4. Eva

Chapter 4

Whenever I feel impatient or restless, I sit in the drawing room, with its expansive, inviting windows, and practice my needlework. Needlework is something I've never been good at and is something I'll probably never be good at. I do it despite thinking that it, like practically everything else, is a waste of time. There must be a better way to make clothes than threading a needle and making one stitch at a time. I think of wagon wheels and plows. Maybe if we treated the cloth like soil and sort of folded it up first so that the needle could be stitched all in one go…

I try it, and the square of the quilt I am working on ends up a total raggedy mess, red thread strangling black thread. It is only slightly messier than the rest of the quilt, but even being slightly more messy means it is totally unsalvageable. Sighing, I begin to pull the string back out. Patty is right. I need needlework to practice patience, and I need(le) to do it right.

I'm still chuckling at my own bad pun when the door slams open.

The Magus fills the doorway. For as long as I can remember, for as long as anyone can remember, the Magus has looked like he is between twenty-five and thirty-five. No one knows how old he really is, not even Old Man Jameson, who is old enough to remember the last time the plague came through our town…though he does sometimes forget the names of his own grandchildren, so maybe he isn't so smart after all. Old Man Jameson is so old that his skin is as wrinkled as a wad of paper crumpled and then flattened and then crumpled again. The Magus, on the other hand, is much, much, older, and yet has not one flaw on his perfect skin. Will I look older than him in a few years? The thought of being an old lady in this manor where the Magus remains as unaffected by time as a stone makes me want to take the needle I'm holding and sew my face up tight. I feel another wave of happiness that Theo wants to marry me. We'll grow old together at the same rate.

Even though I am only unraveling string, I still manage to prick myself with the bone needle.

"Ow!" I yelp. I stick my finger in my mouth and taste coppery blood.

The Magus ignores my display of incompetence. He strides towards me, purposefully, eating up the distance between us. He stands closer to me than is necessary, invading my personal space. I scoot my chair back and incline my head, way, way up at the oak that is him. His expression is unreadable, but that is nothing new. His expression is always unreadable. I raise my eyebrows at him, waiting for him to talk.

"You want to get married?" His voice is louder than usual.

Finger still in my mouth, I nod. It doesn't hurt that much, but for some reason, I want to cry, so I take my finger out of my mouth and grin. "Yes," I say, "I do."

"Why did you not tell me before?"

I'm confused by this question. He has never asked me about my hopes and dreams before. I thought we had implicitly agreed on a ‘Don't ask, don't tell' policy, when he refused to answer any of my questions about his whereabouts and goings-on.

I would pretend everything was fine staying as I was—the aging spinster and useless ward of one of the most powerful beings in the world—and he would pretend not to be in a hurry to be rid of me.

I swallow, the copper taste of blood sliding down my throat. "I didn't think marriage was possible," I admit. "I never thought anyone would want to marry me." I leave out the part about how I had no one to pay my dowry.

The Magus pulls up an intricately carved chair and folds his impressive height down into it. "I see," he says.

His feet are inches away from my feet. They are men's feet, next to my women's feet. Once again, I scoot my chair away. Is it just me or is he getting unusually close to me today?

"Why do you want to get married?" he asks. His voice is low, husky, monotone. Normally his posture is impeccable, straight as his perfect nose, but now he leans towards me. Broad shoulders hunching, eye contact intense. His eyes are always intense, but normally they are farther away, and normally he doesn't look me in the eye. I can see delicate lines in the blue of his irises. I'm being sucked into the black of his pupil. I can feel his heat, and I want to scoot away again, but I worry that would be too obviously rude. My lips twitch into a grimaced imitation of a smile. Why is he being like this? I thought he would hardly have any reaction at all to the news that I am going to marry Theo. Could he actually care about my happiness?

It hits me hard, like a rock resounding painfully against my thick, thick skull—yeah, obviously he cares about my happiness. Why else would he have watched over me for so many years? Why else would he have given me gifts and educated me? I guess actions really speak louder than words, and even if the words of the Magus have never been anything but impersonal before, his actions have spoken volumes. I should feel euphoric at this realization, but instead I feel sick. My stomach is a boulder.

I stick my finger in my mouth again, though it no longer hurts. I bite down, hard, squeezing out a single salty lick of blood. He may care for me, but still, I can't let the Magus see that I want to cry, to scream, to sob. I don't know where these feelings are coming from. Maybe I only feel like this because I wasted so many years assuming that I was an unwanted woman that no one wanted? I'm overwhelmed. I need to open a window, stick my head out of it, and maybe jump out of it.

"Why do you want to get married?" he repeats, in the same monotone. Sometimes, you'd think he is made of fireflies or even stars. His mouth is surprisingly pink. The Magus's mouth is sensual. Somehow, it manages to look expressive on the Magus's expressionless face.

I realize that he is watching me suck on my finger and I pop it out of my mouth, ashamed, I feel like a thumb-sucking child again under his ageless gaze. Somehow, when I speak, I manage to keep my voice from cracking, "Because I want to have children, I want to have a family and a purpose."

He pulls away from me, sitting up straight, as usual. He nods. "Children, a family," he repeats, "and a purpose."

He looks at the ceiling, and I follow his gaze. There is nothing to look at but the ornate paneled ceiling. Everything in the Magus's home is extravagant and decorative.

He nods again... and then the strangest thing happens: the corners of his lips turn up, as if in a smile. But even now, his blue eyes are empty of expression. The few times I've seen him truly smile have been like glimpsing the full silver of the moon between clouds. It's given me goosebumps. But now, the expression he is making seems more like a snarl than a smile. "Yes, that could be arranged." He says, white teeth flashing, "When do you want to get married? Tomorrow? Have you a reason to wait?"

I want to protest, but no, there is no reason to wait. Patty is Theo's only family, and we can likely get all his village friends together by tomorrow. I guess I have no one of my own to invite to the wedding other than the Magus. I don't need a fancy feast or ceremony or anything.

Dread.

Is he only happy to get rid of me after all? Maybe I misread him. He is impossible to read. Reading him is like predicting the future by looking at tea leaves—there are no words to read, and you would have to be a psychic to see anything but soggy leaves.

"Yes, tomorrow would work. No reason to wait," I agree.

The corners of his mouth curl up more. It is seriously freaking me out. I find myself taking shallower and shallower breaths, waiting for him to leave. I want to scoot farther away from him. I can practically feel the heat radiating off his body from this distance. He is too hot, far too hot. I'll burn in him.

He nods, "Yes. Excellent." He reaches out as if to touch my cheek, but his gloved hand drops. He never touches me. Never, ever. I've never felt his bare skin, and I can count the number of times he's touched me with his gloved hands on one finger. What the fridge is he thinking? I almost say it too: What the fridge are you thinking? Do I repulse you so much, you will jump so quickly to get rid of me?! Or did you care about my happiness this whole time andlet me think I was nothing to you?!

He gazes at me like a snake. I won't make any sudden moves in front of him today. I won't yell or scream.

"Thank you," I say.

Abruptly he stands. "Yes, of course. Now I must go arrange everything. Do not trouble yourself over it. Oh yes, do not think I forgot your birthday. I got you a new saddle as a birthday gift. You'll find the saddle out in the stable."

He leaves. I am left to ponder the strangeness of his actions and to imagine my new life without him. Why do I feel so alone? Why do I feel so sick and empty, when my dream of getting married is coming true?

I consider going to look at the saddle, but I see no point. I'll see it when I see it. Will it be the last gift I receive from the Magus? I turn back towards my ugly quilt and try to unravel a knot. I pick at it with my nails and then a needle, but it is too tight. I take scissors to it and cut it in half.

I don't see the Magus, Patty, or anyone else for the rest of the day. It is silent but for the birds and that isn't unusual. But this evening, the silence is heavier than fog. I wish I could see Theo, but I guess he must be busy arranging the wedding with the Magus. I wonder if they are getting along properly...

I visit the horses in the stable and see the saddle gleaming amongst the tack. It is magnificent: made of scarlet dragon skin and inlaid with a lovely swirling design reminiscent of fire. I stroke it for a moment, thinking it would be a shame to plop my bottom on such a marvelous piece of craftsmanship. As I've gotten older, it seems the Magus has slowly been replacing every practical thing I own with a more intricate, beautiful version. Often without my consent. I still sometimes think about the time when I walked into the bathroom and found he had replaced the plain white toilet with a golden one inlaid with turquoise. I would have thought I had bizarrely dreamt it if I hadn't been using that beautiful toilet every day since.

A toilet alone is a magtechal luxury that I will miss when I move in with Theo. Everyone in the village uses outhouses.

Turning away from the saddle, I sigh and return to my room. I sit on my bed to read a book that the Magus brought me.

It is a weird book, a play and, like all the books that the Magus brings me, it makes me sad even though the content of it isn't particularly sad at all: four young people in a forest who get their love all mixed up by a fairy's magtech.

I fall asleep.

I'm in a building. I step into a little room and the door slides shut behind me. There are numbers on the wall. I press a number. The room moves, falling.

"...Wake up. Eva. Wake up."

I open my eyes to the Magus looming over me. I shriek and even though I am fully clothed, I pull the blankets up farther over my chin—he has never come into my room for as long as I can remember.

The Magus looks more surprised than I am—and no wonder—I've never shrieked in front of him before. His normally indifferent eyes are wide open. His silky black eyebrows are raised. Seeing a true expression on his face makes him more radiant, more handsome than he already is. It almost makes him look human.

"What's the matter?" he asks.

"Nothing, nothing, sorry, I was just surprised."

The expression fades from his face, leaving it empty as usual. "Come along then. The priest is waiting, as are the witnesses."

It takes me a second to register what he is saying. Priest? Witnesses? It is barely daybreak, and he expects me to get out of bed and get into a marriage? But I cannot argue with the Magus.

I get out of bed, and still in my nightgown, I lace on my boots. The Magus watches me in silence. There is no way I will change into a dress while he watches.

I follow him, not knowing what to expect. He leads me to the courtyard.

There stands a tall man I have never seen before—a rarity in a parish like this. He is wearing the black clothes and white collar of a priest, but he is certainly not the local priest. The priest grins at me, flashing white teeth, and in his grin, I see something that reminds me of the Magus—but I don't know what it is. Although he's eerily handsome like the Magus, they look nothing alike. The priest is blond and has green eyes, the Magus has black hair and blue eyes. The priest's skin is tan, and he holds himself with ease. Casually. The Magus is rigid, stern, and anything but casual. The priest is tall and has an athletic but slender build, while the Magus is taller and has a stronger build. I feel like I am seeing a warhorse next to an Arabian. Both horses—yes—but different breeds. While the rest of the people I know are nothing but donkeys.

"Hello, milady, I am Iago," the priest bows at me rakishly, tilting his head up with a sly grin. If I didn't know better, I would say he was flirting with me.

"I'm Eva, a pleasure to meet you," I give Iago an awkward curtsy in return, and his smile widens.

"Genji, you didn't tell me your ward is such a beauty," Iago says to the Magus.

Genji? Genji? Did Iago just call the Magus by a different name? What is this? Who is this man? The Magus has a name other than the Magus? Of course, he has a name… but true names of magi are sacred secrets. Is Genji his true name?

Iago must see the confusion on my face because he says, "And Genji, you have been having the young lady call you Magus all this time, as if she were just another villager? Why not Genji? It is so much more...what is the word… Approachable. Don't you want to be approachable?"

The Magus shrugs his broad shoulders, "You are the only one that calls me Genji. You know it is not my true name. And why should I want to be approachable? Little good it does you."

Iago laughs, and pats the Magus on the cheek, "Genji, Genji, you must come and entertain me more often. I grow so bored without your droll wit."

I cringe, watching the exchange. I have never seen anyone touch the Magus before—Iago is lucky to still have his hand. And yet—telling the Magus that he has a ‘droll wit'—that is so absurd, so, so absurd. I try to swallow my smile, but it explodes onto my face. I try to cover my laughter with a cough.

Iago and the Magus look at me, Iago grinning, the Magus without expression.

"Excuse me," I cough-laugh, "Excuse me."

"I will go retrieve you some water," says the Magus, and off he goes, leaving me with this strange man.

"That funny? Aye?" says Iago, wiggling his blond eyebrows at me, "I do like people who laugh at my jokes. Can't beat an engaged audience."

I manage to recover, "Sorry, this is all just so weird. I didn't know the Magus had friends."

"He doesn't." Iago says, "Now Eva, listen to me: do not try to run. Do not talk unnecessarily, do exactly as I tell you to. I will help you escape when the time comes if escaping is what you wish. But to make the attempt on your own is…unsafe."

Before I have time to respond, to even begin to process what Iago has just told me, the Magus is back with the water. He's so quick. I take it from him and gulp, almost choking all over again, splashing water on my chest in the process.

The Magus eyes me, "Are you ready now?"

I investigate my mug to avoid looking at the Magus with his perfect square jaw and perfect high cheekbones. The mug is still half-full, and I wish it were wine. What is going on? What is Iago talking about? What could I possibly be in danger of? Perhaps Iago is just joking with me—I mean what kind of priest is so flirtatious to begin with?

I look down at my pink nightgown and dirty boots. Am I ready to get married? I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Though I would prefer not to be seen in public in such an outfit—let alone get married in it.

"Are you ready now?" the Magus repeats.

I nod, "Mmhmm."

"Genji, I can appreciate your impatience, but should not you let the poor lass at least change her clothes first?" Iago suggests. "Her marriage day is not a day she will want to remember as being one in which she was cold. Doesn't she have some warm breeches? And an overcoat? A storm is coming."

I look at Iago again. My jaw has dropped and is on the floor. He is suggesting I put on pants and an overcoat for my wedding? Not even a dress? This is too weird. But now my apprehension is melting into irritation. Most people disapprove of me wearing pants entirely (yet another reason I thought I was totally unmarriageable), and yet this, this, ‘priest,' is suggesting I wear pants to my wedding? What. The. Fridge? I stopped wearing pants to the village years ago so I could stop being judged for it. I can imagine the talk after I show up to the church in pants. Ugh... but if I show up to church in a nightgown, that is certainly worse.

The Magus says, "Yes. Good idea. Eva, go to your room and change into weather-appropriate clothes."

I don't need to be told twice. I sprint to my room, relieved for a moment alone to collect my thoughts. I dig through my breeches, trying to find the most feminine pair—but of course breeches are never feminine. I settle on a newish black pair and a magenta cloak.

My reflection makes me sigh. The one day I want to look like a girl, and it is a boy in muddy boots who looks back at me from the mirror. It seems the only thing that distinguishes me from an actual boy is my long hair. But I still have bed-head—I finger-comb my dark locks to no avail.

I want to halt everything. I want to run back out to the Magus and yell, ‘Stop this! I wanted to get married, but not like this! Are you so eager to be rid of me?!' I want to yell at Iago, ‘What is your deal? Why are you messing with me? I'm nervous enough as it is, without your dumb jokes!'

I run back to the courtyard and yell nothing. I say nothing. There is nothing to say. I am not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Marriage is about the marriage, not the wedding.

"Come," says the Magus. Iago and I follow him out to the stables. I see that my speckled mare, Hoofer, is saddled, as well as the Magus's black stallion, Blacky.

I also see a large, saddled mule in Horsey's stall—and Becky's stall is empty (obviously I named all the horses).

"Where's Horsey? And Becky," I ask.

The Magus hands me Hoofer's reins, while Iago takes the mule.

"I gave the other horses to Theo," the Magus tells me.

A warm feeling of relief washes over me—so everything is totally okay after all—the Magus was even willing to pay Theo a dowry!

Springing onto my saddle, I look at Iago, who is on his mule. I ask, "Why do you ride a mule?"

Iago shrugs, "Don't judge a book by its cover; mules are much better than horses." He leans forward and scratches the mule's long ears. "Aren't they Quixote?" The mule brays in response.

The pace that the Magus sets is a brisk one, and I am glad of my clothes. The damp air is brisk—almost frigid. The wind blows my hair into my face so that I have to tie it back. Water drizzles from the sky.This is not good weather for wearing a wedding dress on a horse, so I guess it is better this way. However, I will surely smell like a horse on the altar.

We ride towards the big church on the outskirts of the town, where we hold town halls as well as weddings and mass. I go with Theo and Patty every Sunday, but the Magus has never attended as far as I can remember.

We pass no one—it is early—but the lack of people is still strange. There should be farmers out to milk cows. Roosters have already crowed.

But then, the hitching posts outside the church are full of horses. My stomach drops—I hadn't realized Theo was so popular in town that we would have so many guests watching me walk down the aisle in my britches and muddy boots. Father Bradley is outside, and he doesn't look happy. He looks very, very unhappy. I'm not surprised.

As we dismount and tie our horses (and mule) Father Bradley scurries over and takes my elbow.

"Come along," he says, his normally gentle voice agitated. Did he really dislike me so much? Does he not think I am so bad for Theo? Is it my pants?

Looking around for the Magus, I realize I am alone with Father Bradley and Iago. Two priests. I guess the Magus is not going to walk me down the aisle, and I feel a slight pang in my heart. But did I really expect him to walk me down the aisle to begin with? Definitely not. But I hope he at least attends. I hope he isn't just here to drop me off. I hope there is at least one person on my side of the aisle, in the bride's guest section.

Father Bradley does not hold my elbow loosely. He practically drags me towards the door of the church, and I stumble after him.

This is not the wedding of my dreams, for sure, but even having a wedding is a dream.

Father Bradley slams open the door and the sight that greets me makes me gag. Somehow, I manage to hold back the vomit that is threatening to clear my throat. I'm not even hungover, and I want to vomit.

The church is packed. Both sides of it are filled to the brim. Behind the pews, villagers stand and lean against walls. Everyone from town must be here. The heat of the throng of bodies blasts me in the face, a nauseating contrast to the fresh air outside. But no one is speaking; no one is even whispering. Sarah Lee is trying to quiet her newborn, but that is the only sound other than breathing.

Father Bradley doesn't give me a chance to take it all in; he pulls me down the aisle. But that is okay—I don't want to meet anyone's staring eyes anyway. I look at my shoes and watch the mud crumble, leaving a trail of filth as we almost run down the aisle and up the stairs to the pew that Iago is now standing behind. I trip on the top stair in front of the podium.

I fall.

I am caught.

Gasps echo off the walls, including my own. The hands holding me steady around my waist are not Theo's. No. The hands gently easing me upright are gloved. They are beyond powerful. They are gigantic. They belong to the Magus. The Magus. Why is the Magus standing where the groom should be? Why? Why? Why?!

His scent—the smell of the first rain of the season falling on dry stone-fills my lungs. I am close enough to feel his heat. He's a furnace.

"Are you feeling ill?" he murmurs, his piercing blue eyes as expressionless as always, his deep-voiced murmur an earthquake vibrating distantly in my bones.

I shake my head. I can't speak.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God to join this male person and this female person in holy matrimony. Not to be entered into lightly, holy matrimony should be entered into solemnly and with reverence and honor. Into this holy agreement these two persons come together to be joined. If any person here can show cause why these two people should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace!" Iago, standing behind the podium, yells, strangely emphasizing some words, as if it were all a joke. But when I meet his eyes, I know it isn't a joke. He glares. He wears a wolf's grin.

The silence is deafening.

"I charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it."

Before I have the chance to speak up—and I don't even know what I would say, what I could say, Iago continues, speaking at the Magus, "Now noble Genji, wilt thou have this female person to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

"I do."

Why did my stomach flip with happiness right now? Where is Theo? I want to run. I want to hide, but I am frozen in place. The Magus's fathomless black pupils, starkly surrounded by such vibrant blue, are fixed on me, turning my feet to lead and my legs to jelly.

"Wilt thou, Eva, have this male to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

I can feel all eyes on me, expectant, burning. Iago's words run around my head, Do not try to run. Do not talk unnecessarily, do exactly as I tell you to. I will help you escape when the time comes. But to make the attempt on your own is unsafe.

Be careful what you wish for, I think.

"I do," I say because there is nothing else I can do.

"Now repeat after me, both of you: even thou seventh of destructions you may touch me, destruction number seven, seven days of the week, you may touch me, and I will bear it, for I have thee, and thee have me, my dearly wedded."

I don't remember ever hearing about this part of a marriage ceremony before, but then, I have never been invited to a wedding before, either. The first wedding I've gotten to attend is my own.

Together, the Magus and I intone the words, "Even thou seventh of destructions you may touch me, destruction number 7, seven days of the week, you may touch me, and I will bear it, for I have thee, and thee have me, my dearly beloved."

Then, the strangest thing happens: the Magus smiles, a true, genuine, reaches-his-eyes all-out grin, and a baring of perfect white teeth. He has dimples. Dimples. There are muffled gasps from the audience—I am not the only one shocked to see an expression of happiness on the Magus's face.

He rips off his gloves and tosses them aside. His hands, his bare, gloveless hands, reach out to take mine. A shock runs through me, fingers dancing up and down my spine. There is power in his grip, there is heat, but I never would have guessed he was so gentle. This is the first time I have felt his skin without gloves. His hands are rough and hot—he is a flame. I am a moth. He is beautiful, and I am an ugly little insect.

Here I stand, all eyes on me, riveted to the spot, my feet nailed to the ground, and everyone is pounding me to the ground with the hammers in their eyes. I am a board full of holes—I'm screwed. I'm nailed and I'm screwed. I don't know what the fridge to do.

Now the Magus reaches into his pocket with the hand that is not holding mine. I don't know what he is going to pull out. He pulls out a ring—I should have known, of course, a wedding: a ring—but why? Why is this happening? Where did he get the ring?

It fits on my finger. It slides on my finger, metal against skin. It's beautiful. It's perfect. Too beautiful, too perfect. I don't want it. I don't want this priceless thing strapped around me. I don't want to be tied like this. I've been tied all my life, I thought marriage would be freedom. But now my shackles are just becoming tighter! The ring might as well be around my neck, squeezing, a hangman's noose. A guillotine.

Just as deftly, the Magus removes Theo's ring from my pointer finger and crushes it as if it were nothing more than aluminum foil.

But a part of me—a part of me is, and I hate to say it, over the moon. I've never been so happy. I've never been so distraught, miserable, and euphoric in my life. This moment is the perfection of Hell.

I thought I loved Theo. I do love Theo. Theo is who I am supposed to be with. Theo is who I grew up with, who I've talked to, and who's talked to me, and seen me through thick and thin and seen me and laughed with me.

The Magus—he... has financially supported me. He taught me to read, he taught me to ride, but he never showed me any kind of affection. I need affection. I'm not an animal. But even animals need affection—what am I talking about!? Even animals need affection. I think of my horses. Their nuzzles. Their affection.

He gave my horse to Theo, didn't he? So, where is Theo? I scan the crowd, looking for Theo. He's not there, he's nowhere, where's Theo? Where's his mother? Everyone else is here.

I swallow. I have to swallow to keep from tears. My sorrow is my own. I bite my cheek.

I don't hear Iago say, "You may kiss the bride." But he must have said it, because there is the Magus. The Magus—Genji? is right in front of me. There are his lips, his skin. He is my world—I mean he is blocking my view of the world.

His perfect face. A perfect monster…

I can't hate the Magus. It seems like a cruel joke, but his humor—the Magus has no sense of humor.

His lips against mine, soft. Not like the stone they seem to be made of. His kiss, his lips are cool, but it feels like sunshine. It feels as if I were living in a cave all my life and I just stepped outside and felt sunshine for the first time.

But it is as if I walked through spiderwebs to step into the light. I'm sticky, filthy, beyond euphoric. Parts of my body twist and tie and untie in a sticky web of pleasure and disgust, a poisonous little spider twirling up her drugged prey. What a monster I am to suck any joy out of this twisted situation.

Before I know it, the kiss is over, but the feelings that erupted inside me linger, sticky guilt and disgust and arousal. I should not feel this attracted to the Magus. I should not be enjoying this in any way. I should run away. Or I should declare in front of everyone that this is not what I want, I am not his bride, this marriage should not be happening, I should not be marrying a man who is not only old enough to be my father, but old enough to be the grandfather of every man, woman and—and even tree in the parish. He is probably old enough to be the grandfather of the tree's grandfather's great-great-grandfather!

But still, I enjoy it—the sunshine of his kiss, his lips. When he pulls away, I am back in the cold, damp solitude of my cave.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," says Iago.

There is no cake. No festivities.

The Magus doesn't even give anyone time to offer me the briefest congratulations. He takes me in his arms, into a princess carry and strides out the door of the church while the villagers watch in stunned silence. If they didn't already consider me a freak and an outsider, they do now.

The Magus strides in purposeful silence, his chest hard as stone and his arms hard as stone, yet he holds me loosely, as if he wants to avoid touching me. From where I perch in his arms, I can see his mouth is set in as hard and stoic a line as ever. He's my husband, isn't he? And he seems to feel nothing about it.

He looks down at me. His blue eyes seem to see right through me. "You're scared," he observes, as if commenting on the weather.

"Of course she's scared, Genji." I see Iago appear at the Magus's shoulder.

Iago looks down at me, his green eyes, framed in long, blond lashes suddenly serious. His expression reminds me: Do not try to run. Do not talk unnecessarily, do exactly as I tell you to. I will help you escape when the time comes. But to make the attempt on your own is unsafe.

But should I trust this strange man? He seems to be the Magus's friend, yet he also seems to think the Magus is irredeemable.

The Magus places me back on Hoofer, while he bounds back onto Blacky. Iago gets onto his own mule. We gallop on our respective steeds in heavy silence. The air outside is still crisp and new as the day, but everything has changed.

"Do you love your new bride?" Iago says casually, conversationally.

The Magus is riding slightly ahead so I can't see his face as he answers. "What do you mean by that question, Iago?"

"Oh, you know." Iago slows down his mule, so he's riding shoulder to shoulder with me. He raises his eyebrows at me in an expression that says, ‘You hearing this?!' Out loud, Iago says, "Now that Eva is your wife, will you let her see what's in your basement?"

"No," says the Magus in his flattest tone.

"There should be no secrets between husband and wife," Iago presses. "Eva deserves to see what skeletons you have in your closet."

"No," the Magus repeats.

Iago snorts derisively, then his mule snorts as well. There is something off about the sound of his mule snorting.

One of my earliest memories (that I can recall) is of being bored. I was wandering around the manor with its stone walls and magtechly lit rooms. magtech is forbidden to the villagers, but the Magus is the law, he doesn't have to follow it.

Every room was more extravagant than the next, but they were all so boring. I wanted to find the Magus's bedroom, but every single bedroom seemed untouched. Unslept in. The beds seemed more like props than furniture. I couldn't find a scrap of evidence that the Magus slept or had personal tastes beyond what was extravagant and expensive.

Bored out of my mind because Patty and Theo were not working, and feeling too restless to read, I decided to circle the manor to see if I could find anything interesting on the exterior.

The outside of the manor was much the same as the inside. Stone walls, windows, gargoyle sculptures, nothing new. Until I got to a metal door handle, I had never noticed before. It was a simple bar with a keyhole below it.

Strange, I thought. There is no door here.

But then I looked closer. There were faint cracks in the stone, outlining what appeared to be a hidden door. It was cleverly disguised to blend seamlessly with the rest of the manor's stonework. Intrigued, I traced my fingers along the cracks, feeling the slight indentations that betrayed the presence of a doorway. My heart raced with the thrill of discovery—this was exactly the sort of mystery I had been longing to find.

As I examined the keyhole, I realized it was old and rusted, hinting that it hadn't been used in a long time. I wondered if it led to a secret passage or perhaps to a forgotten part of the manor. My curiosity piqued, I decided to fetch some tools from the gardener's shed to see if I could pry the door open.

Armed with a screwdriver and a small can of oil, I returned to the hidden door. I applied some oil to the keyhole and let it sit for a few minutes before I began working the screwdriver around the edges of the metal bar, hoping to loosen it enough to give. That's when the Magus's voice shocked me out of my concentration. His tone was stern and brooked no argument.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his dark voice crisp on that cool day.

Startled, I straightened up, the screwdriver still in hand. "I... I was just curious," I stammered, caught off-guard by his sudden appearance.

The Magus stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as they fell on the tools in my hands. "Curiosity," he murmured, almost to himself, then looked back at me sharply. He gestured towards the hidden door with a definitive sweep of his hand, "This is off limits."

I felt a chill run down my spine as he continued. "You're welcome to wander anywhere you'd like. But you are forbidden from entering the basement. Nothing but a key will permit you to enter it anyway, so you're wasting your time."

I nodded quickly, a mix of fear and disappointment coursing through me. "Yes, Magus," I replied, the sense of adventure that had fueled me turning sour in my belly.

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing with the echoes of his warning lingering in the air.

Iago and the Magus don't speak the rest of the way back to the manor. I don't say anything either. I just stare at the Magus's broad shoulders in his black suit. He only ever wears raven black.

I want to see what he looks like underneath. I want to see what he's thinking. We return our steeds to their stalls without a word, then, the three of us stand outside the stalls in a circle, watching each other. The Magus looks bored, Iago looks amused, and I must have an expression on my face as frazzled as my unbrushed hair.

Then the Magus says two words I never would have expected to come out of his mouth. "What now?" he says.

I stare sharply at him. He sounds almost boyish, almost vulnerable.

"You take her to bed, of course," Iago laughs. His laugh, I notice, sounds like a crow.

"Eva?" The Magus is looking down at me now. His expression is asking me a question.

I don't know what to say or how to answer. I tilt my chin in a slight nod, and he takes that as an affirmation. And the truth is, it is an affirmation.

The Magus reaches out and gently takes my hand in his. His touch is tentative, almost reverent. His hand is hard and so warm, and it feels like it is a piece of me that has been missing for years. In silence, he leads me out of the barn, into the manor and up the grand staircase. My heart pounds as we approach the door to my bedchamber.

With a soft click, the door opens, and the Magus guides me inside. The room is dimly lit with the curtains drawn against the daylight. A large four-poster bed dominates the space, its dark wooden frame draped in rich fabrics. The air feels heavy with anticipation and uncertainty.

Quietly, the Magus removes his black suit jacket and drapes it over a chair. In just his black shirt, he looks more vulnerable, more human. He turns to me, his blue eyes searching mine. "Lay down, Eva," he says softly.

I swallow hard, my mouth dry. A part of me longs to flee, to escape the intensity of this moment. But another part, the part that has always yearned for the Magus's affection, can't resist the tender sincerity in his gaze. Slowly, I nod.

The Magus takes my hand again and leads me to the bed. I lie down facing him, a careful distance between us. He climbs into the bed after me, not broaching the distance between us. Then, gently, he draws me into his deadly arms. I stiffen at first, unsure and afraid. But as he simply holds me, his embrace protective and warm, I gradually relax against him.

We lie there in silence, listening to the sound of each other's breathing. The Magus's chest is warm and hard beneath my cheek. I can hear no heartbeat. I've never been this close to him before, never felt the solid realness of him. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as confusion and comfort war within me.

"You're mine, Eva," the Magus murmurs, his deep voice rumbling through his chest. "You belong with me."

We lay like that for hours. It feels like a dream. I should think of Theo and of Patty. But I don't want to wake up quite yet. I want to dream a little bit longer.

The rain is pounding against the windows. Veins of water slide down the windows obscuring my view of the outside world. The throbbing noise of it makes my head pound.

My head is pounding, pound, pound, pound. Bam. Bam. Bam. It isn't just my head; the entire world seems to be rocking. Shaking. Crumbling. I am in a room with white walls. Metal tables, strange metallic and glass objects.

I don't know where I am, but my head is pounding, and the world seems to be pounding with it.

Maybe you aren't supposed to realize when you are dreaming, but I realize that this is a dream. It is too vague to be real. Those contraptions, those metals, that beeping noise. This is not the world I live in. It is dark in my head, in a dark dream.

The pounding continues. Boom. Boom. Rumble. The ceiling cracks. It is a dream, but my terror is so real. I want to escape. I want to hide. I grab the metal of a table and I try to hide under it. It is so real. The metal is cold beneath my fingers. The pounding continues, the roof is crumbling. Somebody screams. Somebody grabs my hand. Somebody yells at me, "Come with me, come with me, Eva!"

Somehow though, somehow, I know that in this dream I am not Eva, not myself. I must be someone else by the same name. Who—? It doesn't matter. This is a dream. A nightmare.

The person drags me by the wrist, hurting my hand.

"Come! Faster! Faster!" he screams.

I know he is right, but I stumble, I am not fast. I am weak. I am slow. Finally, he lets go of his death grip on my wrist. He runs off down the corridors' white walls. I'm left alone, panting, gasping, trying to catch up as the roof continues to shake and rumble. I hear crashes behind me and in front of me. Glass breaking.

I keep running; there is nothing else to do.

Somehow, I make it out of the building. I manage to not be crushed alive by falling chunks of plaster. Outside, I am not alone. There are people screaming, coughing, burning. Being burned alive.

I hold my breath, but it is too late. It is already in my lungs, I'm coughing, choking. I try to cover my mouth with my shirt to breathe through it, but it is too late. I can't breathe. Blood and crisp flesh fill my lungs. I'm burning inside and out.

I turn back into the building, better to be crushed alive. The burning gas rips the skin from my body. My face is melting, scalding. I'm blinded before I can reach the doors of the crumbling building. I'm blinded, but I can smell chemicals and my own burning flesh. I can hear the screams of the people dying around me. I know that this is the end. I want to turn back but there is nowhere to run, to hide, turn to, and I can't run anymore.

I know with certainty that I brought this upon myself. I use my last breath to scream, but I can't make a noise.

I can feel the pounding in my head, in my chest. Boom. Boom. Boom. The pounding of the rain, the pounding in my head, in my chest. I wake up with a gasp from one nightmare to another. I'm alone again. I must have dreamed that I fell asleep in the Magus's arms. There's no way.

There's a soft pounding at my door. I say nothing. What is there to say? I am nothing. Finally, there is a creak, and the door opens. I don't look up to see who it is. If the Magus is here to take me as his prize, I will not fight it. I cannot fight it. I am a coward, and I will live a coward's life and accept a coward's fate. And this is it for me.

I'll just hide within myself if I cannot run or fight. I will just hide within myself and not let anything touch me on the inside even if I am touched on the outside.

"Eva, oh, why are you so glum, Eva?"

It's not the Magus. It's Iago, still in his priestly gown. But is he even really a priest? Who is this man?

"Eva," Iago whispers, looming over my bed, "It's time to go, Eva. You've done well, Eva. You've bided your time, and you kept silent just as I told you to. I'm quite impressed, Eva. Such a brave, brave woman. Braver than many men, even."

That makes me sit up. I wipe my hair from my sweaty forehead. The humidity, the rain is pounding on the sturdy roof still in rhythm to my headache.

"Eva," Iago says, his eyes glinting with a strange intensity. "I have the key to the basement. It's time for you to see what's down there."