by May Peterson
Eirlys’s mouth was open, thoughts cloudy on her brow. Slowly, she nodded.
When thunder crossed the air between us again, it felt personal. Careful. And Mio’s hands plucked it from its flight, lit it with meaning. “How have you been?”
Ha. Such a perfect, insufficient question. “Still immortal. You?”
This time her smile was bright. “Still dead.” She shrugged. “C’est la vie.”
It was too much. I laughed through my teeth, nodding in agreement. Yes. C’est la vie. Tears blurred her and Mio into distant watercolor portraits, though his signs lost none of their clarity. She was still her. For so long I’d prayed she was in there. And she was. Something heavy in me began to soften.
“I’m so sorry.” She had to know what I meant. “I tried to tell you that so many times, but I thought... I was afraid you couldn’t hear me.”
The air trembled. “I heard you. Every time.”
Sobs were winding their way up my chest, and I barred them in. It wasn’t time for me and my grief anymore. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. Fuck, I don’t even think you should. But I’m so glad—” I stopped to wipe my eyes. “I wanted to at least give you the revenge you deserved.”
She paused. Mio watched us both, dampened with concern. But when she spoke again, he did not fail. “Rhodry. I have no reason to wish revenge on you. I never have.”
The response tore the air from me. Her forgiveness was snowfall, weightless and gentle and terrible. I was split open, all my convictions trickling uselessly onto the cold ground.
But the warmth on her face made her seem alive again. Mio’s hands narrated. “I would have lived longer, if I could have.”
My head snapped up. “What? But you—” No. I hadn’t put it together yet. If she’d never committed any of the murders, then...
Rosemary gasped. “Oh, dear God. It was a staged suicide? All the evidence was so convincing—God in Heaven.”
Before I realized it, I had sunk to my knees. Mio knelt at my side. Eirlys said nothing, running her solemn gaze over the ruin of our legacy, the motionless horde of our charges.
“I thought you were baiting the incubus,” I finally choked out. “That it was your curse. Your fetter.”
Her smoky half grin was tinged with sympathy, but hard. Her mouth moved, and I didn’t need Mio to understand: No.
Then she crossed the pane of water, floated over the wreckage to kneel at the foot of the hill. Her chill was less intense now than I’d ever felt it, but just about slapped me in the face all the same. I barely saw Mio’s signs as he interpreted now. “You and I were slain by the same hand. I believe it has always been the same hand, working in secret. The unseen hand of the incubus, carrying out its will.”
“Someone who knew how to make your death look like a suicide. Someone who’d been counting on—” Who had been hiding in Eirlys’s shadow for years, with her unable to explain, and me unable to see.
Until Mio.
“It could be anyone.” Rosemary sounded thin, insubstantial. “The incubus can control any of the souls it has chained. It could have been forcing any number of ghosts to kill for it.”
Eirlys’s eyes narrowed. “Yet no other spirit have I witnessed step out of the Deep to serve it. I’ve never been able to catch them. And whoever it is has to have known the incubus existed from the beginning.”
Which could mean anything. All the sensation leeched from my body. We’d been played. For more than fifteen goddamned years.
Eirlys stood. Mio’s translation came slow now, because he was holding me up with one hand. “The incubus chained me at first. Before I realized I was dead. Until I saw what it had done to you. It may as well have driven the blade through you itself. I took the chain around my neck. And I swore upon it, upon my death, that I would destroy it. I would slay this creature that had taken my life away. That had dared—”
She either was unable to finish, or Mio lost his grip on the translation. But I could fill in the blanks. The incubus had taken her shape, used her face to torment me after my death. Lashed me with her voice while I starved and starved and could not die.
Then Mio began again. “I promised I would end it. And my chain broke. My fetter—” Light flashed in her hand like scattered crystals. In an instant, her sword appeared, and she brandished it above her head. “Became this. This is now my curse. And the incubus controls it no longer.”
Holy fuck. So that was how her blade could harm it. “You changed your own fetter? I didn’t even think that was possible.” Although it seemed reasonable in theory. A ghost swearing a vow like that, one that really burned, wasn’t just making a promise. That kind of oath was a fetter in itself, just one they chose.
Cecilio seemed to be hiding his face. Rosemary’s eyes were wide, her mouth covered with one palm. Eirlys swung the sword, and the ice on the water shattered from the force of it. Mio flinched, but his hands took up their interpretation without faltering. “We cannot fight the incubus forever. With each new soul it claims, it grows stronger. Soon it will impossible to defeat. Our only grace is that it is bound by the curse to our home. We’ve been able to keep it here this long, but eventually—” She shook her head. “We can’t let it take another soul. If I can identify the killer who serves it...” The tip of the blade struck the ground.
I nodded with all the strength I had in me. Here, at last, was ground to stand on. “Protecting Mio needs to be the priority, then. If he really is shielded from the incubus...” I glanced down at him, the way he was shuddering under my arm. “Regardless, I will do everything I can possibly do to make sure you stay alive. Even if I have to die again.”
Mio’s breath hard, face flushed. But he smiled timidly up at me.
I had to tell him. Why I had pushed him away. He’d already risked too much for me.
Eirlys floated up the hill, suddenly so close I could all but see through her. The emotion in her eyes was familiar. Alive. And amazing to see again.
“We have a battle to plan. We’ll find a way out of hell. Somehow.”
Then she extended her arm. The same gesture we’d made as soldiers, preparing to face death for our common cause. I almost choked on a fresh surge of tears.
But I took her grasp. We clasped at the forearm. Just like old times.
And I barely felt the cold.
Chapter Nine
MIO
In the cellar, Rhodry had leaned on me. At one point his hand had tightened on my arm, and I’d felt unexpectedly at ease.
But on the way back up from his tomb, he separated from me again. And back in the moonlit hallway, we were just our selves again, with all that lay between us.
Rhodry looked almost drunk from fatigue. Eyes reddened, bleary with emotion. Delicate white blooms flecked his black hair. He leaned against the wall while Rosemary sealed the door.
My feet were damp, and cold seeped in. But I was afraid to move. What I had learned felt too big to fit in my head.
Cecilio cleared this throat. “She’s looking...well.”
I nodded glum agreement. The clarity of her voice that struck true, a note only I could hear.
“Mio.” Rhodry sounded dark, raw. He leaned nearer so we were at eye level. “Thank you for that. You didn’t have to do it, and you are under no obligation to do it again. But...thank you.”
His gratitude gutted me, but spread warmth down to my toes. I had to stay clear headed—this didn’t mean that he loved me. Not in the way I loved him.
Because that had to be what it was. I knew no other name for the emotion that shook my hands, made me long to wipe his tears away. Long to be looked upon by him the way he had looked at her.
“I would do it again,” I signed. “In a heartbeat.”
He was still for a moment, breath caressing the side of my face. Then his back straightened. “We have much to untangle.”
I
chuckled silently. We did, indeed.
“Well then.” Cecilio sniffed pointedly. “Let’s untangle in a place less horrifying. I’ll put a kettle on.”
He winked out, and we stalked to the kitchen. The unlit halls made me feel like we were again in that cold passage, but in a moment we had gained the servants’ hall. A couple lamps sputtered to life, revealing Rosemary at their wicks, and Rhodry taking a seat at the table.
He looked so tired, face hidden in one broad hand. I’d grown to love the sight of his hair when unruly, so boyish and disheveled. I wanted to run my fingers through it.
“Come. Sit down.” Rosemary went to light the hearth.
I sat opposite His Lordship. When Rosemary had gone and Cecilio was floating in with a tea tray, Rhodry mumbled to the room, “It’s got to be someone that can kill without being seen.”
Cecilio raised an eyebrow, then began pouring. “Well that narrows it down, doesn’t it? An invisible ghost, or a witch with force-shaping.”
Rhodry growled. “I have to think. She said there was no sign of any of the other bound souls being compelled by the incubus. And I think we can all agree—whatever the incubus may be, low key it is not. The Verge would open if it wanted to command a soul. You’ve never seen anything?”
Cecilio shook his head and handed me a cup. “I thought... I thought it had been Her Ladyship. Only now... I never exactly saw her deal the blow, well, did I?”
I squeezed lemon into the tea and stirred. The warm liquid helped. Before, when it had been Lady Eirlys cast as unwitting killer, the house had possessed a macabre romance. Now, the cold seemed insidious, nefarious. It had been calculated over years to confuse, hurt, and bind Rhodry. To keep Eirlys silent. To control.
That sounded familiar.
I waited until Rhodry looked up before signing. “The chances of it being a mage after you seem low. My mother knows about every witch who works in the city. Some of them do have powers like this, and most could put together a spell to accomplish the same thing. But it’d be difficult to stealthily keep that up from a distance. Especially for over ten years. And Tibario is Mamma’s spymaster. If it was a political ploy, he’d know.”
“Maybe it was ginger snap himself.” Rhodry bared his teeth playfully. “Back in the beginning. A wily little tot, skittering around and stabbing people in the ribs. Or the shins, more like.”
I laughed with him. Tibario would have been ten back then, but the image lightened my mood. Rhodry slid a hand halfway across the table, as if he meant to touch mine. Then it sat there between us, motion aborted. I counted my breaths and watched him.
Rosemary stepped back through the wall. “My lord. You need rest. It’s been nigh on two days. Go to bed.”
“No.” He stretched, yawned, and took to his feet. “No time for it. I just need to stay away from sunlight. And eat. Something that used to have a face.”
Cecilio clucked his tongue. “Then I’ll send a note to the butcher to leave the face on next time I order a lamb. Up with you. At least lie down and we’ll have it ready.”
They herded me upstairs with him. I could have slept easily if not for the weight of my thoughts. During the walk to my room, I was able to admit something. Nestled among those thoughts was an unexpected emotion—pride. For all the evil I had committed, I had been able to serve Rhodry. Even if only to let him and Lady Eirlys speak again. And it proved what Mamma had taught me about magic stemming from conviction. Somehow, I had found a way to use the voce de cielo to help without dropping the protection of the silence.
Maybe service was the closest thing to love I could ask for myself. If my desire became devotion, I could make Rhodry smile again.
In the upper hall, it was only Rhodry and me. We stopped briefly by my door. How safe and holy my room had felt, not one day ago. But I didn’t know if I could face it again in the dark. The residue of the incubus, illusions of Rhodry, all over the walls.
“Mio. Wait.” Rhodry rapped the door lightly. “Will you...stay with me tonight? In my bed?”
Blood rushed to my head. Had I heard him correctly? Heart throbbing, I waited to see if I was dreaming.
“I promise I won’t try anything. I’ll be on the couch so you can sleep. Only I want to watch over you. Leaving you on your own was a mistake.”
Ah. That made sense. It was just a matter of practicality. Though my seismic heart rate didn’t seem to know the difference. “Thank you, Rhodry.”
A nearly imperceptible smile shifted across his shadow. I should call him by name more. It felt comfortable and warm in my hands.
This was the room I’d awoken in earlier. The now empty tub stood near the fireplace. This was the first time I’d had a chance to really look at Rhodry’s most private space.
It was a mess. But somehow, a fond mess. Rhodry lit several lamps before working the fire back up to strength, and only then could I make out further detail. The adjoining dressing room had no door, and an armoire fluttered open, revealing hanging bags. Books lay scattered, face down or pages dusty from exposure, over his desk and the floor. A solemn curtain guarded the window. But most striking of all was the array of objects. Strewn along shelves, the edges of the table and desk, chairs, some peeking out from under the bed. It looked like a personal collection. Tatters of ribbon, old shoes, piles of golden buttons. Stitched dollies with carefully embroidered clothing. Tiny figurines, peeling wallet covers. Dangling from the armoire door was a string heavy with rings. Walking in, I almost stumbled on a pile of clothes that could not have been Rhodry’s.
“Ah, yes, my trove.” Rhodry emerged from the darkness at my side. “Many people have died in my house. Most had some token of...personal magnitude...on them. Maybe it’s untoward to keep them among my possessions this way. But I thought it was better here, where someone would see them. Rather than stuffed in a trunk or buried.”
Where someone would see them. Where he would see them, every night. Go to sleep to them, and wake up reminded again. The vision of that, of Rhodry being imprinted anew for thousands of days with the sight of his failures, left me breathless.
“Rosemary takes all the silver pieces so they’re not around me. Buttons, stitching. A few silver coins, some braiding. I think once we found a little silver seal stature. Very pretty. But her curse seems to give her some resistance to the stuff, so she buries it all or something.” He shrugged. “Is this all right? It must look overwhelming.”
It was. But not for the reason he may think. Just as my racing pulse around him was not for the reason he thought. He still believed he was taking advantage of me somehow. I swallowed. “This is fine. It’s perfect.”
“Please take the bed. You can wash up first if you need, and I’ll wait in the dressing room. The sheets are clean. Might smell a little like bear, though.”
Well. Another bath seemed a bit much, but I did rinse my feet with the basin. Fatigue snared me the moment I sat down. I gave myself a moment to spread out, feel his bedclothes against my hands. There was, amazingly, a scent that rose around me. Not of bear or damp fur, but the smoky tang of him. I flushed.
Rhodry slid the sofa over to face the bed. “Just try to rest if you can. I’ll be here if anything happens.”
His tone soothed me. “I feel awful taking your bed, though. You should sleep, too.”
“Oh, pssh.” He swiped an arc in the air. “Best thing about being dead? I’m still essentially in my twenties. I can go for eons without sleep.” He nevertheless stifled a yawn.
I folded the flap of the blanket over me and sank back onto the pillow. His pillow. This was where he had been, during those long early days when I’d first been falling for him. I lay awake, veiling my face with the cover and counting the minutes. Ideally, I would be somewhere private. Alone, so I could take out my longings and convictions and see how they fit together. But he was there, paces away.
He hadn’t said how many bodies had be
en buried there in the cellar. They were as encompassing as stars giving the sky its geography. And here in his personal temple, all the faded pieces of their lives remained with him. Somehow, the truth of it had never been so apparent before—Rhodry was the only survivor.
The terror of me becoming one more corpse must have been suffocating. All because he’d done me a favor. Because I’d asked for his help.
I tossed the cover off myself, propped my arms up on the pillows. Rhodry didn’t stir.
It hadn’t been enough for me to give him this problem. I’d had to demand he love me for it, too.
I leaned forward and signed in the light. “Rhodry?”
He must have heard me, because one silver eye peeked into view. “Mm. Are you having trouble sleeping?”
I nodded. “I... I hope I can make it up to you. For what I’ve done.”
A pause unraveled between us. “Mio... I understand.”
Maybe he did, in his way. But I’d seen the love linking him and Eirlys. How pure and fierce and clean it had been. “I don’t think we can go back to how things were.”
“No.” His voice was tender, quiet. “I suppose the way is closed now.”
I slipped out from under the covers and sat at the foot of the bed. “Please let me explain.”
Rhodry’s sigh was heavy with weariness. But his tone hummed with affection. “Anything you need to say, I’m listening. Er. Watching.”
If I was going to serve him, I had to do what I’d been trying my whole life to do. Come clean. With a deep breath, I continued.
“I don’t know if you have people like castrati in Mallory. But here, people don’t expect me to be...truly a man. And I don’t think I am, though not for the reason they think. If anything, my gender—whatever people believe it to be—seems to only matter to others. But the lesson has been fairly clear. I should try to be a man.” This was wrapped in a shrug and my limp attempt at a smile.