Cruel Beauty

  “I must say I’m unimpressed by your master’s hospitality,” I went on, unable to bear the silence a moment longer. “He could have at least provided a map. Or lunch.”

  Shade didn’t pause as he drew me forward. From this angle, I couldn’t even see the silhouette of his face, and the words tumbled out as if I were alone.

  “Or he could have provided a house that doesn’t shift like a drunken labyrinth, but I suppose that would be too much trouble. Do you think he’s bothered to provide a Minotaur, or is his plan to walk me to death?”

  Suddenly I realized how high and whiny my voice sounded. The words shriveled in my throat. Shade had been a prisoner here for who knew how long, a victim of Ignifex’s every whim, and I was complaining that I was tired of walking. As if that mattered.

  I couldn’t even bear to look at his silhouette. But I knew I had to apologize, and I drew a shaking breath.

  Except then Shade dragged me through the doorway into the dining room and instantly vanished. I was alone. Ignifex wasn’t there yet; the table was arrayed in glinting plates and silverware, but no food.

  I dropped into my chair with a thump, my throat tight. Against all odds, I had found an ally. Someone who called me his hope and kissed my hand.

  But on my first day, I had accomplished nothing except complaining. He must think me such a selfish child.

  With a sigh, I leaned my head down on the table. I’ll search all night, I promised myself. All tomorrow too. But the words sounded hollow even inside my head; now that I knew the scale of this house, I very much doubted I would find the other hearts anytime soon.

  Warm lips pressed against the back of my neck.

  I bolted upright, arms flailing. Ignifex stood beside my chair, grinning down at me.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  I glared up at him, trying to rub away the phantom sensation of the kiss. “I think you know what, my lord.”

  “I suppose I do.” He shrugged and stepped away from me, toward his own seat.

  Before I could formulate a reply, the smell of dinner hit me again. Tonight the main dish was stewed beef with apricots. Usually I didn’t like apricots, but I had eaten nothing since breakfast, and at that moment ambrosia couldn’t have smelled better. I picked up my fork and devoured it. Only when I felt a comforting weight in my stomach did I pause and notice that Ignifex was watching me, his mouth crooked in a half smile. No doubt he was amused to see a daughter of the Resurgandi gulping her food like a common peasant.

  I set my fork down slowly, wishing I could wipe that smile off his face.

  “And where have you been all day?” I asked.

  “Roaming the earth and making bargains.” He picked up a glass of wine and swirled it. “Do you want to hear about them?”

  “I already know what sort of bargains you make. And you don’t roam the earth, just Arcadia.”

  Though it suddenly occurred to me that for all I knew, he did pass between worlds to stand upon the true earth and look up at the true sky.

  “Ah, yes, you are a daughter of the Resurgandi. You know of what you have been deprived.” He leaned back in his chair.

  “What are you planning?” I asked warily.

  “Marriage. Obviously.” He picked up a dish. “Shall I tell you about the girl who bargained away her mother’s eyes, that she might once taste stuffed dates such as these? I can’t say I was sorry when the rabid dogs attacked her.”

  “You aren’t sorry about anything you do.”

  He flashed a smile at me. “So you are learning.”

  “I’ve known that fact all my life.”

  “Then what have you learnt since coming here?”

  What it’s like to kiss your shadow, I thought. I bit the words back, but the secret gave me courage.

  “That your house is disorganized,” I said. “That you’re less impressive than I thought and far more annoying. And that if the gods have any mercy, I will find a way to destroy you.”

  Then I realized I had said that last part out loud.

  I used to guard my words so well, I thought numbly as I sprang to my feet. What was it about this house, this demon, that made me tell the truth?

  At least I hadn’t hinted at the plan to use the house against him.

  “Don’t leave the table yet.” Ignifex was on his feet. “The conversation was just getting interesting.”

  “Yes, of course,” I said, backing away slowly. My body thrummed with the need to run, but I knew it was useless. “Death is always interesting to you, isn’t it?”

  He advanced on me like a cat stalking a bird. “You want me to worry more about my own demise?”

  I took another step back and smacked into one of the pillars. With nowhere to run—and knowing that running wouldn’t save me—all I could do was stare him down.

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly bother you. Do go ahead and rest in comfortable ignorance.”

  “The better to kill me in my sleep?”

  “It would be rude to wake you first.”

  It was like a dance over cracking ice. I felt dizzy with barely leashed terror, but I almost could have laughed, because I was keeping pace with him and I was still alive and that meant I was winning.

  Ignifex looked almost ready to laugh himself. “But that’s no fun for either of us. You could at least bring me breakfast in bed with death.”

  “What, poison? So you can show off how you’re immune like Mithridates?”

  “I’m comforted that you thought of him and not Tantalus.”

  “As much as you mean to me, husband, there are some things I won’t do for you.”

  Our eyes met, and for a moment there was nothing but shared glee between us—

  Between me and my enemy.

  I felt a pulse of fear at the same moment that his eyes narrowed. Then one of his hands landed on the pillar beside me as he leaned in.

  “Nyx Triskelion,” he said lowly.

  My breath stopped.

  He was a monster. Not even close to human. But I wasn’t looking at his cat-slit eyes or mocking smile. I was staring at the lines of his shoulder, lazy but strong even under his clothes; the pale skin of his throat, exposed where several of his coat’s gold clasps had come undone; the curve of his jaw that would be warm against my lips. For one moment, I felt like a river running down to his ocean.

  Then he chuckled. The sound scraped across my skin like cat claws; I remembered who he was and what he’d done, and I knew that he was mocking me.

  He leaned a closer. “Would you like to guess my name?”

  I found my breath. Clenched my teeth. And glared at him with all the strength I had left.

  “I’d rather die,” I said.

  Another chuckle. “Then good night.” And once again he left, and I went back to my room alone.

  The clock chimed. I flinched, then looked again at the door. I had waited here in my bedroom for the past two hours, sure that any moment Ignifex would stride through the doorway to claim his wedded rights.

  Shade had said that I would be safe at night, but in this moment I couldn’t believe it. Ignifex was a demon. A monster. And he must, he must have seen that moment when I was briefly beguiled. Of course he would not wait even one night before he took advantage.

  But I was still alone.

  Finally I accepted that Shade had been right after all. I was safe. But that thought made me remember my whining to him in the hall, and my fingers dug into the coverlet. When I imagined facing him again, I felt like I was choking under a mountain of blankets. But even if he still thought me selfish and stupid, at least he could know I was sorry for complaining like a spoiled child.

  I’d never be able to apologize to Astraia. With Shade, I had to at least try.

  So I went looking for the Heart of Water. Probably I wouldn’t find the room, and if I did, there was no guarantee that Shade would be there. But I had barely started wandering when I pulled open a door and saw a thousand lights dancing over still water, one pale fig
ure sitting at the center.

  Fear flashed through my whole body. I didn’t want to face him. Then I clenched my teeth and marched forward, wondering just how idiotically nervous I looked.

  Though I wore shoes this evening, my feet were still noiseless on the water. But Shade looked up as I approached him anyway. His eyes were wide and solemn, his face relaxed; the lack of hurt or anger stopped me in my tracks.

  “I—” My voice stuck; I swallowed, forcing myself to keep looking. “I’m sorry.”

  His eyebrows raised slightly. “For what?”

  “Earlier. What I said. Complained. You’ve been here so much longer and I—don’t deserve—”

  “You came here to die. You’re allowed to mourn.”

  “I wasn’t mourning, I was whining that I walked so long.” My voice was jagged and too loud in the peace of that room, but I couldn’t accept the excuse he was offering.

  He rose in a single swift movement. “You’ve done nothing but mourn,” he said, and though his voice was calm as a bowl of milk it made my throat clench. “You’re allowed to.”

  “No.” My voice was pinched into a whine again, but I was past caring. “Mourn for myself? I don’t have the right. You’re a slave, my mother is dead, the demons drive people mad every day, and all I’ve done is complain and—”

  Lust after the one who hurt you.

  I swallowed the words. “I can’t even find my way around this house, much less find the hearts. My sister has forgotten me and I deserve it, because I—I—” My throat closed up for a moment. Then I shook myself. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry.”

  Shade took my hand. “Come with me,” he said.

  He didn’t seem angry, but as I followed him through the corridors, my stomach still clenched with dread. Surely any moment he would turn around and explain how I was a foolish, wicked child—a disappointment to my family—

  Then I realized we were walking into the room with the mirror.

  I stopped, breaking out of his grip. “I’ve seen this.” I hated how high my voice was, but I couldn’t stop it. “I don’t need to see it again.”

  “No.” Shade gestured at the mirror. “Look.”

  Astraia sat on her bed, clutching one of my old black dresses, her head bowed. Her shoulders shook; then she looked up, and I saw that she was sobbing, her eyes red and a damp strand of hair plastered to her face.

  I suppose I’m not the only one to hide things, I thought, but I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t even feel my own footsteps as I turned and strode out of the room.

  I did feel my back thump against the wall as I sat down. Then I started sobbing.

  After a while, I realized that Shade was kneeling beside me, one hand hovering near my shoulder. I felt the urge to be ashamed, but I was so tired. Without meaning to, I snuffled.

  His hand came down on my shoulder, cool and solid, and I leaned into the grip.

  “The mirror,” I said after a little while. “Is what it shows real? Or an illusion?”

  “Nothing but the truth,” he said.

  So Astraia really did mourn me. I knew I shouldn’t be, but I was glad of it.

  “It has a keyhole. It must be a door to somewhere.” I looked at him.

  He looked back at me and then away, jaw clenching. So it must lead somewhere important enough to Ignifex to want it hidden— maybe even one of the hearts—but knowing that would do me no good without a key.

  “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.

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  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.