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Then she holds up the strip of black silk once more. I feel my jaw lock. I want to protest. Perhaps Ishouldprotest. But what are the chances of me getting my way?
“All right,” I sigh. “Put it on.”
She does, and I try not to think of a lamb being led to the slaughter.
*
When Aletheia leads me through the doorway, I don’t need to see the table to know a feast lies there. The smells are mouthwatering, to the point that I have to keep swallowing thesaliva that pools under my tongue. Grilled meats—something rich, like venison, and the briny smell of roasted fish; there’s the earthy tang of rosemary, oregano and thyme…stewed berries and jellies, I can smell them all.
Is it the blindfold, enhancing the senses that must substitute for sight? Or is it possible that my senses really are getting sharper in this place? Everything seems so…heightened.
I swallow, feeling the desperate growling in my stomach the nearer we get to the food. Aletheia stops, and I stop abruptly with her. She lets go of my arm and I hear the squeal of a chair being dragged out. She nudges me toward it; I feel for it, then sit.
There’s the sound of another chair sliding out.
“Well, good evening, wife.”
The voice sounds almost amused again, delivering the wordwifelike it’s a joke. Itisa joke, I suppose—just not an amusing one.
“Your hair looks very well.”
“Aletheia did it. I had no say in the matter.”
“Hm,” he says. There is the sound of wine being poured, and the heady smell of it wafts toward me. My stomach rumbles again. How long since I last ate?
“Here,” he says, and I feel a glass next to my hand. I shake my head.
“No wine? You are sure?”
“I am sure,” I say, because although every fiber of my being wants to reach out and grab at whatever heaven-scented food and drink lies before me, I don’t trust myself to let any of it pass my lips. It might undo me completely; unravel me, like the peach did before. I don’t know what enchantments, what spells of seduction, exist in this place. There is no telling what they might do to me.
“I am not hungry, either.”
There’s a pause.
“Not hungry?” I hear him sip the wine. I swallow; my throat longs for a taste.
“You think my food is drugged,” he says. “I suppose to a mortal it may seem so. Things are different here. You will notice your senses become more heightened, pleasure and pain are amplified.” He pauses. “After dinner I will show you the gardens. You will see where some of our food comes from. You will see there is nothing sinister in it.”
Gardens?I had thought to find only walls and doors in this place.
“Nevertheless,” I lie through my teeth, “I am not hungry.”
“Very well.” His voice is unconcerned. “Suit yourself.”
He thinks I am being pettish, perhaps; that I am sulking for attention. Well, let him think it.
He carves something on his plate. I hear the sound of his lips parting, the sound of chewing, swallowing. I can almost feel the pleasure he takes in it.
“So,” he says after a while. “You explored my palace while I was gone. What do you think of it?”
I keep my hands folded in front of me. My belly growls, tormenting me. There is no need for me to answer his question. He knows well enough how astounding a place like this must be to my eyes. It would be extraordinary even to a king.
“You are blindfolded, not gagged,” he comments after a while. “I believe you still have the use of your tongue.”
“Where are we?” I say finally. “Where is this place?”
There is the sound of him chewing quietly. He does not hurry to swallow.
