“If it’s an issue of consent, I absolutely do consent,” I clarified.
“It is not an issue of consent,” he hissed, rubbing his hands, as if the brief contact had made them dirty. “I mean, not that I would violate someone’s . . . but that’s not . . . I don’t want . . . I am INTERROGATING you!”
It killed the mood, if I was being honest, and I was magically obligated to be honest at the time.
Recognizing his loss of control, Merulo beat a tactical retreat. He stormed from the cell, yanking the wooden door shut behind him, leaving me alone under the torchlight with nothing but my thoughts.
An itch developed on my ribs. I stretched my fingers to combat the tingling. With each passing breath, the loss of sensation in my elevated hands became more worthy of attention.
The discomfort wasn’t solely physical, either. In the stagnant quiet, something foreign to me grew hot and coiling in my chest:shame. These last two days, I had performed poorly, charmed nobody, and had certainly not been carnally desired. The prophecy obligated Merulo to keep me alive, yes, but a man could persist in many physical conditions that still qualified as ‘alive.’
In truth, he didn’t even need to maintain my life. He need only keep me from dying in that certain place, in that certain way. The truth seal felt bitterly cold against my skin, and I pulled my lips tight in hatred of its magic.
The door creaked. Pricks of sick-green light emerged, set deep in the canine face of a construct. Branches and twigs,shaped like something a cat might throw up, formed the mass of its body. It approached on tapping wooden claws, those green flames lowering to focus on . . . oh, for God’s sake.
Apparently satisfied with my flaccidity, the construct clicked its way to the corner, standing to attention as the door opened once more. In strode the sorcerer, cool, composed, and pale as ever. I fought back a snort as a flaw in his careful persona became apparent: he could no longer look me in the eye.
“This is Benedict.” Merulo gestured haughtily at the dog-faced construct that stood, statue-like, behind him.
He names them, I thought in wonder. “Hello, Benedict.”
The sorcerer let out a long breath, as though I’d already acted poorly. Should the constructs also be addressed by a certain title?
The itch had returned to my ribs; with some effort I ignored it.
“Benedict,” said the sorcerer in a strangled voice, “likes teeth. I’m sure he’d like your teeth very much.”
I grinned, open-mouthed, indulging the construct as best I could.
“He likes to remove them for personal consumption,” the mad sorcerer continued, and I shut my mouth with a snap.
“My lord,” I began. “Is there a chance Benedict could, um. Have his needs met elsewhere?” Despite the cold stone at my back, a bead of sweat rolled down my forehead.
“That’s up to you,” said the sorcerer, and I heaved a sigh of relief. He didn’t want a lover, being either deeply repressed or lacking a libido, but perhaps I could play another role. Servants he had plenty of, and could craft more at a whim—but whatabout friends? The castle looked curiously unlived in. Where was the mad sorcerer’s family? Who raised him? What, above all else, did he need?
I eyed him, evaluating. “Well, I’m here to oblige. Say, I can’t help but notice your, uh, dressing robe situation. If you need another man’s help to assemble a wardrobe, perhaps I could walk you through the current fashions, teach you how to belt a tunic, you know?”
“Benedict, please remove a tooth.”
“What am I doing wrong? Please stop, please stop,” I begged as the construct clicked with slow menace toward me. “Merulo, come on, I’m here to help you, ah, to foil the prophecy and, er . . .” What had I said that had brought his constructs to my aid in the woods? “TO SLAY OUR GOD!” I shouted, chest heaving with effort.
Merulo signaled the construct and it stopped, taloned hand inches from my mouth, fingers already curled to pluck.
That’s what he wanted, a fellow heretic! I scolded myself for ever doubting my ability to charm.
“The seal forces out what you perceive as the truth.” The sorcerer seemed perturbed. “But an ordinary man wouldn’t vow to kill God just to save himself.”
His assumption surprised me, but I didn’t contradict him.
The construct withdrew to its place in the corner, keeping those nasty twig claws to itself for now. Merulo looked at me sideways. “Cameron.” The use of my name shook me, though of course I’d introduced myself the day before. “Did you only declare that . . . to save yourself?”
“Why yes, of course,” I replied cordially—then wanted to swallow my own tongue. “Damn it. Please, please don’tpull out my teeth, I’m absolutely willing to cooperate with anything you want.”
The sorcerer’s artificial eye hadn’t flickered for some time. His attention, with the coiled menace of a too-still serpent, was fixed solely on me. “Then let’s go over the prophecy one more time. And no more ridiculousness. I want short, concise answers.”
“Yes, my lord, of course. I’m not entirely sure what you mean by ridiculousness, but I swear—”
“In fewer words,” Merulo snarled.
