I walked back to my chamber with all the flush and flight of a girl, and a sick feeling of nervousness in my stomach.
To be in his presence felt as if his presence filled the world, set the world, determined the fate of it. He crowded out the grief of being rejected. I wanted nothing more, in the whole world, but to never againbe a poor, desolate prostitute half frozen in grave soil. I wanted nothing more, in the whole universe, than to be a consort of Lord Death, a great sorceress, a woman who truly could standwithhim. I did not know what to expect from this dinner but hoped, in spite of myself, for all these dreams. In that moment, it was a wild, enormous hope. I smoothed down my dress, wishing for something finer to wear. And when I opened my chamber door and looked at the chair, my wish had come true.
I had still not gotten used to the way the château seemed to read my mind, anticipate my thoughts. I wondered what it might whisper to him when he asked. What secrets it held for him or gave up to him. There was no question the house was loyal to him above all others. But I picked up the dress.
It was clear what was expected of me. The dress was the color of the deepest blue of the orchids that grew in that magical, treacherous glass house. It was cut slim, without sleeves or shift underneath, so revealing as to leave even me blushing, embroidered in silver thread and glimmering beads. There were thin stockings of fine wool with silky blue ribbon to tie them onto my legs. And under the dress was a crown of finest wrought silver to rest upon my brow and hold a gossamer veil against my hair.
Night had fallen and the rain had stopped, but the heat still sat dark and thick in the air. The giant’s lantern flickered in the quiet. Despite bathing, I was nervous and sweating once out in the hall. I became so overwhelmed, I paused, pressing my forehead and bare arms to the cool stones in an effort to calm down.
Why was I so nervous? This was Death, but he had once been a man. I was the one in the world who knew him best. He slumped on my bed like any village man with coin in his purse. But even though I tried to convince myself of this, I lived within his power every day. I knew it’s width and breadth and magnificence. He may once have been a man, but he was not one now. I took a deep breath and pushed off the wall.
I longed to know the human he used to be, those mortal wounds he still carried with him. I dared it—yes, I dared to think of myself as he told me, able to stand against him. Able to find those wounds and nurse them into healing. I thought of that secret inner room and truly believed it held his heart or some approximation of it. What I was thinking was beyond romance, beyond love. I wouldn’t have thought to put those words on it, even though it may seem that way. This was pure connection, pure energy. And so, I walked into his quarters, willing and hopeful.
The bedchamber door was open, and inside, a small table had been set. It was an intimate meal, the room warm and lit by the flicker of candles. He waited, straight-backed and hands clasped, clad in the same black clothes he always wore. That long swath of the abyss in the form of a beautiful and brutal man. There was an intensity to his gaze as he looked me over in the dress that fixed me like a portrait in a frame. I held my shoulders straight against it. I, of all women, had the power to.
“I haven’t seen a sight like you in what feels like an eternity,” Renaud said quietly. He bowed and sat with me and I noticed there was a plate laid out before him.
“Yes, but are you going to taste this time?” I asked. The fare was light but sumptuous—ham with a spiced sauce, bread, stewed figs, and a fine, soft cheese. Wine filled our cups to the brim, and I took a long drink as he continued to stare at me.
Finally, I could bear the silence no more and changed the subject. “You should teach me how to protect myself from summoning some creature.” I set down my glass. “I seem to do it easily.”
He gave me a strange look I didn’t understand and took a small bite of his food. “What do you mean?”
I was busy watching him chew—I hadn’t ever seen him eat and I’d almost believed he couldn’t. The red sauce splashed upon his white teeth like blood and then he licked them clean and white again.
“I summoned a demon today,” I said, belatedly remembering the question. “It was an accident.”
“A demon?” He scoffed.
“I can think of no better word to describe it.” I bit into the soft flesh of a fig, its sticky glaze clinging to my lips.
“I can assure you it was some kind of little goblin.”
His tone was so sure, to the point of being smug.
I narrowed my eyes. “Do you see goblins or demons often in your travels that you can tell the difference?”
His eyes met mine over the flickering candles. “I imagine you’ve met both in your former work, so I will defer to you.” He pierced a slice of ham with his fork, dark sauce dripping off the edge and a hard glint in his eyes.
I felt cornered again. Less clever. Less everything. With the illusion of dignity, I turned to my plate and tried to resume eating.
“Do you miss it?” he asked.
“Miss what?”
“Your former life.”
I stopped chewing and looked up at him.
He was elegant and remote, and so too was his home. Even now, it felt cold and lonely, far more than the rest of the château. I felt sorry for him, sleeping every night in this chill. “Never,” I answered truthfully. I wanted to own my body, my life, my death. I had only ever offered any of the three in desperation.
“The other night …” he began, then cleared his throat.
Instantly, my pulse flared, and heat shot up my spine. I waited, breathing oh so carefully as I picked up my glass and took another drink.
“You left an impression. Your willingness to go as far as needed.” He picked up his wine glass. “Further even.”
In my mind, I could see the shadows of gods in other worlds, moving beyond the stars. Even though Perchta said that place was closed tome, I had been there. I knew. “It does not feel like I am going further than needed. It feels like I am finally free to stretch and run for a horizon that has stopped constraining me. In your home I have seen things and done things I would never have imagined. You are not just Death. You are Renaud. You are the oarsman of the abyss. You are my master. My tutor. My”—I looked him in the eye—“consort.”
