I knelt beside him. My skin crawled as I remembered my fingers sliding into the dead wife’s mouth, but I couldn’t back out now. Gingerly, I reached through the darkness to touch his face.
The darkness swirled away from my hand, as if frightened of my skin. Underneath, livid welts crisscrossed his face. I snatched my hand away, then realized he was still breathing. As I watched, the welts faded to pale white scars that began to subside into healed skin.
I shook him by the shoulder, the darkness boiling away further. “Wake up!”
One crimson eye cracked open; he hissed softly, and the eye slid shut again. The darkness crept back up his body.
It seemed to be afraid of my touch. So I hauled him up to rest his head and shoulders in my lap; after a moment he twitched and curled into me. And the darkness flowed away.
“What are you doing?”
My head jerked up. Shade stood over me, his hands in his coat pockets, his pale face unreadable.
“I—the darkness—”
“You should leave him.”
“I can’t,” I whispered, trying not to hunch my shoulders. This was far worse than seeing Astraia. Shade was the last prince of Arcadia. My prince, who had helped and comforted me these past five weeks, who had kissed me not an hour ago and nearly said he loved me. I had kissed him back, and now I was embracing his tormentor before his face. It was obscene.
Shade knelt beside me. “Weren’t you going to defeat him?”
Weren’t you my hope? his eyes said.
“I was. I will. I want to, but—but—” I felt like I was ten years old, summoned into Father’s study to explain how I had spilled honey in the parlor. “This won’t defeat him. I hurt him just for revenge.”
“Do you know how much suffering he’s caused? This is the least of what he deserves.”
Ignifex had shown no sign of hearing our conversation, but I realized now that he was trembling.
“I know,” I said. I remembered huddling with Astraia in the hallway, listening to the screams from Father’s study. “But I can’t . . . I can’t leave anyone to the darkness.”
Shade’s silence was like a condemnation.
“Help me get him to his bedroom,” I said. “Then I’ll leave him.”
Shade’s mouth thinned, but he obeyed. He grasped Ignifex’s shoulders, I grabbed his legs, and together we dragged him through twisting hallways back to his bedroom.
I had never wondered where he slept, but now I half expected a dank cavern with a bloodied altar for a bed. Instead it was a crimson mirror of my room: red-and-black tapestries instead of pale wallpaper; red-and-gold damask bed curtains instead of lace; and supporting the canopy were not caryatids but eagles, cast from a slick black metal that glittered in the candlelight. All around the edges of the room burned row upon row of candles, casting golden light in every direction so that shadow barely existed.
Shade disappeared as soon as we had dropped Ignifex onto the bed, for which I couldn’t blame him. Now that I had appeased my guilt, I wanted to be gone as well. I looked down at my husband and captor. The weals had faded and most of the scars as well, but he was still pale as death and limp as wet yarn. He was also curled into a position that seemed likely to give him cramps—and while I found that thought amusing, I supposed that if I was going to help him, I should do it properly. With a sigh, I rolled him onto his back and straightened out his legs.
His eyes didn’t open, but one of his hands reached out and gripped my wrist.
I twitched and went still, but he made no further move. Then he whispered—so softly I barely heard it—“Please stay.”
I jerked my wrist free, about to say that even if I had saved him, I did not intend to be his nursemaid . . . but then I remembered the last time he had said please.
“Just for a little,” I said, sitting down on the bed. He grabbed my hand again as if it were his only hope. I hesitated a few moments, but he seemed far too weak to attempt anything, and I was tired myself. I lay down beside him, and immediately he rolled over to nestle against my back. He laid an arm over my waist, then fell asleep with a sigh.
As if he trusted me. As if I’d never hurt him.
Even Astraia, with all her hugs and kisses, had not relaxed against me like this in years. What kind of fool was he?
The same kind of fool as I was, I supposed, because I knew he was my enemy and yet I, too, was taking comfort from the touch.
His breath tickled against my neck. I took his hand in mine, weaving our fingers together; I told myself that I was here only because of my debt, that anyone, any warm body, would make me feel such peace. And wrapped in that peace, I fell asleep.
13