But he didn’t matter any more than I mattered. We were both wicked people, and we were both the ones who had to be sacrificed.
“I swear.” The words came out in a whisper. Then I swallowed and ground them out. “I swear by my love for you and our mother, by the gods above and the river Styx below, that I will destroy the Gentle Lord, rescue the last prince, and save us all.”
“And?” Astraia promptly gently.
“And . . . and by the creek in back of the house.”
She flung her arms around me. “Thank you.”
I pressed my face into her shoulder. My eyes stung with tears, and I expected that any moment the cold hate for her would wash over me. But all I felt was emptiness, until I realized that I had finally gotten my wish: I had learnt to love my sister without bitterness. All it had cost me was everything.
It occurred to me that Ignifex would find this fate both amusing and appropriate. Then I cried, my whole body shaking with sobs, and Astraia held me and stroked my back until I quieted.
It didn’t take Father and Aunt Telomache long to find us, but we bolted the door and refused to come out. Father pounded on the door and commanded Astraia—he must have known I was a lost cause—to open it.
“We’re plotting the death of the Gentle Lord!” Astraia called back. “Go away!”
I laughed weakly. “You grew a sharp tongue rather quickly.”
“Twins are always alike, don’t you know?” Her voice sounded almost affectionate, and I laughed again; then her next words caught me like a blow across the face. “Why did you go to the graveyard?”
I remembered my cheek leaned against Ignifex’s shoulder, his arm around my waist, and his lips as he kissed me, fiercely tender. It felt like worms crawling over my skin to remember that Astraia had watched it all, hating both of us.
But I owed her an answer.
“Because I was always a terrible daughter. And . . . in that house, I became a worse one.”
Astraia glanced at me sharply, and I could see the words Because he made you in her eyes, but she was mercifully silent.
I went on, “I wanted, just once in my life, to do something right for her.”
Astraia puckered her lips. “Why did he go with you?” she asked, apparently missing—or accepting—the implication that I had never, in all my life, loved our mother properly.
“I asked him.”
Her nostrils flared. “So he could laugh at her tomb?”
My hands clenched. “He drank the funeral libation with me,” I growled, then couldn’t help adding, “You must have seen; you were spying long enough.”
Astraia stood. “He could pour out all his blood in libation and it wouldn’t pay what he owes us.”
“I didn’t say it did.” I stared at the floor, remembering his dead brides lying in the darkness and the dead sorrow on Astraia’s face when I left her. Neither of us could pay for our sins.
“I suppose by now he trusts you?” She looked down and I felt compelled to meet her eyes.
You can trust me, I had said, and he had whispered, I do.
I nodded wordlessly.
“That’s a good thing. Because after everything, he deserves to know what it feels like to be betrayed.” Her smile was like broken glass. “Someday you’ll be free of him, and then you will agree.”
The next instant I was on my feet, my heart pounding in my ears.
“Of course he’s evil and unforgivable.” My voice felt like it was coming from the far end of a long tunnel. “But he is the only reason I ever honored Mother with a clean heart. And if I hadn’t learnt to be kind with him, I would never have come back to beg your forgiveness and pick you over him. So gloat all you want—you deserve to watch us both suffer—but don’t you dare say I will ever be free of him. Every kindness I ever show you, all the rest of your life, that’s because of him. And no matter how many times I betray him, I will love him still.”
I clamped my mouth shut. My skin crawled with shame at having revealed what I dared to want. But as I stared at Astraia, hands trembling, the cold wave of hatred still did not find me, did not turn me into a monster who would say or do anything.
Astraia’s face was unreadable. She reached out slowly; I tensed, but she only stroked my hair, and I closed my eyes. Without my hate, I felt bereft.
“He’s going to die,” she said in my ear. “So I’m not discontent.”
“Then can we get on with the planning?” My voice wavered only a little.
“Of course. Tell me what you learnt. Besides kindness.”
So I told her my story. Some of it.
I told her how the darkness tried to eat Ignifex alive, how he needed rows of candles or at least my arms to survive the night. But I didn’t tell her how I had left him helpless in the hallway or how he had said, “Please,” because I knew she would smile at the thought of his suffering and I couldn’t bear that. I told her how I found all the hearts—including the Heart of Air—but though I blushed enough for her to guess, I didn’t tell her what we’d done there.
Most of all, I was careful not to tell her how long I had dallied between finding the Heart of Air and coming to see her. She knew I loved the enemy of our house, but she didn’t need to know how much I had wanted to forget her. Or how easy it had been.
After I had finished, Astraia sat quietly for a while. Then she said, “You have to free Shade. He’s the prince, isn’t he?”
He killed five women, I thought, but Ignifex had killed more, and in the end neither of them mattered at all. Avenging my mother and saving Arcadia from the demons were the only things that I should care about.
“Yes,” I said.
“During my research, I found a variant of the Rhyme—only recorded in two manuscripts—but it adds another couplet:
“A pure heart and a pure kiss,
Will free the prince and give him bliss.
”
I snorted. “Even if it’s true, I think that’s as impossible now as the virgin hands.” She opened her mouth. “For you as well. There’s far too much poison in your heart now.” I frowned. “Besides, I’d have to find Shade first. Ignifex wouldn’t say where . . .” My voice trailed off as I realized there was only one place that Ignifex would be satisfied to imprison Shade.
“He’s behind the door,” I whispered. “With the Children of Typhon.” I felt a twist of horror that Ignifex would do that to anyone, but I knew it had to be true.
“Well, that’s easy then, isn’t it?” said Astraia. “You have the ring.”
“So?”
She rolled her eyes. “He can command the demons. The ring lets you stand in his place. I’d wager anything you can command them as well.”
“Would you bet your life?” I muttered, but I looked down at the ring. How much of his nature had the ring given me? It let me share his powers; what if it let me share his weakness as well? I noticed the deepening shadows in the library, and my skin prickled.
“Yes, and more,” said Astraia, grim again.
“I wasn’t wavering,” I said. “I was thinking. Remember how I told you that darkness burns him? I think it might do the same to me since the ring lets me share his power. Shade said that monsters are afraid of the dark because it reminds them of what they are. Ignifex said that he hears a voice in the darkness and he only survives because he forgets.” I met her eyes. “I want to know what truth it is that tries to eat him alive every night.”
21
We needed a room where we could light candles—in case the darkness started actually killing me—and that meant not the library.