Thoughtful, I lay my head upon his shoulder and we sit quietly together, my naked body curled against his chest. I count six beats of his heart. They take a long time.
Did he ever try to lift the curse? I suppose he must have done, but failed, and that is why he speaks so sadly now. In the village we tell each other fairy stories in which curses are broken just like that and everyone lives happily ever after. It must be harder with real curses.
“What happened to the demon?” I ask.
He strokes my hair. “I hunted her down and killed her, hoping that would lift the curse. It didn’t. She laughed as she died and told me that I’d never be free. That was…oh, a long time ago now.”
I think of the way he likes me prone and helpless as he touches me. “So you haven’t been sleeping with corpses after all.”
He laughs again, a deep chuckle. “No, deliciae. I like the flesh I touch to be warm.”
A moment later he’s serious again, smoothing the hair back from my face and looking into my eyes. “I am sorry I cannot be the one to make love to you, my bride. But I will try to make it up to you in any way I can.”
There’s an aura of sadness about Meremon over the following days. He still draws me into his arms for kisses but I feel as if something is playing on his mind. I wish I hadn’t done it, touch him between his legs and then draw my hand away as if I’d been burned. I was just surprised, but I think I hurt him.
I wonder if this is why he has lived alone for so long and waited so long for a woman who might not even come to him. Maybe he regretted marking me after he did it, knowing what I would discover about him. Or maybe he just hoped it wouldn’t matter.
One afternoon he says to me, “Tomorrow is the full moon. We will descend into the village first thing in the morning.”
I wonder if he’s going to kiss me but he turns away, leaving me alone in the laboratory. The fire has gone out in the grate and no cauldron stands cheerily at the boil. The castle is so quiet it’s as if it’s already empty, and I shiver.
This is how it must feel to him every day of his life.
I’m feeling sorry for Meremon, I realize. The thought of him being sad makes me sad.
The job of tidying his laboratory is almost complete and I want to finish it before we depart. One bookshelf is still disorganized and cluttered and I get to work dusting them down and reshelving all the books. I drop a tome and it opens on an illustration of a sleeping woman. The picture reminds me of a bedtime story Mama used to tell me, about a princess locked in a tower…I gasp out loud and snatch the book up, studying it more closely. Could this be a way to break Meremon’s curse? I explore the idea from every angle and wonder if he knows about such things. This is not necromancy, after all, but deeper, fundamental magic.
Can I break Meremon’s curse?
Do I want to?
It’s not only the act after all, but what it signifies. I examine my feelings and they’re in a snarl of hope and need and dread. I chew my lip, worrying whether I dare try, or if it’s better that I forget the idea ever flitted across my mind.
We make the journey down the mountain in silence. Meremon holds my hand and has a walking staff to keep us steady down the steepest slopes. Winter is slowly ebbing from the land and as we descend I see primroses poking their sunny faces through the thin crust of snow.
I feel as if I’ve been away for many years, not a matter of weeks. So much has happened to me since I climbed the mountain in search of Meremon’s help. I glance up at the necromancer and his face is serious and shuttered. So much has happened to both of us.
On the edge of the village Meremon pulls me into his arms and places his lips against my brow. “It’s all right. They cannot hurt you.”
I realize I’ve been fiddling with my sleeves. I’m worried about facing the villagers again but not for the reasons I expected. I thought it would be hard because of what I would see in their eyes when they looked at me, but what I’m really worried about is them not letting us help the children.
He presses his mouth against mine. “The only thing anyone should be afraid of is my wrath if they even look at you in a way I do not like.”