All I had to do was fulfill my vow to my sister. It was good news. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to believe it—but Ignifex had told me that the Kindly Ones loved to tell the truth once it was too late to save anyone. And now, with my oath to Astraia still bitter on my tongue, it was much too late.
“What happens to Shade?” I asked. “Will he be locked in the box too, the way he feared?”
Your husband will pay that price.
Like Pandora. There was always a sacrifice; I had known that all my life.
I didn’t know if it was grief or rage that made my voice shake as I asked, “Is that what I learnt in the flames?”
Mostly.
I remembered the garden and the sparrow. When it told me to look in the pool for a way to save us, it hadn’t seemed to mean I must betray the one I loved.
That bird cannot help you. It lives in his garden. It eats of his crumbs. Do you suppose it can save you?
I hadn’t even considered that possibility, but now I wondered—
It was kind to you, said the Kindly Ones. What do you think that means?
It was exactly the same intonation as a mother saying, Darling, if you touch the stove, you get burned.
And I knew the answer as simply as breathing. There was something wrong with the sparrow. There had to be. Because it had offered me hope, and when had there ever been any hope for me that didn’t twist into despair? My chance at love had broken Astraia’s heart. My visit home had become a vow to kill Ignifex.
And now I was more indignant over my own sorrow than over the suffering of Shade and Astraia and Damocles, the eight dead wives and Elspeth’s brother and all Arcadia for nine hundred years. With such a selfish heart, what right did I have to expect any hope?
What will you do now?
The voice spoke from all around me, in my ears and in my lungs and thrumming through my bones. And I knew what I had to do.
I struggled to speak, but my tongue felt dull and heavy; only a soft moan came out. The darkness wavered around me.
“Yes,” I ground out, and it felt like speaking from under a mountain. “I’ll . . . do it.”
. . . And I realized that I had awoken, and I was staring up into Astraia’s eyes as I lay with my head cradled in her lap.
“What will you do?” asked Astraia, and she sounded almost gentle.
My throat felt raw as I said, “What I must.”
22
The hallway looked just as I remembered it: the gaudy moldings, the murals of writhing figures. My footsteps echoed as I walked forward; I glanced back nervously, but Ignifex did not appear.
It was barely dawn. He was probably still in his room, surrounded by candles. I remembered the way he huddled into my arms, sheltering from the darkness.
You swore to Astraia. For the sake of Arcadia.
I forced myself forward. He was the enemy. I had to stop him.
The door too was the same: small, wooden, and filled with unimaginable horror. I laid my hand on the doorknob. Did it tremble beneath my touch?
What if the ring did not allow me to control the Children of Typhon after all?
You would deserve it. For what you’re planning. Ignifex had given me the ring in love and trust, and I was using it to destroy him.
You promised, I reminded myself, and before I could hesitate any longer, I pulled the door wide open.
Emptiness clawed at my eyes. I tried to speak, but my lips would not move. From far away in the deeps, I thought I heard the echoes of a song.
Children of Typhon, I thought, but my tongue wouldn’t move. I sucked in a breath, clenching my fists, and then was finally able to force the words out: “Children . . . of Typhon . . . bring me Shade.”
There was a noise like the skitter of a million little clawed feet, like the burbling of water; then the darkness parted and Shade tumbled forward. I barely caught him, staggered backward under his weight, then lowered him to the ground.
His clothes were torn and ragged; his fingertips bled as if he had been clawing at the lid of a coffin, and blood dripped also out of his ears and nose, stark crimson against his colorless skin. All across his face and hands were the same swirling pale scars that the darkness had left upon Ignifex.
But his breath whispered in and out. He was still alive; I could still save him and all Arcadia.
I laid my right hand—the one that wore the ring—upon his forehead and said, “Heal,” as commandingly as I could. But nothing happened; he lay still, his breath sliding in and out in the rhythm of perfect sleep.
“Heal,” I said again. “Wake!” But he didn’t move.
I leaned down to his ear and whispered, “I know who you are. Come back.”
Nothing.
Then I remembered how my kiss had made him able to speak; I remembered also half a dozen tales, and how Ignifex had said that the Kindly Ones loved to leave clues.
“Please wake up,” I said, and then very gently, I kissed him on the lips.
He sighed. His eyes did not open, but the scars on his face had visibly faded. My heart beating faster, I kissed his forehead, his ears, and finally his lips again; and the skin on his face looked fresh and healed.
I picked up his hands. One by one, I kissed his bloody fingers, trying to ignore the smell and taste of blood, and his fingers healed under my lips.
Ignifex did this, I thought as I kissed each fingertip. Ignifex knew how he would suffer and did it to him anyway. He deserves this betrayal. If I could concentrate on just that thought, I might be strong enough.
I kissed his palms and laid down his hands. He looked healed now, but he still had not wakened; so I leaned down and kissed his lips again.
This time he woke with a quick, shuddering intake of breath. He stared up at me, eyes wide and dazed. As I had stared up at him when he betrayed me in the Heart of Fire.
He had been trying to save Arcadia. I was betraying Ignifex for the same reason now.
For a moment his mouth worked soundlessly; then he said, still not quite looking at me, “Are you here . . . to punish me?”
His voice was rough and hoarse, as if from screaming, and my stomach curled. All this time, while I had been delighting in my husband, he had been tortured by the Children of Typhon.
“No.” I grabbed his hand. “No. You’re safe.”
He shuddered and focused on me. “Nyx,” he gasped, and then repeated, “Are you here to punish me?”
“I’m here,” I said unsteadily, “to save you and kill my husband.”
He sat up slowly, wincing, and leaned against the wall. “Thank you.”
I didn’t even try to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “I had to.”
He met my gaze. “You know.”
“Yes,” I said. “You’re the last prince of Arcadia. My prince. I’m going to save you, and you’re going to save us all.”
“No,” he breathed. “You’re going to save us. I knew you would do it.” And he pulled me into a kiss.
Despite the memory of what he had done, the kiss still rippled through my body. But more than his betrayal lay between us now. I pushed him back, my right hand flat against his chest.