House of Sand and Secrets (Books of Oreyn #2)(29)

“Neither,” I say, too quickly.

She doesn’t turn to look at me and the silence between us is torn at by the rising wind.

“For all you know now, Garret could be slitting his throat.” Her voice is thick with unhappy laughter. “Or perhaps he will try to seduce it.”

I swallow, waiting for her to face me. “Is he likely to do either of those to a guest?” I am trying desperately to keep my voice light, to treat her comments like a joke. “Parties here must be extremely interesting.”

Her one hand tightens on the smoky amber glass of the railing. “I need a smoke.” She releases the balcony rail and turns to me. In her other hand is a loosely-rolled ‘grit. Carien fumbles in a small beaded purse for matches and cups her hand carefully around her prize. The flame dances up, making her face glow. Then it’s snuffed.

She inhales. “Gris.” Her voice is thick.

The smell of poisonink, musty and so clearly remembered, drifts toward me. “You’re not well,” I say softly. It’s not a question. Her careful powder has been washed away by tears and her eyes are red-rimmed.

She laughs once, a quick bark of despair. “Something like that.” She takes a long drag of her ‘grit then lets the smoke curl around her face, hiding her. “I’ve had some rather bad news.”

I wait for her to talk. It’s a method that I learned from my brother; letting people fill the silences with their secrets.

“I’m pregnant,” she says, after the paper twist has burned down to her fingers and all that is left of her poisonink is ash blown on the wind.

What am I supposed to say to that? Why tell me, of all people, when she has her cabal of House friends to share this with? “Garret must be pleased.”

She sniffs. “I haven’t told him.” Carien turns to look at me, and there it is again, that blazing fierceness in her eyes, like the amber is lit by suns inside her mind. That intensity. That anger. “I don’t want it. I’m not like them.”

Like the House ladies who do their duty and breed more children to build their lines stronger. At the end, she has discovered the things that bind her to her companions are not the ties she wants. I suppose she thinks we have more in common, because I did not do what was expected of me. But I am not her and the roads we walk are too different.

What can I say to her that others will not? The Hobs have herbs they take, but they are dangerous. Sometimes they kill the baby, to be sure. Other times the dam. And then there are those unlucky women who take them and carry a monster to term. Still, perhaps she will find the prospect of an open gate a comfort. I edge closer to her. “There are infusions.”

“Hah!” Her fingers clench closed and open again like the wings of butterflies. “Tried them. They only work sometimes.” She must have been desperate.

A sudden want shivers through me. Her belly is still flat; the little life inside it nothing more than the smallest scrap of flesh. It could die now, tomorrow. It is already unwanted. And I wish there were a way for me to magic it some place safer. I stare at the flat panels of my dress, at my own stomach.

Ridiculous.

“So what will you do now?” I ask her softly.

She looks down over the edge of the balcony, to the gravel drive and the herbal borders. “I don’t know.” Her voice is so small and lost. I want her to be fierce again.

“Come.” I touch her shoulder and coax her closer to me. Nothing I can say now will take this away from her, and it would be callous to lie to her about how wonderful her life will be, how much she will love her unwanted child. “Let me speak to Jannik about sitting for you. I’m certain they are done talking now.”

Carien nods, her face subdued. “What would you do, if it was you?”

“I–” Any answer I give her will hurt. “You know,” I say. “When last I didn’t want something I ran from it.” I do not smile. “In the end, I ran a small tight circle.” There, it is as much truth as I have ever given someone.

“Would you do it again?” She frowns at the little twist of paper between her fingers. The coal has burned out, dead.

I think of what would have happened if I’d stayed, if I’d done what I was told. My brother would be alive; I would be married into House Canroth and playing the dutiful wife. I would still live in my beautiful Pelimburg, by the endless sea. I would not have met Jannik, and tied myself to an empty marriage so I could save a little face. “Yes,” I say. “And again, and again.”

Saying it makes me realize how true it is. A guilty heat flares up in my chest. It makes me feel strangely angry. And relieved. At least I did the right thing, even if it seems horribly wrong. I did the right thing and I hurt so many people, but at least it was not for nothing. I might not be where I wanted to be, but at least I found a different future to the one I ran from. At least, at least, at least. These are the little things I will cling to.

I try picture myself in Pelimburg again, meek wife to Canroth Piers, doing my duty. No, thank you.

Carien stares at me, the cigarette dying in her fingers. “You should know,” she says in a dull, flat tone, “that Garret is taking a proposal before the Mata council this week.”

“A proposal?”

“To have the bats’ status revoked to that of lesser magical creatures.”