shards smashing against the plinth, against Lord Michael's Chair, against the dais, against the mosaic chimeras, that I only gradually realize he is speaking.
"Wonderful," he murmurs in my ear, as if he were truly my lover, while he works out the knot of his gag. My hair is caught in the knot; I feel the pull, but as if from miles away. "Magnificent. You have met my expectations, my dearest, and I will take you with me." He removes the gag. I draw a deep, shuddering breath that comes out in painful sobs. He makes no threats this time; I am beyond being able to make enough noise to bother or imperil him, and he knows it.
He lifts himself off me, kneeling over me while he opens the shackles that bind me to the floor. I cannot move, even to flinch from his touch. The light in my rings is gone; there is nothing in my head where my magic was, nothing except hurt. I shut my eyes. Tears run down my cheekbone, down my nose.
I feel Malkar get to his feet. The only thing he can do to me now, the only thing that could hurt me more, is kill me, and I hope he will. I lie and wait. At some point I realize my eyes are open, staring at my dead rings.
Malkar returns. "Come on, Felix, get up. We don't have time for this nonsense."
"Just kill me," I say, half into the floor, and shut my eyes again. I don't recognize my own voice, that harsh, hoarse croak with the Lower City vowels.
"Kill you?" He laughs. "Don't be trite, dearest. I have promised General Mercator the chance to meet you, and I don't like to go back on my promises."
That is a lie. Malkar loves breaking promises. Then the sense of what he said hits me, and my eyes open again. "General Mercator?"
"Well, of course, darling. You didn't imagine I was going to stay here did you?" But teasing me is no lasting pleasure this evening. His voice changes. "Now, get up, slut, and if you love your tongue, mind it. I don't want you talking like a cheap whore."
I remember the lengths he went to, in order to teach me to talk like the Marathine nobility. He does not intend to kill me, and my fear of him wraps back around me like a coat made of chains and shards of glass.
"Ye… yes, Malkar," I say, jerking my vowels under control. I manage to roll over, manage to sit up, although my head is spinning. I look at Malkar, purely from reflex, and do not scream only because I am too frightened. The thing standing there, wearing Malkar's clothes, is vast, the color of the Sim, the terrible black river of Mélusine. It has the broad, cruel head of a bull-baiting dog; its eyes are red, glowing like cinders, and the drool hanging from its jaws is flecked with blood.
"Better," it says in Malkar's voice. "Clean yourself up and get those clothes on. Hurry , curse you."
Numbly, my hands shaking, I do as it tells me. I have plenty of experience in dealing with the aftereffects of what Malkar has done to my body, know all too well how to ensure that there will be no bloodstains on my clothes. Once I am dressed, the dog comes back and bandages my wrists. It has Malkar's hands, Malkar's rings. The air around it shivers with red and copper.
It ties back my hair, although I know that nothing now can hide the fact that I am mad. "Come along," it says.
"Wh… where are we going?"
"I told you. The Bastion. Now, come on, Felix, or I'll leave you for Stephen."
I do not want to be left for Stephen.
I follow the dog.
Chapter 2
Felix
I had a moment of clarity, a moment when the world snapped into place like a dislocated joint back into its socket. We were in the yard of a livery stable, not far off the Plaza del'Archimago. Malkar was bargaining with a lanky, squinting individual. And he was Malkar again, not a dog-headed monster. The lanky man with the squint was suddenly free of the wash of purple that had half obscured him from me. I could hear them arguing, and their voices were voices, and their words made sense.
I thought, Malkar has driven me mad. And the thought was a comfort,
"Wonderful," he murmurs in my ear, as if he were truly my lover, while he works out the knot of his gag. My hair is caught in the knot; I feel the pull, but as if from miles away. "Magnificent. You have met my expectations, my dearest, and I will take you with me." He removes the gag. I draw a deep, shuddering breath that comes out in painful sobs. He makes no threats this time; I am beyond being able to make enough noise to bother or imperil him, and he knows it.
He lifts himself off me, kneeling over me while he opens the shackles that bind me to the floor. I cannot move, even to flinch from his touch. The light in my rings is gone; there is nothing in my head where my magic was, nothing except hurt. I shut my eyes. Tears run down my cheekbone, down my nose.
I feel Malkar get to his feet. The only thing he can do to me now, the only thing that could hurt me more, is kill me, and I hope he will. I lie and wait. At some point I realize my eyes are open, staring at my dead rings.
Malkar returns. "Come on, Felix, get up. We don't have time for this nonsense."
"Just kill me," I say, half into the floor, and shut my eyes again. I don't recognize my own voice, that harsh, hoarse croak with the Lower City vowels.
"Kill you?" He laughs. "Don't be trite, dearest. I have promised General Mercator the chance to meet you, and I don't like to go back on my promises."
That is a lie. Malkar loves breaking promises. Then the sense of what he said hits me, and my eyes open again. "General Mercator?"
"Well, of course, darling. You didn't imagine I was going to stay here did you?" But teasing me is no lasting pleasure this evening. His voice changes. "Now, get up, slut, and if you love your tongue, mind it. I don't want you talking like a cheap whore."
I remember the lengths he went to, in order to teach me to talk like the Marathine nobility. He does not intend to kill me, and my fear of him wraps back around me like a coat made of chains and shards of glass.
"Ye… yes, Malkar," I say, jerking my vowels under control. I manage to roll over, manage to sit up, although my head is spinning. I look at Malkar, purely from reflex, and do not scream only because I am too frightened. The thing standing there, wearing Malkar's clothes, is vast, the color of the Sim, the terrible black river of Mélusine. It has the broad, cruel head of a bull-baiting dog; its eyes are red, glowing like cinders, and the drool hanging from its jaws is flecked with blood.
"Better," it says in Malkar's voice. "Clean yourself up and get those clothes on. Hurry , curse you."
Numbly, my hands shaking, I do as it tells me. I have plenty of experience in dealing with the aftereffects of what Malkar has done to my body, know all too well how to ensure that there will be no bloodstains on my clothes. Once I am dressed, the dog comes back and bandages my wrists. It has Malkar's hands, Malkar's rings. The air around it shivers with red and copper.
It ties back my hair, although I know that nothing now can hide the fact that I am mad. "Come along," it says.
"Wh… where are we going?"
"I told you. The Bastion. Now, come on, Felix, or I'll leave you for Stephen."
I do not want to be left for Stephen.
I follow the dog.
Chapter 2
Felix
I had a moment of clarity, a moment when the world snapped into place like a dislocated joint back into its socket. We were in the yard of a livery stable, not far off the Plaza del'Archimago. Malkar was bargaining with a lanky, squinting individual. And he was Malkar again, not a dog-headed monster. The lanky man with the squint was suddenly free of the wash of purple that had half obscured him from me. I could hear them arguing, and their voices were voices, and their words made sense.
I thought, Malkar has driven me mad. And the thought was a comfort,
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