15. Chapter 15
Blathilde sat before her ancient looking glass, running my fingers through the crimped waves in my unbound hair as though she’d rarely gotten to do something so luxurious.
“You’re quiet,” Serich said in a half whisper, dragging a chair around the little table to sit beside me.
“Just thinking.” I dropped my gaze and fiddled with the hag’s old hands, tracing the bright green veins. They reminded me of a roadmap, with all their lines and spots. “She told me what the bloodrose predicted will come to pass soon.”
In the back of my mind, It gave a disgusted sigh, as if throwing up his hands in frustration that I kept turning over the topic.
Was that a flicker of fear in Serich’s expression? Whatever it was, it made him sit up straighter. “The more you feed this belief that you will die, the larger it will grow.”
A sensible thing to say, but I couldn’t shake the dread slinking through my skin. “I’m being pragmatic.”
“This is where faith would come in handy.” The firelight roused the amber in his eyes as he gave me a look that was half stern, half mischievous.
Blathilde was doing something to my teeth now; I couldn’t be sure what. Sliding some sort of string between the crevices, I thought, though from this vantage point and with her terrible eyesight, I couldn’t be positive. “That’s not something I have in spades.”
“Des.” Serich took my hand in his. “God doesn’t hand any one of us a predetermined fate.”
I inclined my head toward the hag wearing my skin. “Blathilde said the roses tell it true. That faeries can’t lie.”
“Faeries play with the truth until it’s unrecognizable.”
“Their tongues lie, she said. Not their blood.”
“Then I choose to believe it’s wrong.” Serich shifted uneasily in his spindly little chair.
He was much too large for it, as if it had been built for a child, but I didn’t think it was physical discomfort causing that look on his face.
He was thinking back on his own bloodrose now.
“I’ve never considered the idea of being anything other than a priest,” he said after a time, his face pulsing in shades of yellow and orange from the hearth fire.
“I’ve never thought about marriage, being a parent. ”
“I haven’t either,” I said, watching Blathilde rub some sort of ointment into the hollows of my cheeks.
“Why not?”
I felt an incredulous smile strain against the hag’s dry cheeks as I looked over at him.
“My mind is already wedded to a demon. Even if I live to make it back to Monde’s End, whoever forced It in there might not have lifted the curse.
Maybe Its punishment is to spend the rest of my natural life with me. ”
“Who says you couldn’t still marry, though? If It remains docile?”
It did not like that word, docile; he rustled around at the back of my mind as if he were offended.
“And who would sign up for that? No man in their right mind.”
“Maybe it’s like falling in love with someone who has a cat. You’re supposed to make your peace with the cat.”
A cat? It said, so loudly my teeth rattled. Give me leave to hit him.
I ignored that. “No one would want to marry me. It’s not as if I have any impressive dowry.
” I wasn’t overly pleasant with men my age.
I barely even spoke to them. Certainly none had ever come asking Robert for permission to court me.
Past the William debacle, I had never given any the slightest indication that I was open to such a thing.
Serich shrugged. “What woman in Monde’s End does?”
“Monde’s End may not even let me come back, whether I’m curse-free or not. Even if they believe a demon killed John Dale, his blood is still on my hands. I’ve still been tainted by evil. If by some miracle they don’t see me hanged, they’ll send me away.”
For the last time, It said. That man was a monster. He would have done unspeakable things to you. We’re going to look for him in Hell and then I don’t ever want to hear one more word about poor dead John Fucking Dale.
Serich cut me a sharp look. “Lord Fletcher would never do that.”
“Lord Fletcher may not have a choice. He listens to Father Hull and the rest of his people. If they all want me gone, he’d have to heed them.
They’d only have my word to go on that it would never happen again, and what is that worth?
” And I couldn’t make any such promises to begin with.
I couldn’t overpower It when he took the reins.
“I would speak for you.” Serich sounded so earnest I couldn’t help a smile as he squeezed my bony, birdlike claw. “I’m part of the church; they would listen.”
Across the room, Blathilde rose from the stool before the looking glass and started toward us. “It’s past time my body were in bed.”
Serich was already on his feet in front of me. “I’ll take her.”
“Pillows beneath both hips,” she called, my hands finding my own hips as she watched Serich lead me to the bed.
I climbed into it, every lump in the mattress immediately aggravating my aches and pains.
Serich tucked the spare pillows where Blathilde had said, plumping the one behind my head with both hands.
“Have I told you how hideous you are lately?” he asked in a breath above a whisper, unable to hide a smile as he smoothed back the hag’s rambunctious frizz.
“Not today.” I wanted to run a wasted fingertip down the stubble on his jaw, but I restrained myself.
He dragged the old quilt over me. “I want you back in your own body.”
“The sooner I am, the sooner we’re out there.” The sooner I will die.
I’m thinking about making you smack yourself every time you think of that, It said. Don’t tempt me.
“We can manage.” I suppose I didn’t look reassured, because Serich sank down on the bed beside me and added, “I won’t let you die out there, Des. You didn’t let me die.”
I like cats, you know, I told It later, once Serich and Blathilde were sleeping and he and I were alone.
His answer was immediate, peevish: So?
So it’s not as if it’s some dreadful comparison. I would rather not listen to you sulk about that all night. Cats are sweet. Even if they only ever hissed at me these days.
Stop. You’re making it worse.
Carefully, painstakingly, I turned onto my side when my hip began to twinge.
My eyes flipped open. Sleep wouldn’t find me anytime soon; I could feel it in my petrified old bones.
I watched the firelight dance over the mane dripping over the side of the chair Blathilde was curled in.
My hair looked less dank and dull beneath the flushed glow of the flames, deep and dark, a few shades from black.
The edge of my wrist peeked out from behind the arm of the chair, my fingers relaxed with sleep.
Would she give me my body back in the morning?
I hadn’t wanted to run the risk of annoying her with that question earlier when she’d been nothing but kind to us thus far.
Shadows bled beneath Serich’s feathery lashes as the flames shifted over his sleeping face.
His lips were lax, parted slightly, fuller than mine with a cupid’s bow so defined it looked as though it had been carved.
Sharp sprays of stubble, tender lips—his face was nothing but contradictions that seamlessly combined to form an impressive cast. I didn’t think I’d have ever been a giggler, but looking at Serich then, I couldn’t state that with any certainty.
His lashes twitched. I followed the movement of his eyeballs behind his closed lids. Dreaming. I wondered what about.
You actually want him, It said, as if suddenly struck by the notion, so surprised he forgot to sound snide.
Yes. I didn’t see the point in denying it.
You want him because you think you’re going to die, he elaborated, parsing my thoughts further.
Yes. And he’s attractive, I can’t deny that. I don’t have feelings for him but I care about him. If it won’t damn me, why shouldn’t I? Is it so awful of me to want him?
I’m not a priest, he said repressively. I don’t find that sort of thing awful.
Do you think he would want to?
I don’t live in his head. How would I know?
You act as though you know everything.
It sounded as though he were biting back a laugh.
He would probably cry afterward. Or read to you from the Book.
Good Lord. Even that William would have been an improvement on this one.
You should have taken him up on his offer.
At least do yourself the courtesy of holding out for someone who won’t insist on praying for forgiveness straight afterward.
How? I demanded. How, when I might be dead in days? How would I have ever been able to even kiss William when I never had a moment’s respite, when you are always, always here, listening, watching, commenting? I haven’t been my own since I was fourteen years old.
You’re scapegoating me for being too afraid to let William near you. It sounded indignant. Never have I met such a seething mass of insecurity—
Go to hell, I snapped.
Gladly.
I don’t know why I ever bother to speak to you at all, I shouted into the void, but It was already tucked away in the furthest corner of my mind, unreachable.