Midnight Jewel (The Glittering Court #2)(41)

Desperate for distraction, I “processed” my grief by exploring the house. Wisteria Hollow had two main stories, with a cellar below and a small attic above. Although the house was set on vast acreage, the rugged land wasn’t manicured or designed for recreational strolling. Going outdoors was discouraged and only allowed upon the front porch, under the mercenaries’ watchful eyes.

Wisteria Hollow also didn’t have the excess of rooms that Blue Spring did. No ballroom, no conservatory, no drawing room. Nearly every space here served a utilitarian function, the exception being an ornate parlor. Even that, I was given to understand, would be busy once our suitors came calling. A railed landing looked down upon the parlor from the second floor and offered precious privacy. I settled in that nook once I’d explored everything else, curling up against the wall to make myself as small as I could.

Tamsin is dead.

I expected to burst into sobs or scream my outrage to the world. But the blaze of emotions in my chest had gone cold. I felt hollow now, with only the ache of loss to fill that space. Grant had said I carried ghosts, but he was wrong. I felt like one. Insubstantial. Lost.

The floor creaked, and someone sat beside me. Glad I hadn’t cried, I looked up to see which of my housemates had discovered this spot.

But it was no one from the Glittering Court. The woman beside me wore wide-legged trousers, and a loose, untucked blouse with deep blue embroidery at the collar and bell sleeves. A long necklace of pearls and intricately fashioned gold leaves hung around her neck. Her long black hair rested over her shoulder in a loose braid that made me envious of easier days. And her skin . . . was the same color as mine. For a heartbeat, I thought I’d found another Sirminican. But no.

“You’re Balanquan,” I exclaimed.

Amusement filled her beautiful features, which boasted lively dark eyes and high cheekbones that half the girls in the house would’ve killed for. “And you’re Mirabel.”

“I’m sorry.” I felt myself blushing. “That was rude of me to say.”

“Compared to some greetings I get? Hardly.”

The cadence of her voice captivated me. The accent was a heavier, purer version of what underscored Grant’s words. It was so different from anything Evarian, and I wished I could understand the language’s dynamics.

“You can call me Mira,” I told her. “And it’s very nice to meet you . . . ?”

“Aiana.” She extended her hand, and I shook it. Silver rings adorned almost every finger. “I know you’re mourning your friends. I won’t bother you for long.”

“Mostly just one friend.” I looked away, the novelty of meeting Aiana suddenly replaced by a stab to my heart. “And I don’t know how I’m going to get by without her.”

“Don’t your people believe the dead are guided to a paradise by angels? Floating off on a sea of light?”

“I don’t know what I believe.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose and tried to force my mind from Tamsin. “You’re Grant’s contact, aren’t you? The one who’ll take my messages to him. How are you going to do that?”

“I work here,” she said, smiling again. “For the Thorns. We aren’t supposed to have met yet, but I wanted you to know who I am.”

“What kind of work do you do for the Thorns?”

Aiana spread out her hands. “Everything. Sometimes I chaperone parties. Sometimes I work as a bodyguard. Between seasons, I check up on married girls to see if they’re happy and are being treated well by their husbands. I make sure everything is going well, really.”

“And what happens if everything isn’t going well?”

“Then I deal with it,” she said after several moments. “Usually through reasonable means. Some marriages have been dissolved, but that’s rare.”

“And if . . . if things can’t be resolved through reasonable means?”

“Then I deal with it,” she repeated.

She was half a foot taller than me, and even in the loose clothing, I could see a lean, muscled body. Something in her tone gave me a few ideas as to how exactly she might deal with such problems.

“Grant gave me the impression that most Balanquans stay away from us—people from Evaria and Osfrid.” It was another bold thing to say, but there was an easiness about her that made me feel comfortable about speaking bluntly. “That . . . they . . . you think we’re primitive.”

She laughed. “Not primitive. More like . . . uncouth. Most Balanquans think your people have little to offer and that your ambition is dangerous.”

“And you don’t?”

“I think you have something to offer.” She didn’t acknowledge the dangerous assertion. “There’s something fascinating about all of you. Uncouth, yes. But never boring. I didn’t plan on staying here—but then, I didn’t really have any plans at all when I arrived. Before I knew it, I’d connected with the Thorns and found I was content. And I get to keep an eye on Iyitsi.”

“Who’s I-yit-si?” I stumbled over the word.

“Who do you think?”

“Grant?”

“Yes.” Her earlier amusement faded. “I don’t like him using you, but he’s never listened to me before. Why should he start now?”