Page 120 of The Familiar

He refused. He argued. He seemed about to cry. And then, of course, he relented. Because he believed that love was within his grasp. Was there anything more dangerous than a man full of hope?

When the bells struck ten, he brought her to Santángel’s cell.

“You have an hour,” he whispered. “Do not make … noise.”

Santángel rose. He glowed in the dim light, unexpected treasure.

“Why?” he said. “Why sentence yourself to death?”

“Do you want to argue or do you want to kiss me?”

He closed the space between them in two strides and took her in his arms. “I assure you I am capable of both.”

Why had she wasted time doubting him? He was a killer. He was a liar. He was not a good man. But it was possible she didn’t want a good man.

“I was trying to save you,” he said as he cupped her face, traced the curves of her neck with his fingertips.

“I know,” she said. “It was very grand of you. Very romantic.”

“And yet we die together tomorrow. Why would you not let me save your life?”

“You have lived centuries in Don Víctor’s service. Would you really consign me to that?”

“You wouldn’t be bound by my curse! You would know better than to make his bargain.”

“Despite his gift for cruel choices?”

“You would have found a way to best him as I never did.”

“You believe I could?”

“I know it.”

“Then trust in me now, Santángel. As you once asked me to trust you. Our deaths will not be in vain. If nothing else, I can make it painless.” She drew closer, grateful for his warmth, for the pleasure of leaning into him, as lovers did, as they might never do again. “I saw you once, before we met in the courtyard. You were in Víctor’s coach. When I looked at you, I felt as if I were lifting out of my shoes.”

“I know,” he murmured against her hair. “It wasn’t spring, but the almond trees bloomed, and I wondered what chance had passed.”

“That was me?”

“That was your power recognizing mine. I didn’t want to wake to the world. But you forced me to.”

“Are you sorry?”

“Let me unbraid your hair and I will have no regrets at all.”

She laughed, the sound strange in the damp misery of the cells. “You aren’t afraid to die?”

“Will you think less of me if I am?”

“No. I’m terrified.”

“I wish I could have died a free man, not bound to a post. But I’ve earned my place on the pyre. You did nothing but try to live.”

“Don’t deny me credit for all my immoderate striving. I worked hard for my place in this prison.”

It was strange to know at last that she would disappear as her mother had, as her father had. Perhaps that was always meant to be her fate.

Her father had been difficult to predict, prone to sudden storms and bouts of merriment. Her mother had known how to weather his changes, letting the rain pass with little more than a shrug. Luzia tried to follow her example. She learned to endure the deep sadness that fell over him, when all he wanted was to sleep and to be left alone in silence. She’d even made peace with the bursts of anger that seemed to arrive without provocation. But his sudden enthusiasms were harder to bear, his chattering excitement. She would smile and nod along with him, even as she felt herself closing up like a fist. Someone had to be wary, to be practical. Someone had to be ready when it all fell apart.