico’s hand eased. “Shhh,” he whispered, again. “It’s just a dream, I’m here.”
    You are nobody. You are nothing
. “N-n-n-ni—” Even
his
name wouldn’t come.
    “Cami.” He caught her hands. His skin was warm, solid, real. “Book.”
    The same old charm. “B-b-book.”
    “Candle.” He was kneeling on her bed, and she saw the mess his hair had become. How late was it?
    “C-candle.” Her breathing evened out. Her heart still hammered, but it wouldn’t explode. She could tell, now, that it would calm down. If she just gave it a little time.
    He smelled of cigarette smoke, copper, the tang of whiskey. So he’d been at the decanters again. “Nico,” he whispered.
    “Nico,” she whispered back. Relaxed all at once, a loosened string.
    “There it is.” He relaxed a little too, but stiffened when she moved to hug him. “Easy, babygirl.”
    “What h-h-happened?” But she knew. The cuts on him would be closing, the weals healing themselves slowly. By morning he would be good as new, not even a scar left to mark the punishment.
    Family healed fast. And it used to be that this sort of punishment made an impression on Nico.
    Now, though . . . nothing much did.
    “I deserve it. Move over.” He lowered himself gingerly, hissing as his bare back met the sheet. “Mithrus, move
over
.”
    “I
am
.” Irritable now, she scooted, freeing the topsheet. She’d thrown her pillows somewhere, but he rescued them, and in a little while they were safe together, her head on his bare shoulder, her nightgown caught on his pajama-clad knee. She tried not to hug him too hard, but he tightened his arm and pulled her closer, only tensing a little as it hurt. “Why d-did y-y-you—?”
Why did you take me out? It’s like you wanted to get punished on your first night home.
    “Shhh. Listen.”
    She did. The wind was up, trees making an ocean noise, branches creaking, and the house’s corners whistling to themselves. How many nights had they spent like this?
    She used to scream when the nightmares came. Now, not so much—but it was easier when he was there, warm and close and safe. Nobody had ever caught him—Papa had once or twice given her a penetrating look at the breakfast table, asking how she had slept, and Cami had blushed without knowing why.
    I don’t like it
, Nico had said the first time he’d appeared in the darkness, whispering fiercely.
Tell me what it is.