I sat in my room in Mélusine for the last time and looked out the window, Gideon's book on my lap, open to page 363. I hadn't looked at it in hours, just looking out the window, watching the sky grow darker, counting down the hours until my exile began. And thinking.
"I don't want him to be in the dark."
"Come down from there, Felix. I can make him leave you alone."
"Surely you noticed the very public and messy end to our affair…"
"His White Lady…"
I tried to remember everything. Every moment I'd had of Gideon, every moment I'd taken so lightly. All the sweet nights and little touches and idiosyncrasies that had made me laugh and run my fingers through Gideon's hair and kiss his throat and murmur those damnable words that I'd never really meant to mean.
But I couldn't remember.
Couldn't remember anything.
All I could remember were the bitter fights, the bitter words, the bitter end. None of the sweetness. I caressed the book and tried to remember the feeling of Gideon's hair, the taste of Gideon in my mouth, the feeling of Gideon's body – nothing. It was as if he'd never been, except for the bitterness. It tasted like ashes.
Gideon had never hurt me. Gideon had always been so good to me. Gideon had been patient, had understood. Gideon had defended me even in my madness.
"Come down from there, Felix. I can make him leave you alone."
I felt my head fall forward, bowed under the weight of the fragments of memories.
"I don't want him to be in the dark."
The door opened. I looked down at the pages of Gideon's book, the letters meaningless scribbles on the white page.
"Felix?"
It was Mildmay. I didn't turn around and didn't look up. The only good thing about being alive. Mildmay would not be punished. The servant should not be punished for the sins of the master…and I could not drag Mildmay down. Not when Gideon had already died.
"Felix? Are you ready? We have to leave soon."
"I'm ready." I paused, thinking. "How did he die?"
The silence was empty before Mildmay broke it, his voice harsh. "What?"
"How did Gideon die? You never told me." My voice sounded calm in my own ears. Almost indifferent. I'd been indifferent to Gideon, hadn't I? I seemed to remember that, amid the haze of everything that had happened before Gideon died.
"Is it important?" I wasn't imagining the roughness in my brother's voice.
"I just want to know." It wasn't important. But I wanted to know, wanted to understand, wanted, almost, to be able to feel Gideon's last moments – had he cried out? Had he thought of me? Had he suffered?
"Kethe, Felix-" He cut off. "…he strangled him. Isaac or whatever his name was strangled him."
I turned it over, considering the words. It took a moment for them to register, and then I imagined it, imagined that death, unable to scream, dying soundlessly in that room, in that filthy room –
I almost bent double, had to force myself not to cry out. The book dropped to the floor, pages bending. Wounded. Like Gideon. It hurt. I felt myself gasp and forced my breathing to even. Mildmay started toward him and stopped.
He would have died starving for air, scrabbling uselessly at those forearms that only hours later I had caressed, unable, struggling against the same arms that had embraced me only hours later. It made me sick.
"I want him dead!"
I wondered if my heart still beat between my ribs. It felt as though my chest was empty. Hollow. I was hollow. There seemed to be nothing left of him. I found the other question and asked it, because there was nothing else to do.
"Did it take long?"
There was almost gentleness in Mildmay's voice. "Felix, don't ask me that kind of question."
"You know, though. I want to know if he suffered."
"Did you drive Garamond mad?"
"Yes. And I would do it again." I picked up the book and opened it again, to page 363. The corner was bent. I folded it back, smoothed it down. "What do you remember about Gideon, Mildmay?"
"Me? Kethe, Felix, I don't know. A lot of things."
"I was terrible to him, wasn't I?"
My brother was silent. Eventually, "Felix, you…"
"You don't have to lie to me," I said, distantly, looking up again, out the window. The sun had nearly risen, the sky to the east lightening. "I know I was. It doesn't matter anymore, though, does it?"
"Do you think it's dark where he is?"
I closed my eyes and tried to picture Gideon's face. All I could see was the dark.
"It's going to be okay."
"Not really. Are you going to miss Mélusine?"
"Miss it? Felix – fuck me sideways till I cry. Would you look at me?"
I turned and looked at him. I don't know what he saw on my face, but he flinched and took a step nearer me. I couldn't focus on one thing, except Gideon, and I couldn't remember anything about him. I felt as though I should have been crying, but there were no tears left. Nothing but emptiness.
"…you're ready to go?"
"I'm ready." I looked at the shelves of books, the collection of years. It didn't seem to matter anymore. I looked down at the book in my lap.
"Might want to get ready to go."
I looked out the window. It had started to drizzle, rain falling in a dull gray curtain. I wondered if I would feel it on my skin. I opened the window and stuck my arms out into it.
"Felix, what are you-"
"The rain," I said. I could feel it, cool and soft on my skin, "It's cold."
Mildmay came and stood next to me and pulled my arms in, shutting the window. His voice was quiet, rough-edged. "Yeah. I know. Come on, Felix, let's go. Are you taking that book?"
I hugged it to my chest. "Yes. It's Gideon's."
Mildmay sighed. "Okay. Mehitabel wanted to say-"
"Tabby?" I said, feeling distracted. "I'll miss her. I don't think she'll miss me, though."
"She'll miss you." He sounded sad and I wondered why, briefly, before dismissing it. It wasn't like that was important.
"Mildmay," I said, and my voice sounded small. "I miss Gideon."
He closed his eyes, his mouth twisted in a way that tugged at his scar. "I know. Let's get out of here."
My hands felt bare without my rings. I followed Mildmay dully through the Mirador, looking at the floor, unable to care how the people we passed looked at me. They weren't Gideon, and that was the only face I wanted to see. And I'd never see it again. The strange hollow feeling grew deeper.
Mildmay vanished and I stood in the rain, feeling it soak through my clothes and hit the cobblestones. He returned a moment later and stopped, just looking at me.
"You could have come inside with me."
I didn't answer, watching the rain. So cold. It felt like I was going to freeze, and I didn't think it was even all just the rain. He sighed. "Felix. Come with me, I'm going to go get the horses."
"Okay," I said, and then corrected myself. "Fine." It occurred to me that it didn't matter, that didn't matter either, that it was just talking, anyway, and I didn't really want to talk anymore. I followed him, though, and took the reins of the horse he gave me, and mounted when he said to.
Riding through the streets, the numbness growing colder and colder, we passed through the square where the gibbets were being built. And the bonfire. I stopped the horse and looked at it, the stake where I would have burned. And fire didn't sound so bad.
Mildmay stopped when he realized I had and followed my gaze. I never saw his face but he was next to me and taking my reins before I knew he'd moved. "C'mon, Felix, we're done here."
"Done," I agreed. It was very quiet in the rain, all the sound muffled.
"Is it dark where he is?"
"Come down from there, Felix."
"Would you call me mad, my lord?"
"His White Lady will keep him safe…"
I imagined his glassy eyes, his cold skin, laid to rest in the endless catacombs.
"I don't want him to be in the dark…"
And the fire didn't sound so bad. The fire really didn't sound so bad.