Текст книги "Cruel Beauty"
Автор книги: Rosamund Hodge
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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5
Dinner was in a great hall carved of deep blue stone. A colonnade ran down either side; on the left, the rock wall behind the pillars was rough and unfinished, but on the right was a vast wall of stained glass. There were no pictures in the glass, only an intricate swirl of many-colored diamond panes that cast a rainbow of glimmers over the white tablecloth. At the far end of the hall, a great empty arch looked out on the western sky, where the sun hung low. Though the horizon was far away, the sky looked strangely close: its mottling was larger and its surface more translucent, glowing bright red-gold veined with russet.
Amid the glory of that sky was a dark speck. It grew swiftly, until I saw that it was a great black bird, easily as big as a horse. It slowed as it approached the arch, its body melting and changing into a man.
No, not a man: the Gentle Lord. He landed with a whoosh and strode forward, boots clicking on the stone floor as his wings furled and melted into the lines of his long dark coat. For a heartbeat he looked human, and I found him beautiful. Then he came close enough that I could make out the cat-slit pupils in his crimson eyes, and my skin crawled with horror at this monstrous thing.
“Good evening.” He stopped at the opposite end of the table, one hand resting on the back of his chair. “Do you like your new home?”
I smiled and leaned forward, my elbows on the table and my arms pressed in to push up my breasts. “I love it.”
His smile crinkled, as if he were just barely holding back laughter. “How long have you been practicing that trick?”
Don’t stop smiling, I thought, but my face burned as I realized how childish I must have looked.
“And was it your aunt who taught you? Because between you and me, I’m fairly sure that a lonely cat could resist her charms.”
The horrible thing was that she had given me the idea—but he didn’t need to say it that way. As if I were anything like Aunt Telomache. As if he had any right to criticize her.
He said something else, but I didn’t notice; I was staring down at my empty plate, breathing very slowly and trying not to feel anything. I couldn’t lose my temper again. Not here, not now.
It was like ants crawling under my skin, like flies buzzing in my ears, like an icy current trying to drag me away. I listed off the similes in my mind, because sometimes if I analyzed the feeling enough, it would go away.
His breath tickled my neck, and I flinched. Now he was at my side, leaning over me as he said, “I’m curious. What advice did your aunt give you anyway?”
Strategy was suddenly nothing to me. I snatched my fork and tried to stab him.
He caught my wrist just in time. “That’s a little different.”
“I’m sorry—” I began automatically, then looked into his red eyes.
He had killed countless people, including my mother. He had tyrannized my country for nine hundred years, using his demons to keep my people in terror. And he had destroyed my life. Why should I be sorry?
I seized the plate and smashed it across his face, then grabbed the knife and tried to stab him left-handed. I nearly succeeded this time, but then he twisted my right hand. Pain seared up my arm and we both tumbled to the floor. Of course he landed on top of me.
“Definitely different.” He didn’t sound out of breath at all, while I was gasping. “You might even deserve to be my wife.” He sat up.
“I notice that . . . even you don’t think that’s a compliment,” I managed to get out. My heart was still pounding, but he didn’t seem about to punish me.
“I’m the evil demon lord. I know it’s not a compliment, but I do like a wife with a little malice in her heart.” He poked my forehead. “If you don’t sit up soon, I’ll use you for a pillow again.”
I scrambled to sit up. He smiled. “Excellent. Let’s start over. I am your husband, and you may address me as ‘my darling lord’—”
I bared my teeth.
“Or Ignifex.”
“Is that your real name?”
“Not even close. Now listen carefully, because I’m going to tell you the rules. One. Every night I will offer you the chance to guess my name.”
It was so completely unexpected that it took me a moment just to understand the words, and then I tensed, sure that his rules were about to turn into a threat or mockery. But Ignifex went on, as calmly as if all husbands said such things. “If you guess right, you have your freedom. If you guess wrong, you die.”
Even with the threat of death, it still sounded far too good to be anything but one of his tricks.
“Why do you even offer me the chance?”
“I am the Lord of Bargains. Consider this one of them. Rule two. Most of the doors in this house are locked.” He drew open his coat, and this time I saw dark leather belts buckled crisscross over his chest, each hung with a string of keys. He took a plain silver key from near his heart and handed it to me. “This key will open all the rooms you are permitted to enter. Do not try to enter the other rooms or you will regret it dearly . . . though not for very long.”
“Is that what happened to your eight other wives?”
“Some of them. Some guessed the wrong name. And one fell down the steel staircase, but she was uncommonly clumsy.”
I clenched my hand around the key. Its cold edges bit into my palm, a sharp little promise. I might have failed at beguiling my husband, but he had still been fool enough to give me a little freedom, and I would make sure he regretted that very dearly.
“Meanwhile, would you care to dine?” He stood and held out a hand.
I ignored him and stood on my own. The warm, delicious scent of cooked meat hit me: sometime during our fight, an enormous roast pig had appeared on the table, its feet reaching up toward the ceiling. Next to it sat a tureen of mock-turtle soup, and all around were platters of fruit, rice, pastries, and roasted dormice.
“How . . . ?” I breathed.
Ignifex sat down. “If you start wondering how this house works, you’ll likely go mad. That could be amusing, I suppose. Especially if it’s the kind of madness that causes you to run naked through the hallways. Do feel free to indulge in that anytime.”
I clenched my teeth as I sat back down at the table. Outrageous though it was, his chatter was curiously comforting: because as long as he was babbling nonsense at me, he wasn’t doing anything.
Whatever invisible hands had laid the table with food had also returned my knife, fork, and plate to their places and filled my glass with wine. I picked up the glass and swirled it, staring at the dark liquid. The thought of eating and drinking here suddenly filled me with dread. Persephone had tasted the food of the underworld just once, and she was never able to leave. But then, I was never meant to leave here anyway.
“It’s not laced with blood or poison.” His smiled flashed; apparently his amusement at my fears was inexhaustible. “I may be a demon, but I’m not Tantalus or Mithridates.”
“That’s a pity,” I muttered, and sipped my wine. “I wouldn’t mind Mithridates. Then I’d get a quick death or a useful immunity.” Legend said the ancient king had dosed his food with a little poison every day, until he could withstand any venom on earth. I wondered if I might poison Ignifex—but what earthly poison could destroy a demon?
“At least be grateful I’m not Tantalus.” He licked his knife, and I couldn’t help twitching. Only scholars read about Mithridates but everyone knew the story of Tantalus, the king who thought to honor the gods by serving them his butchered son. His punishment was an eternity of hunger and thirst, tormented by fruit that hung just out of reach and water that flowed away when he tried to drink.
“Refraining from abominations is not a special favor that should earn you a prize, my lord husband.” I crossed my arms. “Or will you next expect me to love you because you have not yet put me to torment?”
As I said the words, I realized they were true. I had been the bride of the Gentle Lord for half a day already, and there had been strikingly little torment. And I was not grateful; I was disturbed. What could he be planning?
“Well, I’m already hoping there could be a dinner where you don’t try to stab me with your fork,” he said.
“You might need to make your peace with disappointment.”
Maybe he planned to destroy me with suspense. But I had been waiting for him to destroy me all my life; he could taunt me as much as he wanted, and it still wouldn’t break me. I reached for the platter of stuffed dormice. After he had mentioned Tantalus, I didn’t have much of an appetite for meat, but I refused to let him see that.
We ate in silence. I was not very hungry and I did not see the point in pretending, so I soon set down my fork and said, “May I please be excused?”
“You don’t need my permission to leave the table. You’re not a child.”
“No, I’m only your captive.” I stood. “I’m going to bed.” And then my heart was pounding again, because how had I forgotten, even for a moment? I was his wife, and it was our wedding night. Even if he didn’t want to torment me, he would certainly want to claim his rights.
He was slightly less cruel than I had expected, but he was still a heartless, inhuman thing who had taken me captive, killed my mother, and oppressed my entire world. The thought of letting him possess my body was revolting. I didn’t have a choice.
I remembered Father patting my head as he intoned, “Duty is bitter to taste but sweet to drink,” and I wished he were here so I could spit in his face.
I watched Ignifex steadily as he rose and strode to my side. Maybe he wouldn’t wait for bed; maybe he would take me here and now. I supposed that at least then it would be over and done with—but at once my mind treacherously added, Until the next night, and the next, and the next—
“Nyx Triskelion.” He took my right hand. “Do you wish to guess my name?”
It took me a moment to recall what he had explained earlier, another to make my voice work. “Of course not.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” He lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles—then dropped it and strode past me for the door. “Sweet dreams.”
“But,” I said, and hated my wavering voice. Relief should not feel like fear.
“What?” He was already a pace out the door, but he leaned back in, a few stray locks of dark hair swinging in his eyes. “Already disappointed in your marriage?”
I swallowed. “Well. I had expected more ravishing on my wedding night.”
“I’m your husband. I can wait as long as I please and still have all of you.”
The nightgowns in my wardrobe were made of lace and gauze, cut so they would cling to the body and part in unexpected slits. I rummaged through them until I found a dressing gown of butter-soft red silk. It didn’t even have buttons, just a sash, but at least it was not transparent. Then I paced back and forth without putting it on. Ignifex had as good as said he wouldn’t visit me tonight, but it was my wedding night. What else would he do?
Then again, he wasn’t human. Who knew what he thought about marriage?
My head snapped up at a flicker of motion: it was Shade, sliding along the silver-and-white wall into the room. My whole body was suddenly alive with tension; until this moment, I hadn’t realized how much I had started to believe I would be spared.
“My lord husband needs me again so soon?” I demanded.
Shade wavered a moment and went still.
“Or are you here to prepare me for him?” I crossed my arms to hide how my hands were shaking. “Because what you see now is all your master will get.” Ignifex could strike me down whenever he pleased, but until then I refused to bend.
Shade stepped away from the wall.
For the first step he was only a dark cloud in the suggestion of a human form. Then blobs of darkness branched into fingers and frayed into hairs; they lightened and then grew solid. When he stood at the foot of my bed, he looked almost like a normal man, living and breathing and corporeal. Almost: for he was still formed in shades of gray. His tattered coat was the color of slate, his skin was milky white, his hair was pale silver-gray. Only his eyes were colored, such a deep blue as I had never seen before, their pupils round and human.
His face was sculpted into exactly the same lovely shape as Ignifex’s. But without the crimson cat eyes, without any arrogance or mockery in the lines of his face or the way that he stood, it took me a moment to notice the resemblance.
“You . . .” I was hugging myself now. “How did you . . .”
He gestured at the clock ticking away on my wall.
“Because it’s night?”
He nodded, pointed at the door, and held out a hand. The invitation was clear.
It was one thing for a demon lord to have a living shadow. It even seemed possible for that shadow to take human form at night. But Shade’s eyes were human—and blue, like the true sky that I had only read about. For one foolish instant, I wanted to trust those eyes. I started to reach for his hand.
Then I remembered where I was, and whose face he wore.
“So you can put on his face,” I said. “That means you’re just another part of him.” I dropped trembling hands to my sides and straightened up as proudly as I could. “If you’ve come to ravish me, you will have to do it here, my lord. I will not follow you anywhere.”
His mouth tightened. Then he strode forward; as I flinched back, he dropped to his knees before me in a deep obeisance. He kissed my foot and laid his hands against my knees: the ancient posture of supplication.
Then he looked up at me, his blue eyes wide and desperate.
Once, as a child, I had sat with my ear pressed against the grandfather clock in the sitting room as it tolled noon. The peals didn’t ring through my head; they rang through my entire body, from the bones in my arms to the air in my lungs, until I was nothing but a helpless vibration alongside them.
It felt the same way now. For a short, trackless time I couldn’t move or breathe; I could only stare down at his pale face, his half-parted lips, and echo the thought over and over: He is begging me.
I remembered Ignifex, his arrogance and easy power. He would never beg me for anything. No demon would, unless threatened with the most terrible of fates, and I had no power to harm Shade.
Whatever this creature was, he could not be any part of Ignifex. He could not be a demon. He was a prisoner like me.
I grasped his hands. His skin was cool and dry, surprisingly solid; I could feel the flex of bones and tendons underneath.
To spurn a suppliant was deeply impious; the ritual was as old as hospitality and just as sacred. But that wasn’t why I pulled him to his feet. I knew what I ought to do, of course, but I was already doomed enough that I didn’t much fear the wrath of the gods. When I looked into Shade’s eyes, what I thought was, If he is a prisoner, then he could be an ally.
The Gentle Lord betrayed by his own shadow. I liked that thought.
I still didn’t entirely trust him, but following him was not an act of trust. It was a bet.
“Show me,” I said. “I’m here to die anyway.”
A smile ghosted across his pale face, and his fingers tightened around mine; again I was surprised how human his skin felt. Then he let go and strode away, his bare feet whispering against the floor. A floorboard creaked beneath him, shockingly corporeal, and I flinched. Then I followed him.
After all, I had told him the truth. I was not here to survive.
He led me down the dim corridors of the house; some were lit by pale moonlight slanting through the windows, for the silver-plated moon—as false as the sun—glinted round and full in the night sky. Some rooms had Hermetic lamps or crackling torches. Some had no lights or windows, or—disturbingly—had windows that looked out on utter blackness. In these rooms he snapped his fingers and a little curl of light appeared beside him.
We went back to the ballroom we had passed through earlier. I recognized it by the gilt moldings on the walls, for in the darkness I could not see the ceiling—and the floor was utterly changed. Gone were the mosaics; gone was the floor. Instead, still water filled the room from end to end, deep blue with white-gold glitters—for swirling above the water were tiny pinpricks of light.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered.
Shade caught my hand again and drew me forward. I followed him two halting steps, expecting my feet to splash into the water-but instead the soles of my feet touched something cool, firm, and smooth, like glass. I looked down: the water rippled around our feet but held our weight. So we walked to the center of a midnight lake and watched the lights swirl around us like a flock of birds.
But as lovely as it was, I could not lose myself in the sight.
“You did not clasp my knees just to show me a pretty view.” I glanced at Shade. He stared away from me, out over the water. “I would bet you risked his wrath to bring me here, too. Why?”
He turned to me then, his colorless face remote. Swiftly and firmly, he seized one of my hands and pressed it against my heart.
The breath stopped in my throat. There was no noise at all but my heartbeat.
He touched my hand over my heart, then gestured at the water around us. It was a riddle, one he was beseeching me to crack, and if only I could think beyond those blue eyes and my pulse pounding in my throat—
And I realized it was not my pulse: it was the heartbeat of a Hermetic working. I had spent hours in Father’s laboratory, finding the four hearts of countless workings, until I could do it in moments with my eyes closed. But that was different. Father’s workings had thready little pulses that hammered swiftly until they snapped, like tiny, fevered clockwork. This was a slow cycle of power, like the circulation of blood inside my body, the turning of sap within a tree.
And I knew.
My breath shuddered into me. I dropped my hand, staring at him. “This is the Heart of Water.”
He nodded fractionally.
The Heart of Water. It was the first step to defeating the Gentle Lord. It was the proof that we were right, that he could be defeated.
And in defiance of his master, Shade had shown me.
“Thank you,” I whispered. He was enslaved to Ignifex in a way I couldn’t imagine, and yet he was helping me fight him.
He was helping me. In this strange and terrible house, at the mercy of my monstrous husband, I was not alone anymore.
“Thank you,” I said again, and he smiled. It was a soft, delighted expression, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to smile. It transformed his face from a remote loveliness into something real and human, and I smiled back. It was the first time in years that I’d smiled at someone without any faking, without the least trace of resentment in my heart.
Outside this room and when daylight returned, I would be the captive wife of a monster. I would drown in my fear and hate, and Shade would only be a scrap of darkness who could not help me, and Ignifex would mock my wretchedness. But here and now, Shade seemed like the original, Ignifex the copy. Here and now, I felt like I was another girl, someone unafraid, who had never hated or deserved hatred. One who could even be forgiven if she took something that she wanted.
I remembered Ignifex’s smirk and his confident words: I can wait all I want and still have all of you.
And I thought, Here is one thing he isn’t getting.
Standing on my toes, I kissed Shade on the lips.
It was just a bump of my face against his. Despite Aunt Telomache’s lecture, I had no idea how to prolong a kiss, and his lips startled me, foreign and cool as glass. But then he caught me under the chin and gently kissed my mouth open. Though his lips were still cool, his breath was warm; as he kissed me, I breathed in time to him, until I felt like my body was only a breath of air mixing with his.
When he released me from the kiss, I didn’t pull away; I stared at the hollow of his throat, heart thumping, and fought the crazy urge to laugh. I had never dreamt I would taste a kiss from anyone but my monstrous husband, which could only be torture—and now—
“You must be careful,” said Shade.
Then I did pull away. “How—”
He smiled faintly. “Because you kissed me.”
When he said the word kissed, my whole body contracted. Suddenly I didn’t feel like a strange, free girl who could have what she wanted. I felt like Nyx Triskelion, who was supposed to guard her virtue (when she wasn’t sacrificing it) and think only of saving Arcadia. And I had just wantonly kissed a man—well, possibly he was not a man, but he was definitely not my husband—
I had just kissed somebody whose smile had faded, who was watching me now with tranquil eyes and making no least effort to bridge the little space between our bodies.
Since I couldn’t sink into the floor, I stepped back and tried to think of something else.
“You’re not part of him,” I said, watching his face. He stared back at me, reactionless. “I don’t think you’re just something he made.” A mere thing would not be able to kiss me against his maker’s will. “You’re somebody he’s cursed, aren’t you?”
Shade nodded, and that set my heart thumping. Somebody who had been cursed could be set free, and somebody who had been set free could think about—
What? Kissing me again, before I trapped myself with the Gentle Lord in his collapsing house for all eternity? It wouldn’t matter at that point if I’d had one kiss or a hundred before my doom came upon me.
And Shade wasn’t thinking of that anyway. He was just glad that he could speak, if glad was the word for someone whose face had gone still as the water beneath our feet.
“We’re both his prisoners,” I said. “You’ve already betrayed him once. That makes us allies, right?”
I could be glad just to have him as an ally. I’d never expected to have even that much.
He opened his mouth as if to speak, then caught himself. “I must always obey him,” he said after a moment. “You shouldn’t trust me too much.”
But those words made trust crackle and grow inside me. A demon or a demon’s shadow would tell me to trust him, not warn me away.
“Then I’ll trust you as much as I can,” I said. “What can you tell me about him? What did he do to you?”
“I can’t . . .” His mouth worked soundlessly until he pressed a hand over it, the skin between his eyes clenching.
“You can’t talk about him? Or yourself?”
“Any of his secrets,” he said lowly.
“What can you tell me?”
Shade seemed to think carefully before answering. “You’ll have to find the other hearts yourself. And be careful.”
I tried to think of a useful question that he might be able to answer. “Is there a time that’s safest to explore the house?”
“Never.” He paused. “But at night, he won’t notice what you do. He stays in his room.”
“Why, is he scared of the dark?”
I meant the words for a joke, but Shade nodded seriously. “Like all monsters. Because it reminds him of what he truly is.”
“Is that why you’re human at night?” I asked. “Because he made you a monster during the day, but the darkness reminds you of what you truly are?”
He looked at me: of course, he couldn’t talk about his nature.
“I’m glad,” I said. “That I got to meet you. I’m sorry you still have to wear his face.” Though you make his face very lovely, I thought, and wanted to sink through the floor again. Instead I went on, “You know what I’m doing. Does he know?”
He tried to answer, but the power of the Gentle Lord held him back, making his mouth twist and then stiffen until finally he gave up, took my hand, and looked straight into my eyes. “You are our only hope.”
I had heard those words from my family a thousand times before, but this time they filled me with tremulous hope instead of desperate rage. For the first time, I was needed by somebody I did not resent: somebody who had not chosen me to suffer, who had not gotten every good thing I ever lacked, but who had risked his life for me instead.
“Then I’ll save you,” I said, and I smiled at him, again without even trying. “If I have to explore this house on my own, you’d better take me back to my room so I can start from there.”
He nodded, and we walked back together in silence. When we arrived at my door, I finally asked him the question that had weighed on my tongue all the way back.
“Who are you?”
His teeth gleamed in a rueful half smile that crossed his face and was gone in a heartbeat. His eyes said, Do you think he’d ever let me tell you?
“Just a shadow,” he said, and kissed my fingers.
Then he melted away into the darkness.
