Cruel Beauty

by Rosamund Hodge

  He knelt and handed me the corkscrew; after a few moments of cold-fingered struggle, I got the bottle open. I poured a trickle of the dark wine onto the earth before the tomb.

  “Blessings and honor belong to the dead,” I whispered. The ritual words were comforting. “We bless you, we honor you, we remember your name.”

  I lifted the bottle and gulped a mouthful of wine. It was sweet and spicy, like the autumn wind, and it burned its way down my throat. Then I held out the bottle to Ignifex.

  He looked at me blankly.

  “We drink as well,” I said. “It’s part of the ceremony.”

  His gaze waved. “I . . .”

  “You will honor my mother or I will break this bottle over your head.”

  That got a ghost of a smile; then he took the bottle, and his neck flashed white as he tilted his head to drink. When he handed the bottle back, I poured another libation into the ground.

  “O Thisbe Triskelion, we beg you to bless us. We breathe now in the sunlight, as you once did; we shall soon sleep in death, as you now do.”

  I drank again, and handed the bottle back to him. When he had drunk as well, I took the bottle back and sat still, watching the statue’s face. It was curious to see my mother’s grave without Father and Aunt Telomache droning in the background; for the first time, I could look at her stone face without anger curling beneath my skin.

  “What now?” asked Ignifex.

  I paused, but there had already been ten generations’ worth of hymns sung at her grave; I had no desire to add to them. Instead I took another gulp of wine.

  “We finish the bottle.” I passed it back to him.

  Ignifex held it up to the light, squinting to see how much was left. “Mortal customs are more fun than I thought.”

  We must have sat there nearly an hour, slowly drinking the wine amid the swirling leaves. We hardly spoke; sometimes Ignifex glanced at me thoughtfully, but mostly he seemed absorbed in studying the graveyard. Once, from the corner of my eye, I caught him pouring a tiny libation onto the ground, his lips moving silently.

  By the end, we were no longer kneeling but sitting leaned against each other. After I poured the last drops of wine into the ground—for the dead must always have the first and last sip—we sat another few minutes in silence.

  “Thank you,” I said at last.

  I felt him take a deep breath; then he said, “Your sister calls to me every night.”

  I sat bolt upright. “She what?”

  “I don’t answer her,” he added quickly.

  I was on my feet now, all peace forgotten. Had this started after I broke the mirror? Or had Astraia been trying to sacrifice herself every night since I left, and the mirror had just never shown me? It was the sort of trick I could expect from a piece of the house.

  “She knows about your bargains—what can she be thinking?”

  “Something heroic, I imagine.” He stood too, as graceful as ever.

  I remembered her face as I had left her. Surely she wouldn’t dare so much for the sister who had hurt her.

  My shoulders slumped. She had smuggled me a knife. She had grown up hearing about Lucretia taking her own life and Iphigeneia laying down hers on an altar, Horatio defending the bridge and Gaius Mucius Scaevola burning off his hand to show devotion to Rome—all the heroes that Father and Aunt Telomache had used to instruct me. Of course she would dare.

  “I thought you had to answer everyone that called on you,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Sometimes I must. Sometimes I have a choice. So far my masters seem indifferent to your sister.”

  But if the Kindly Ones were half as capricious as he said, sooner or later they would not be indifferent, and when that day came, Ignifex would have no choice but to give her whatever cruel doom they decreed.

  “They might be satisfied with her being helpless,” he said. “But . . . I thought you should know.”

  There was the awkward stiffness in his stance again. I realized that he was nervous.

  “Thank you,” I said slowly, meeting his eyes. “I have to go see her. Even if they never make you answer—for her to risk that much—she must think I’m dead or worse. I can’t leave her that way.” I stepped forward. “Please, let me go back to her. Just for a day.”

  “You can’t go alone.”

  “So take me there!” But even as I said the words, I realized how foolish they were.

  “Even if your father didn’t try to kill me on sight, I would hardly help to ease your sister’s mind.” Ignifex sighed and stared off into the distance. “There is a way. But you must promise not to indulge in any foolishness.”

  “I promise,” I said.

  He studied me a moment, then pulled the golden ring off his right hand. “Nyx Triskelion, I freely give to you this ring.” He took my right hand and slid it onto a finger. “While you wear it, you shall stand in my place; my name will be yours, and my breath in your mouth.”

  I looked at the ring. It was heavy, like a signet ring, but instead of a family crest it was molded into the shape of a rose. It was the ring that Damocles had kissed when I watched him make his bargain, that my father had kissed when he doomed our family. And now it sat on my finger like any other ornament.

  “This is the ring that seals my bargains,” said Ignifex. “The Kindly Ones gave it to me as a mark of my service. When you wear it, you will command a measure of my power.”

  I wiggled my fingers, watching the gold glitter. “Then I can rule the world through wicked bargains?”

  He flashed me a smile. “Not quite. But you can open any door, and it will lead to wherever you want to go.” I opened my mouth. “In this world—even I can’t bridge the Sundering. But you see why you must be careful.”

  The Resurgandi would kill to possess this ring. A few months ago, I would have used it to kill him. And he had placed it on my hand.

  “I have no desire to be eaten by demons,” I said. “You can trust me.”

  “I do,” he breathed, so softly that I barely heard it. Then he kissed me as if he would never see me again, and I kissed him back just as hungrily.

  “Stay with me until tomorrow,” he whispered finally.

  My heart was racing and I wanted to say yes, but I thought of Astraia sitting up every night, trying to die for me.

  “No. I’ve waited far too long already.”

  “An hour?”

  “Well . . . if you make it worth my while.”

  He laughed and drew me back toward the gate out of the graveyard. Just before we left, I thought I heard a noise again. I looked back, but the graveyard was as still and empty as before.

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  20

  Two hours later, standing beside the caryatid bed in my room, I was ready to go home. I had changed into a plain red dress; my hair was neatly braided and pinned around my head. I looked one more time out the great bay window at the village, tiny and toy-like with distance.

  Then I turned to the door—Ignifex’s ring heavy on my finger—and laid my hand on the knob.

  “Take me home,” I whispered, and opened the door.

  Through the doorway, I saw the foyer of my father’s house. The late-afternoon sky glowed warmly through the windows onto the red-brown floor tiles. In the distance, I heard the chiming of the great grandfather clock.

  I didn’t want to face Astraia, didn’t want to face what I’d done to her. But she needed me. So I squared my shoulders and marched through.

  The door slammed behind me. The clock ticked on imperturbably; people shouted outside in the yard; the air smelled of dust and wood and Aunt Telomache’s perfume.

  My old maid Ivy walked out of a doorway, carrying a pile of towels. She saw me, squeaked, and fled, dropping towels in her haste. It was as if she’d seen a ghost.

  I was a ghost, for to these people, I was dead.


  I strode out of the entryway and down the hall to Father’s study, where I banged on the door once before flinging it open.

  “Good afternoon, Father,” I said. “Aunt Telomache, how nice to see you too.”

  They stood on either side of the room, pins coming out of her hair and his eyes fixed on the ceiling. It was not the nearest I had ever caught them to embracing, but it was close.

  Now, of course, they were both staring at me and turning pale. I had never in my life unnerved them so, and the realization made me giddy.

  “I’m looking for Astraia,” I said brightly. “Is she in her room?”

  Then they both strode toward me, Aunt Telomache to seize and kiss my hands, Father to slam the door behind me.

  “Child, what happened?” Aunt Telomache demanded. “Did you—is he—”

  “No,” I said, “he isn’t dead or imprisoned. But your advice was most useful, Aunt.” I took a vicious pleasure in the deep flush that spread across her face.

  Father gently pulled her back from me. “Then make your report. Why have you returned?”

  I crossed my arms. “I want to see Astraia.”

  He let out an impatient sigh. “Have you located the hearts of the house yet?”

  “All four of them. It won’t do us any good.” I pulled open the door. “Is Astraia up in her room?”

  “Why won’t it work?” Father demanded.

  “Because all Arcadia is inside the Gentle Lord’s house. Collapsing the house would just collapse the world.”

  They both stared at me. The words skittered out between my teeth, faster and faster. “It’s a cozy little thought, isn’t it? All of us under one roof, even the Gentle Lord. You sent me to die in just the next room.”

  Father’s jaw clenched. “I sent you to save our world,” he ground out.

  “I’m your daughter,” I spat. “Didn’t it ever, for a single moment, occur to you that you should try to save me?”

  “Of course I wanted to save you,” Father said patiently, “but for the sake of Arcadia—”

  “You weren’t thinking of Arcadia when you bargained with the Gentle Lord. And I’m not sure you were thinking much of Mother, either, because if you really loved her, you would have found a way to save both the daughters she wanted so much.” I bared my teeth. “Or at least you wouldn’t have spent the last five years bedding her sister.”

  As they were still choking on my words, I whirled and strode out of the room. In a moment I heard Father coming after me; I didn’t feel like trying to outrun him, so I turned to the nearest door, thought of the library, and stepped through just as he started to yell, “Nyx Tris—”

  Then his voice cut off as if muffled by blankets. The library door swung shut behind me, and I was surrounded by rows of polished cherrywood shelves. The library was the largest room in the house, but it had been turned into a honeycomb of bookcases. I wandered down a row, trailing a fingertip across gold-stamped leather spines. I had spent so much of my life in this room; the scent of leather, dust, and old paper was like a friend.

  From behind, I heard a gasp that was almost a sob. I turned and saw a girl sitting on the floor in a pool of dark skirts.

  It was Astraia.

  Had the mirror’s blurred image lied to me, or had I simply not noticed her changing? The fat had gone from her face; her jawbone was sharp and angular now, and though her lips were still plump, they were pressed into a flat line. She was dressed all in black, as she never had been since Father gave us leave to pick our own clothes, and her face was set in a hard, stoic expression that I had never seen on her before.

  Her mouth opened, but no sound came out, as if she were still behind the glass.

  “Astraia.” I dropped to my knees before her, then flung my arms around her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Her arms moved slowly to return the embrace. “Nyx? How—what happened?”

  “I came back,” I said. I didn’t want to look her in the eyes again, so I made myself sit up and do it. “I couldn’t let you go on thinking that I was dead and hated you.”

  “I knew you weren’t dead,” she said distantly. “I saw you at Mother’s tomb today. You and the Gentle Lord.” My heart jolted, but she didn’t accuse me, just went on, “If I’d only brought my knife, I could have—could have—” Her mouth worked silently a moment; then she swallowed. “I call to him every day, but he never listens.”

  “I know,” I whispered. “He told me.”

  Her mouth scrunched a moment, then smoothed. “Of course.” Then she sat very still, like an abandoned doll.

  I took her hands. They felt small and cold. “Listen. I never should have lied to you about the Rhyme, I know that now, but I couldn’t bear to take your hope away. And what I said that morning—I was angry and scared and I didn’t really mean it. I have never hated you, and I’m sure Mother never did either.” The words, spoken so many times to the mirror, were now stiff and awkward in my mouth. “And I—if I could only take it back—”

  “Hush.” She pulled me into her arms again, then eased me down to lay my head in her lap. Just as I had sometimes imagined she would. “I know he did terrible things to you.”

  I choked out a laugh that was maybe a sob. She was so right and so wrong, she had no idea.

  “I wanted to go with you,” she said, with the same empty calm. “If you’d ever asked, I would have crawled to help you. But you never wanted my help. You only wanted me to be your sweet and smiling sister. So I smiled and smiled, until I thought I would break.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered helplessly, remembering all the times in our childhood when she had babbled about learning the Hermetic arts or knife fighting and I had rolled my eyes at her. I had always assumed that she didn’t mean it, because she was sweet and happy little Astraia.

  She’d had the comfort of believing the Rhyme. But her happiness had still been almost as false as mine. And I’d ignored her pain, just as Father and Aunt Telomache had ignored mine.

  “You’re really sorry?” She stroked my hair. “You want me to forgive you?”

  “Yes.” I had said it a hundred times to the mirror, thought it a thousand more: Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me.

  Her hand stilled. “Then kill your husband.”

  “What?” I bolted up.

  “He killed Mother. He defiled you. He’s enslaved Arcadia and ravaged our people with demons for nine hundred years.” Astraia looked me steadily in the eyes. “If you have any love for me, sister, you will kill him and free us all.”

  “But—but—” I nearly said, I love him, but I knew she would never understand.

  She smiled, the same sunny expression that for years I had assumed was simple and guileless. “I know. You think you love him. I saw you kissing in the graveyard. Or are you going to pretend you don’t enjoy bedding our enemy?”

  “It’s not . . .” But I couldn’t go on; I remembered his kisses, his fingers running through my hair, his skin against mine, and it felt like my whole body was blushing.

  Astraia’s smile vanished. “You like it.” Her voice was low and shaky. “All these years you were miserable. All these years I tried and tried to comfort you but nothing ever worked until at last I thought you were broken. I felt so useless that I couldn’t heal you. But really, all you ever needed was to kiss our mother’s murderer and become a demon’s whore—”

  I slapped her face. “He is my husband.”

  Then I realized what I had done and twisted my hands together, feeling sick. But Astraia didn’t seem to notice she’d been slapped.

  “And a great honor that is.” She stood. “But I am still a virgin. I can kill him. If you have no stomach for saving Arcadia, get me into his house and I will do it for you.”

  I surged to my feet. “You can’t.”

  “You still don’t believe in the Sibyl’s Rhyme? Because I’ve done a lot of research since your wedding, and I am more convinced than ever. I’m willing to risk my life on it.”

&nbs
p; I remembered how Ignifex had always taken the knife instantly away from me, how still he had been when I held it to his throat. How he had agreed to my bargain.

  “No,” I said heavily. “I believe it now.”

  “Then why not? Because it’s more important for you to have a man in your bed than for all Arcadia to be free?”

  “No, because I love him.” The words ripped out of my throat and hung in the air between us. I couldn’t look Astraia in the eyes; I stared at the floor, my cheeks hot. “And because he isn’t the one who sundered Arcadia,” I went on quietly, desperately. “The Kindly Ones did that. He’s just their slave. He doesn’t even know his name. I told him— He said if he finds his name, he’ll be free. I promised I would help him.”

  I dared to look up then. Astraia had tilted her head thoughtfully to one side.

  “The Kindly Ones are real?” she said.

  I nodded. “Yes. In the days before the Sundering, they struck bargains with men like the Gentle Lord does now. And I think the last prince must have made some bargain with them, because they sundered Arcadia, created the Gentle Lord to administer their bargains, and made the last prince his slave.”

  “So you know how the Sundering happened.” Astraia’s voice was quiet, thoughtful. “You know that the last prince is alive and kept in slavery. With what you’ve learnt and the knowledge of the Resurgandi, you could probably save us all. And your concern is for a servant of the Kindly Ones?”

  “No—but—” A new thought suddenly struck me, and I drew a breath. “The Rhyme doesn’t promise that it will end the Sundering or destroy the demons, it just promises that it will destroy him.”

  “So?” said Astraia. “It would avenge our mother. It would stop him sending his demons against us. We can solve the Sundering at our leisure once he’s dead.”

  “You don’t understand,” I said. “He doesn’t send the demons against us. He’s the only one holding them back. When they hurt people, it’s because they escaped against his will, and he hunts them down. If he were gone, they would tear us all to pieces.”