Изменить стиль страницы

‘You’re all going to die, and I made it happen,’ her ’path blazed at them.

They just laughed as the neck of the bottle was shoved between her teeth. The liquid glugged out. Kysandra tried not to swallow, but it was impossible. The bitter liquid went down her throat. Madeline withdrew the bottle.

After a minute, the men let go of her. Kysandra stood up; it was difficult. ‘What was that?’ she asked, or thought she did. Her words sounded strangely slurred. Then her legs wobbled. Madeline grabbed her, stopping her from falling. ‘Bitch . . . What . . . ?’

The world seemed to dissolve into really pretty colours, so nice she cooed enthusiastically at them. Then they started spinning, which made her dizzy. ‘I need to sit.’

‘Of course you do,’ Madeline’s voice said somewhere off in the distance.

There was a strange ripping sound, like cloth being torn. Lovely cool air glided like silk over her bare skin. Kysandra smiled at the sensation. Then frowned. This was all wrong; she shouldn’t be enjoying this. She frowned harder, which sent purple waves swishing through the air. Madeline bent over her as the bathwater warmed her skin. The soap bubbles came alive. Each one popped and released a tiny Faller. Kysandra started screaming as they wriggled over her body, miniature teeth snapping.

*

‘. . . Do you take this noble woman as your wife, to love and cherish during your mortal life, and then to take Guidance with her into the loving embrace of Giu?’

‘I do.’

Kysandra blinked slowly, barely able to stand. Nothing had made sense for . . . well, a while now. The universe had become weird and blurred, sometimes warm and nice, sometimes sharp and terrifying so that she screamed and screamed. They kept making her swallow the bitter liquid. A lot of the time she was cold and shaking. She dreamt, or thought she did, or maybe her dreams had surged out of the night to live in her head permanently.

And now there was a dress. A white dress with a ridiculous puffy skirt, and gold silk bows, and a veil. Is that still over my eyes? Is that why everything looks so odd?

‘And Kysandra, do you take this good man as your husband, to love without question during your mortal life, and then to take Guidance with him into the loving embrace of Giu?’

‘Say yes,’ the man said.

Swaying about, Kysandra peered at the man standing beside her, holding her arm. ‘Who the crud are you?’ she blurted. Even with the drug buzzing loud and warm in her blood, she knew this wasn’t Akstan. He wasn’t old enough, certainly wasn’t fat enough, and anyway he had blond hair. His green eyes were looking expectantly at her.

‘Just say yes,’ he said with so much sympathy and kindness she thought she might cry. Nobody had looked at her like that. Not since Dad . . .

Thoughts that weren’t entirely her own produced a word that simply had to push past her lips. ‘Yes.’

‘I now pronounce you man and wife from this day forth. May Giu bless your immortal souls.’

Kysandra started to laugh. ‘You’re all going to die.’

‘You may kiss the bride.’

The man settled for giving her a quick hug, patting her back. Over his shoulder she saw Ma Ulvon, and Akstan and Julias and Madeline and two more of Ma’s sons with their wives. All of them lined up in a row along the side of the registry office, not saying anything, their faces blank. Kysandra’s laugh became hysterical. ‘Yes! Oh yes, you’re already dead, aren’t you? They got you. They ate you already. You’re not you, none of you is. I didn’t warn you it’d landed, see, I didn’t tell you. I did this to you.’ She giggled exuberantly. ‘This really is the happiest day of my life.’

‘That’s my girl,’ said the man holding her, the man she was married to.

Her legs started to buckle. ‘Are you going to eat me now?’

‘No. Time to go home, Kysandra.’

‘Oh, goodie.’ She passed out.

*

There were new planks spliced into her bedroom ceiling. Four of them, fresh wood neatly cut, forming a square not quite a metre on each side. Kysandra frowned up at them, not understanding why they should be there. Shotgun blast. Then the memories came rushing back. Julias arriving. That last day she’d argued with her mother. The shotgun. Ma. Trying to escape through the Hevlin’s bathroom window. Drugs forced down her throat. The wedding. Man with blond hair!

She gasped and sat upright in bed. She was still wearing the wedding dress, though someone had removed the skirt, allowing her to see the frilly knee-length bloomers covering her legs. It was a ridiculous sight.

Very conscious of the way the drugs had messed with her, she tried standing up. There was no dizziness, no shaking limbs. In fact she felt amazingly clear headed and refreshed, as if she’d just had the best sleep of her life. And she was very, very hungry. To emphasize the point, her stomach gurgled like bad plumbing – because there was the most incredible smell of cooking bacon drifting through the farmhouse.

Kysandra took a step towards the door. Stopped. Looked round properly. Her bedroom wasn’t just tidy, it was immaculate. And the sheets on the bed were clean. New! She touched them gingerly, marvelling at how soft they were. A dress was hanging over the back of the chair. Not her dress; she’d never seen it before. This was a nice dark blue cotton with a square-cut neck – brand new and looked like her exact size. Fresh underwear was folded neatly beside it. A decent pair of dark-brown ankle boots.

‘What the crud?’

The landing outside was clean. Furniture polished. The glass in the windows was perfectly transparent; someone had washed the dirt and mould off.

She went downstairs. He was in the kitchen: the man with the shaggy blond hair and green eyes. The quite good-looking man, who was probably in his mid- to late twenties. He wore a simple white shirt and green denim trousers. And his smile when she came in was . . . nice.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Big shock for you, I guess. Don’t worry, you’re doing fine. Sit down, I’ll get you some breakfast. You must be hungry. I gave you a sedative so you’d be able to sleep off the drugs they forced into you.’

‘Whaaa—?’

‘It’s okay. Sit. I’m not going to hurt you. Promise. After all, I am your husband.’ He grinned. ‘Formal introduction: my name is Nigel.’ He stuck out his hand.

Kysandra stared at it, worried she was going to start crying.

‘Oh, hey, please. I really don’t mean you any harm. I know we started off . . . strangely. But I want us to be friends at least. Now come on, eat; it’ll help.’

Kysandra sat down heavily. It was one of the kitchen chairs, but clean, just like the table. He fetched a plate from the warming surface on the range stove. And, yes, the stove had been completely repaired, the iron brushed to a dull sheen. A lively fire burnt behind its lower grate door. I wonder if we have hot water again? She hardened her shell so he wouldn’t know she’d just thought that. His own shell was incredibly solid, stronger than anyone she’d ever known.

The plate (new) had bacon, scrambled egg on heavily buttered toast, grilled folberries in thick tomato sauce, sausages, and . . . ‘What are those?’ she blurted.

‘Hash browns. Potato, but done – well, like that. You shred them and fry them. Try it. But I won’t be offended if you don’t like it.’ He smiled hopefully.

The smell was just too strong, and her stomach was reacting loudly. Kysandra tried some of the scrambled eggs. She’d never known they could be so creamy.

‘Tea, coffee or orange juice?’ Nigel asked.

‘Tea, please.’

One of the farm’s mod-dwarfs put the cup down in front of her. It had been spruced up as well, its short fur washed and brushed.

‘What’s happened?’ she croaked. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Short version,’ Nigel said. ‘I’m new in town. I want a remote place to live where I won’t be bothered, and Blair Farm fits that requirement perfectly. I’m also very rich. So I paid off your mother’s debts to Ma Ulvon and bought the farm. I admit I wasn’t quite expecting you to be part of the deal, but you have title to the farm and, frankly, I thought you’d prefer me to Akstan. My apologies if I was wrong.’