He nodded tightly. “Then you can’t chase your pleasure. That is a selfish act. Surrender it to me. I’ll tell you when you can have your release.”
I nodded.
He smoothed back my hair, and I leaned my face into his naked hands. They felt so cool against my feverish forehead. He kissed me, mouth hard against mine, and I didn’t know whether I should respond, so I laid there and took his mouth and felt the press of his hands on my breasts.
In that moment, I was frustrated with myself—though of course, looking back, I understood why I felt the way I did. I could not understand it then. It felt so wretchedly human, and my mind could not escape the humanity of it. The flesh on flesh. The push of his staff into my thighs. I parted my legs for him, and as much as I relished the press of him, the way he came undone, I also felt nauseated and panicky and like I just wanted to close my eyes and be far away.
This was all I wanted. I wanted Death’s sweat on my skin. I wanted his hold on my body. I wanted everything that happened, so why couldn’t I feel it? He entered me and sank deep into my body with a sigh and I relished it, relished the grip I could hold on to him—and also felt empty. I had expected the abyss, for him to smell the lightningon my skin finally, for us to enter that place together, that dizzying starscape.
But it was just …human. He told me not to come, told me to feel miserable, to hate him, and I whimpered out agreement, sweating and dizzy and feeling sicker by the moment. I was grateful it seemed pleasing to him.
When it was over, I stood up and retched onto the floor.
He wrung a rag out in a washbasin and began to gently, tenderly clean my skin, my hair, my entire body. I had the sense of a corpse being washed for burial. But the water was cool against my feverish head, and then, I knew no more.
XXVI.
To Fly
Idreamed of mirrors and hallways again. This time, I had the giant’s lantern in my hand and when I lifted it, I saw the bruised shadows filled with naked bodies. I ran to escape, but every hallway narrowed and narrowed, until it crushed me on all sides. I woke in my own bed without any memory of how I got there. I stared at the ceiling, unable to move.
For some reason, I felt terror. Terror in the bright light of day. It was a strange, pale kind of fear that felt terribly close to the weight of the spirits that had haunted me all my life. I could remember the night, the intimacy between us, everything until I slept, and none of it explained the terror. Now awake, it was hard to tell the difference between the memories of the evening, which felt unreal, and the dreams, which felt too vivid. I remembered being sick, which was embarrassing, except I hadn’t felt embarrassed. I had felt …
I did not know.
And in the absence of knowing, I lay there, slowly filling in how I felt, telling myself the story of it, reworking the scenes and my feelings and the nature of it until I was sure it was euphoric, spiritual, intense, confusing—yes, still confusing. Then the raw fear slipped away, and I was able to get up.
He did not say anything to me when I entered, his head bowed over a piece of correspondence. Who did Death write to? I wondered. Butas I sat and began to arrange my work, I was aware of his gaze on me. As long as he stayed quiet, so did I. Quiet and diligent. It seemed as if everything we’d done, been, and felt together was in the room with us as a pale specter in the light of day. My heart started racing every time I thought of it.
“How far are you?” He leaned over and inspected my work.
I showed him my progress and was myself surprised to see how far I’d come.
“You’ve made a lot of progress since you’ve stopped running off after other distractions.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice.
I hadn’t realized he’d noticed how much time I spent in the woods. I wondered if Perchta still waited for me or if she had given up. I wanted to go back, but I wanted to please him more.
“Distractions are what we chase to avoid that which gives us true growth,” he said. His hand on my shoulder interrupted my thoughts. “I think you are ready to fly.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he pulled me up by my hand. “Come with me.”
I had not forgotten that night in the chapel, as much as I tried to. I followed him into the hall, fear crawling up my throat like hands scrabbling for purchase. But thank the saints, he led me in the opposite direction of the chapel, to the base of a stone tower. We began to ascend—the twisting steps were so narrow and steep; the bottoms of his shoes flashed as he went up before me. Every so often it would occur to me that I had lain with him as a wife or a mistress, and yet I couldn’t seem to find it in my body.
“You are ready this time. Don’t fear. I have your body. You’ll be safe with me,” he assured me as finally we entered the round room of the upper tower.
It was empty except for one rug and a fireplace, with only a single, narrow window facing east. We were high enough that I could just see the tops of the firs, spread thick and green below us. Renaud’s wordsconfused me, but I tipped my head to the beams of the tower ceiling. “I know I’m safe with you,” I said. “What am I to learn next?”
“To find the soaring expanse of your power.”
“Will you teach me summoning?” I tried not to sound too hopeful.
He shot me a look as he brushed off a rug in the middle of the empty room. “I thought you already knew. Haven’t you summoned a demon?” His tone was gentle and teasing.
“That was an accident.”
“Well, how did you do it?”
I crossed my arms and paced around the rug. I did not want to reveal the shameful details of it all. But he waited patiently for my answer, dark eyes thoughtful. Finally, I shrugged. “I’m not sure. Focusing brought it through—but I wasn’t focusing on a demon.”
