Book 2 Interludes 2/3 Kiera and Cyan

Am I into women? What kind of question is that?

Isn’t everyone?

Why do you think I like Guy so much?
—Kiera Mulberry

Kiera was okay.

She felt safe for the first time in an incredibly long time. She sat at her desk and scrolled through the archives on her tablet, but she was too distracted to actually read through them.

She felt... a lot of things, if she was being honest. Shell-shocked. Relieved. Heartbroken. Happy. She felt that ever-present regret. That she'd let her father kill her mom. That she'd helped. Administered daily injections herself. And the regret that her father had done it at all.

Violet had explained why, or her best guess based on her talent. That her dad was using his family as some kind of... incubation chamber for an ingredient in his personal potions. That was... disgusting. Violating in a way she couldn’t quite describe. Not in a perverse way, exactly. More like... biting into an apple and finding half a worm. But infinitely worse.

She had more questions about that, of course. But mostly, she just had regret. She missed the father she thought she'd had. And she missed when she’d believed he was real. She was grieving her father. The same father she’d helped murder. 

She wasn't certain how to process that. 

But Violet would be staying in the infirmary, so she’d have time alone to work through it.

What mattered was that Kiera was safe. Safe from her father, and safe from arrest. That had been at the back of her mind since she’d first escaped. That she'd be discovered, and her life would end. Even worse, Guy's life would end at the same time. She could hide that fear from herself, at least while she was awake. But she’d let it through. In case she needed to warn her friend.

But now? Now it was actually over. Her life was her own.

And it was all because of Violet. It was an impossible debt. Kiera had asked the girl for something unthinkable, and Violet had followed through. Just for Kiera. It was a dark sort of kindness, and one which would live in her heart as long as it beat. Kiera was beyond lucky to have met someone who cared so much. About a girl who was all but a stranger.

Violet, despite her sometimes harmless naivety, was the sort of person who had to act. She'd obviously suffered enough injustice for a lifetime. And now that she had the power to fight back, she would never suffer it again. Kiera had someone looking out for her, up above. Considering she’d met someone like Violet immediately after fleeing her father. 

She sighed and laid her head back. She let the tablet rest on the desk and closed her eyes.

She needed to sleep soon. She knew that. But...

She decided it was a bad idea to keep dwelling on the events of the day. They were immediate and real, but distant and fantastic at the same time. And they were forcing adrenaline through her veins. A thousand thoughts of her father's kindness warred with a thousand of his betrayals, and the relief of his death fought with the longing to take it back. 

She sighed and fed a little more clarity to her talent. She needed to forget what she'd done, and her talent would allow her to do exactly that. She tried not to overuse it. She didn't want to make herself entirely numb. But she was admittedly resorting to it more quickly in moments of extreme stress. 

It was the only way she knew to survive anymore.

Something that became clear every morning.

She couldn't use her talent in her sleep. Some talents could be left active at all times, but not hers. It was why she hated going to bed. She always stayed up late and rose early. To avoid the nightmares.

Whenever she woke up, she was strangled by anxiety. So much so that she didn't even know what caused it. It had been getting worse lately. And she'd trained herself to activate her talent before she could even process the source. It was just... a few breaths every morning where she drowned in unidentifiable emotions. 

Then, her clarity washed over her. And she felt as good as new. Before she even remembered why she was panicking.

Of course she was growing reliant on it. Anyone would.

Again, she used it to wash her worries away. And suddenly, she wasn't a terrified, guilty girl. She hadn't just helped murder her father. She hadn't asked her best friend to help her, thus dragging an innocent girl into her problems.

Or... she had. She didn't block out those particular memories with an illusion. She would need them. But she wasn't a girl who had any reason to feel guilty about it, and she no longer did. 

She was happy.

She lifted her tablet up and started scrolling again, this time distracted by more mundane thoughts. Like how desperately she wished she could just ask Guy out. And even... how she might’ve been forming a second, more minor crush. Or a fascination, at least. Not one she took as seriously. She didn't picture a future with anyone but Guy.

But there was someone who cared about her. And someone she could rely on to the same degree. She wasn't in love with more than one person. It wasn't the same deep, undeniable longing. But there was a growing spark of something else for her new confidante. 

She'd have to make sure she didn't blush when her roommate got back from the infirmary.

Although, it really wasn't the same kind of attraction she had for Guy. It was more... she had found someone she could always trust, no matter what. Someone who would never turn on her. Someone else she owed everything to, and who would do anything to protect her. More than actual physical or romantic attraction, perhaps “admiration” was a better word. She loved Guy, and she could admit that. It was more than a crush. But Violet... she wanted to live up to her. To become something like her. To make people feel as safe as Violet did. Now that she was done simply surviving, she had a goal to dedicate herself to. And that was what Violet represented.

She admired Violet more than she'd ever admired anyone.

The nature of callings is still a mystery to the world at large.
But that doesn’t mean it’s a mystery to everyone.

I’m telling you! They know! They are picking them for us!
None of us ever stood a chance, not with the Ashers involved!
—Unknown Conspiracy Theorist

Cyan cut into his steak and let out a sigh of contentment. He hadn’t even tasted it yet, but he could tell from the smell of the grease that he’d enjoy it. Real steak was rare for most people, but the Ashers maintained an actual farm in the violet district. They had little interest in talent-created meat. That was practically cannibalism, and Cyan was above that. He was also above hedron meat. The monsters technically had the same meat as the animals they came from, just with more clarity. But it was their diet. It ruined the flavor, as far as Cyan was concerned.

Of course, he was more than used to the food. He never lowered his standards, which meant such extravagant meals were commonplace for him. That wasn’t what made him so certain he would enjoy every bite so much. Not at all.

Cyan Asher loved food. It was a passion of his. He went to great lengths to maintain genuine ingredients and seasoning. He only hired chefs with a genuine passion for cooking. Not someone who’d asked for a chef calling as a child. Most people didn’t even remember choosing their calling, to whatever extent they’d had that opportunity, and they certainly didn’t know what they’d wanted when they were so young. No. Cyan loved food, and he wanted it to be cooked by someone who equaled him in passion. No talents. No shortcuts. Only adoration for the craft.

But there was one thing none of this could replicate. And that was mood. 

It was why so many restaurants in the old world spent so much on ambiance instead of ingredients. The best places spent money on both, of course. But it was a good strategy—if all they cared about was profit—to prioritize the environment over the menu. It was an undeniable fact that food tasted better when eaten by someone in a good mood. And the best food tasted sour when eaten by someone who was angry. It was why Cyan even bothered raiding blue nests for Prism. They couldn’t force him to work, of course. But a meal was nearly at its most delicious after a day of hard labor. Almost.

Even that paled in comparison to the flavor brought on by overwhelming victory. That was the spice of his current meal. Salt, pepper, and a vote that had finally landed in his favor. He lifted his fork and turned the chunk of dripping meat in the air. It was more than pink in the center, and the sear was perfect. He could taste his own drool as he gently put the steak in his mouth and sank his teeth into it. He groaned as the juice and flavor filled his mouth, rolling his eyes in pleasure with each movement of his jaw.

“You are as exasperating as ever, Cy,” Marigold complained. 

Cyan let a sigh out and continued to chew for several more seconds, not willing to end the experience a moment too soon. He swallowed, dabbed at the corners of his cheeks with a napkin, then took a drink of old-world wine to wash it down. Only then did he look up at his older sister, who’d been sitting on the other side of his desk since before the meal had been delivered.

“I am simply trying to enjoy my dinner, Mari. What’s wrong with that?” he asked.

It was Marigold’s turn to roll her eyes. “You are a creature of habit, Cy. You eat dinner at the same time every day, and you have for years. Over two hours ago, now. I understand you want to gloat, but the constant demonstrations of power are exhausting. You really delayed your dinner until our meeting? Just to fuck with me?” she complained.

Cyan grinned, then shrugged. “Well, if it bothers you, why don’t you simply become more powerful than me?” he asked.

“You know I don’t care about any of that. I was happy with what I had. Handling the nests around Prism was interesting. Managing our clarity reserves, research and development, hiring contractors. I enjoyed all of it, and you don’t care at all. So why? Why force a vote to take that away from me? Can’t we just handle our own affairs and leave the others to their passions?” she practically begged.

Cyan drank it in. Marigold hadn’t literally started pleading, but the fact that she would soon? That was an answer to the question all on its own.

“Well, you were managing them poorly, Mari. An entire team wiped out? Our operations, and even our equipment? Discovered by the police? I may not have your passion for the job, but I have the competence it needs. I’m sorry. But this was for the best. I didn’t even ask for the vote myself, you know. Your recent failure was just... too public,” he taunted.

Marigold clenched her fists at her sides and took a deep breath. “Aren’t your games with Abel Bouvier enough for you? Are you really so bored? Why did you do this?” she pressed.

“Do what? As I said, I didn’t ask for the vote,” Cyan insisted.

“Oh, cut the shit,” Marigold snapped. “I don’t know how you managed it. But I know you orchestrated that attack. Do you think I wouldn’t notice? The hedron who killed my team would never have been anywhere near that nest. Not without the prodding of a much higher bloodlust attribute. You sent a Nightshade after my team. After your own family’s interests. Just for a power play. For authority you don’t even want!”

Cyan paused, then looked at his sister with concern. “I fear this may be worse than I thought. It is all of our responsibility to monitor the Nightshades in the city. Could you really have lost track of one of them for long enough for this to happen? Especially one with enough power to do... this? I worry it would only be greater evidence of your failure if that theory were true,” he responded with clear concern on his face.

Marigold gritted her teeth and held back a violent retort. They were both Category Violet, but she’d still lose a direct confrontation. Or an indirect one. Cyan loved watching her squirm under that knowledge. 

“Just. You got what you wanted. You won your little game. I don’t care if I am on paper as your employee. I know you are going to hire someone to handle your new responsibilities anyway. Just allow me to keep doing my research, alright? You can be the big boss if it makes you feel good about yourself. I don’t care,” she offered.

Cyan frowned. “I was given this authority on account of your failures. I doubt it would impress the rest of the family if I handed it right back to you,” Cyan replied. “Especially when you didn’t even say ‘please.’”

Marigold closed her eyes and took several deep breaths through her nose. She looked like she was chewing on a lemon as she opened them again, but she forced the word out. “Please,” she finally complied.

Cyan gave her a wide grin. “Well, of course! What kind of brother would I be to keep you from your work? Of course I’ll hire you! I’m afraid I can’t pay much. Say, 3 percent of profits? But you’ll be allowed to continue researching as you like,” he agreed.

Marigold had murder in her eyes. But she wasn’t the first to look at him that way, and she wouldn’t be the last. Even at Category Violet, she couldn’t lay a finger on him. She didn’t have the drive. Not like his newest pet did. 

Violet Asher. 

Now she was interesting. And dangerous. Enough to be far more worth his time. She had the instinct that could kill Cyan, with enough effort. And he actually wanted to see her try. In fact, he intended to. He would push her up through the ranks. Up the categories until she was at his level. He would use her as he needed the entire time, as he had to make this latest power play. And when she was finally a genuine threat?

Well. He would either die, or he would have one of the most satisfying victories of his life. He could hardly wait to find out which would happen. He’d start raising a calf now, he thought. To celebrate one of the most intriguing fights of his life. He was going to win, of course. But the minor risk of loss was the spice he was missing. He lived a happy but dull life. He had the only thing he cared about, of course.

Cyan was in control.

And he dared Violet to try and take it from him.