“That is only the first part. Now. Jam my pole into the hole in the neck.”
Easy enough. In fact, if I were to be rid of him, I may even glory in it.
“Now,” he said, his voice still commanding as he swung from the empty neck of the horse. “Use one of the shards to dig the ground. Dig up earth and clay and form for me around this pole, a body.”
“Out of dirt?” I asked, incredulous. “It will be terribly inferior.”
“Do it, or see no help from me.”
And this was the Grosbeak I remembered from life. The furious, demanding Wittenbrand who wanted me dead. And it was he who I was now bargaining with, so with the last of my energy, I dug until my nails were torn and my palms bloody from the edges of the sharp shards. And I built him a patchy thick body, slumping dirt shoulders, and long, lumpy arms.
“There,” I spat. “You have your ugly dirt body and I hope it falls to dust in your face.”
“Place my head upon it,” he demanded and with relish, I jammed his dead, fly-infested head into the earth. “And now, lady of dust, bound to Pensmoore, Ayyadmoore, and Rouranmoore, give me one last thing. A drop of your blood, if you please.”
Easy enough. My hand was already cut and bleeding, though it was a moment before I realized it was red in this black and white world.
“On my cheek, Izolda. Draw your husband’s sign. Give me one last taste of his power.”
“He’s too worn to work magic,” I said.
“And yet there’s enough power still in his sign alone to grant me this one last wish.”
“Just be done with it,” I muttered, and I traced the bloody tear trail down Grosbeak’s cheek and when I was done I looked down, and then up again, as he rose above me. I gasped, for there was no longer a clay horse and a rotting head before me.
There was, instead, a living, breathing centaur.
“Stop staring and mount up — or if you’re too dainty and lily-livered, then just die already. I have no need of you to carry me anymore, and no desire to wait around here,” Grosbeak said with a very horsey toss of his head, and to my surprise, I found myself scrambling numbly up his back.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
When you arethe master of a herd of Clay Horses you can direct them anywhere you wish and Grosbeak did without so much as consulting me.
“Fan out, you fools,” he said to the other wives and advisors, grinning like a mad man. “And stop gaping like fresh-caught fish. Your jealousy at my elevation could not be more apparent.”
For my part, I did not care that he was going to lead the search. Relieved of his lantern pole, I slid Bluebeard around my body so I could cup him to my chest. He was limp and did not move easily, his head lolling, the wound in his side bleeding so sluggishly, that it seemed not to bleed at all.
I let my tears fall freely over him, washing his face as I moved it to my shoulder and held the back of his head as though he were an infant.
I couldn’t feel the hands touching him or even my own cheek when I pressed it against the top of his head.
Here in the depths of the grave, I did not know if it were day or night, and I did not dare trigger the curse still lingering, as if I still hoped there could be salvation even now, so I did not speak aloud to him as I would have liked.
I spoke, instead, inside my mind.
My husband, Lord Arrow of the Riverbarrow, I do not know to what destination you fly now. I fear that — king though you are of all lands both Wittenbrand and mortal — you are a dying king, a passing sovereign. I wish only to say one last word to you. It has been an honor to travel these past seven years as your wife. I would not bargain them away. Not even to spare myself such pain as I have eaten and such bitterness as I have drunk. You chose well when you chose me. For I have married you both in heart and soul and I cling to you yet, here in the lands beyond death.
And as we rode, I spoke back to him our vows, one final time.
As long as rivers run and moon shines, as long as the earth has bones and death has claws, as long as the ages pass and fail – that long shall I be wife to you.
Little had I known the bones of the earth would be his and that Death would sink long claws into both of us.
Flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone you will be.
I would give my own healthy flesh to make him whole — had I any left to give.
Spirit of my spirit, heart of my own heart, fall what may, we shall be one. Your days shall be mine and your happiness my own.
