The Emperor of All Things - By Paul Witcover Page 0,104

of the bed. Then it fell silent.

I held my breath. The only sound was the hissing of the stove. Had Inge sent a man to murder me, intending to steal my possessions? Such crimes were not unheard of. Or was the purpose of this visitation to administer a beating, a warning from the wizard I had been following to meddle no more in his affairs? Either way, I would not be an easy victim. I drew back against the headboard, pulling my dirk from its sheath. ‘Who’s there?’ I growled. ‘I’m armed, I warn you.’

A light kindled, like no earthly light I had ever seen. This was no enemy of darkness, no flame of lamp or candle to send shadows scurrying like bedbugs or blind my eyes. It was as though a star had drifted down through the ceiling, shining with a cool, silver-blue radiance that penetrated the dark without dispelling it, revealing the bed, the cupboard, the blade I held in a trembling hand … which shook not just from fear but because the temperature had plunged in an instant. Only, there was no star, nor any other single source of light. Rather, the light seemed to be an inherent property of the objects themselves. It covered their surfaces in a frostlike rime whose glow radiated outwards like a visible manifestation of the cold I felt so keenly that my teeth had begun to chatter. Even the stove seemed a font of frigidity now, and the fog of my breath glimmered as if with crystals of ice. It was beautiful but also terrible, like a glimpse into some wintry netherworld.

Beautiful and terrible, too, was the woman who stood at the foot of the bed, gazing at me with eyes of smoky green, like malachite. Her skin was pale as alabaster, her lips the blue of lapis lazuli, her long hair blacker than the darkness that seemed not just her rightful habitation but her sovereign domain. And indeed, she wore a gown such as the queen of midnight’s kingdom might wear, of deep, wine-dark velvet and white, diamond-studded lace that bloomed around her slender neck in intricate latticework patterns and tumbled in frothy swaths from her shoulders and arms like abundant drifts of snow. Had I been standing, I would have fallen to my knees; as it was, my nerveless fingers could not retain their grip on the dirk, and it fell into the bed-sheets beside me. Surely, I thought, I was in the presence of an angel! Feelings of worshipful awe came streaming into my heart, filling its chambers, stretching its walls. Yet so exquisite was the pain of this ravishment, so unreservedly did I give myself up to it, that I yearned for the process to go on and on, even if it meant my swollen heart must burst. Or, no, I wanted it to burst, ached to lose myself in a blissful annihilation …

But the explosion, when it came, involved another organ. I felt the first shuddering spasm and looked down, only then realizing that my member was as hard as iron. I had never spent myself so violently, so prodigiously. I groaned as much in shame as in ecstasy, for the feelings kindled by the sight of my visitor had been pure, exalted, spiritual in the highest sense, and yet some faulty mechanism of my body had translated those feelings into the grossest sort of animal display. But I couldn’t cover the spreading stain, couldn’t move so much as a finger. And this was just from the mute aura of her presence. If she should speak or touch me, I felt that I would expire …

I raised my eyes to her face, expecting to see disgust and anger written there, afraid I had committed a sin for which the punishment would be swift and of utmost severity, though the gravest punishment I could think of was the loss of her. Instead, she was smiling, and her green eyes seemed kind, alive in a way they hadn’t been before, as if I’d made her a rich offering, a tribute that she accepted not just as her due, but with true gratitude: because it was needful somehow, precious to her despite its base origin … or, perhaps, because of it. I didn’t know. I only knew that I would do anything to please her, to keep her looking at me that way.

‘Please,’ I whispered. ‘Please …’

She seemed about to speak, but then she gave a start, as if