I looked up sharply, expecting to see disgust or even mockery, but all I could see were his brows drawn together a little in concern. Somehow that made it worse. Thank goodness for that apron to twist. I stared down at my hands as they wrung the fabric: strong and red, the proper hands for a butcher girl to have.
“Can you break the spell?” I wondered, the words coming out more plaintive than I had intended. “Can you let me go? Without using me? Without damaging me?”
There was a pause. He pursed his lips. “I do not think so.”
“Can you try?”
He came toward me. I forced myself not to back away.
“May I?” he asked.
“May you what?” I managed to say through the surge of desire that rose in my throat.
He gestured at my chest. What on earth . . .? But then I chastised myself for being a lovesick fool. He was hardly going to rip my bodice open now if he hadn’t done so previously. He wanted my heart.
“Will it hurt?” I whispered.
“What?” He seemed startled. “No. I want to look at the spell. There are ways to ... Please. Just trust me.”
I shut my eyes. There was a rustle of rich fabric as he raised his arm, and then I felt his palm against my rib cage. I almost groaned but managed to swallow the sound.
“It’s strange,” he said, so close that I could feel his breath touch my cheek. “It’s ... tangled. Many threads all tangled together. I can’t see a way to pull them loose.”
He stepped back, and I opened my eyes.
“So, I am to be your housekeeper forever,” I said. “Or I die. I am doomed, is that it?”
His jaw worked, but he did not reply.
“I will come back to clear your plate,” I said, and I turned with as much dignity as I could muster.
“Wait,” he said, and I paused. “I am not going to harvest you. My sister ...”
“Your sister will know that I still have my heart, when she comes again, and she will harvest me herself,” I said. “I am damned if I stay and damned if I leave.”
“I promise that I will take none of your heart, nor will I let her take it.” He sat again on his dark throne, clenching his fists on its arms. “If I knew how to release you, I would.”
“Whycan’t you?” I asked. “There must be a way.”
“We have never learned it. We have never needed to.” He rose and started toward me again, as if to stop me from going.
“That doesn’t mean it’s impossible!” I insisted. “You could try! If it can be done, it can be undone!” Couldn’t it? I was crazed with fear, with the possibility that I might never be free.
He just stood there.
“In the old stories, a kiss would undo the spell,” I said, unthinking, and then went beet red as I realized what I had said. Now he would think that I wanted him to kiss me, which of course I did, but I didn’t wanthimknowing that. But it was too late.
He stared at me for a moment, then crossed the distance between us again. I froze.
“You don’t ...” I began, but before I could continue, he leaned toward me with complete seriousness and brushed my burning lips with his cool, dry ones. It was my first kiss, and I had nothing to compare it to, but I imagine that kissing a sorcerer would have trumped all other kisses anyhow.
If I had been red before, now I must have been a rich purple shade. My heart throbbed in my lips, and they felt unnaturally sensitive, as if chapped by a cold wind.
Our lips parted. The sorcerer held my gaze, seemingly completely unembarrassed. “It doesn’t seem to work,” he said.
“Well, I ...” I began, and then realized I had absolutely no idea how to finish that sentence, and that I should just leave before I made an even bigger fool of myself. “Well, I’m going to bed,” I said eventually. “If you feel like setting fire to anything else, feel free to snap your fingers and clean it up before morning.”
He said nothing, and I could not read his expression. I left him there, and I was so angry that I could have spit.
