Текст книги "Cruel Beauty"
Автор книги: Rosamund Hodge
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
17
Iran down the corridors, trying door after door, but the stolen key would open none of them. At last I halted, panting, in a hallway with walls paneled in dark wood and a floor painted like the sky, pale parchment with a scattering of clouds—and burnt-out holes. I realized I was standing on one, and shifted my feet. I wondered if I would have seen the painted holes two days ago. If I went back to the round room with the model of Arcadia, would its parchment dome have holes as well?
That room wasn’t one of the hearts, I was sure. But the mirror with its keyhole that I had never been able to open—Shade had never answered any of my questions about it, so it had to be important.
Maybe the Heart of Fire lay on the other side.
It was worth a try. I retraced my steps, thinking of the mirror room. It had always been more mobile than the other rooms; in just a few minutes, I opened a door and saw Astraia sitting on a stone bench in the garden. Her knees were pulled up under her chin, and her forehead was creased in thought.
Movement flickered at the edge of my vision. I spun, expecting a wrathful Ignifex, but instead I saw Shade sliding across the wall behind me, still trapped in his bodiless daylight form. He paused, wavered, and then one of his shadowy hands flowed across the floor to grasp my hand.
My fingers curved around his phantom grip. It had been just the night before last that he released me from the room of dead wives. I remembered crying into his embrace, remembered kissing him and wanting him as surely as I wanted to breathe.
It felt like a hundred years ago. And his quiet presence, once so comforting, made me want to shrink away. I felt like Ignifex’s kisses were written across my face—but surely I should be ashamed instead of kissing the man who was not my husband.
Surely I should be ashamed of kissing the creature who had killed so many.
“Did Ignifex send you?” I asked.
It was hard to tell, but I thought he shook his head, and I supposed that if Ignifex had sent him, it would be with orders to drag me back by the hair, not to ask me nicely.
“I think this is one of the hearts,” I said.
Shade went still, as if the slightest twitch was forbidden, so I knew I was right. Then he let go of me, and I turned to the mirror.
The key slid easily into the lock. When I tried to turn it, at first it stuck; then there was a tiny metallic click, and it turned easily in a half circle. With a high, sharp noise, the mirror cracked down the center.
I jumped back, but nothing else happened. After a moment, I stepped forward and turned the key again. Now there was more resistance; I heard a click-click-click as I turned the key, as if the motion were powering a set of wheels and gears.
Then the mirror shattered into a cascade of glittering dust.
A breath of cold, dry air hit my face. Through the jagged edges of the frame was a dim little room with stone walls; when I stepped over the threshold, I saw that it was the landing for a narrow staircase twisting down into the darkness.
“Can you make light during the daytime?” I asked. But Shade only tugged my hand again. I remembered him singing the funeral hymns beside me and I followed him down the stairs.
Very soon the darkness was absolute. I moved slowly, one hand against the wall, the other gripped by Shade. I could feel the pressure of his touch, but it was bodiless, as if the air itself were gripping my hand. It made me think of how the Children of Typhon had seized me and held me in place for devouring.
I forced myself to focus on the cool, smooth stone beneath my fingertips and the closeness of the air—there was no sense of gaping void in this darkness. There was no icy burn of liquid shadow against my palm. Still my heart beat faster, and my skin prickled as if preparing for terror.
Suddenly Shade let go. I stumbled forward and found I had stepped off the stairs onto the floor. The wall was gone and I groped wildly in the darkness, trying not to panic—
Light dazzled my eyes. I blinked, eyes watering, and saw Shade standing before me, as solid and human as if it were night, a curl of light in his palm. We were in a wide, round room of stone, utterly bare and featureless except for the doorway leading to the stairs, with no light except what glimmered in Shade’s hand.
“How—” My throat was dry and my voice cracked; I swallowed. “How can you have a body during the day?”
“It is always night in this room.” The light glinted in his eyes. He raised the hand with the light higher, and white-gold flames sprang up all around the edge of the room. They made no smoke, but they crackled softly; it was a warm, comforting sound, and warm air flowed over my face. And I felt the thrum of power.
“This is the Heart of Fire,” I said.
Shade nodded. And watched me, the firelight dancing in his eyes.
I squared my shoulders. “Go ahead. Tell me how I’ve done wrong.”
The words jutted between us, harsh and angry. I realized too late they were the sort of thing I would say to Ignifex. They were not anything I should say to the captive who had shown me nothing but kindness.
“He’s taught you anger,” said Shade. “But he hasn’t made you stop trying to save us.”
The anger and cruelty had always been part of me, and Ignifex knew that very well. But at least Shade was still deceived.
“No,” I said. “I’ll never stop. I’ll save you, I promise.”
“Would you die for that?”
“Why do you think I’m here?” I snapped, then drew a breath. “You know I’m prepared to pay any price.”
His fingertips ghosted down the side of my face. “You’ve grown so strong. You’re almost ready.”
“I don’t feel ready,” I muttered.
“You are,” he said. “Trust me.”
You don’t know me, I thought.
He had always comforted me before. But this time, the tension still coiled in my shoulders and stomach. A million words buzzed in my throat: He says he loves me. You kissed me and I wanted it, but I want him too. I believe you’re the prince. It’s my duty to save you and I swear that I will. I think I’m wicked enough to love a demon. Even just thinking them stung like bees, and I swallowed them all.
“You know the Resurgandi’s plan,” I said instead. “Ignifex says it will never work. That we don’t understand the nature of the house at all.”
“Do you trust him?” asked Shade.
I stared into his blue eyes that had once seen the true sun, and in that moment I didn’t want to refuse him anything. I meant to say No, never, of course not. But the words stuck behind my teeth. I remembered Ignifex’s fire driving back the shadows, his body curled trustingly against mine, his voice saying, You lie to me but not to yourself.
Finally I said, “I don’t know what to think. He’s not . . . I don’t trust him. But I don’t think he’s a monster.”
Shade took my hands. “Never doubt this: He is the worst of monsters. He is the author of all our misfortunes, and it would be the greatest blessing if he had never existed.”
Arms around me in the dark. Lips against mine in the sunlight. Do you know why I love you?
He knew me. And loved me. And he had never asked me for anything. Even Shade wanted me to die for him. Maybe I shouldn’t forgive a monster just because he loved me that way—but—
But loving me that way made him a monster. My doom was the price of saving Arcadia, and only a monster would care more about me than saving thousands upon thousands of innocents. Shade was the last prince; of course if he could save only one, he would choose Arcadia. I would do the same.
“Well, the Kindly Ones would seem to merit blame as well,” I said. “Can you tell me anything about them?”
“They never come unless they are called,” said Shade. “They never depart without being paid.”
“Are they the ones who made you like this?” I asked. “He doesn’t seem to remember. I thought he just captured you when he sundered Arcadia, but it has to be more complicated than that.”
Shade’s lips pressed together.
“I think he’s been made to forget something about you. He seems to really believe you’re just his shadow. But then sometimes he acts as if you’re a separate person that he once knew. He says you’re a fool.”
The fire crackled louder. It sounded almost like laughter.
“He is the fool,” said Shade. “Mourning and raging and he doesn’t even know how his wives died.” There was an edge to his voice I had never heard before.
Firelight danced in his eyes. Had the flames grown closer? I felt a sudden wave of heat against my face.
“He said they opened the wrong doors. Or guessed the wrong name.”
“Three of them guessed wrong. The other five? They weren’t strong enough. When I took them to this room and showed them the truth, they died. But you.” His voice was full of gentle wonder. “You looked on the Children of Typhon and survived.”
He spoke the words so calmly and I had trusted him so much that it was a moment before fear shivered in my stomach.
“I don’t know about that,” I said, wondering how fast Shade could run. The flames were definitely closer now; sweat prickled on my face.
“You are our only hope,” he said. I pulled my hands out of his and bolted.
But he didn’t need to run. He simply melted out of the air in front of me and grabbed my wrists, his grip as strong as Ignifex’s.
“Let me go,” I gasped, wrenching my arms in vain.
“You asked how I was made,” he said serenely. “I’m going to show you. I’m going to show you everything.”
The circle of fire tightened around us, and the heat drummed on my skin. I remembered the time Father donated a pig for roasting in the village square, but the spit collapsed and when they hauled the pig out it was a blackened mess.
“You’re going to kill me!” My voice came out so high and panicked it was almost a squeal.
“This room is the only way to show you,” said Shade. “It might kill you. But you said you would die for me, and you cannot save anyone unless you know the truth.”
Then the flames were all around us, filling the whole room, lapping over my body. Pain seared through me, white-hot or ice-cold, I couldn’t tell. I screamed and my legs gave out, but I didn’t fall because Shade still gripped my wrists like iron. He lowered me slowly to the ground and rested my head in his lap.
There was no smell of burning flesh. My clothes did not char. But the flames licking across my body felt real, felt like they were burning my body to ash. My heart pounded in a jagged rhythm. I couldn’t move, couldn’t even scream. All I could do was shudder in pain and stare up at Shade’s face, at those blue eyes I had once thought so human. He looked sad, but he made no move to help me.
“Please,” I gasped.
Shade laid a hand on my cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish we could have met somewhere else.”
He leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead. Fire blazed across my vision and I had one moment to think, Was it like this for Ignifex? before I saw nothing more.
I stood in a round garden with high white walls. I felt that I had seen it before, but I couldn’t remember where. Trees ringed the edge of the garden; all around me were great hedges of rosebushes, blossoming in cascades of crimson, white, and red-tipped gold flowers. Overflowing petals lay spattered on the ground beneath them. The light was a liquid, living thing that swirled and eddied through the leaves, rustling them like wind. In the corner of my eye, I thought it had shaped itself into figures that stood watching with still, perilous attention—but when I looked, they were gone.
Before me stood a dried bush, barely more than a skeleton, just a few brown leaves clinging to its twigs. On the topmost branch perched a brown-and-gray sparrow, its black eyes bright.
Thank you for the crumbs, it said.
My throat itched and stuck to itself as I swallowed. “You,” I whispered. “You’re the Lar of this house.”
You could say that. Others might not.
“Are you one of the Kindly Ones?” I asked.
Nothing so young or foolish.
“Then what are you?”
It launched into the air and landed on my hand, tiny claws pricking my skin. I am grateful for your kindness.
Dry leaves crackled behind me; dry, hot air stirred against the back of my neck. I whirled, sure that someone had passed behind me, but saw nothing.
“And where is this?” I asked.
That depends, said the sparrow, on why you are here.
I was here because Shade had betrayed me. But now that didn’t seem so important. And it wasn’t the real reason anyway.
“I’m looking for the truth about this house,” I said. “About Arcadia. I have to save us all.”
Then look in the pool, said the sparrow.
I realized that at the center of the garden was a great round pool lined with marble. At first I thought it was empty. Then as I stepped closer, I thought it was full of perfectly clear water; but when I stood at the rim, I realized that it was filled with liquid light.
All times are gathered here, said the sparrow. You might see something useful.
I knelt; the marble rim was cool and smooth beneath my fingers. My eyes did not want to focus on the liquid glimmer. It was worse than the library had ever been; just a moment’s attention made my eyes ache and water, while my body shuddered with the need to look away. But I forced myself to look down into the coruscating ripples, hanging on to the rim with cramping fingers, my breath coming in choked gasps, until I thought I saw a shadow—a face—
Blue eyes looked back at me. As if that gaze were the key, the next instant the garden was gone and so was my body, swept away in a whirl of light and images. The visions streamed through me, burning like fire, and each one replaced another of my memories. I tried to fight, to cling to my memories and myself, but I had no fingers to grip them, no skin to separate me from this.
Helplessly, I saw a castle, and forgot my father’s house. I saw a garden, and forgot my Hermetic diagrams. I saw a blue-eyed boy, and forgot Astraia. They swept through me until I forgot to fight, forgot that I had ever been anything but a palimpsest of memories overwritten by visions.
I saw the Sundering. And I forgot that I existed.
When I finally came back to myself, I was collapsed at the edge of the pool, the edge of the marble rim cutting into my cheek, dust in my mouth and half-dried tears itching on my cheeks. My teeth ached and I tasted blood.
But I was real. And alive.
And I finally knew the truth.
The sparrow stood beside me on the ground, and though a bird has no expressions, I could have sworn there was compassion in its tiny black eyes.
Go, said the sparrow. Go. You cannot bear this much reality.
The air burned in my lungs.
Go, said the sparrow again, and everything frayed into light.
When I woke, at first I noticed nothing except a bird and the throbbing pain in my head.
After a few breaths, I realized that the bird was woven into the lace curtains of my bed. I could just make it out in the flickering candlelight that—dim as it was—stabbed through my head. I moaned softly, shifting, and realized someone was huddled against me. Ignifex.
In a moment he was sitting up, leaning over me, crimson eyes wide with worry. There must not have been quite enough candles in the room, for the darkness nibbled at the edges of his face, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Nyx,” he said. “Can you hear me?”
And I knew. In that moment, I knew his name and the knowledge set my heart hammering.
“You,” I whispered. “I was—and you were—”
“I got you out. Away from him.” He growled the last word.
“Shade.” The name came out like a sob.
His hand ghosted over my face. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Don’t,” I said fuzzily. “It’s not—he’s also—” But my tongue wouldn’t move anymore and I sank back into sleep.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
18
When I woke again, it was daylight. Ignifex was no longer huddled against me but sat on the side of the bed, his arms crossed. When I moved, he raised an eyebrow.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
I sat up. My vision swam a moment and I took a slow, deep breath. Ignifex reached for my shoulder but I swatted his hand away.
“I’m all right,” I said. My head would stop hurting eventually. “What happened?”
Ignifex’s mouth twisted. “That thing—” He paused. “Shade tried to kill you. I found you screaming. He’s locked up now.”
I blinked at the blue ripples of the coverlet over my legs. “No,” I said, because that story wasn’t right. Something more had happened.
“He took you to the Heart of Fire.” His voice was a stone, shattering my thoughts. “That place is not meant for humans, and he poured its power into your head.”
You looked on the Children of Typhon and survived. Shade’s voice echoed in my head. You are our only hope.
“No,” I said again, because I remembered more than fire and death; I remembered a blue-eyed boy, a lid slamming shut, and a bird—
“He boasted that he did it before.” Ignifex sounded sick.
“I’m all right,” I snapped, because the demon whom I meant to defeat was not allowed to be upset for me.
The long-lost prince was not allowed to try killing me, either. But I knew that Shade had been trying to do something more; I knew that he had succeeded, but the burning visions had left my mind so hazy that I couldn’t remember.
“I woke up earlier. What did I say?”
“You babbled.” Ignifex leaned forward. “And then you slept, or I’d have tied you down. You’re still not allowed out of bed, by the way.”
He would clearly never tell me what I had said—most likely he did not remember—and maybe I had not said anything comprehensible. But the first time I woke, I had known. I remembered that, but I couldn’t remember what I had known.
I had seen the Sundering. I knew that much: I had seen the moment Arcadia was ripped away from the world and trapped beneath a parchment dome. But I could not recall what it looked like. What had happened.
You cannot save anyone unless you know the truth.
Ignifex wiped my cheek with his thumb. I realized I had been crying.
“I won’t let him hurt you,” he said quietly.
“I hate you,” I said through my teeth.
He laughed and went to get me breakfast. I waited until the echo of his footsteps had died away before I broke down sobbing, partly for the horrible truth I could not remember, but mostly for the man I had trusted.
For the next three days, I recovered. Though Ignifex stopped telling me to stay in bed after I threw a water jug at his head—I missed, but on purpose—I mostly obeyed the command anyway. Even a little movement left me exhausted and gasping for breath; if I tried to keep going, I would start to feel hot tremors across my skin and hear a faint crackle of flame in my ears.
Ignifex prowled my room like a cat kept indoors by the rain. He brought me food; every time he offered to spoon-feed me, and every time I smacked his nose with the spoon. He also brought stacks of books from the library—not the histories, which had the most holes burnt in their pages, but books of poetry and, once he learnt that I liked them, volumes of lore and scholarship about the gods.
“There was a country where they burned their children before a bronze statue of their patron god Moloch, whom this scholar suggests is another form of Kronos.” Ignifex turned a page. “There’s a picture too.”
“You always find the most charming stories,” I said, though truthfully he seemed to be fascinated by any tale of foreign lands. Perhaps in nine hundred years, he had started to grow bored.
“The country’s name was Phoinikaea. Do you know where that is? Or was, I suppose, since Romana-Graecia burned it down and salted the earth. Here’s another picture.”
Yes, definitely bored.
“How should I know?” I frowned at a book of children’s rhymes. Several of the pages had been burnt to tatters, though I could not imagine why the Kindly Ones would care about it. “You sundered our world, remember?”
“And your people have spent near on two centuries studying the World Before.”
“We were more interested in killing you than in the location of ancient barbarians.” I dropped the book, giving up on it. “But if you died right now, I’m sure we might find time to research Phoinikaea in a decade or four.”
He smiled at me. “Too bad I’m quite intransigently immortal.”
He still spent the nights with me, huddled against my side. Without Shade, he had to bring and arrange all the candles himself, though he could set them all alight with a wave of his hand.
“Much good it does you to be a demon, when you have to carry your own candles,” I told him the second night.
“Who said there was anything good about being a demon?”
On the third night, I lay awake a long time, staring at his face in the flickering candlelight. I still remembered looking at him and knowing something beyond all doubt: an answer that filled me with hope and despair. But try as I might, I could not remember the secret.
I thought back to the Heart of Fire. I had begged Shade for help—the flames had closed over me—
I remembered the bird in the garden, the half-seen figures in the liquid light. I remembered bright blue eyes and the voice of a desperate young man. But I didn’t remember anything more.
Ignifex made a soft noise and shifted closer. Without thinking, I slid an arm around him. I knew I should draw back, that I should harden my heart and prepare to destroy him, but lost in the endless hours of the night, I was finally able to admit it: I didn’t want to defeat him. I knew what he was and what he had done, and I still didn’t want to hurt him in any way.
The thought should have disturbed me. But instead I drifted into a heavy sleep, and all night long I dreamt of sunlight and birdsong, with no fire or pain anywhere.
On the fourth morning, I woke up before Ignifex, when the sky was dim and colorless, veined with charcoal. I tried to lie still, but my body felt like a clock wound to the point of bursting, and in only a few minutes I couldn’t bear it any longer. I had to get up.
The dawn was close enough that the darkness no longer gnawed at Ignifex; I felt no guilt sliding out of his arms and tiptoeing to the wardrobe. I wanted proper clothes, but I couldn’t stand the thought of another layered, buttoned-up dress constricting me. Instead I pulled out a dress of the ancient style: a simple white linen gown belted at the waist and held together with golden clasps at the shoulders.
I eased the door open and ran out into the hallway. My feet whispered against the cool floors; the breath raced in and out of my lungs, but I did not weaken or grow dizzy. I ran through the corridors until finally I caught a pillar to slow myself and, laughing, tried to catch my breath.
I should check on Astraia, I thought, and then I remembered that the mirror was gone, shattered so I could find the Heart of Fire. So that Shade could betray me.
Something touched my neck. I whirled, realizing only after I had moved that it was just wind from an open window, trailing a strand of hair across my neck.
Nobody followed me in the shadows. Nobody waited for me, blue-eyed and solemn, with gentle hands and a quiet voice.
Tears stung at my eyes. I blinked them back, realizing that I was still mourning Shade. I had thought that he loved me, that I might love him. I had certainly trusted him. He had nearly killed me. And now he was surely gone forever.
I tried to show them the truth, he had said. However mad or monstrous he might be, I didn’t think he had become so for little reasons. I remembered knowing that truth, and it had felt like it was tearing my soul apart. I had to remember it again.
Staring at the dawn-dim corridor, however, did not particularly help. I wiped my eyes and went to find the dining room, where platters of breakfast and little pots of steaming coffee awaited me.
The house would gladly render up breakfast, but it would not help Ignifex collect candles to keep himself from being eaten alive by darkness every night. I pondered that a few moments, then decided it was one more sign of the Kindly Ones’ capricious nature, and laid into the breakfast.
Ignifex trailed into the room, rubbing his head, when I was halfway finished. “You seem to be recovered,” he said.
“I hope you aren’t planning to order me back to bed.”
“No, you have far too much crockery at your disposal.” He sat down at the table, got up again, and wandered to my side. I raised my eyebrows, but he said nothing; instead he sat down beside me and started piling apples into a tower.
“You are losing your ability to terrify me,” I observed after his apple tower had fallen twice.
“That is the problem with a wife who survives so long.”
“Have I set some sort of record?”
“Two of them lasted longer. But not by much.” He stared at the far end of the table a moment; then he stood abruptly. “Are you done with your breakfast?”
“Yes,” I said, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Good. I want to take you somewhere.”
“I haven’t got any keys for you to steal,” I said, rising.
“Not every one of my actions has an ulterior motive.” He took my hand. “If I pick you up, will you hit me?”
“What are you planning to do?”
“Take you to a garden.” He scooped me up into his arms and strode toward the open end of the hall that looked out on the sky. I realized what he was planning and swallowed.
“I thought I was never to leave this house,” I said, looking back over his shoulder so that I wouldn’t have to see the edge approach. Instead I saw his wings appear. First they were no more than indentations in the air itself; then they thickened into shadow or perhaps smoke, and then they were solid: great arching wings with soot-black feathers.
“Oh, this place counts as part of it.” His wings pumped once and I threw my arms around his neck, squeezing my eyes shut as I hunched against his shoulder; then he leapt into the air.
For one agonizing moment we fell; then his wings pushed us up, and up, and with a strangled gasp I managed to look down. The house was already well below us: from above, as from the hill outside, it looked like a solitary tower standing among ruins. There was no sign of the great open hall from which we had launched, and I wondered what I would have seen if I’d kept my eyes open in those first moments. Would the world have twisted, the lines and corners of the building bending as space curled in on itself?
I realized that I was imagining this transformation happening to a great pillared throne room, and the image felt familiar, like a half-forgotten memory. Was it something I had seen in the Heart of Fire?
We kept flying upward, the landscape shrinking away beneath us. I saw the houses of the village grow tiny, until they were no more than dots on the ground, while the land itself became hazy with distance. We were level with a great bank of clouds to the left, huge white structures that billowed and rolled and sent out translucent tendrils.
And then we were above the clouds. The very surface of the sky loomed close to us, its parchment patterning as huge as if it were stolen from the writing desk of the Titans. And horribly close to us yawned the ragged gaps in the sky through which the Children of Typhon could any moment swarm out and devour—
Pain lanced through my head. I gasped, again dizzy with the fleeting sense of phantom recognition.
“Don’t worry,” said Ignifex. “I’m the demon lord, remember? They cannot seize you against my will.”
“They managed it quite well a few nights ago.”
“Yes, but now you’re in my arms.”
“So already seized by a demon,” I muttered. “Hardly an improvement.” But I still relaxed in his embrace.
Then a shadow fell across my face. I looked up, and caught my breath in wonder. The latticework of the Demon’s Eye loomed overhead, but what I—along with everyone else in Arcadia—had always taken to be a figure painted on the parchment sky was in fact the framework of a vast garden hanging in the air. What from the ground looked like a thin strands of knotwork were actually broad walkways sixty feet across, covered in grass and snowdrops. Marble statues of young women, their face worn half away, stood at the points of the design as if they were caryatids supporting the sky. At the center was a round pool of water with benches beside it, and as we swooped past, I saw great gold-and-silver-splotched carp swimming in lazy circles.
A huge iron chain, its links as thick as a man was tall, hung down from the dome. It seemed to hold up the Eye: but thirty feet above the pool, it faded into thin air, and we flew under it without a whisper of resistance.
Ignifex landed on the far side of the pool and set me down. I took a wobbling step, still a little dizzy; I expected the ground to sway beneath my feet, but it was firm as a rock. If I ignored the vastness on every side and looked at the grass between my toes, I could pretend that I was safely on the ground.
Pretending, though, would have been a waste. I didn’t quite dare to stand on the edge, but I walked as close as I dared, then spun myself in delight, because there was wind on my face and grass beneath my feet, and I had never thought to feel either one again.
When I halted, I saw Ignifex sitting sideways on one of the benches, leaning back on his hands, one knee pulled up. The wind ruffled his hair; he looked faintly amused.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
“It’s your reward for not dying,” he said.
I took a step forward, resisting the urge to twist my hands. “Yes. About that. Can I—if I could talk to Shade—”
He growled.
“You don’t understand.” I didn’t understand either, not entirely, but I thought that if I saw Shade again I might remember. “I know what false kindness is like, because I’ve been smiling and lying all my life. Shade isn’t like that. Long ago, he was truly kind. I think some part of him still is, but he knows something that makes him willing to murder five women. If we knew—”
“And if it was that sort of knowledge, perhaps we’d murder each other and save him the trouble.”
“Or perhaps we could find a solution.” I took another step toward him. “I thought you wanted to know your name and the truth about your origins.”
“Maybe I changed my mind.”
“Maybe you’re contradicting me for the fun of it.”
