The Silent: Irin Chronicles Book Five(24)

“But it makes you less violent. Controls your instincts.”

“Exactly,” Sura said. “Which is good for our city, but also could make us a greater threat in their eyes.”

That hadn’t even occurred to Kyra. Would the Irin scribe houses actually sabotage free Grigori to keep them from harnessing their magic for good?

Kyra started walking again. “Sirius has complained that the Irin will not teach free Grigori their magic, but I cannot imagine they would keep the Grigori completely at the mercy of their basest instincts.”

“I’m sure the most honorable of them—like your Leo—would not.” Sura sidestepped a large family exiting a restaurant. It was nighttime again, and the lanterns strung across the street glowed with cheerful red light. “But not all Irin are honorable.”

“You’re talking about the ones who tried to take Prija?”

Sura had told Kyra about the attempted abduction that morning at breakfast. Prija often wandered, but she usually stayed in the forest. This particular time, she’d walked toward the human village and the small temple where the locals worshipped. No one was certain whether the Irin scribes had been looking for Grigori or if it was purely a coincidence, but two men with heavy tattoos on their arms had tried to grab Prija and take her toward a car. She had screamed, causing both the men to bleed from their ears and run back into the forest. It took four days to find her. Some of the humans in the village had told Niran about the episode when they heard a girl had gone missing.

Sura said, “There are good and bad people everywhere. The Irin have a culture that promotes honor. We can learn from that. But that doesn’t make them perfect, just as our birth doesn’t condemn us to being demons.”

Kyra saw the sign for the hotel. Having a list of questions helped Kyra conquer her nerves, but the butterflies in her stomach didn’t settle completely. “So we need to ask about why the Bangkok house is watching you.”

“And also find answers for Prija if possible.”

“That happened over a year ago,” Kyra said. “He might not know anything about it.”

“But whoever is with him would.”

“Leo said he was alone.”

“No.” Sura smiled a little. “Niran said he claimed to have no other scribes with him.”

“You mean…”

“The Bangkok house is well known for their female warriors,” Sura said. “I’m surprised it escaped Niran’s attention. There.” Sura pointed at a high, nondescript gate across the road. “This is where we must knock.”

“But the hotel sign is here.”

“That is only for show. This hotel is very discreet.” Sura knocked at the wooden gate. “This is where he will be staying.”

Within moments, the garden gate cracked open and a short woman with neat silver hair offered Sura a polite wai in greeting. They exchanged a few words of Thai, and the woman shook her head. Sura spoke again, this time in a longer string of words. He motioned to Kyra and said something else. Seeing Kyra turned the woman’s face from polite reluctance to cheerful welcome. She opened the gate and waved them inside, offering another wai before she escorted them across a small bridge and toward two low houses that sat on the other end of a garden.

More lanterns burned there, along with candles and the distinct tang of mosquito coils and lemongrass. Sura spoke to the hostess, who nodded and walked away, leaving them in the candlelit garden where a bubbling fountain was the only background music.

“She says our friends are the quiet sort, but they told her they might have visitors, though they only mentioned you.”

“I’m glad she didn’t kick you out.” Kyra rubbed her palms on the long flowing skirt she wore. She’d told herself not to take extra time with her appearance, then utterly failed and checked her reflection at least a dozen times.

She’d lost weight since she saw him in Rěkaves. The past year had been stressful, and she often forgot to eat. Her face was thin and tan, and her hair was bleached from the sun. She looked like one of the girls on the beaches of the Black Sea who came and stayed on the sand for too long, though her skin was still soft and didn’t resemble leather like theirs.

“You look lovely,” Sura said quietly.

“It’s not important.” Kyra shook her head. “It’s never been important.”

Sura looked at her.

“What?”

“It bothers you,” he said. “Being beautiful.”

Kyra had known from a young age that she was far more beautiful than most women. It was an accident of angelic blood, yet she was given respect and privileges for no other reason than her looks. After living with her own beauty for so long—being the object of lust for so many while constantly sensing their true thoughts—superficial beauty felt like a burden she would happily lay down given the chance.

“It’s nothing I’ve done,” she said. “I’m like a pretty, useless vase bought to decorate a shelf. An object.”

“I think you are unfair to both yourself and to the vase.”

She scoffed. “I’m being unfair to the vase?”

Sura looked up. “Look at these lanterns. These flowers. Creating more beauty in the world is never a bad thing if it is offered freely and accepted with grace. There is something beautiful about desiring to please another when it is not an obligation. It can be a gift we give those we love.”