Текст книги "Cruel Beauty"

Автор книги: Rosamund Hodge

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

“Thank you,” I said, and for a while there was silence.

I watched Shade from the corner of my eye. He sat against the wall now, one elbow rested against a knee, peaceful and relaxed as if we were finishing afternoon tea, not snatching rest in the house of a monster.

His face was still and milk white. It came over me again how that face was shaped exactly the same as Ignifex’s—the same high cheekbones, the same perfectly sculpted jawline—and yet it was so different: untwisted by the monstrous addition of catlike eyes, and drained of not only color but malice and malicious glee.

I wanted to touch his face. I wanted to make him smile again, just for me, and then I wanted to kiss him until I forgot myself, forgot the ugliness coiled inside my gut, and became as peaceful as his eyes.

But I had no right to touch him, not when he was an innocent captive and I had looked at his captor and wanted—

And Shade couldn’t want me anyway.

He had kissed me twice, my lips and my hand. One of those times had to mean something, didn’t it?

Several times I opened my mouth to speak but failed. When I finally said, “Shade,” the word came out breathless. Then he turned to me, and for a moment my breath stopped entirely. I clenched my hands and forced the words out. “Why . . . why did you kiss my hand?”

It was the only kiss I could bear to ask him about.

He ducked his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not angry,” I blurted. “I’m not.” No matter what his reasons, I couldn’t hate those solemn eyes that did not pretend anything was all right. “But I wondered why.”

“You are my champion.” He said the words as if I had asked for the reason that water was wet. “Our champion. For all Arcadia.”

I knew it, I thought, and, I didn’t have time to want him anyway.

It still felt like I was tied into cold, aching knots. There really was only one reason that anyone would ever want me.

“And you think I can save you?” I demanded.

“I’ve been here for—” His lips stopped; he shook his head and started again. “I have watched all his other wives die. I had given up hope. But you . . . you brought a knife. You have a plan. I believe you will save us all.”

“I don’t,” I whispered, my throat tight. “And even if I defeat him—you don’t know my plan, do you? It’s—”

Shade’s hand covered my mouth. “Don’t tell me,” he said. “I still have to obey him.”

I pulled his hand down and couldn’t let go. My fingers clenched around his, and again it unnerved me how cool his skin was, how solid the bones underneath, but I held on.

“You’ll die along with him,” I said. Or be captive with him forever, I nearly added, but he was right: I couldn’t breathe a word of the plan, lest Ignifex order him to speak of it.

He looked right back into my eyes. “I don’t need to live. I just need to see him defeated. No matter the price for that, I’m willing to pay it.”

“You—you shouldn’t—” My voice cracked and I couldn’t go on. Nobody had ever offered to bear a price along with me before.

He touched my cheek with his free hand. “Rest.”

So I did.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

8

The next morning, I opened a red-painted door and saw a little room with bookshelves lining its whitewashed walls. In the center of the room sat a round lion-footed table, on which a fat old codex lay open; on the far wall, between a gap in the bookcases, a life-sized bas-relief of the Muse Clio stared at me, her scrolls clasped to her chest, her blind white eyes all-knowing.

It was a library. At first I thought it was very small, but when I stepped inside I saw a doorway leading to another little room of books, which itself opened on two more. It was a honeycomb of rooms, their walls covered in bookshelves, reliefs of the Muses peering from occasional alcoves.

I didn’t mean to spend long when I marched in—just enough time to make sure one of the hearts wasn’t hiding there—but as I wandered the rooms, the familiar scent of leather and dusty paper leeched the tension from my spine. Father’s library had always been my refuge as a child. Maybe this one would be my ally. Surely in one of the Gentle Lord’s books there must be a clue about his house.

I pulled the nearest book off the shelf and flipped it open. The words at the top of the page read, “In the fifth,” and then I was looking at the shelf.

I blinked and looked back at the page. “Of his reign,” and I was looking at my hand.

I shook my head. I had learnt to read when I was five; a few days away from home could not have changed that. Clenching my teeth, I forced myself to read the whole page.

In the fifth of his reign tower Upon the most ancient but

Imperial to the When Romana-Graecia and other Children

If not for the Perhaps.

Try as I might, those were all the words I could read, and when I got to the bottom of the page, pain throbbed behind my eyes. Rubbing at my forehead, I dropped the book onto a nearby table—and instantly the pain was gone.

So the book was cursed. I pulled another book off the shelf. And another. But every book was the same. I could read no more than a phrase before my gaze slid away; if I tried to read for a page—and I could barely decipher more than one word in three-pain built behind my eyes until I had to give up.

My back prickled. I looked at the shelves, a few minutes ago so comforting. Now they felt like enemies. I wanted to edge away yet at the same time felt a mad impulse to stare the room down.

That was when I heard the bell. It wasn’t loud, but it had a clear, sweet tone that rang right though my head. I shivered and decided that since the library was useless to me, I might as well investigate.

The bell rang again and again as I followed its sound out of the library, down a hallway carpeted in red velvet, and up an ivory staircase. Then I pulled open a door and stepped into a drawing room papered in red and gold. The windows were hung with purple velvet curtains and flanked with potted aspidistras; in one corner of the room sat a marble statue of Leda entwined with the swan, while in another was a gold statue of the child Hercules strangling the serpents. Next to me, Ignifex sprawled in a plush, crimson chair with bulbous golden feet.

On the opposite side of the room stood a young man.

It took me a moment to realize that he was not a statue, not an illusion, but an actual flesh-and-blood mortal man: young, big-nosed, with ragged brown hair and stubble on his chin. He wore a patched gray coat and clutched in his hands a flat brown cap; when he glanced at me, I saw he had huge dark eyes like an ox. They looked familiar, but I couldn’t remember ever meeting him before.

When he met my eyes, the man twitched and swallowed convulsively, as if he recognized me. Or did he just fear everything in this house?

Ignifex gave me a lazy look. “Hello, wife. I’m making a bargain. Care to watch?”

The question, the whole situation, was so surreal that for a moment I was speechless. Then I realized, This is where Father bargained me away.

Ignifex’s mouth quirked up in a smile and this is how he smiled when he demanded to marry me.

My family had done me one favor: they had taught me to smile and keep silent when I wanted to scream. I walked forward with the ladylike gait Aunt Telomache had taught me—Don’t slump, child—and halted behind his chair, my hands resting on the back.

“Who is he?” I asked, trying to sound merely resentful, not calculating.

“His name is Damocles, and he’s come all the way from Corcya,” said Ignifex, his voice as light as if he were discussing the wallpaper. “And—”

“You’re Damocles,” I interrupted, finally recognizing him, and the knowledge was like an icy flood. “Damocles Siculus.”

Years ago, Menalion Siculus had been our coachman; Damocles was his son, and I had hazy but happy memories of him helping me sneak into the barn to pet the horses. Menalion died when I was eleven, and the family left the village shortly after.

His shoulders hunched a little, but he nodded. “Good morning, miss.”

“Actually,” said Ignifex, “she’s a married woman now, so you should address her as ‘ma’am.’”

“Why are you here?” I breathed.

“Oh, he’s come on a very important errand,” said Ignifex. “The girl he loves—”

“Philippa,” he muttered, twisting the cap.

“—is married, so he needs the husband dead.”

Damocles flushed but said nothing.

I had known that some people who bargained with the Gentle Lord were not duped innocents but came to him for evil reasons. I remembered thinking that they deserved almost all they got.

But I remembered the gawky, quiet boy who had slipped me a lump of sugar for my favorite mare. And I knew the bargains of the Gentle Lord never punished just one person.

I snorted and leaned over Ignifex’s shoulder. “So the great Lord of Bargains spends his time arranging weddings? That’s a bit less impressive than I expected.”

Then I clapped one hand over his mouth and wrapped the other under his jaw to hold it shut. I looked up and said rapidly, “Run. He’ll cheat you, whatever he’s promised, the price is more than you think, you’ll regret it all your life—”

Ignifex snorted through my fingers but didn’t move.

“Didn’t you hear the stories about my family? Father bargained and I’m still paying. Run while you can.”

Damocles shook his head. “I’m sorry your father was so selfish. I always was, I could see—” He swallowed again. “But the stories all say the Gentle Lord never lies, and he’s promised I’m the only one who’ll pay. I’ve loved Philippa since I was twelve. I’ll do this for her if it costs my soul.”

“You don’t understand, Philippa will pay—Father asked for children, and Mother died in childbed—”

“He must have made the wrong wish.” Damocles had turned his hat into a knot by now, but his dark eyes met mine resolutely. “He only wanted children for himself, maybe, so the wish betrayed him. But I just want Philippa to be happy, and I don’t care what I suffer. So I know I can make things right for her.”

If he thought murdering Philippa’s husband was the way to make her happy, he was so lost in his own selfishness that I’d never persuade him.

Behind him, the far door stood half-open to reveal the corner of a shabby bedroom. If I could force him back and lock the door—

I let go of Ignifex and lunged forward.

I managed two steps before Ignifex snapped his fingers. Instantly, shadow flowed around my wrists and Shade dragged me down to kneel on the floor. I wrenched against his bodiless grip, but it was implacable as ever.

Damocles had flinched back from my lunge, but now he stood rooted to the floor, the panicked whites of his eyes showing as he stared at Shade.

I looked up at him. “You see his power, he’s a demon, run—”

“That’s quite enough, dear wife,” said Ignifex, and Shade’s grip closed over my mouth, so tight I could barely even clench my jaw; I could still breathe through my nose, but my breath came in panicked snorts.

Behind me, I heard Ignifex rise from his seat; then his hand stroked my head. “It’s not kind to scare the guests,” he said. “This poor man came so far to be brave for his darling Philippa, and you try to drive him away?”

He stepped past me to face Damocles. “You see I am a demon and therefore have the power to grant your wish.” His voice had gone quiet and remote. “Are you willing to pay the price?”

Damocles’s gaze wavered between me and Ignifex. “Are you going to hurt her?” he asked.

“My wife is not your concern.”

“I’d still like to know, sir.”

“Oh, I’m not called the Gentle Lord for nothing. As soon as you leave, she’ll be free to scold me again. The question is, will you leave with your wish granted?”

For a moment I thought Damocles would flee. But then he squared his shoulders. “I’ll pay anything that doesn’t hurt Philippa.”

“Then I will make you this bargain,” said Ignifex. “Your Philippa’s husband will die today, and you’ll see her in your home tomorrow. But you’ll lose your sight three days after.”

Damocles nodded jerkily. “I don’t need eyes to see her beauty.”

“Furthermore, she’ll come to you carrying a gift from her husband. You must promise to accept it as your own. Can you do that?”

“What do you take me for? Any child of hers would be like my own flesh and blood.”

“Say that you will accept it.”

“I promise.”

Ignifex shrugged and held out his hand. “Then kiss my ring, and your wish is granted.”

There was nothing I could do but watch as Damocles stepped forward, seized Ignifex’s hand and kissed the ring in one jerky motion, then sprang back.

“Is—”

“He’s already dead,” said Ignifex. “Go home.”

Damocles looked at me. “Thank you for your concern, ma’am. I’m sorry, but it really is best this way.” He paused. “Good day.” Then he stepped back into the bedroom; a moment after, the doorway was filled with bricks.

Shade’s grip melted from my face and I gasped in relief.

“I can see you won’t be much help when it comes to sealing bargains.” I looked up and saw Ignifex smiling at me as if I were a particularly adorable kitten.

I wanted to scream, to spit in his face, to claw his eyes out. Anything to rip away that smile. But I knew my anger would only amuse him. So I pressed my lips together and stared him down.

Ignifex shrugged. “And it seems you won’t be much amusement either. Shade, take her away.”

Instantly Shade hauled me to my feet and dragged me out of the room. As soon as we were out of Ignifex’s sight, he let go of me.

I leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. My throat was clogged with memories of Damocles. He’d played with Astraia even more than me; Aunt Telomache had lectured for an hour when she found them catching frogs together.

You are the hope of our people.

Not just my family, not just the Resurgandi. I was supposed to be the hope of everyone in Arcadia, including Damocles.

But since my mission was a secret, nobody outside the elite of the Resurgandi knew there was any hope. So people were still destroying themselves with foolish bargains.

Maybe it wouldn’t make a difference if they knew about me. What kind of hope was I, when all I could do was watch?

I saw Shade hovering against the wall to my left. Even his bodiless gaze felt like a reproach.

“Leave me alone,” I snarled.

Then I remembered that I was supposed to be kind to him, but he was already gone.

That evening, as I sat waiting at the dinner table, it occurred to me that Ignifex might still punish me for trying to stop him. He hadn’t hurt me then, but he’d been amused. Surely any moment, when I ceased to amuse him—

But it seemed I was of infinite amusement. When Ignifex arrived, he only smirked at my silence and said, “No rebukes? I expected at least a promise of judgment from the gods.”

I picked up my wineglass, trying not to clench my hand. “You know how much the gods have done to punish you.”

“It is a pretty puzzle why they have not struck me down.” He took a sip of his own wine. “What’s more puzzling is why they do not strike my clients. Though I suppose they do a good enough job of dooming themselves already.”

I remembered Damocles laughing as his father swung him around and threw him into the hay. What had changed that boy into a murderer?

“I don’t know which one of you is more monstrous,” I said lowly. “You for offering or him for accepting.”

“Oh, don’t worry. That Philippa’s husband is a brute who beats her. What’s monstrous is that the gift she’ll bear to her dearest love is the pox. Though I suppose that’s romantic as well. Don’t poets all beg to die with their beloveds?”

I stared at him as he calmly ate a pastry stuffed with raisins. Had it been just yesterday that I’d thought him beautiful? That I’d wanted to touch him, this thing that laughed at suffering?

“You said she wouldn’t pay for his bargain,” I gritted out. “You promised.”

He licked his fingers. “Oh, she would have gotten the pox either way, so it’s nothing to do with me. And without that bargain, her husband would have recovered and lived to beat another wife, so our dear Damocles will buy something with his death. Perhaps not what he expected, but then, who does?”

I will buy your death with mine, I swear it.

But I did not say the words aloud. Instead: “By your standards, I could kill you and still be a dutiful wife.”

Ignifex laughed. “You can’t possibly worry for me, so you must pity him. I would have thought that, of all women, you’d lack patience for those who think they can profit by my bargains.”

I remembered Father’s remote calculations, Aunt Telomache’s dramatic self-satisfaction. Damocles had been nothing like them, for he at least tried to pay the price of his bargain himself. If anything, he was like Astraia, for they both believed that their love could solve anything.

They were both fools, but that was not their fault.

“He wanted to save the woman he loved,” I said. “You used that love to trick him.”

Ignifex looked at me, all laughter suddenly gone from his red eyes. “He knew very well who I am and how my bargains work. And yet he came to me of his own free will, to have a man killed so he would not have to risk his life or dirty his hands. Tell me, my kindly wife, what part of that deserves mercy?”

I stared right back at him. “And if he deserves justice, do you think you deserve to give it him?”

“We all must do our duty.”

Ignifex caught my hands as I was about to leave; his fingers, warm and dry, wrapped around mine.

“Nyx Triskelion, do you want to guess my name?”

I stared back at him—his shoulders, his lips, the pale skin of his throat that I had once (however briefly) longed to kiss. I felt nothing.

“What’s there to guess? I already know you’re a monster.”

I hunted the house for hours, until my feet ached and my eyes felt gritty from exhaustion. I kept moving, even after my stride had dwindled into a shuffle and I barely noticed the rooms around me. But I couldn’t bear to stop, because that would mean admitting defeat for another night, and Astraia might be crying right now and Damocles would be infected tomorrow. How could I rest while they were hurting?

Finally I opened a door and walked into Shade.

I stumbled back, heart jumping from surprise. “Shade!” I gasped. We met each other’s eyes and instantly looked away.

“I’m sorry—” We both spoke at once, then fell silent.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated softly. “I couldn’t stop it,” and there was naked shame on his face. Like his smile, the expression was so human that it stabbed right through me.

“I know.” I grabbed his hand. “You can’t disobey him. I’m sorry I was angry at you—I wasn’t angry, I was—” I drew a breath. “I knew what he did. But I’d never seen it.”

He took my other hand. “Come,” he said, and drew me through the doorway, into the Heart of Water. The lights swirled over the surface of the water, just as I remembered.

“You need to rest,” said Shade.

I shook my head. “Damocles is dying right now because of—of my husband.” The words felt like rocks in my mouth, but they were true. “I can’t just sit here and enjoy the house made by his powers.”

“You can’t help people when you’re exhausted.”

Then he sat down, still holding my hands, so I had no choice but to sit with him. And once I was off my feet, it was such a relief that I wasn’t sure I could get back up again. The lights swirled away from us and then swooped down again, their reflections dancing on the surface of the water in counterpoint. It was just as beautiful and peaceful as I remembered. But the memories of Astraia and Damocles stuck under my skin like splinters.

I looked at Shade. He sat straight and still, watching the lights. Their reflections glittered in his blue eyes and cast glimmers on his colorless face, peaceful as a marble statue. He looked like a prince, not a slave.

“How do you bear it?” I asked. “All these years—” The question suddenly seemed childish and insensitive, and I snapped my mouth shut.

But Shade didn’t look offended. “Because I don’t imagine I can stop him.”

But I have to, I thought. Damocles will die because I didn’t stop Ignifex fast enough.

As if he knew what I was thinking, Shade said, “Whatever you do will be too late. He should have died nine hundred years ago.”

I laughed shakily. “That’s comforting.”

“You’re still going to save us.” His blue eyes met mine. “You are our only hope.”

“Hope.” I looked away, because I couldn’t keep the childish resentment out of my voice. “I don’t even know what that feels like.”

He touched my cheek to make me look back at him. Then he held out his hand, cupped upward. Some of the lights drifted down to nestle in his palm, where they lay still and contented. Then he turned to me.

“Take them,” he said.

Holding my breath, I cupped my hands, and he poured the lights into them. They felt like a handful of seed pearls warmed against skin—but they trembled as if stirred by a breeze, and fizzed against my palms like drops of beer. After a few moments they started to drift upward; Shade clasped his hands over mine, and captive light danced between our palms.

He smiled again—his real smile, the one that had made me kiss him—and again I couldn’t help smiling in return.

I could see the movement of his shoulders as he breathed, and the slight shift of tendons in his throat. I could feel every fraction of his hands that touched mine. He might be pale as a ghost, but his body was real. For one moment I wanted nothing but to lock my fingers in his pale hair, to kiss him until it was his breath that moved in my throat, until his peace was mine. I wanted it like breathing.

But I couldn’t bear to risk shattering the peace in his eyes. And I couldn’t bear, either, the risk of making him reject me.

“You have heard of the stars?” said Shade. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. “These lights are the nearest thing we have left.”

“But . . . they’re so small,” I said, my voice wavering. The poems said that the stars were a distant beauty, not a glimmer you could trap between your hands.

“The nearest thing we have left,” he repeated. “And they were the nearest thing I had to hope.”

My breath caught. He said the words easily, as if we were discussing the weather—but to think of him alone in this house, no comfort but scraps of light, his daylight body a shadow, his nighttime body a parody of his captor’s—

“Then you came,” said Shade. “And now I have true hope.”

“You say that,” I muttered, “as if I’m a hero.”

“You are,” he said.

“A hero would have saved Damocles.” My throat ached. If I had only said the right words—

And people were dying like this every day. Every day, and I wasn’t saving any of them.

“You can’t save them all,” said Shade. “Any more than I can.”

I let out a laugh that was nearly a sob. “That’s comforting.”

“But you can stop him,” said Shade. “No one else can. That makes you our hope, even if nobody knows about you.”

I sighed. “Say that when I’ve actually managed to hurt my husband.”

“You will,” said Shade.

“I’m not so sure,” I whispered.

He leaned his forehead against mine.

“Trust me,” he said.

And I did.

The next day, I heard the bell again.

I stopped in the hallway, fists clenched, and counted off the peals. One, two, three. I hate my husband. Four, five, six. I’m going to stop him. Seven, eight. I’m going to stop him. Nine, ten. No matter what it costs, I will break his power.

The bell stopped. I waited, taut, a moment longer; then I went on with my exploration.

Shade was right. The way to survive was to realize I couldn’t stop him.

This day.