House of Sand and Secrets (Books of Oreyn #2)(16)

Sometimes that face is Jannik’s.

“No. Felicita, they are my people. It has nothing to do with you.”

The words are unexpected. I swallow, half expecting to taste blood as if I have been slapped through the face. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Just the morning-sourness of waking from ill-dreams. “I see.” I fold the paper again, tuck it into my purse. “I will speak with Harun then, perhaps he and Isidro will be more reasonable.” We’ve had a few stilted evenings with them – not enough to call them friends, perhaps, but enough that the first thin bridges are being built. At the very least, Isidro and Jannik are spending more time together in something resembling civil conversation. Although Gris knows what it is they talk about, they speak so softly.

“Isidro is nothing close to reasonable,” Jannik says. Then he sighs. “Fine. Give me a moment to get my coat and I’ll come with you.”





PAPER MARRIAGES


“Does this mean anything to you?” I shove the paper into Harun’s face.

“Felicita,” Jannik murmurs, “do give us a chance to actually get in the house.”

He has a point. I draw my hand back and wait as Harun rather mockingly bows to welcome us into his ugly home. “You’re playing at servants, are you?” I ask him.

“No.” He shuts the door behind us, and the dreary red light of the sunset is replaced by choking gloom. “We’re having troubles again.”

“Troubles?”

“The servants tend to make a mass exodus every few months, and then we have to hire new ones. The latest little drama happened just hours ago.” He says each word very carefully, as if he is explaining philosophy to an ignorant child, or trying to hide a slur.

“What – why would they do that?” We follow Harun to the shabby lounge where he’s more recently taken to entertaining us.

“Because of me.” Isidro is sitting deep in a fat leather chair, scowling at the fireplace.

“Overwhelmed by your charm, I assume?” I say as I take my own seat on a beautiful small couch, its wooden legs carved like drake claws.

Jannik makes a coughing, choking sound, and sits next to me.

There is a dark patch on the carpet where another couch once stood. And on the wall, a series of squares where the wallpaper is unfaded. Harun must be selling off pieces of his remaining wealth. I heard a rumour that his father had finally cut him off completely unless he takes a wife, but here then is the proof. Perhaps poverty will force him back into eligible status. Gris knows how he’ll explain Isidro to any prospective father-in-law. Perhaps he means to hide the bauble in a basement, and hope everyone forgets he exists.

Since there are currently no servants left, Harun is pouring drinks, as casually and comfortably as if he were born to it. Since he was not, I assume that trouble with the servants is not exactly an uncommon thing in House Guyin. After we all have a glass of wine, Harun slumps back on one of the mismatched chairs, and doesn’t drink, though he hardly needs to. “What’s this piece of paper you were trying to force down my throat?”

“It’s about the vampire.” I set my glass down, and smooth open the crumpled list.

Harun glances at Isidro, who merely raises one shoulder in an indifferent shrug.

“The dead one,” I say.

“What of it?” Harun makes no attempt to even look at the names on the creased paper. My courage deflates. Perhaps after all, Jannik is right, and this has nothing to do with me, or even Harun. The vampires do not want me to be their saviour. If anything, they would resent me barging in with my Pelim name, my wealth and my distance, assuming I could change things.

“These are the names of Houses who may have recently bought vampires.” I swallow, and glance up to catch Harun frowning, his knuckles pressed against his chin. “It might be that they know something of this vampire – who he was. I think we should speak with them.”

“No.”

The answer is so abrupt I jerk back. With a snap of irritation at my own display of weakness, I stand and glower down at him. “Why not – you think because you’re here with Isidro that the fate of others doesn’t concern you? That you deserve safety and they don’t?”

“It’s not like that,” he says. “You know nothing. You come blowing up from Pelimburg, thinking you can change the whole world just because it suits you–”

“You know nothing about me.”

“Felicita,” Jannik reaches out a hand to calm me, and I shake him off. I am not some little girl to be mollified.

Isidro gets to his feet with a sweep of his immaculate coat. “If I could have a word?” he says mildly, his eyes focused on Jannik.

Confusion flits across Jannik’s face, and he drops his hand. He gives me a final glance, his third lids half-lowered in confusion. “Certainly.” House politeness apparently dictates our every move, no matter the circumstances. Perhaps Isidro has his own plans, ones with which he does not trust us Lammers.

The two vampires leave Harun and myself alone, and the room takes on a cloistered feel as the shadows leap higher, competing with the orange flames.

Harun goes over to a small drinks butler moulded completely of iridescent sapphire and malachite glass. Even the wheels and pins are glass. It is the work of a very fine master War-Singer and probably cost a fortune. I wonder how long it will be before it disappears to cover Harun’s debts.