After thanking Kastushiro profusely and paying him generously (ignoring his offers of a discount), they walked back to his apartment arm-in-arm, the streets suddenly less foreboding in her presence. No one gave them a second glance, and even a beggar who noticed her complexion merely sang and blew her kisses. Giacinta flushed and trembled and could scarcely quiet her beating heart; her entire wretched life of hiding and sneaking was worth this moment, even if it ended at the apartment stoop. What must it be like, she often wondered, to walk without a thought beyond your destination–if even that? To simply move and know that you were effectively invisible, no different than a thousand other people in the city, lost in their own thoughts and actions?
Now she knew: it was transcendent. Even better, she could tell that Turold found her beautiful, attractive. That his heart was beating as quickly as hers.
They reached the apartment too quickly, and they both felt nostalgic for their brief walk, wanting to suggest a longer one, one that never ended. But neither could find the right words, and with awkward glances, they simply entered the apartment and decided to face the most difficult question of the night: where to sleep? Before, the question was academic, since a woman with a skeleton face tended to sleep as far away from humans as possible. Now, however, she was different. She was a woman; an attractive woman; a woman Turold couldn’t stop looking at, whose face reminded him every beautiful woman he had longed for in his life, but could never caress. And here she was. In his apartment. At night.
“Are you tired?” he asked her, lighting a candle.
“I certainly expected to be, after sitting so still for so long, watching him hovering over my face and cursing,” she said, with a laugh. “But no, not really.”
“Do you want some tea? Might help you sleep.”
“Yes, it might,” she agreed.
He warmed the samovar and she paced the room, her hands sweeping over her cheeks and face. Every time she encountered its softness and curves, she experienced a jolt of surprise, as if encountering a stranger bending over her. Was it obscene to think so? Perhaps, but it stopped short of outright vanity, since if the whole world told her she was ugly, monstrous, she wouldn’t mind. Because she still had this, and she felt whole now, a complete person, who could call herself a woman without a shiver of doubt.
The idea of gender had been a distant memory for her, almost a memory of a memory. What did it mean to be a woman without a face? Without being stared at, wanted, or loved? Clearly that was a narrow definition, but what else she did she have? When even Turold avoided her eyes unless they were hidden behind a mask, she knew what the world denied her. What woman didn’t want to be admired, or called beautiful by the man she loved?
Not that she loved Turold…after all, they barely even knew each other; and yet, she needed to know what he felt almost as much as the secrets of the Codex. It was a riddle that defied all her attempts at translation, though a deeper part of her felt the truth. But she almost couldn’t bear to think it.
“Turold…my face? Will it last forever? Or will it wear away?”
He looked up in surprise, obviously lost in his own thoughts and reflections.
“As far as I know, it’s yours. Forever,” he nodded, with an uncertain smile.
“Well, perhaps not forever,” she agreed, reading his expression. “I never thought to ask Sir Otrygg how long I would last.”
“As long as the rest of us, maybe longer. You’re still quite young.”
“It didn’t bother me before. In fact, I might have hoped for a short life,” she said, pensively. “But now…I have something of value. Not just my face, I’m not that conceited. But something else…”
“Hope?”
“Yes, hope, but also fear. I’m scared of giving things up.”
“Of course, your life has meaning for you now,” he said, fetching a cup. “You have a name, a face, an identity. Well, you always did, but now you can see it.”
She turned away, feeling she had said too much before she understood it herself.
“It’s foolish to think about the future. I don’t even know who I was.”
“That just means you’re not burdened by your memories. You’re free to be whoever, whatever you want.”
“That’s easy for you to say: you’re someone. I’ve never been anyone at all. Even now, I can’t be sure.”
They fell silent. As the samovar began to hiss, Turold poured her tea, only to notice his hands were shaking. After a few pours, she only had a partially filled cup. He offered to try again but she laughed and waved him off; it was fine. He passed it into her hands, and her fingers closed over it, touched his own. He looked up at her, felt her eyes take him in, whispering the secrets she couldn’t give voice.
“Turold…what if I’m a mistake? Something that shouldn’t be. Like the Codex. Something that needs to be closed and forgotten.”
“It’s a little late for that,” he said, with a dry laugh. “How do you expect me to forget you?”
“With a little time, that’s all. It might be for the best.”
“If I did things for the best I wouldn’t have become a sorcerer. I wouldn’t be here,” he said, shaking his head. “I would have remained a thief in the city and been inevitably knifed in the back. Or hung, or transported. So you see the advantages of making mistakes.”
She laughed, her eyes twinkling.
“I’m starting to. So what’s the biggest mistake we could make right now?”
“Not getting any sleep, for one,” he said, with a grin. “We have a big day tomorrow. The cellars. The answer to everything in the riddle.”
“Yes, that would require a lot of sleep,” she responded, pulling the cup away, setting it on the table beside them. “And what else?”
“Not drinking your tea. It’ll get cold.”
“You can make another. Anything else?”
“Well…probably this,” he said, as she drew close.
“I don’t know what ‘this’means. You’ll have to be more specific. This is my first day as one of you, after all. I’m just feeling my way.”
“Giacinta, I don’t think you should…”
“You don’t want to?”
“I do, yes, but wanting is one thing—”
“What if I die tomorrow? What if we both do? Would you be glad you avoided another mistake?”
They both smiled, as she answered for him, “but I agree, it must be a terrible mistake. Because it’s the only thing I can think of. Like I’m being led over the edge of a cliff…like I can’t wait to fall.”
She knelt down and kissed him, quickly learning what it meant, how it felt. Then all fears of making mistakes were forgotten; they sprawled over each other, removing clothes, kissing necks, stroking flesh…
“Great gods, enough! There’s another person present!” a voice shouted.
