House of Sand and Secrets (Books of Oreyn #2)(63)

“A review?” Jannik laughs, and reaches out to touch my cheek and turn my face to his. His mouth is warm, brushing kisses along my brow and cheek. He touches my mouth and I feel a jolt of darkness inside me, a hunger. This time he tastes of tooth powder and smells of leather and cut grass. There is no blood.

We spend our night awake, talking in whispers and sighs. We should sleep but neither of us wants to fall to dreams and darkness when we do not know what the morning will bring.





PIECES IN PLAY


Our coach rattles down the wide avenue that leads to House Eline’s manor. “I hate this.” Jannik is fiddling with his neck tie, re-knotting it over and over, though each time I can see no difference. There is a fine sheen of sweat at his temples.

My head hurts, panic that isn’t mine skitters under my skin. “Leave it,” I tell him. “You look fine.”

He lowers his eyelids and stares at me from under long dark eyelashes, his silence saying all the things he needs to. “I’m not particularly concerned about my appearance,” he says, finally.

“Then leave the Gris-damned neck-tie alone.”

The streets are empty. It is late morning, and all the early deliveries to the houses are done, the entire area has an air of solid stillness, like a fine old painting. The windows of the coach turn the outdoors hazy and unreal. The streets and buildings look like a rained-on ink drawing, features smudged, smears of people. It is already sweltering, and not yet midday.

The unis trot along, their eagerness to take us to our destination untouched by our trepidation. We come to the gravel pathway leading up to the monstrous glass-and-stone building with its turrets and spindle bridges and balconies. The glass flashes like pale green fire. A small coach is already standing there, but it bears no House insignia. A hired cab, then.

Master Sallow opens the coach door for us, but neither Jannik nor I move.

“You can’t smell the fires from here,” I say.

“The plague is done,” Master Sallow tells me. “The bodies are all burned and buried.”

The black lung has passed over MallenIve and left Riona’s brother alive, while she, once healthy and hale, is nothing more than ash. I bite at the soft inside of my lower lip, and make a sound that anyone else would mistake for an amused snort. It’s better than sitting here and crying.

“Come,” Jannik steps out from the carriage and holds his hand for me. “We shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

Of course. Carien has her paints and her canvas ready; she thinks we’re coming for Jannik to spend a few days sitting for her.

How simple it would be, how much happier, if that were all we planned.



*



Carien is not alone in the house. She gestures to a wiry young man with an easy smile and a mildly curious expression, sitting on one of the leather couches. He has the air of a patron looking at some bizarre new species of creature in the Animal Gardens.

“Have you met Yew?” she says. The mystery of the other coach is solved.

Yew half-stands as we assemble in the small parlour off from the main entrance hall, the one filled with priceless glass sculptures.

“Yew Avin, Pelim Felicita,” Carien says.

This then is the face to the name. Yew has the same dangerous air to him as one of the glass-spiked Narlets that decorate the room. But while their menace is obvious, he hides his thorns under his eager expression. He reminds me of some of the Pelimburg crakes – the poet-caste who affect the vices of lords and princes on their beggars’ budgets. There is even something of their style to him, all dark tones, silks and leathers.

“Ah, the elusive Felicita,” Avin says, holding his hand out for me, like he would were I an actual House Lord.

I take it cautiously, uncertain.

He’s not looking at me. Not really. His eyes keep flicking to the shadow behind my shoulder. “Forgive me. I’ve heard such fascinating things about you from Carien here.” He is far too casual, bandying our first names about as though we have known each other for years.

“Avin is a new breed of gentleman,” Carien says, amused and mocking. “At least, he likes to tell us that.”

“The world is changing, Carien, soon all your hopeless, stiff little formalities will be forgotten.”

“But not yet, I think,” I murmur, as I free myself from his grip. “I did not expect that you would have guests,” I say pointedly to Carien.

“I’m no guest.” Yew says. “I merely dropped by to leave some paperwork for Garret. Seems this proposal of his will be in Court soon.”

I keep myself from grimacing. “Ah, and I can assume you are one of his supporters?”

“Perhaps.” Yew unleashes his charm, his eyes soft, and his smile softer. It gives the lie to his hollow-cheeked predatory look. “Or perhaps not. Perhaps I would rather see the vampires on equal terms with the Lammers, like they are in Pelimburg.”

“I take it you have never been to Pelimburg then,” I dismiss his ignorance and hear Jannik half-snort in laughter behind me. “If you believe that.”

“So, tell me the reality then. Are all the things I have heard about free vampire Houses merely little sea-born lies? Sailors’ tales?” He waves a hand at Jannik. “You married. I do not think you could have done that here. House Mata barely tolerates Guyin keeping his little pet uncaged.”