That last made Astraia droop again, but I leaned forward and asked her about the village boy always lingering beneath her window-Adamastos or some such-and she smiled and laughed soon enough. My stomach roiled, but I smiled wider and gritted out cheerful nothings about how my marriage was an adventure, how I was so excited to fight the Gentle Lord, and by the spirit of our dead mother, I swore she would be avenged.

Sometimes the conversation lagged, and I heard the heavy ticktock of the grandfather clock in the sitting room, counting off each second that brought me closer to my husband. So I sat straight-backed in my chair, barely able to choke down my food but with a smile fixed on my face. But I knew, as soon as I saw Astraia sitting red-eyed at the table, that the dinner was all for her sake. I almost could have pretended that Father was trying to show how much he loved me, or at least how much he honored my sacrifice. One of the servants even strummed at a lute in the corner as if we were at a duke’s banquet. The food was just as grand: candied almonds, pickled olives, stuffed sparrows, and Father’s best wine. It was Father’s fault that I was leaving.įather wore his red silk waistcoat Astraia her ruffled blue dress with the five petticoats Aunt Telomache her pearls and I put on my best black mourning dress, the one with satin bows. I wished I could seize her bony shoulders and shake them. “Are you listening, Nyx? Your father has arranged this farewell dinner for you.

“We will dress for dinner.” She said it in the same placid, matter-of-fact way that she had said it last night, You are the hope of our people. Behind me stood Aunt Telomache, thin lips pressed together, one wisp of hair escaping from her bun. After our wedding night, how much of me would be left? As befit a prince, he far surpassed his subjects in power: he could speak and take such form that mortal eyes could look on him and not go mad. He was not like the vicious, mindless shadows that he ruled. But there was no cure for the madness inflicted by demons.Īnd my future husband-the Gentle Lord-was the prince of demons. Sometimes he could ease their pain, just a little. Their families had dragged them in through the hallways and begged Father to use his Hermetic arts to cure them. It was even more horrible for us because we regularly saw the victims of demon attacks, screaming or mute with madness.

Don’t look at the shadows too long or a demon might look back. When my twin sister, Astraia, and I were little, we heard the same terrible story as other children: Demons are made of shadow. I eyed the shadowed corners of the library. I leaned against the shelves and wished I could run, wished I could scream at the people who had made this fate for me. All afternoon I skulked in the library, running my hands over the leather spines of books I would never touch again. The day before the wedding, I could barely breathe.

Cruel Beauty by Rosamund Hodge