Page 37 of A House of Gold
“I’m trying to understand how this place works. The hierarchy. Who has power, who doesn’t, where I fall in all of it.”
“Ah.” He sounds pleased and leans forward slightly. “The hierarchy is simple. I’m at the top. Auric is my second; he has authority over the other servants, can make decisions in my absence, but he ultimately answers to me. The other servants, the silent ones you’ve seen, are bound through different means. Some are human souls who traded service for various things. Some are...other creatures. Lesser beings who find it advantageous to serve a house.”
“And me?”
“You’re unique. You’re not a servant in the traditional sense. You’re a contracted employee, as I said. You have moreautonomy than anyone else here except Auric. But you’re also more restricted in some ways. You can’t leave. Can’t refuse assignments. Can’t break the terms of your grandmother’s debt.” He tilts his head. “Does that answer your question?”
“Partially.” I hesitate, then push further. “What about you? The blindness. You said it was a punishment for falling. But how does that work? If you fell, why aren’t you in Hell? Why the houses?”
His expression shifts. Something guarded sliding into place. But he doesn’t shut me down. “The Seven Houses occupy a unique position. We’re Fallen, yes. Cast out of Heaven. But we’re not demons. We weren’t sent to Hell. We exist in...neutral territory. Between realms.”
“Why?”
“Because we serve a purpose. We contain certain aspects of sin that would otherwise run rampant. Greed, pride, envy, wrath, lust, gluttony, sloth—we embody them, yes, but we also control them. Channel them. Make them manageable.” He pauses. “It’s a prison disguised as power. We’re free to operate, to make deals, to collect souls. But we can never return to what we were. Can never access the full extent of our angelic nature. The blindness, for me, is just one aspect of that limitation.”
“Do you remember? What you were before?”
The question is too personal. I know it the moment it leaves my mouth. But Croesus doesn’t seem angry. Just...thoughtful.
“Fragments,” he says quietly. “Pieces. Like trying to remember a dream after you’ve woken up. I know I was something else once. Something greater. But the specifics...” He shakes his head. “It’s been three thousand years. Memory fades, even for angels.”
Three thousand years.
The number is incomprehensible. I can barely wrap my mind around a single century, let alone thirty of them.
“Does it get lonely?” I ask before I can stop myself. “That long. Alone.”
His mouth curves into something that’s not quite a smile. “Who says I’m alone?”
“Auric’s not exactly companionship. He’s an employee.”
“True. But I have my collection. My contracts. My work.” He pauses. “And now I have you.”
The way he says it makes something flutter in my chest. Not quite fear. Not quite attraction. Something in between.
“For a year,” I say, snapped back to reality.
“For a year,” he agrees. But there’s something in his tone that suggests he doesn’t quite believe that’s all it will be.
I stand, suddenly uncomfortable with how much I’ve revealed, how much he’s revealed. “I should go. We are doing this tonight? Can I take that folder?”
“Yes. You should.” He doesn’t move, just stands there with his gold eyes fixed somewhere near my face. “Raven?”
I grab the leather dossier and pause at the door. “Yeah?”
“Thank you. For asking. Most humans are too frightened to be curious about me. It’s... refreshing.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I just nod, then realize he can’t see it, and say, “You’re welcome.”
Then I escape into the hallway before this conversation can get any more complicated.
The door closes behind me with a soft click, and I lean against it for a moment, trying to calm my racing heart.
I push off the door, let the house guide me back to my room, and try not to think about how that conversation felt less like interrogating my captor and more like...getting to know someone.
That’s dangerous. That’s exactly what he wants. Make me comfortable here.
But I asked the questions to begin with, so it’s my own fault.
