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I hear the water against the hull, the oar as it sinks, my own breath, and nothing else. I row toward the island with the mask forgotten on the bench where Aveline used to sit. At the dock, I tie the boat unhurriedly, grab the mask, climb the steps, and notice how the lamps along the path light the pale flowers on both sides. At the door, I stop and tilt my head. Inside, I expect to hear a heartbeat that isn’t mine, or the scuff of slippers on the floor. It’s quiet. With a sigh, I open the door and go in.

The two chairs stand before the hearth, where they’ve always stood. It’s hard to look at them. I walk to the table and set the mask down. I’ve worn it day and night, even when I was alone, with the exception of the times when I ate. Even if I haven’t eaten human food in a month, my stomach doesn’t feel hunger. There is an emptiness inside it, but it couldn’t be filled with food.

The pressure I’ve been feeling behind my eyes since yesterday finally breaks, and I feel tears flow down my cheeks and follow the seams along my jaw. They drop from my chin onto the front of my shirt. I don’t wipe them away. I stand there and allow myself to cry. I feel more human than I’ve felt in all the centuries I’ve lived among them.

Aveline did this to me. As much as it hurts, I’m grateful. My soul may be broken, but I had her. I had her voice, her weight as she slept on my chest, her whole body as she gave herself to me. I’ve had the most I could ever have, and I can let myself fade now knowing that.

I step into her bedroom. The bed is made. I lay my hand on the pillow and press down until my claws catch in the linen. I open the wardrobe. The high-necked gowns she wore hang neatly, and when I lean in and let my nose graze over the fabric, I can tell that she washed them before putting them away. They still hold the scent of her skin, though. I find the airy gown she wore when she found me in the music room, the one that ended up in a pile on my bedroom floor. At the back, folded and put away, is the wedding dress. I take it out and hold it up. I can see her in it again, crammed into the far corner of the cage, shaking with her arms around her knees, whispering “please, please, please” to a monster. I put it back where she left it.

On the dresser lies the brush she used. Pale hairs are caught in the bristles. I pull one free and wind it around my finger.

I can smell her in this room. She’s in the sheets, in all the gowns, the shoes and the slippers, and on the brush that slid through her long, silvery hair every morning and every night. When I step back into the living room, she’s there too.

Aveline is in the air I breathe. My body gives off nothing – no sweat, no scent. When her smell disappears, which will happen eventually, the house will smell of nothing at all.

I stand in front of the fire. I could take a gown from the wardrobe and set it in the chair, shape the sleeves the way I used to. I could call it Prima and pretend that nothing has changed. I’d know I was a man talking to himself in an empty house. I always knew it, but now that I’ve spoken to someone who answered, pretending would be an insult to her.

Aveline is gone, and Prima is gone too. Never again will I be able to trick myself into believing that I’m not alone.

I can’t stand another hour of this. I won’t wait until tomorrow. I’ll do it today.

The song that keeps my body young can go the opposite way with a change of pitch. Sung against myself, it will make my body decay. The Silent Room is where I’ve always healed myself, and I’ll do this there too. I’ll close the door and no one above will hear a thing. It’s important that they’re not in any danger while I go along with my plan.

Out of habit, I grab the mask, even if I don’t need it anymore. It’s just that wherever I went, it always went with me, and I don’t see why this time should be different. Before I go to the Silent Room, I want to take one last stroll in the garden. I take the alleys Aveline liked, letting my gaze roam over the flowers I planted with my own hands, strange species that grow without sun. I look at the lamps I hung so there would always be light on the island.

The boat rocks at the dock. The lake is as dark as ever. Behind me, lamps burn in every window of the house. I built all of this with my own hands, and I’ve lived in it longer than I probably should have. There is no point to an eternal life like mine.

I say goodbye to the lake now, to the boat, the garden, and the ruins above me. I won’t sing for Nivallia again. I’ll vanish, their god will be dead, and with nothing left to wait for, they’ll heal.

Then I hear it across the water. The lift mechanism catches and turns, and the platform begins to come down through the vault.

I don’t need more offerings. Let it hang over the lake with its cakes, its cards, and its letters asking for Mercies. I turn toward the house, but I stop with one foot on the first step.

One last time, I think. I don’t ask myself why. I untie the boat and row out.

When I approach the platform, I see there’s nothing on it. It has never come down bare before. I secure the boat and look closer. No, it’s not empty. I have to haul myself onto it to reach what Callum has placed right in the middle of the slab of metal.

It’s a lock of platinum blond hair. Long and cut clean, it’s tied with a ribbon, and there’s no mistaking whose it is. A folded note is knotted into the ribbon. My hands shake as I take it and read the note.

Sing, or she dies.

Callum has Aveline. I read the words again as I rub the soft hair between my fingers. I lift it to my nose and breathe her in.

She ran up the tunnel toward the ravine, and he was waiting there. Or his people were. Maybe Callum knew about the only exit that leads outside of the city wall. It’s the only explanation that makes sense. Maybe he’s had people guarding it for days, or since the night he offered her to me as a sacrifice.

He has her. He cut her hair and sent me a piece of her with a threat tied to it. He put her in a cage and called her a gift, and now he threatens to kill her to get his song. The paper creases under my claws. In all the years I’ve watched them, I’ve never lifted a hand against one of them. But I want to hurt him now.

All right. I’ll sing. I’ll do more than sing. He wants my voice to come up from under the floor, but this time, I’ll come up with it. They’ve had a hundred years of a god they’ve never seen. It’s time to show myself to them.

I fit the mask on my face. I reach behind my head to fasten the clasps, then run my fingers along the grille. The hauling line hangs beside the rail, and I wrap it around my hands and pull. The counterweight takes the load and the platform begins to rise.

The water is farther below me with every pull. I rise past the cracked tiles of the vault, then the rusted racks and the broken edge of the floor. Above me, the shaft brightens. Light comes down through the broken vault, and with it come sounds from above, faint at first and then stronger with every length of line that passes through my hands.

I fix my eyes on the light and keep hauling.

Chapter Nineteen

Aveline