“Who do you think made all those rules for my wife?” he asked. “Not me, or you’d have to give me a goodnight kiss.”
I felt as if the ground were melting beneath my feet. The Gentle Lord was the most evil creature besides Typhon, and the most powerful after the gods. Everyone knew it.
Everyone was wrong.
What kind of creature was powerful and vicious enough to command the prince of demons?
“But never mind that. There’s another thing you couldn’t see before today. Come look.” He beckoned me to the window.
I looked out, and the air stopped in my throat. The green, rolling hills were just as I remembered them—but the parchment sky above was pocked with ragged holes, burnt-brown at the edges, through which I could see nothing but darkness. Shadow.
“They look a lot like the holes in the books, don’t they? But unlike the books, I suppose you could say they are my fault. My masters only made them because they find it more amusing when I have a challenge.”
“What do you mean?”
“There was a boy driven mad in your own village, wasn’t there? Even though your father paid all the tithes correctly? Sometimes the Children of Typhon escape against my will, and I have to hunt them down.”
I stared at the holes in the sky, their burnt edges, and couldn’t look away. It felt like I had swallowed an entire black pudding, heavy and cold and made of blood.
“The holes in the sky are how they enter,” he said. “You can see them now because you looked on the Children of Typhon and survived.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I whispered.
“You looked at them and they looked at you. Do you think that gaze will ever really end?”
The holes were like eyes. Like windows. Like that black infinity of a doorway I had faced, and I hugged myself as I remembered the shadows weeping out of my eyes, bubbling out of my skin—if Ignifex hadn’t found me, maybe I would have become a parchment shell burnt full of holes, darkness dribbling out my ragged mouth—
Ignifex leaned in front of me. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m not!”
In one motion he scooped me up into his arms. “You look cold.” He strode toward the door. “I’m taking you somewhere warmer.”
“What—” I thrashed, but his grip was too strong . . . and the warmth of it was not unpleasant.
“Don’t worry, it’s somewhere nice.”
“Why would you do anything nice for me?” I meant the words to sound angry, but they came out a little too wavering.
“I’m the Lord of Bargains. I can reward you if I want.”
I rocked with the swing of his footsteps and it felt like being swept down a river.
“You don’t have to carry me,” I said. “I can walk.”
“I’m your lord husband. It’s in my arms or over my shoulder.”
“Over the shoulder.”
“You want me holding you by the thighs? Not that I would mind.”
I glowered, but he only laughed and dropped a kiss on my forehead. I supposed that if this was his revenge for last night, it wasn’t too bad.
He carried me through five more rooms of the library, then kicked open a green door I had never seen before and strode out into light.
14
That’s all I could see at first: brilliant white-gold light that dazzled my eyes so I had to squint and blink back tears. Then my eyes adjusted, and I caught my breath in wonder. We stood in a field of grass and yellow flowers that stretched out to the horizon, where it met not the parchment sky I had always known but pure, bright blue.
I looked up. Only for a moment, before the absolute light stabbed my eyes and forced me to look down again, purple and green blobs swimming in my vision, but it was enough. I had seen the sun.
I had seen the sun.
But that was impossible. The sun was gone, lost beyond whatever infinities separated Arcadia from the rest of the world. I could not be seeing it, could not be feeling its warmth prickle down my nose like the heat from a fireplace.
I could not, and yet I was.
“Are we . . .” I began softly.
Ignifex set me down. “No,” he said. “It’s another room. An illusion.” He sat down and flung himself back on the grass. “But it looks almost the same.” He sounded wistful.
I turned around slowly. Behind me stood a narrow wooden doorframe, through which I could see the library, but otherwise the illusion was perfect. A breeze ruffled the flowers and whispered against my neck; it had the same delicate immensity as the breezes I had felt running through the fields around the village, and it smelled of summer, warm grass, and wide-open spaces.
Yet despite the sameness of the air, despite my knowing it was a room, it still seemed vaster than the open hills of Arcadia. At first I wasn’t sure why; I thought it simply might be the blue sky or the brilliant sunlight, but then I realized it was the shadows. In Arcadia, the sun cast soft, diffuse shadows that were like a murmur of darkness. Here the shadows were sharp and crisp as those cast by a Hermetic lamp without its shade—but the light here was infinitely brighter, clearer, and more alive. It felt as if I had lived all my life inside a flat painting and only now had I stepped into the real world.