House of Sand and Secrets (Books of Oreyn #2)(61)

As it turns out, I’m not wrong.

She’s at the small corner table, and now I see why she chose it last time. The angle of the door and the tables keeps the spot mostly hidden from the entrance. One has to know where to look.

I glide between the tables, and seat myself across from her.

She pulls her mouth in a sour moue of distaste.

“How fortuitous to meet you here,” I say. “I had rather hoped to catch you while you were still slumming.”

“Felicita,” she says. “What is it you want?”

Our earlier play of friendship is over, and I am surprised to find myself saddened. I wonder if she knows that my house was destroyed. She must. Does she know also whose hand struck the match?

“I seem to find myself somewhat inconvenienced in the realm of accommodation.”

“Oh.” She pales. “Your house. I had forgotten. I’m so sorry for your losses.” She even sounds genuine. Carien sighs. “I was shocked when I heard the news. I meant to write to you, but, I–” She looks around the room. “I had my own unexpected blows.”

I frown. The tea girl is hovering. “I’ll have redbush,” I say.

“‘Ink,” Carien mumbles.

“Should you be–”

“Do not presume to tell me how I should conduct my life,” Carien says. “Fine, I’ll have the same.”

When the girl is out of earshot I lean forward over the table. “Are you well?” Her fingers are shaking and there are deep pouches under her eyes.

“A little nauseous, but that’s to be expected.” Her face crinkles, as if she is about to cry.

“What happened?”

She looks this way and that. “I suspect, or rather, I – I do not know.” Loose strands of hair fall across her cheeks. Instead of her normal wild and earthy look, she now reminds me of a hunted animal.

I cover her hands with mine. “Hush,” I say softly. “Calm yourself. What is it you suspect?”

“It’s – that is.” She takes a rattling breath. “Garret has taken a new lover.”

That is an unexpected confession. And not one most wives would voice; it is merely something we pretend not to notice, unless the by-blows are thrust in our faces. Unless he has taken a mistress from another House. An unlikely and inelegant action.

“You know her?”

Carien scowls. “It is worse than that,” she hisses. “He has taken an animal for his pleasure. I find he has been spending his evenings at the–” She swallows, not bringing herself to say it.

But I already know. “The rookeries,” I say softly.

She goes paler still then nods almost imperceptibly. “I am revolted.”

I draw back a little, still keeping her hands in mine. “You once confessed to me that you found them fascinating, that they had magic that leaked from their skin.”

“So?” She pulls her hands free. “That doesn’t mean I would debase myself with one.”

Then what – would she have them killed instead and the bones ground into her meals? Eline has taken a rookery vampire, has he? It’s no longer guesswork. Harun said he’d been offered coin for Isidro before, the little vampire Mal confirmed it. Eline has Isidro, and it seems he doesn’t care who knows. He is growing arrogant, unconcerned. And that scares me. Do I still want Jannik in that house? Do I need him there?

“Did he buy it?” I ask, even though I know Carien will find the question insulting and presumptuous.

“No.” Carien’s white face twists. “Why would he do that? Why would he pay silver when he can hire the damn thing for brass?”

I shake my head, frowning. “I-I do not know.” It hardly seems like I should point out to her all the things he could do were he to own the vampire, instead of merely buying an hour in its company. Gris damn it all. I need to know where Isidro is. Surely Garret can’t be crass enough to keep him in their family home. Unless he truly doesn’t care if Carien knows what he does.

I still need to do this, whether I like it or not. And I really, really don’t like it. I lean back a little, and study her face, looking for some clue that she’s hiding something from me. For once, I wish I had the skill that Readers have to draw the truth out of people, to know exactly what they’re feeling. All I can see is anger, resentment, a bewildered misery. Now, Felicita. Ask now, before you weaken. “I suppose perhaps then that the proposal I wished to put before you should wait for a less uncomfortable time.”

“What proposal?”

“You wanted to do a painting.” It sounds so frivolous.

She sniffs. “And I still do. Art has no moral code. And if it does, it should be smashed.”

“So you would still like the bat to come sit for you?” There. It’s said. If she refuses, I’ll at least have tried, right? I’ll find some other way to winkle out Isidro’s position, find where Eline has hidden him.

Carien spreads her hands carefully on the table, examining her nails. “If you can spare the damn thing, this time.”

I do not allow my fear to rise. One sip of tea, to give me a moment to ready my voice. “I’ve had to downscale slightly in the last day. Were he to be set up in a room in your house, it would be something of a favour to me.”