The lady smiled down at him and said, “No one shall ever conquer Arcadia, and you shall never be alone in the box. Are we not kind?” She cupped his face again. “And now I shall take all the hatred out of your heart.”
Then she clenched her hands and pulled them apart. And she pulled him apart too: a shadowy, shifting form collapsed to the floor, his face a blur but his eyes bright blue; it was Shade. And standing above him now was Ignifex, red-eyed and smiling the smile that I remembered.
I woke.
And I finally knew the truth.
Ignifex had told me, I realized as I surged to my feet. The Kindly Ones always left the answer at the edges. I had grown up hearing the story of Nanny-Anna, who killed her love because she thought it would save him. I’d always thought her a fool for listening to Tom-a-Lone’s jealous mother: surely she’d known that Brigit meant nothing good for her. Surely she’d known that even a goddess could not betray her love and escape vengeance.
But maybe she’d thought she was saving her world.
And just like her, I’d betrayed my love to captivity. Alone in all the darkness.
The room looked as if it had been ransacked by wolves, every piece of furniture broken, the pillow and curtains shredded. The candles were all burnt out, the walls charred and covered in soot. Ignifex and Shade were both gone.
I bolted to the door. I knew where they—where he was going.
I grabbed the door handle and thought, Bring me to the round room. But when I opened the door, I saw instead the great ballroom, the Heart of Water—and though I knew it must be morning by now, it was full of water and lights. I charged forward, but as soon as my foot touched the water, it surged and rippled. I staggered and fell; then a wave crashed down on me, pushing me underwater.
I struggled, trying to surface, but the water held me down as if it was a living thing determined to kill me—and maybe it was, or near enough. The house was the greatest Hermetic working ever made, and willful at the best of times. Now that it was about to be unmade, it must be going mad.
The only way to escape its Heart of Water was to nullify the heart’s power.
I remembered sitting with Father in his study, tracing out the sigils together with pen and ink. The first time I got it right with my eyes shut, he had actually nodded at me in serene approval, and I had smiled to myself for hours—because in those early days, I had still believed I could earn his affection.
I raised my hands. Slowly, carefully, I started to trace the nullifying sigil into the water. As my fingers moved, the water rippled and stilled; then I saw that I was leaving behind glimmering trails. My lungs ached and burned, but I made myself move slowly because I could not get this wrong.
My fingers met, completing the sigil. The glimmering lines flared blinding bright; then the water was gone and I fell with a thump onto the dry ballroom floor.
For a few moments I could only gasp desperately for breath; then I leapt to my feet and ran forward. Everything was out of order: next was the greenhouse, then a hallway that was nowhere near to either room. Then the grand staircase, but the walls around it were riddled with cracks, and as I charged up the steps, they crumbled to dust behind me. I barely made it to the top in time, and I burst through the nearest door without even pausing to look.
And I was in the round room, but the parchment dome was gone. Above, there was only empty darkness; a chill wind blew from the void, reminding me that I was still soaked through. At the center of the room sat Arcadia; a little leftover light glimmered around it, and it looked very small and fragile.
At the opposite end of the room stood Ignifex, his coat shredded, cradling the box in his hands.
No. His eyes were blue and human. It was the last prince who now stared at me across the room, his face pale and still.
“Nyx,” he breathed, then flung up a hand. Shadows seized me and pinned me to the wall by my wrists.
“No!” I shouted. “You can’t open the box—you’ll be locked in there forever—”
“Because my bargain will be undone, and all Arcadia will go free. No one else will ever be devoured by the Children of Typhon. You wanted that, right?” He walked toward me slowly. “Once upon a time, I wanted that too. I have to want it again.” His voice was soft and sad like Shade’s, but then he cracked a smile that was purely Ignifex. “Or die trying.”
He was before me now, the box still in his hands.
“But you won’t die,” I whispered.
“And once time is unwound, neither will your mother.” Still that soft, sad, implacable voice.
“Then I won’t be born.”
“I saw your father when he was desperate.” That smile again. “I’m sure he’ll think of something. Maybe it will be a better plan this time.”
In an Arcadia that had never been sundered, never ruled by a Gentle Lord or ravaged by demons, my mother and Damocles and a thousand other people would be alive. Maybe Astraia and I would be too, and if we were, then surely we would love each other without bitterness. It would be every one of my childhood dreams come true. But—
“I won’t even remember you,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said, leaning forward over the box. He slid a hand up my cheek, clenched his fingers into my hair, and kissed me.
It was an awkward, desperate kiss; he pulled on my hair ’til it hurt, my arms ached from being pinned to the wall, and my heart banged against my ribs as much in fear as desire. But it was the last time I would feel his fingers in my hair, his lips against mine, and I kissed him back like he was my only hope of breathing.
Then he stepped away from me again. And I couldn’t stop him.
“Thank you,” he said, “for trying to save me.”
“Wait!” I snapped. “You said, they said, if I guess your name then you’re free. Right?”
He took another step back. “I threw away my name when I made that bargain. Nobody can ever find it again.”
I remembered the tattered manuscripts in the library. Every name had been burnt out of them.
“It doesn’t matter,” I whispered. “I know you.” He flipped the box open. Light streamed out, and I screamed, “I know you!” as the light filled every corner of the room.
Then there was darkness.
23
I tried. As the darkness closed over me, I fought to remember the name of my husband.
I fought to remember the name of someone I had loved. I fought to remember—
What?
I was alone, and I had no hands to clench around my memories. I had no memories, no name, only the knowledge (deeper and colder than any darkness) that I had lost what I loved more than life.