For the rest of the meal, Father kept up the conversation. He did not apologize. Did not beg me to stay, did not say that he loved me, or even ask if I thought I could bear my fate. He talked of the latest Hermetic research and related anecdotes of his colleagues, all without ever alluding to the central mission of the Resurgandi. They might have been a harmless society of researchers with no secret goal beyond pure knowledge.
When we finished, the sun was gone, only a simple glow left on the horizon; my skin prickled every time I looked at a shadow, but for all I knew it was simple fear.
And then it was time to go upstairs to the attic where we would perform our experiment, about which we’d told Father nothing except that we needed candles. One of the maids had already been dispatched with a great box of beeswax tapers; as Astraia started up the stairs, a lantern glowing in her hands, I hesitated at the bottom. I didn’t want to leave but I also didn’t want to stay here with the awkward silences and unacknowledged, unbearable truths.
“Good night, Father,” I said, turning away.
“Nyx,” he said softly, and I turned back without thinking. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”
My heart thudded. For an instant I felt like I was floating, because this was more than he had ever said to me—then the silence crushed me down again, because he had said nothing more and I knew with bone-deep certainty that he never would.
“It doesn’t matter.” The words dropped out of me like a stone. Then I forced myself to smile and speak more softly. “It doesn’t matter what any of us wish. The Gentle Lord must be stopped, and I’m the one who has to do it.”
It was not exactly forgiveness, but he had not exactly made an apology.
He nodded, his mouth tightening; then he laid a hand on my forehead and whispered, “Go with the blessings of Hermes, lord of going and return.”
It was a standard blessing, such as might be used by anyone in authority: a father, a teacher, a governor.
I forced myself to smile. “Ave atque vale,” I said, the traditional farewell of the Resurgandi before undertaking a dangerous Hermetic experiment.
Then I turned and ran up the stairs after Astraia. I didn’t think he was really sorry for what he’d done, but I couldn’t entirely blame him. I loved the Gentle Lord, and I wasn’t really sorry for that, either.
“Only if it looks like I’m dying,” I reminded Astraia.
“I know!” She looked back at me, lips tight. “Do you think I’m too silly to remember, or too weak to watch?”
I leaned forward on my hands, letting out a slow breath. “Neither,” I said. Staring at the floorboards, I could admit to myself that I was actually afraid she wouldn’t ever light the candles at all, that she would sit and watch me suffer with that hard little smile she had learnt in my absence. I supposed I couldn’t complain if she did: I’d done as much to Ignifex already, and I was planning to do far worse.
If I was too cowardly to bear the fate I handed out, then I really would be despicable.
We were directly under the roof, which slanted down to the floor at the far end of the room. There were no lamps up here, only Astraia’s lantern, and in its flickering light the misshapen room already looked like the start of a nightmare. Astraia settled herself by the door, lit one candle, and put out the lantern. The candle threw flickering shadows across her solemn, pale face, making it look like an alien statue. I had no doubt she would let me suffer as long as I needed to find an answer.
I sat up straight, closing my eyes. But waiting blind was unbearable, so I opened them again; and I couldn’t bear to watch Astraia’s face, so I stared at the shadowed corners. Sitting still at last, I realized I was tired; my eyes itched and my vision wavered. Again and again, I thought I saw the shadows begin to move and terror jolted through my body; then I realized it was only the dim light and my tired eyes playing tricks. My back ached; one of my legs went numb; it seemed another part of my body was always starting to tickle or itch, but I didn’t want to roll around scratching myself in front of Astraia.
Maybe I’d been a fool to think that wearing Ignifex’s ring would make the darkness burn me the way it did him, that the voice in the darkness would speak to me. Just because I could wield a few of his powers, did that mean I shared his nature? He had said, While you wear it, you shall stand in my place—but just because he trusted me, did that mean I shared his fate?
The back of my neck itched again—the really horrible kind of itch that sent tingles running up and down my spine. I gave up and reached back to scratch—
Darkness slid over my fingers.
I jerked my hand away, but in an instant the darkness slid over my body. It wasn’t anything like the shadows from beyond the door. They had been cold, icy nothingness, while this darkness burned like acid. They had bubbled out of me, turning my own body against me; this darkness was unquestionably alien, burning into my body from the outside.