“I’d rather die,” I said.
Another chuckle. “Then good night.” And once again he left, and I went back to my room alone.
The clock chimed. I flinched, then looked again at the door. I had waited here in my bedroom for the past two hours, sure that any moment Ignifex would stride through the doorway to claim his wedded rights.
Shade had said that I would be safe at night, but in this moment I couldn’t believe it. Ignifex was a demon. A monster. And he must, he must have seen that moment when I was briefly beguiled. Of course he would not wait even one night before he took advantage.
But I was still alone.
Finally I accepted that Shade had been right after all. I was safe. But that thought made me remember my whining to him in the hall, and my fingers dug into the coverlet. When I imagined facing him again, I felt like I was choking under a mountain of blankets. But even if he still thought me selfish and stupid, at least he could know I was sorry for complaining like a spoiled child.
I’d never be able to apologize to Astraia. With Shade, I had to at least try.
So I went looking for the Heart of Water. Probably I wouldn’t find the room, and if I did, there was no guarantee that Shade would be there. But I had barely started wandering when I pulled open a door and saw a thousand lights dancing over still water, one pale figure sitting at the center.
Fear flashed through my whole body. I didn’t want to face him. Then I clenched my teeth and marched forward, wondering just how idiotically nervous I looked.
Though I wore shoes this evening, my feet were still noiseless on the water. But Shade looked up as I approached him anyway. His eyes were wide and solemn, his face relaxed; the lack of hurt or anger stopped me in my tracks.
“I—” My voice stuck; I swallowed, forcing myself to keep looking. “I’m sorry.”
His eyebrows raised slightly. “For what?”
“Earlier. What I said. Complained. You’ve been here so much longer and I—don’t deserve—”
“You came here to die. You’re allowed to mourn.”
“I wasn’t mourning, I was whining that I walked so long.” My voice was jagged and too loud in the peace of that room, but I couldn’t accept the excuse he was offering.
He rose in a single swift movement. “You’ve done nothing but mourn,” he said, and though his voice was calm as a bowl of milk it made my throat clench. “You’re allowed to.”
“No.” My voice was pinched into a whine again, but I was past caring. “Mourn for myself? I don’t have the right. You’re a slave, my mother is dead, the demons drive people mad every day, and all I’ve done is complain and—”
Lust after the one who hurt you.
I swallowed the words. “I can’t even find my way around this house, much less find the hearts. My sister has forgotten me and I deserve it, because I—I—” My throat closed up for a moment. Then I shook myself. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry.”
Shade took my hand. “Come with me,” he said.
He didn’t seem angry, but as I followed him through the corridors, my stomach still clenched with dread. Surely any moment he would turn around and explain how I was a foolish, wicked child—a disappointment to my family—
Then I realized we were walking into the room with the mirror.
I stopped, breaking out of his grip. “I’ve seen this.” I hated how high my voice was, but I couldn’t stop it. “I don’t need to see it again.”
“No.” Shade gestured at the mirror. “Look.”
Astraia sat on her bed, clutching one of my old black dresses, her head bowed. Her shoulders shook; then she looked up, and I saw that she was sobbing, her eyes red and a damp strand of hair plastered to her face.
I suppose I’m not the only one to hide things, I thought, but I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t even feel my own footsteps as I turned and strode out of the room.
I did feel my back thump against the wall as I sat down. Then I started sobbing.
After a while, I realized that Shade was kneeling beside me, one hand hovering near my shoulder. I felt the urge to be ashamed, but I was so tired. Without meaning to, I snuffled.
His hand came down on my shoulder, cool and solid, and I leaned into the grip.
“The mirror,” I said after a little while. “Is what it shows real? Or an illusion?”
“Nothing but the truth,” he said.
So Astraia really did mourn me. I knew I shouldn’t be, but I was glad of it.
“It has a keyhole. It must be a door to somewhere.” I looked at him.
He looked back at me and then away, jaw clenching. So it must lead somewhere important enough to Ignifex to want it hidden— maybe even one of the hearts—but knowing that would do me no good without a key.
“Thank you,” I said, and for a while there was silence.
I watched Shade from the corner of my eye. He sat against the wall now, one elbow rested against a knee, peaceful and relaxed as if we were finishing afternoon tea, not snatching rest in the house of a monster.
His face was still and milk white. It came over me again how that face was shaped exactly the same as Ignifex’s—the same high cheekbones, the same perfectly sculpted jawline—and yet it was so different: untwisted by the monstrous addition of catlike eyes, and drained of not only color but malice and malicious glee.
I wanted to touch his face. I wanted to make him smile again, just for me, and then I wanted to kiss him until I forgot myself, forgot the ugliness coiled inside my gut, and became as peaceful as his eyes.