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“Will you walk me out?” I ask.

He shakes his head. I wait for him to give me a reason. Instead, he lifts his hands and signs slowly, the way I taught him, one word after another.

“I’m sorry I kept you down here. I’m sorry I lied to you.” He stops for a moment, then goes on. “Thank you. For everything. You brought a spark into my lonely life. I’ll never forget you. I know you’ll have a wonderful life out there.”

He’s saying goodbye. My chest aches.

“What about you?” I ask.

He looks away from me.

“I’ll be all right. Don’t worry about me.”

It isn’t fair. That’s my first thought, plain and childish. He shouldn’t be down here, alone with two chairs, one always empty, a table set for two, and a room full of dresses for a woman he made up so he’d have someone to talk to.

He isn’t a monster. I’ve called him that in my head a few times, but now I know it’s not true. He opened the cage I was trapped in, knelt in the dark, and let me come out on my own. He gave me back my unblemished face. He can heal a whole city with his voice, and he can refuse to sing for six months while the city begs him, because he knows what it does to them. He’s the most extraordinary creature I’ll ever meet, and he deserves so much more than this. He deserves someone who stays.

And here I am, dressed for the road, with a torch in my hand. I’m the one who’s hurting him. He gave me everything he had, and I’m going to leave him down here. Alone. I’m awful. My hands start shaking.

But I can’t stay. If I stay now, I’ll never know if I stayed because I wanted to or because I couldn’t bear to hurt him. He’ll never know either. And this place is not for me. I can’t live here, underground, without feeling the sun on my face, without walking out into fresh air and bright colors. This isn’t the life I want. I can’t be isolated like he is. I’d endure it for a while, then I’d resent him for it, and then what? Then I’d leave anyway. Except it would be harder and even more painful.

I can give him one more thing before I go.

I step close and hold the torch away from us. I place my free hand on his cheek. The porcelain is cool under my fingers. I kiss the grille that covers his mouth.

“I wish you’d show me your face,” I say against it. “Just this once.”

He doesn’t move, and I think he won’t do it. But then he lifts his hands, and I see him hesitate with his fingers at the back of his head. I feel the slight pull of the clasps coming undone as I hold his mask for him. I know when it’s free of its bindings and only my hand holds it against his face.

I lower it.

His hair falls black around a face that’s too even. His cheekbones are high, his nose long and straight. His lips are dark, and along his jaw, on both sides, run fine lines like seams. He once told me that his mouth can open wider than is natural.

I’m not afraid of him. I thought I might be, but I’m not. He belongs in the dark. He’s the thing the people above kneel to. He looks ancient, and he looks like a man. His features are noble even with the seams. Maybe his face would frighten others, but not me. Because I know him.

Now I know all of him.

His lips part. He keeps his jaw narrow, but I see a row of teeth, small and close together, and behind it, another row. There might be more, but he doesn’t open his mouth wide enough for me to know for sure. He whispers something. I can’t hear it, and I don’t need to. For the first time, I can read his lips.

“I love you, Aveline.”

That breaks me. Tears roll down my cheeks, and I can’t stop them. I don’t try. I press my mouth to his.

He’s warm. I close my eyes, open my mouth against his, and push my tongue inside. He grips my waist and holds on. I run my tongue along the inside of his lower lip and find the seam on that side, a fine ridge that I follow as far as I can reach. I go deeper and find his teeth. The first row feels almost human, the second one feels strange, and behind it, there’s another still, smaller, set back in the dark of his mouth. I trace every one of them with the tip of my tongue on purpose, slowly, so I’ll remember. He lets me. His tongue meets mine, and it’s long, longer than a human man’s. It easily curls around mine. I kiss him the way I’d kiss him if I were staying. I know I’m not, so I kiss him harder for it.

When I pull back, I’m crying so hard I can barely see him. I keep my hand on his face for another moment, then let go.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

I step back. He holds on before he lets me. His claws catch in the wool of my cloak and drag at it before they come free. His arms drop to his sides. He stands there with the mask hanging from his hand.

I turn and walk into the tunnel. In the torchlight, I see rough walls and a floor that slopes up. I pick up the pace with my free hand bracing on the stone. Ten steps in, I look back. I don’t mean to. He’s standing on the gravel where I left him, in the light from the boat lamp, his black hair framing his bare face. He’s watching me go.

I break into a run and I don’t turn again.

Chapter Eighteen

Mordred