Cruel Beauty

It was like ants crawling under my skin, like flies buzzing in my ears, like an icy current trying to drag me away. I listed off the similes in my mind, because sometimes if I analyzed the feeling enough, it would go away.

His breath tickled my neck, and I flinched. Now he was at my side, leaning over me as he said, “I’m curious. What advice did your aunt give you anyway?”

Strategy was suddenly nothing to me. I snatched my fork and tried to stab him.

He caught my wrist just in time. “That’s a little different.”

“I’m sorry—” I began automatically, then looked into his red eyes.

He had killed countless people, including my mother. He had tyra

I seized the plate and smashed it across his face, then grabbed the knife and tried to stab him left-handed. I nearly succeeded this time, but then he twisted my right hand. Pain seared up my arm and we both tumbled to the floor. Of course he landed on top of me.

“Definitely different.” He didn’t sound out of breath at all, while I was gasping. “You might even deserve to be my wife.” He sat up.

“I notice that . . . even you don’t think that’s a compliment,” I managed to get out. My heart was still pounding, but he didn’t seem about to punish me.

“I’m the evil demon lord. I know it’s not a compliment, but I do like a wife with a little malice in her heart.” He poked my forehead. “If you don’t sit up soon, I’ll use you for a pillow again.”

I scrambled to sit up. He smiled. “Excellent. Let’s start over. I am your husband, and you may address me as ‘my darling lord’—”

I bared my teeth.

“Or Ignifex.”

“Is that your real name?”

“Not even close. Now listen carefully, because I’m going to tell you the rules. One. Every night I will offer you the chance to guess my name.”

It was so completely unexpected that it took me a moment just to understand the words, and then I tensed, sure that his rules were about to turn into a threat or mockery. But Ignifex went on, as calmly as if all husbands said such things. “If you guess right, you have your freedom. If you guess wrong, you die.”

Even with the threat of death, it still sounded far too good to be anything but one of his tricks.

“Why do you even offer me the chance?”

“I am the Lord of Bargains. Consider this one of them. Rule two. Most of the doors in this house are locked.” He drew open his coat, and this time I saw dark leather belts buckled crisscross over his chest, each hung with a string of keys. He took a plain silver key from near his heart and handed it to me. “This key will open all the rooms you are permitted to enter. Do not try to enter the other rooms or you will regret it dearly . . . though not for very long.”

“Is that what happened to your eight other wives?”

“Some of them. Some guessed the wrong name. And one fell down the steel staircase, but she was uncommonly clumsy.”

I clenched my hand around the key. Its cold edges bit into my palm, a sharp little promise. I might have failed at beguiling my husband, but he had still been fool enough to give me a little freedom, and I would make sure he regretted that very dearly.

“Meanwhile, would you care to dine?” He stood and held out a hand.

I ignored him and stood on my own. The warm, delicious scent of cooked meat hit me: sometime during our fight, an enormous roast pig had appeared on the table, its feet reaching up toward the ceiling. Next to it sat a tureen of mock-turtle soup, and all around were platters of fruit, rice, pastries, and roasted dormice.

“How . . . ?” I breathed.

Ignifex sat down. “If you start wondering how this house works, you’ll likely go mad. That could be amusing, I suppose. Especially if it’s the kind of madness that causes you to run naked through the hallways. Do feel free to indulge in that anytime.”

I clenched my teeth as I sat back down at the table. Outrageous though it was, his chatter was curiously comforting: because as long as he was babbling nonsense at me, he wasn’t doing anything.

Whatever invisible hands had laid the table with food had also returned my knife, fork, and plate to their places and filled my glass with wine. I picked up the glass and swirled it, staring at the dark liquid. The thought of eating and drinking here suddenly filled me with dread. Persephone had tasted the food of the underworld just once, and she was never able to leave. But then, I was never meant to leave here anyway.

“It’s not laced with blood or poison.” His smiled flashed; apparently his amusement at my fears was inexhaustible. “I may be a demon, but I’m not Tantalus or Mithridates.”

“That’s a pity,” I muttered, and sipped my wine. “I wouldn’t mind Mithridates. Then I’d get a quick death or a useful immunity.” Legend said the ancient king had dosed his food with a little poison every day, until he could withstand any venom on earth. I wondered if I might poison Ignifex—but what earthly poison could destroy a demon?

“At least be grateful I’m not Tantalus.” He licked his knife, and I couldn’t help twitching. Only scholars read about Mithridates but everyone knew the story of Tantalus, the king who thought to honor the gods by serving them his butchered son. His punishment was an eternity of hunger and thirst, tormented by fruit that hung just out of reach and water that flowed away when he tried to drink.

“Refraining from abominations is not a special favor that should earn you a prize, my lord husband.” I crossed my arms. “Or will you next expect me to love you because you have not yet put me to torment?”

As I said the words, I realized they were true. I had been the bride of the Gentle Lord for half a day already, and there had been strikingly little torment. And I was not grateful; I was disturbed. What could he be pla

“Well, I’m already hoping there could be a di

“You might need to make your peace with disappointment.”

Maybe he pla

We ate in silence. I was not very hungry and I did not see the point in pretending, so I soon set down my fork and said, “May I please be excused?”

“You don’t need my permission to leave the table. You’re not a child.”

“No, I’m only your captive.” I stood. “I’m going to bed.” And then my heart was pounding again, because how had I forgotten, even for a moment? I was his wife, and it was our wedding night. Even if he didn’t want to torment me, he would certainly want to claim his rights.

He was slightly less cruel than I had expected, but he was still a heartless, inhuman thing who had taken me captive, killed my mother, and oppressed my entire world. The thought of letting him possess my body was revolting. I didn’t have a choice.

I remembered Father patting my head as he intoned, “Duty is bitter to taste but sweet to drink,” and I wished he were here so I could spit in his face.

I watched Ignifex steadily as he rose and strode to my side. Maybe he wouldn’t wait for bed; maybe he would take me here and now. I supposed that at least then it would be over and done with—but at once my mind treacherously added, Until the next night, and the next, and the next—

“Nyx Triskelion.” He took my right hand. “Do you wish to guess my name?”

It took me a moment to recall what he had explained earlier, another to make my voice work. “Of course not.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” He lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles—then dropped it and strode past me for the door. “Sweet dreams.”