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She sobs with relief and reaches out for him. Leander is an ivory statue, curled up like a babe in the womb. His clothing is gilded, and his expression perfectly mimics the passive contentment of his mother on her pedestal. He looks so much younger, so much sweeter, that Claire feels as if she hardly recognises him.

She places a hand on one ivory knee. She wonders if she is too late. When she looks up at the sun, it is so large and bright that she can no longer tell whether it is touching the horizon.

Perhaps this is not truly him. Perhaps it is. In a way, it does not matter; Claire does not have the time to find him elsewhere. This must be him, the sun must not be risen, or else all is lost.

‘I have found him,’ she says to the air. ‘Our bargain is fulfilled.’

In response, there is only silence. The silence is somehow furious. The wind picks up speed, rattling the hedges in warning.

‘Our bargain fulfilled,’ Claire repeats, more loudly. ‘You made me a promise. If you are honest, you will bring him back to me. And I know that you are honest, my lady. I know that you value honesty above all else.’

Nothing happens; the wind howls again. Claire does not move.

There is a bright chime from a distant bell.

The ivory falls away from the statue in flakes, like old paint. At first slowly, at his scalp, and then in a great flurry, white peeling away to reveal pale skin, silver hair, dark wool. Claire remains kneeling, overcome, as she watches Leander’s face slowly return to his customary frown, his pupils narrowing in the bright light of the dawn. He breathes, and the breath causes another flurry of ivory pieces to fall from his chest and shoulders. The wind takes hold of them and carries them away, glistening in the air like butterfly wings.

He sits up. Stares at her.

‘Claire,’ Leander says, his voice hoarse.

‘Leander,’ she replies. ‘I found you.’

She lurches into him; they embrace awkwardly, her still standing, him sitting in the hollow of the heart. She gasps softly as he says ‘Claire’ over and over. And they are too stunned to kiss, or even to weep. They simply hold each other, shaking, as the wind finally stills.

Twenty-Eight

‘I am furious with you,’ Leander says.

He is dabbing at her cuts ineffectively with his kerchief, more spreading the blood about than cleaning it away. Claire watches him, smiling giddily, offering no help at all. She must be in terrible pain, but he has never seen her so happy.

‘You should ask me why I am furious with you,’ he prompts, when she doesn’t reply.

‘I do not care,’ Claire says. ‘I love you.’

Leander feels as if he has been cut apart and stitched back together. He is so relieved, so astonished, that his happiness is a sort of pain. He is afraid he is dreaming. He is afraid he isn’t. ‘You won’t once we leave,’ he says. ‘Once this madness is over.’

‘I know my own mind, Leander,’ she returns, ‘and you insult me to imply otherwise. Do you love me?’

‘I. . .’

‘Look at me,’ she says, and she takes his head between her hands and turns his face to hers. ‘You said that you did, before.’

‘We have known each other three days.’

‘That is not an answer. Do you love me? Speak the truth, or I will never forgive you for it.’

Claire is so lovely in her frustration. Her face is bloody, and her eyes are bright. Leander is helpless; he fears he always will be. She has carved out a piece of him that he will never see returned.

‘I do,’ he says, and she smiles.

He helps Claire to stand. Her legs are trembling. She is clearly exhausted, but she is looking around herself like a deer preparing to bolt—uncomprehending that the danger has passed. Before them, the Château has opened up a path through the maze: a series of honeysuckle arches that lead directly to the lion fountain outside. They were so close to it all along. So close to freedom, and yet so distant.

Leander offers her his hand. She takes it. He glances around the hedges; they are strange, half present. The Château feels off-kilter, like a painting hung crooked on a wall. ‘This place is all tangled up. My mother put in some effort to stop you.’

‘I would have failed if it weren’t for Orestes. He gave me the watch, the fan. He told me where to search for you.’

Leander bows his head.