House of Sand and Secrets (Books of Oreyn #2)(41)

I press my knuckles against my teeth, tasting ash and salt, willing the pain to bring me some kind of forgiveness. I hope that she was out for the night, that somehow she has survived.

Jannik collapses next to me and says nothing. He smells of spicy sweat and that same repugnant greasy smoke that has enveloped the entire street. He smells like plague fires. Jannik is not the kind of person used to giving comfort, and I am not the kind of person used to taking it; after a moment he leaves again, and I hear him giving commands. Then he is back with me.

The carriage is pulling away from the ruin of our house, as if it were all some inconvenience we can simply leave behind. And we can, I suppose. That’s the freedom we have.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “They’ve found her body.”

And so it happens that another person has died because of my family. I choke. She will never again leave me sprigs of dogleaf, or make her pointed observations, or talk in her low, shy voice. “Where are we going?” Panic is rising in my voice. Is Jannik taking us to the docks, so we can board a wherry for Pelimburg and skulk back to beg our families for scraps of forgiveness?

“I told the driver to take us to the offices.”

Blankness fills my head. Offices?

Fingers touch my neck. No, not my neck. My necklace. Jannik brushes the locket straight then curls an arm over my shoulder, pulling me close to him.

The strange rigidity leaves me, and I am spineless and weak as a box jelly. I let him hold me. He rocks me, or maybe the carriage does. My eyes are dry and itchy but I don’t want to close them, scared it will hurt. Eventually my eyes start to water, the moisture streaming down my face. I’m not crying, I’m not.

Riona is a blackened skeleton. We will compensate her family, just like my brother did for the families of those that drowned in Pelim’s services. This is what we do.



*



“Why is there a bed in the office?” I ask Jannik. We’re in the heart of the central district of MallenIve, on a main thoroughfare that leads to the wherry docks. The offices are a narrow four-story building, although most of the space serves as spill-over for the warehouses. Not fish, thankfully. Jannik is diversifying Pelim’s interests.

Silk. Bales and bales of finest MallenIve silk in incandescent colours, heavy brocades thick with designs, hand-woven carpets that will trade in Pelimburg for minor House fortunes.

I reach out as if to touch a long roll that leans drunkenly against one corner. The rich golden silk reflects shadows and light, almost illuminating the dull corner it shares with other, lesser colours. “I didn’t know we traded in Mata gold.” Only the Mata currently hold the rights to sell silk dyed in goatweed.

“We don’t. Not officially.” Jannik shrugs, and heaves another roll of deepest emerald silk off the long couch. “And, this isn’t exactly the office, it’s a spare storeroom.”

“Why is there a bed in the storeroom?”

“I sleep here.”

I stare.

“Sometimes,” he adds. “Not all the time. Just when, I don’t know. When I have lots of paperwork.”

My hand leaves the golden silk, finds its way back to clutching my skirt. I’ve stripped off my ruined gloves, but my hands still hurt. “Did you bring him here?”

He says nothing as he rummages in a small locker for a plain sheet and a woollen blanket. “No. There are plenty of empty rooms at the Guyin house.” He pauses, then without looking at me, says, “I’m afraid I don’t exactly have a gown to offer you.”

I want to tell him I’m sorry I asked, but I don’t. He flicks the woven material out, and the blanket settles airily over the wide couch. The blanket is goat wool, dyed a brownish red. Before I even touch it, I know it will feel softer than baby’s hair, baby’s breath. “I don’t want to sleep.”

“No?” Jannik’s finished making up the bed. “I think it’s a little late for anything else.”

“I want to talk.”

“What you want, and what I want, are very different things right now. Talk to the silks, I’m going to sleep.”

“How – how can you sleep now?” I cannot shake Riona’s face from my memory. If I lie down, it will engulf me. I am exhausted, every bone filled with molten iron, but I am scared of the things I will dream.

Jannik turns. His face is drawn and sallow in the weak light spilling from the single fatcandle His eyes are hollowed, the sockets bruised and dark. “Because it’s better than the alternative – sitting up and wondering what will happen next because of me.”

“You?”

“What do you think this is about, Felicita? Do you think someone burned our apartments to the ground because you wore the wrong dress to the wrong party?” He’s hoarse and shaking with barely controlled anger.

“I – no.” Of course this is about him. Or perhaps this is the dark future Guyin dreamed was coming. “How do you know whoever did the house won’t just burn the offices tonight too?” I ask bitterly.

“Are you going to sleep in that?” Jannik gestures at my dress. “Because the bed is going to be uncomfortable enough, and I speak from experience.” He loosens his filthy neck tie, unbuttons the collar.

“I’ll keep watch,” I say.

Jannik pauses with his hands on his shirt buttons. “From the cellar?” He stops, sighs, and rubs his hands through his hair, leaving it mussed. “Sit down,” he says. “I’ll make tea.”