House of Sand and Secrets (Books of Oreyn #2)(50)

“I–” I glance at Jannik, who is staring coolly at the head, his eyes uncovered. “Are you quite certain?”

Harun seemed convinced he’d come running back here. Family, he said. And he knew. He knew, even if he didn’t want to know.

The woman places her hands on her ledger, leans forward across the desk and there is a sudden awkward skittering of power in the air; armies of ants march up my arms. “My son is not welcome here, and he knows it. If you want to find him, I suggest your time would be better served in the bedrooms of Great Houses.” She draws back. “He seems to like to pretend their power will rub off onto his skin.”

Her son. I can see it now, the artful sweep of the eyebrows, the aquiline features. In her, Isidro’s prettiness is tempered by her sex, and she is merely attractive. “I see,” I say and let out a small confused breath that could almost be a nervous laugh were it louder. “I am sorry to have wasted your time.” We leave as hurriedly as we can.

“Did you know?” I say when we are safely back in our carriage.

Jannik shakes his head. “About that – how could I have?”

“And Harun, he must.” Of course he does. It’s why he sent us here in the first place. Why he couldn’t go himself. Sometimes the secrets we know make action impossible. I take in a deep breath and try focus on the task at hand. “So where to now – do you think she meant what she said–”

I am interrupted by a shout outside. We have not yet left, our driver was still clambering into place, and now we have been prevented from moving. Someone is clinging to the side of our carriage.

“What now?” I look outside the window at a bone-white face. It’s a wray, hardly old enough to have reached his teens.

Jannik is the one who opens the door to him, for it seems I’m frozen. “What is it?” asks Jannik, as the boy slips inside, furtive and cat-like. He brings the dark in with him, moonlight on his heels.

“You’re looking for Isidro?” He speaks quickly, but his voice is clear, and there is nothing nervous about him.

Jannik and I glance at each other then back to the wray, and we both nod.

“So what story did she tell you, then?”

“That he’s not there.” Jannik leans back a little, and spreads his arms along the back of the seat. It is a falsely comfortable gesture; I can feel his magic sparking along my arms, setting the fine hairs tingling. I wonder what it would be like to just give in and touch him, to let his magic flow right into me like a drug.

I stiffen. He’s a person and I will not use him.

The wray sneers at our idiocy. “She’d never tell you nothing if it didn’t suit her. He’s not there now, obviously. Not anymore. But he was.”

“Was,” says Jannik flatly. He narrows his eyes, but I know he’s taking everything about this little wray in, from the neat creases in his trousers to the unusual grey of his eyes. “You’re very informative.”

The wray shrugs. “Could be more informative, if you like.”

“Ah,” says Jannik. He looks a mixture of amused and disgusted. “Name your price then, wray.”

“Jannik, really–” I say.

“Fifteen brass. And it’s Mal. My name, I mean.”

“Ten,” Jannik counters. “And no more than that.”

“Gris, is this really the time to be trying to haggle him down? Give him the damn money,” I yell.

Mal lifts an eyebrow. “Bossy lady you got there,” he says to Jannik, even as he’s taking the coins.

Jannik mutters something under his breath.

“Now.” I lean forward and catch Mal’s chin between my thumb and fingers and force him to look directly at me. “That’s three days’ wages where I come from–”

“Where you come from – you never worked a day in your life.”

“Are they always this bloody rude?” I look over the top of the wray’s head and to where Jannik is watching us like a spectator at a street-opera.

“How would I know? Probably not.”

Mal struggles out of my grip and slides over to the corner of the seat, rubbing at his chin. “What’s your problem? I was going to tell you.” He’s not the least bit cowed by us, or by his life. He has a cocksure arrogance to him that I take for a front. He’s little more than a child, and this is what happens to the wray here. They are bought and sold. They learn their own masks just like I learned mine.

You can’t save everyone. “All right.” I ease myself carefully closer to the door, blocking his way out. “Isidro was here, and now he isn’t. Where’s he gone to?”

Mal sniffs. “Why’d you want to know, anyway?”

“Sweet Gris.” I shake my head. “He is a – friend of ours, and we’re worried.”

“Is he happy?”

“What?” The question throws me. “How do you mean?”

The wray sighs and pulls his legs up tight to his chest. “He managed to snag himself a lord, and get himself bought out of this.” He waves one hand vaguely in the direction of the rookery outside. “But what’s the point? He’s still a slave.”

“He’s not–” Unable to lie, I look up to Jannik for support, who helps me not at all by looking away and out into the street instead. I curl my fingers into the folds of my skirts, and gather them forward, pushing the ridges of material together. “He was happy.” I don’t know if this is true, but I will suppose that they were happy enough before we came and upended their small world. “Life isn’t always a smooth glass sea,” I say finally. “And sometimes we’re not ready to face the storms. I think he saw something coming that he was scared of, and so he ran. Is that understandable?”