But while the Gentle Lord always keeps his word, he always cheats at his bargains. He made Thisbe conceive and grow heavy with twins, but he did not make her able to bear them. The first daughter was born quickly enough, but the second came out crooked and covered in her mother’s blood, and though she survived, Thisbe did not.
Leonidas could not help loving Astraia, the daughter his wife had paid for so dearly. He could not help despising me, the daughter who had received her life for no cost, as he had paid nothing of his own to receive us. So Astraia grew up beloved, the living image of her mother. And I grew up knowing that my only purpose was to be my father’s vengeance incarnate.
The carriage stopped with a jolt and a bump.
I looked at Father. He looked back at me.
My throat tightened again and I swallowed. I felt sure there was something I could say—should say—if I could just think of it fast enough—
“Go with all the blessings of the gods and your father,” he said calmly.
The rote words stung more than his silence. As the driver opened the carriage door, I realized how desperately I had always wanted him to show one hint of reluctance, one suggestion that it pained him to use me as a weapon.
But why should I complain? Hadn’t I just hurt Astraia even worse?
I smiled brightly. “Surely the gods will bless such a kindly father as much as he deserves,” I said, and clambered out of the carriage without looking back. The door slammed behind me. In an instant the driver was snapping the whip at the horses, and the carriage clattered away.
I stood very still, my shoulders tight, staring at the house of my bridegroom.
They had not brought me quite to the door—nobody would go so close to the Gentle Lord’s house unless he was already mad enough to seek a bargain—but the stone tower was only a short distance up the grassy slope. It was the only whole part that remained of the ancient castle of the Arcadian kings. Beyond it, the hill was crowned with crumbling walls and revenant doorways that stood alone without any walls about them.
The wind moaned softly, ruffling the grass. The sun’s diffuse glow warmed my face, and the cool air had the warm, ripe smell of late summer. I sucked in a breath, knowing this was the last time I would stand outside.
Either I would fail, and the Gentle Lord would kill me . . . or else I would succeed, and either die in the house’s collapse or be trapped with him forever. In which case I would be lucky if he killed me.
For one moment I considered running. I could be down the hill by another path before the Gentle Lord knew I was gone, and then . . .
. . . and then he would hunt me down, take me by force, and kill Astraia.
There was only one choice I could make.
I realized I was shaking. I still wanted to run. But I was doomed in any case, so I might at least die saving the sister I had wronged. I thought about how much I hated the Gentle Lord, how much I wanted to show him that requesting a captive bride was the worst mistake he’d ever make. While that hate still flickered within me, I marched up to the wooden door of the tower and banged on it.
The door swung open silently.
I stepped through before I could change my mind, and the door promptly slammed shut. I flinched at the crash but managed to stop myself from trying to tug it open again. I wasn’t supposed to escape.
Instead I looked around. I was in a round foyer the size of my bedroom with white walls, a blue tiled floor, and a very high ceiling. Though from the outside it had looked as if there were nothing of the house but one lonely tower, this room had five mahogany doors, each carved with a different pattern of fruits and flowers. I tried them, but they were all locked.
Was that a laugh? I went still, my heart thumping. But if the noise had been real, it did not repeat. I circled the room again, this time pounding on each of the doors, but there was still no response.
“I’m here!” I shouted. “Your bride! Congratulations on your marriage!”
4
No one answered.
My whole body pulsed with fear, because surely in a moment the doors would swing open, or the ceiling would crack, or he would speak from right behind my neck—
I spun around, but I was still alone. There was no sound except for my rough gasps as I strained for breath against the tight bodice. I looked down and was mortified again by the sight of my br**sts propped up and exposed, as if I were a platter for my husband’s delectation.
My fear began to fade into the dull, familiar burning of resentment. There were even roses painted on the buttons of the bodice, because the Gentle Lord’s tribute must be nicely wrapped, mustn’t she? Just like a birthday present, and like a spoiled child on his birthday, the Gentle Lord didn’t care if he made other people wait.
With a sigh, I sat down and leaned back against the wall. Probably my husband was away striking cursed bargains with other fools who thought—as Father once did—that they could bear to pay his prices. At least I had a little more time left before I had to meet him.
Husband. I clenched my hands, and the fear was back as I remembered what Aunt Telomache had told me last night. I knew that the Gentle Lord was different enough from other demons that people could look on him and not go mad. But some said he had the mouth of a snake, the eyes of a goat, and the tusks of a boar, so that even the bravest could not refuse his bargains. Others said he was inhumanly beautiful, so that even the wisest were beguiled by him. Either way, I couldn’t imagine letting him touch me.
(Father never said what it was like to bargain with the Gentle Lord. Once I had dared to ask him what my enemy looked like. He stared at me as if I were a fascinating insect and asked me what difference I imagined it would make.)