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I don’t blame Callum. Who would want me, marked the way I am, and deaf on top of it? I let myself think a man might, because he faced me when he spoke and gave me a bath, a big bed, and more dinner than I could eat. That was all it took: a warm room and a full plate. I look down at my hands, because I’m ashamed of how easy I was.

Then I look back at the monster. Whatever he wants from me, I can’t stay crouched in a cage, on a platform in the middle of a lake until he decides to tell me.

I crawl through the open door with the wedding dress catching under me, get my feet onto the edge of the platform, and lower myself into the boat. It rocks, and I grab the bench. When he sees I’m in, he lifts both hands and holds them open toward me, palms out, so I can see he isn’t going to touch me. He gets up slowly. He unties the rope from the rail, takes the one oar, and turns the boat away from the platform.

I press myself into the corner at the front, beside the lamp, and I keep one hand on the side of the boat. I watch him.

The stroke of the oar comes up through the wood into my palm, a pull and then a rest, over and over, and I hold onto that because it’s the only thing I can measure. The lamp lights a little of the water, black and without a ripple. Past that, there’s nothing. There’s rock above us, and it goes up past the light before I can find the top. There’s no far shore. I can’t hear the oar dip, or the water on the hull, so I don’t know if this lake is the size of a pond or the size of a city. Behind us, the cage gets smaller until I can’t see it anymore. I watch his hands on the oar because they’re the only thing moving.

Lights appear ahead.

I see a broad slab of stone in the dark, with lamps burning along it, steps cut into the rock, and a low wall. Behind the wall, there’s a garden of pale plants I don’t know the names of, and above the garden, there’s a house. I can’t believe my eyes. It has a door, windows, and light in the windows. A house on a rock, in the middle of an underground lake.

There are so many lamps that my hand goes tight on the side of the boat. I make myself loosen it. I can’t be afraid of fire for the rest of my life. Fire keeps a house warm, bakes bread, and gives light, and I’ll need all three if I live through tonight. I never imagined a place like this could exist anywhere, let alone down here, and I’m too busy looking to stay frightened.

The boat bumps a dock at the foot of the steps. The monster climbs out, stands aside, and doesn’t offer me his hand. I take a few deep breaths and force myself to move. He seems to be patient, giving me time to decide to get out of the boat. It’s not like I have another option.

I follow him up the steps and along the path through the pale garden. I keep enough distance between us that I can see all of him. At the top, he opens the front door and steps back from it, so I can go in first.

I stop on the threshold. Once I’m inside, I may never come out again. I still don’t know what he wants. Maybe Callum meant to give him a wife. Maybe he needs someone to keep his house. I open my mouth to ask, and I can’t.

I think of the fire, and of everything that came after it. Since I lost my family and my home, I’ve lived on what other people were willing to give, and I think I know why. I’m scarred, I’m deaf, and I’m not useful the way I used to be. People who aren’t useful don’t get to choose. They get what they’re given, good or bad, and they say thank you for it.

I take a breath, and I step over.

The first thing I feel is warmth on my face. Then there’s the smell of woodsmoke. I hold my breath and my back goes rigid. Slowly, I let the air out through my parted lips, because it’s only a hearth, with a fire burning low in it. There’s a sparse kitchen along one wall, a dining table, a writing desk, and furniture that’s old and has been looked after by someone who cares. Two faded velvet chairs are set before the hearth. The room smells of old things, of cloth, wood, and paper. It isn’t unpleasant. After the cage and the lake, it’s so comfortable that I don’t trust it.

I feel the door close through the floor, and I turn. The monster is standing against it, positioned between me and the only exist. Not that I’m going to bolt now that I’m here. He lifts a hand and moves it toward the room, asking me to go farther in. I do.

I put the table between us and stop where I can see both him and the door. He goes to the writing desk, takes up a pen, and writes on a piece of paper. I watch his unnatural claws hold the pen the way anyone would hold a pen. It’s unnerving. He brings the paper to me and holds it out at arm’s length. I take it. My hand is shaking so badly that I have to hold the paper tightly between my fingers.

I am Mordred. I will not harm you.

His name. And a promise.

I nod. I press my hand to my chest and say:

“My name is Aveline. I… I believe you.”

I keep my voice quiet, the way I’ve learned to, and I can’t tell whether it’s carried across the table to him.

He stops, with his hand halfway back to his side. Then he nods, and I know he heard me. He reaches for the paper, and I give it back. He writes again under the first line and returns it.

Are you hungry?

I shake my head. I ate more than I needed at Callum’s house, and fear has left me sick and dizzy. He takes the paper back and writes again.

Are you tired?

I look around the room before I answer. There are three doors leading out of it, all closed, and I think about whether he expects me to sleep in his bed. I’m not brave enough to ask. I nod, gently.

He leads me to one of the doors without touching me and without walking too close. He opens it, and I look past him into a bedroom.

It’s rich, spotless, and so full that I don’t even know where to look. There’s a canopy bed, old, with the wood polished and the hangings marked by time. There’s a boudoir table with a mirror over it. I keep my face turned from it. There’s a closet and a soft rug, and everything looks as if someone already lives here. On the bed, a silk nightgown is laid out, smoothed, with the sleeves arranged. On the floor beside the bed, a pair of soft slippers has been set.

I turn to him.

“This is all for me?”