She laughed softly. "Hating me is like hating a
sharp sword that cuts you. It can't help the way it was formed."
"A sword can be refashioned, shaped anew."
"Only after it's broken down. Imagine how painful the forge fire and hammer blows would feel-as terrible as when it was first fashioned. Why repeat all that pain?"
"To get it right this time."
She let that drop. "Tonight, you called me tassia when I was in the midst of exquisitely fondling you. If it means wicked female, is there no male equivalent?"
"You don't know this? You can't speak Demonish?" he asked, incredulous.
"It's considered uncouth to learn that language, and it's forbidden to be spoken in the castle. I already know five other languages, anyway. Five is my limit; the slate is full."
"So you didn't understand me when I was cursing you?"
"Not at all. But you've called me evil and bitch enough times in English that I can glean-"
The castle bells tolled then, ringing out in the distance.
"They ring at midnight and three now?" His tone was laced with disgust. "Why three? Does that mean you have a malevolent god to go worship? One greedy for those blood sacrifices?"
"Should I worship reason? Like you do?"
"You could do worse."
"Do you want to know a secret, Rydstrom?" she said. "I worship Illusion."
"What does that mean?"
She reached for his forehead, stroking his hair to the side. "Illusion is Reality's coy lover who cheers him when he is grim. Illusion is cunning to his wisdom of ages, sweet oblivion to his knowledge. A bounty to his lack. That is what I hold sacred."
"You see yourself as Illusion?"
She gave him a slow grin. "Do you want to be my Reality?" When his piercing green eyes dipped to her lips, she said, "Are you musing about our kiss, demon? I hope so, since I keep thinking about it. I liked the way you kissed me."