Cruel Beauty(32)

Ignifex shrugged. “And it seems you won’t be much amusement either. Shade, take her away.”

Instantly Shade hauled me to my feet and dragged me out of the room. As soon as we were out of Ignifex’s sight, he let go of me.

I leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. My throat was clogged with memories of Damocles. He’d played with Astraia even more than me; Aunt Telomache had lectured for an hour when she found them catching frogs together.

You are the hope of our people.

Not just my family, not just the Resurgandi. I was supposed to be the hope of everyone in Arcadia, including Damocles.

But since my mission was a secret, nobody outside the elite of the Resurgandi knew there was any hope. So people were still destroying themselves with foolish bargains.

Maybe it wouldn’t make a difference if they knew about me. What kind of hope was I, when all I could do was watch?

I saw Shade hovering against the wall to my left. Even his bodiless gaze felt like a reproach.

“Leave me alone,” I snarled.

Then I remembered that I was supposed to be kind to him, but he was already gone.



That evening, as I sat waiting at the dinner table, it occurred to me that Ignifex might still punish me for trying to stop him. He hadn’t hurt me then, but he’d been amused. Surely any moment, when I ceased to amuse him—

But it seemed I was of infinite amusement. When Ignifex arrived, he only smirked at my silence and said, “No rebukes? I expected at least a promise of judgment from the gods.”

I picked up my wineglass, trying not to clench my hand. “You know how much the gods have done to punish you.”

“It is a pretty puzzle why they have not struck me down.” He took a sip of his own wine. “What’s more puzzling is why they do not strike my clients. Though I suppose they do a good enough job of dooming themselves already.”

I remembered Damocles laughing as his father swung him around and threw him into the hay. What had changed that boy into a murderer?

“I don’t know which one of you is more monstrous,” I said lowly. “You for offering or him for accepting.”

“Oh, don’t worry. That Philippa’s husband is a brute who beats her. What’s monstrous is that the gift she’ll bear to her dearest love is the pox. Though I suppose that’s romantic as well. Don’t poets all beg to die with their beloveds?”

I stared at him as he calmly ate a pastry stuffed with raisins. Had it been just yesterday that I’d thought him beautiful? That I’d wanted to touch him, this thing that laughed at suffering?

“You said she wouldn’t pay for his bargain,” I gritted out. “You promised.”

He licked his fingers. “Oh, she would have gotten the pox either way, so it’s nothing to do with me. And without that bargain, her husband would have recovered and lived to beat another wife, so our dear Damocles will buy something with his death. Perhaps not what he expected, but then, who does?”

I will buy your death with mine, I swear it.

But I did not say the words aloud. Instead: “By your standards, I could kill you and still be a dutiful wife.”

Ignifex laughed. “You can’t possibly worry for me, so you must pity him. I would have thought that, of all women, you’d lack patience for those who think they can profit by my bargains.”

I remembered Father’s remote calculations, Aunt Telomache’s dramatic self-satisfaction. Damocles had been nothing like them, for he at least tried to pay the price of his bargain himself. If anything, he was like Astraia, for they both believed that their love could solve anything.

They were both fools, but that was not their fault.

“He wanted to save the woman he loved,” I said. “You used that love to trick him.”

Ignifex looked at me, all laughter suddenly gone from his red eyes. “He knew very well who I am and how my bargains work. And yet he came to me of his own free will, to have a man killed so he would not have to risk his life or dirty his hands. Tell me, my kindly wife, what part of that deserves mercy?”

I stared right back at him. “And if he deserves justice, do you think you deserve to give it him?”

“We all must do our duty.”


Ignifex caught my hands as I was about to leave; his fingers, warm and dry, wrapped around mine.

“Nyx Triskelion, do you want to guess my name?”

I stared back at him—his shoulders, his lips, the pale skin of his throat that I had once (however briefly) longed to kiss. I felt nothing.

“What’s there to guess? I already know you’re a monster.”


I hunted the house for hours, until my feet ached and my eyes felt gritty from exhaustion. I kept moving, even after my stride had dwindled into a shuffle and I barely noticed the rooms around me. But I couldn’t bear to stop, because that would mean admitting defeat for another night, and Astraia might be crying right now and Damocles would be infected tomorrow. How could I rest while they were hurting?