The Gilded Cage

Alistair’s chambers were in the West Tower, the oldest part of the manor. The room was massive, dominated by a four-poster bed draped in heavy black velvet. The windows looked out over the churning ocean, but they were barred with wrought iron in the shape of twisting vines.

Alistair kicked the door shut and locked it.

He set Silas down on the bed.

"Stay," Alistair commanded.

He paced the room, his shadows agitated, flickering like flames. He muttered to himself in a language Silas didn't recognize—guttural, wet sounds that made Silas’s teeth ache.

"Alistair," Silas said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "What is happening? Who are those people?"

Alistair stopped pacing. He looked at Silas. The monster was gone, replaced by the exhausted, beautiful man Silas had watched from afar for months.

"They are the heralds of my destiny," Alistair said bitterly. He walked over and knelt at Silas’s feet. He took Silas’s hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over the knuckles. "They are here to ensure I inherit the power of the Void."

"The Ascension," Silas remembered the term from the journals. "But... isn't that a good thing? You'll be powerful."

Alistair laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Power has a price, little archivist. To ascend, one must sever all ties to humanity. One must become... other."

He pressed his forehead against Silas’s knees. "I do not want to be other. I want to stay here. I want to watch you read. I want to smell the dust on your skin."

Silas felt a strange warmth bloom in his chest. He had spent his life feeling invisible. To be seen so completely, even by a monster, was intoxicating.

"Then tell them to leave," Silas said.

"I cannot," Alistair whispered. "The pact was signed before I was born. If I refuse, the Void will consume the manor. It will consume you."

He looked up, his eyes intense. "I will not let it consume you."

For the next two days, Silas lived in the tower. It was a gilded cage. Alistair brought him food. Alistair sat in the armchair and watched him read. Alistair slept on the floor by the bed, like a guard dog, refusing to leave Silas’s side.

It was terrifying. It was possessive. And god help him, Silas loved it.

He loved the way Alistair cut his meat for him. He loved the way Alistair’s shadows would curl around Silas’s ankles when the room got cold. He loved the feeling of being the most important thing in the universe.

But curiosity was an archivist’s vice.

While Alistair was in the bath, washing off the grime of the day, Silas began to snoop. He found a leather-bound book on the bedside table. *The Rituale of the Blackwood Line.*

He opened it. He skimmed the pages until he found the section on Ascension.

* The Heir must enter the Maw. The Heir must open his heart to the Void.*
* But the Void cannot enter a vessel that is full.*
* To make room for the God, the Heir must empty himself of humanity.*
* He must sacrifice the Tether.*
* The Tether: The soul to whom the Heir is most bound. The object of his greatest affection.*

Silas stopped reading. The book fell from his hands.

* The Tether.*

Alistair wasn't protecting him. Alistair wasn't keeping him safe from the cultists.

Alistair was fattening him up.

Silas was the sacrifice. The "object of his greatest affection." The only thing keeping Alistair human was his love for Silas, and to become a God, he had to kill it.

The bathroom door opened. Steam billowed out.

Alistair stepped out, wrapped in a towel, his hair wet and slicked back. He looked beautiful. He looked like a butcher.

"Silas?" Alistair asked, sensing the shift in the air. He saw the book on the floor.

Alistair went very still. The shadows in the room elongated, turning into spikes.