He killed us.
He deserves to suffer here. Don’t you dare set the bastard free. He should rot in?—
“You decided ignorance would be easier for me to bear,” I finally say aloud, cutting off the voices in my head as I take a chance on this version of Crypt.
It pays off.
The rest of this memory fades like mist on a warm day, but the Nightmare Prince remains, becoming more solid. He's the version I'm here for.
But when his attention moves to me, I see the same inhuman emptiness on his face that I remember so well from our childhood.
I asked my parents about it once. My mother, a vampire, quietly explained that while it’s not common with modern legacies whose more monstrous instincts are much more evolved, siphons can occasionally completely numb all “non-essential” emotions. She said it would be second nature for a half-monster like the DeLune bastard to choose his monster side, silencing whatever human sentiments he could otherwise be capable of.
At the time, I took it as further proof of his horrid qualities.
Now, it couldn’t be more obvious that he’s simply trying to dull the same agony I have felt for six seemingly endlessmonths. We've all mourned Maven differently—but once again, I understand him.
Crypt considers me without care. “Here to kill me, Crane?”
Do it! Kill him! He’s never been weaker!the voices screech in my head, so loudly that I cover one of my ears to see if that will help.
“Nach. No,” I amend in English.
“Pity.”
The memory-like landscape around us shifts until we’re abruptly standing in the headmaster’s office at Everbound. This is that godsforsaken image of Maven motionless on the ground with Pierce plunged through her heart.
When Crypt sees me flinch at the raw, cruel memory, he smirks in the most inhuman show of amusement.
“It gets worse each time. You’ll know that soon enough since you’re stuck here now. There's no escape.”
I meet his eye. “On the contrary, I’m here to get you out.”
Except I've lost focus, so it comes out jumbled and half Nether-tongue.
“Such articulate company to entertain me for an eternity in purgatory,” he drawls, staring numbly down at our motionless keeper.
Maven.
Perhaps thinking of her will make him shake off his numbed siphon state.
“She’s back,” I say, picking the correct words as carefully as possible. “Maven. She’s alive.”
The incubus has no reaction as he continues to watch the horrible scene before us.
“I can’t lie,” I remind him.
“What use are lies when you’re mad enough to believe anything?”
Determined to force him to feelsomething, I push harder.
“Maven is out there right now, waiting in Arati’s temple for me to get you out. See this amulet around my neck? It’s her blood keeping me this sane.” He’s still not reacting, so I throw in the revelation that I’m still trying to adjust to. “Our keeper is a demigoddess, Crypt. She’s the daughter of Syntyche.”
The name of that foreboding goddess finally makes him look at me. For a moment, I wonder if he’s absorbing that truth as our surroundings shift again until we’re watching Maven get swallowed by a harbinger during First Placement.
“Then you can thank our mother-in-law for what you’re about to endure,” he finally mutters.
I pause as I again consider the malediction I’m trying to unweave. Such succinct, dark, deathly power, interwoven with so many elements. Then there was the other, unidentifiable magic worked into this impressive beast of a spell.
