House of Sand and Secrets (Books of Oreyn #2)(49)

I help Harun up the stairs and set him in his bed, then come rushing down, half expecting Jannik to be long gone.

He’s not. “And?” Jannik is leaning against the wall, looking more like a blackguard than the head of a House. He’s till in his smoke-ruined clothes, as am I.

“We can’t go out looking like this,” I tell him.

“Now is hardly the time to start worrying about fashion,” he says. “My – friend-”

I stop him, holding up one hand. “Clothes. Harun will be bound to have something for us.”

“We?” Jannik manages a tired sneer.

I take his arm. “I didn’t want you to go alone.” As long as I can see him, I know he’s alive.



*



We’re dressed in clean, if somewhat dated, clothes, in the coach and on our way to the Splinterfist rookeries when I realize I never told Harun about the Pelim apartments. “The fire,” I say. “We need to warn Harun.”

Jannik shakes his head. He’s peering out the glass, watching the streets. “The thing they want from House Guyin is out wandering the streets. I don’t think we need to worry about anyone burning his home down now.” He glances at me. “But you know your friends better than I do.”

“We don’t know Eline did this,” I say.

“We don’t know they didn’t. And if it’s Isidro they want … .” Jannik still refuses to look at me.



“Why him?” I say, even though the answer is obvious. House Eline likes pretty things to call their own. Things no one else can afford. Priceless glass atrocities by Narlet, rare meats and wines from the eastern cities, a beautiful whore owned by a Great House.

Jannik’s mouth twists, but he does not answer.





#


The Splinterfist rookery is on the Ives’ side of the river, and it takes us more time to reach it than I would have liked. The streets are too crowded, and word of my destroyed home has spread. The Courant Hoblings are standing on the street corners selling evening papers that have flashes of my ruined house on the front page. There is a certain vicious joy to the news. They like it when we fall.

“We’ll need to invest in new property,” I say, as if this was any other day and I had not lost my home, and Harun his heart.

Jannik merely nods. “Or we could go back.”

Back. Back to Pelimburg and the sea and a world I understand at least a little. It’s tempting. I am tired of this vast city driven by factories and silk and fashion. This stupid cruel city with her shining bright teeth. Mother has taken Lenora and her daughter Allegria to her bosom in the manor; perhaps Jannik and I could re-occupy my brother’s old apartments. And every day could be a reminder of how I failed my family and brought shame to the Pelim name. Every new building rising from the rubble of the old would serve as an accusation of everything I destroyed because of Dash.

How could I go home and look out on Lambs’ Island and not think of boggerts and sea-witches and nightmares. “No,” I say. “We can’t.”

“Never?”

“Not -not yet.” I am not ready to face my ghosts. Gris knows if I ever will be.

Jannik sighs and shifts on his seat. “A new house then,” he says, and we focus on inane practicalities rather than think about where Isidro has gone and why. Even so, we both keep looking out the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of that impossibly beautiful vampire.

“The servants will need to be compensated for any losses.”

Jannik nods in agreement. “I’ll have Master Twissel draw together a list.” With our head house servant in charge, rebuilding our life in new premises will not be a vast hardship. Until we are burned out of our nest again. Until others die for us.

“We’re here,” I say as we turn down Whitur Street. “Have you – have you been here before?”

“No,” he says, and snorts. “Why would I want to do that? Would you go to the animal gardens if they kept Lammers in cages?”

I clench my hands on my lap. “Would you rather wait in the carriage?”

“Yes,” he says, and stands to get out.



*



We are led upstairs to the eight-sided turret room belonging to the Splinterfist head. The room feels smaller this time, and that coolness is gone from her face. When first we met, I came here alone, looking for names. She gave them to me but they have brought nothing good.

Rutherook, Yew, Karin. Eline.

I think she never expected me to return, and certainly not with my husband. The look she gives Jannik is undisguised loathing. “And to what do I owe the honour this time, Pelim?” She spits the name at my feet.

“We’ve come looking for Isidro,” I say to her. “There’s been a misunderstanding and we’re led to believe that he–”

“Isidro?” She narrows her eyes thoughtfully. “He’s not here.” The Splinterfist head closes a vast ledger on the desk closed, and the whump of the pages makes dust sprinkle from the ceiling. “I’ve not spoken to him for years. You’ve come sniffing around the wrong sewer.” The gold vines on the wall paper glow around her, outlining her like one of the stylized paintings of the old Saints – Tille or Amata, not blonde Oreyn or fiery Helena.