House of Sand and Secrets (Books of Oreyn #2)(26)

“What happened to all the furniture?” I ask.

He starts at my voice and turns in his chair. “Never thought you’d come here.” A faint frown touches his forehead, and the third eyelids are half-drawn across his eyes.

“The furniture. It’s heirloom.”

“And safely stored away,” he says. “It made me feel like I didn’t belong here.” He turns back to his book, and raises his cup to blow across the tea. “To what do I owe the honour?”

“They found another body.”

Jannik sniffs, as if the tea tastes bad and sets the cup down on an occasional table. “I know.” He snaps the book closed with one hand.

“Don’t you care?”

“Of course I do – but what do you want us to do about it? You have a list of names, names that prove nothing. Are we supposed to go to the sharif now and demand that they arrest four Houses on nothing more than a slip of paper that some whore gave you?” His anger is tamped down but I can hear it just under the surface of his voice. It ripples the magic in the room and I rub my thumb across my opposite wrist to try still the itch.

We watch each other.

“I saw your invitation. Are you going to go?” he says, after seconds that feel like hours.

“Go – oh, to House Eline.” I look down at the full skirt of my dress. “I suppose. He wants to meet me at their offices.”

“Hmm. And this is all just about House Pelim business?”

I swallow. “Of course it is. You told me the deaths were none of my concern.”

“Since when have you ever listened to me?” The words are harsh, but the tone is defeated. “Not really much that you can dig up in his offices. If House Eline are buying and murdering vampires then I doubt they’re going to be doing it in full view of the staff.”

“No.” This third death must have goaded him. He knows he can do nothing in this city. I’m his only tool. And Harun, perhaps, if he ever agrees. I look up to catch Jannik frowning, his gaze focused on nothing. “But perhaps he will let something slip.”

“Well then, off you trot,” he says, “If nothing else, maybe this will be your catapult back into society.”

My stomach aches, he may as well have kicked me. But I am well-trained, and I keep my face as implacable as ever. “Don’t be a bastard about this, Jannik. I care about what’s happening with these vampires–”

“Why?”

The question hangs between us. “Because I do,” I mumble lamely. “Someone should.”

“Charity and compassion for those less fortunate were always the hallmarks of good breeding. Congratulations, I think perhaps you’ve almost clawed your way back up to being a lady.”

I grit my teeth, and breathe deeply through my nose, but it seems that finally I can’t control the anger rising in me. “Fuck you.”

I storm out, but not before Jannik gets in his final dig.

“Or perhaps not,” he calls out after me, and my cheeks heat as I march away from his cold, clean, emotionless side of the house.





PROPOSALS


I’m meeting Eline Garret in a set of comfortable offices on a tree-lined avenue on the Mallen side of the river. Everything about the area is lushly understated. The grandeur of the buildings is subtle, even the tree branches that meet overhead seem to have been pruned just so, to give them a look of effortless elegance.

A secretary leads me to a small waiting room lined with bookshelves and leaves me there to wait. A time piece ticks out the minutes, and I am brought a pot of tea to show me my place. Of course Garret will make me sit as long as possible. It’s traditional. All part of the bloodless war between the Houses.

Finally, the secretary beckons for me to follow him, and I am led through the wide hall ways, to a room with an empty desk set before vast floor to ceiling windows, the curtains swept back. The sun pours through the glass, silhouetting Garret in the centre. He keeps himself still for a moment, giving me ample opportunity to be awed by his presence, I suppose.

The room is heavy with scriv and I wonder what futures he was trying to predict, what paths he hopes to manipulate from this meeting. Saints leave nothing to chance.

I have to stand in one corner to be able to see him clearly against the glare. He’s a blond and neat man, with the fine features of his house. On the Eline women it makes them look fragile and small, on him it just looks foppish. Appearances are never to be trusted though, especially in Eline, with their Saints and their calculated coldness.

“Pelim Felicita, I knew you’d come.” Eline Garret greets me with almost suffocating warmth as he walks around from behind his desk. I manage not to roll my eyes. Oh he knew, did he? The man is a Saint, telling the futures with scriv, and like all those blessed with Sainthood, he is never able to let people go unreminded.

Perhaps he expects that I am so humbled by being allowed near him I will forget he sent me an invitation

I take his outstretched hand. His grip is firm and hot, and he pumps my hand with a hearty viciousness before releasing me. He’s mocking my status as House head. Women don’t shake hands; women don’t attend business meetings with other House heads. My fingers feel like they’ve been crushed between two rocks but I pretend to feel nothing.

“Well met, Eline Garret,” I say, trying not to wince. “And thank you for the invitation.”