Page 26 of As Many Souls as Stars
‘What?’
‘Let us see together,’ she said, ‘whetheryoucan save yourself.’
Richter took a step forward, and suddenly she was standing behind her. Then she shoved Cybil, so that she stumbled forwards, over the balustrade and the edge of the roof.
Cybil fell.
The fall itself must have lasted only a moment, but it felt like eons. Wind sharpened with frost battered her as she tumbled; above her, the light of the stars streaked and bloomed as her vision was warped by her speed. The moon melted into a haze of indistinct silver, like the liquid mercury her father had once used at his ritual table. Possessed by some futile instinct, Cybil raised her arms above her head, feeling her sleeves fluttering, imagining she would take flight. But she did not. She kept falling, and the cold grew colder, and she thought,I am going to die.
Arms caught her in a bridal carry.
‘There,’ Richter said, tone satisfied.
The impact had dragged all the air out of Cybil’s lungs. She slumped, limp, her back arched over Richter’s forearms, hair falling in a red curtain towards the ground. She was too stunned to speak or struggle. Richter’s fingers pressed into her waist, and for a moment both of them were silent.
‘Put me down,’ Cybil said.
With uncharacteristic gentleness, Richter lowered her to the ground. Cybil stood on shaking legs, ears still ringing.
Richter said her name, and Cybil turned to look at her. She did not look ashamed, or regretful; but there was concern, perchance, in the way she sighed, reached out a hand, then allowed it to drop to her side.
Cybil wished to scream; she wished to cry. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘To show you.’
‘Show me what?’
‘Your weakness,’ she said. ‘Your magic is not advanced enough to save you, from yourself or from others. Without my help, you will die just as all the others have done. For now, you remain a woman, and a woman merely.’
‘Of course I am a woman. What else could I possibly be?’
‘Much more than that, my dear, if you allowed me to show you.’
‘You—you are confounding, and absurd, and— Youthrewme from the roof. Would my soul still be yours to take, I wonder, were I flattened into an oatcake beforehand?’ Richter’s lips twitched, and Cybil gave a cry of fury. ‘You—are youlaughingat me?’
‘I cannot help it.’
‘You find joy in your cruelty.’
‘I find joy in your reaction to it,’ Richter corrected. ‘It is quite marvellous—the more distressed you are, the more amusing I find it.’
Cybil turned away from her.
‘Are you angry at me?’ Richter said, sounding pleased.
‘Of course.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Your fear is beautiful, but your anger is even more so.’
Cybil closed her eyes. She was so exhausted that it hurt to do so, lids prickling, tears welling; opening them again felt like ripping open a wound.
‘This is not a stage play, Mistress Richter,’ she said, quietly. ‘This is my only life, my only home, and I must live in it, tragedy or no.’
‘What home?Thisplace?’ Richter gestured to Harding Hall. ‘This empty palace you wander alone, without hope, waiting to die?’
‘I loved this Hall once, you know,’ Cybil said. ‘Years ago, when I was young. When still I had my mother and I was not so alone. There was beauty in it; the flowers bloomed every spring and the forest grew green. They still do so, but at some point, it all became ugly to me. The seasons turned and all I felt was fear for the coming of winter. And now winter has come—youhave come, Miriam Richter—and I think I have lost all hope of loving it again.’
Richter shook her head, dark hair swimming about her as if she were underwater; it looked to Cybil as if she almost had no weight at all, as if she would float up into the sky. ‘I mean not totakeyour hope, Cybil. I mean to give it to you.’ Richter reached for her hand. Cybil shrank away.
