The place that held the least fear was the closest to Death. It was there I felt nothing could hurt me, that only peace awaited. I clung to him as we rode through the strange and unfathomable forest, cutting through the shadows of deepest greens that fell from the ever-watching trees. In his presence the forest was ominous but silent, much like it had been when I first came. I held tight to the stallion’s mane and Death’s chest curved protectively around my back, the air rushing through my hair and over my bare arms. When he switched the horse’s lead, or turned us quickly through the trees, he placed a careful hand on my hip or thigh, palm firm through the thin silk as he held me lightly into place so that I never once shifted my seat on the stallion’s broad back.
We came to a river, and he pulled the stallion up short at the bank and said into my ear, “Pull up your dress. Before I cross.”
I gathered up the hem and pulled the silk high on my thighs. The cool air coming off the water felt wonderful on my legs against the heat coming off the stallion’s side. We crossed a river in a surge of sparkling water, and I could have dropped my skirt on the other side, but it felt free and unencumbered to have the wind rushing over my legs, only covered with the river-damp linen hose. And now when Death held me steady, his gloved hands came to my skin, sending shivers of pleasure up my spine.
The sun rose hot in the sky, and we climbed one of the great mountain ridges to a high meadow. There, he stopped the stallion and dismounted gracefully. His hands gripped my waist and tugged, and I had no choice but to fall forward into his arms.
Already, there had never been a more beautiful day of my life. He set me onto the ground as if I were his most treasured possession. The grass rippled in long, languorous waves, blown about by the cool mountain breeze that teased my dress around my legs. Below us shimmered a blue alpine lake.
I had never felt so free, so alive. It’s not that I forget myself, my curse, that everyone I loved had been swept away from me under a tide of darkness of my creation. But it was lifted from me and set aside, where I would not need to bear the weight of it—at least for the day. I laughed and lifted my arms to the heat of the sun, spinning into the softly swishing grass.
“What’s so funny?” my companion asked, sending the stallion off with a click of his tongue.
“I have never felt as alive as I have in your house.”
“You are much changed since I found you, half frozen and nearly dead, still dirty with the soil of your own grave,” Death said, his black gaze reflecting the cerulean sky. I watched him, waiting for him to look at me. To explain why we were here. “But I am worried you are not as surrendered as you need to be to take the next steps in your journey.” He began to walk up the hill.
Instead of discouraging me, his words only whetted my longing. Ineeded to be pushed. Had I not arrived at his home lost and bleeding magic? And now, mere months later, I knew the shape and feel of it. I followed, matching his stride, his silence. He was the same long, elegant line among the wild grass that I remembered from my nightmares and my dreams.
He paused and folded his arms behind his back and clasped his elbows.
When I came alongside of him, he spoke in low tones. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a true … companion.”
I bit the inside of my cheek and ducked my head to hide the smile of rich satisfaction.
We finished ascending the ridge in silence.
At the top lay a feast. Pastries and ham and fruits and wine already poured. The food that appeared in my room was already finer than anything I’d eaten—even in its simplicity. But this. This was like the Emperor’s feast. My stomach tightened to remember myself tied above the table, the scarlet threads puckering into my flesh like the meats already sweating in the sun. But those were memories now, the darkness of which only deepened the present pleasure. With a sigh, I sank down on the blanket and plucked up a pastry, my teeth sinking into the flaky layers.
Death stayed standing, silent and severe. I supposed he might be studying the patterns of the wind in the grass.
“Aren’t you going to eat with me?” I asked. “Lie in the grass with me? Swim in the lake with me? Set me to an impossible task?”
He did not answer.
“Fine,” I said. “Ignore me.” I knew he could not help but notice me, no matter how studiously he avoided it. He had not said one word about not wanting me since the day I arrived, nor had he come close to kissing me again. But every evening over our wine, I saw the tension building in his arms on the chair, the twitch of his gaze when I moved.
I laid back on the fine linen and crossed my ankle over my knee, mydress slipping down over my thighs and playfully billowing out in the wind. His attention burned like the sun on my exposed skin.
The grass whispered in our silence. I brushed the crumbs away and licked my fingers. “Is this”—I swept my arm at the food—“all for me?”
He turned to me, arms still clasped behind his back. “I find food doesn’t hold my interest the same as it does for you.”
“You can’t make me feel bad,” I said, plucking up a fig and letting the sweetness burst across my tongue. “Not even if you give me your sternest looks.”
“You are very undisciplined out here. I rather prefer you sedate behind your desk.”
He lied, but I felt like it was a necessary lie for that soft, fragile place I was trying to find my way to with him. “I am disciplined when I need to be,” I said, shading my eyes against the glaring sun. “What did you bring me out here for?”
“For the pleasure of it,” he said as if he were critiquing my incantations.
“Can you feel pleasure?”
I must have surprised him, because he gave a low laugh and shook his head. “I can. But it’s different …”
“How so?”
He didn’t answer, and I switched my legs in the sunshine, sighing with both impatience and contentment. “At least sit with me,” I murmured, patting my hand on the blanket.
