House of Sand and Secrets (Books of Oreyn #2)(72)

I reach out to touch his knee. “Do you want me to call for willow-bark and lady’s gown?”

He shakes his head then reconsiders. “Just willow, I think. I want to be able to wake with a clear head.”

“Lady’s gown will help you sleep.”

“Then order it, Felicita. Do whatever you want.” He is angry, not with me, but with himself, for reasons I cannot fathom.

The scriv has cleared from my body, leaving not even the faintest twinge of magic. My head aches and, deeper than that, is a painful clenching loss. I have given this up, for him.

And Jannik’s house of the imagination is already closing against me. I pull away from him with an effort, and ring for a servant. “How did the portrait turn out?”

I surprise a laugh from him. “I didn’t even get a chance to sit.”

“So she’s part of it, then.”

Jannik shakes his head. “I don’t know. I was meant to start in the morning, when the light was good. I had a little wine – and then.” He turns one hand up, showing nothing.

“You were drugged.”

“I assume as much. I woke groggy and in that – that room.”

It’s still possible that Carien had nothing to do with this. That Garret merely took the chance when he saw it and concocted some excuse for Jannik’s disappearance. And extremely unlikely. Damn. I had wanted to like her, I realize. Instead they thought so little of me and my husband that they were certain they could simply take Jannik from me and that I would be too scared and helpless to do anything. “Will you tell me what happened?”

Jannik closes his eyes. “What will it help you to know?”

A soft sound of laughter comes from the floor.

I grit my teeth and lie back on the bed.

“Did you really have to bring it here?” Jannik says as the laughter grows louder, more manic.

“Someone needs to keep an eye on him,” I point out.

“Why does it have to be us?”

“You’d rather it was Isidro? The boy wouldn’t live through the night.” I roll over and lean my head over the edge of the bed. The Lark is strapped into a low bed, completely unable to move. He’s wide-eyed, laughing so that I can see the points of his fangs. All his teeth are broken, ragged, as if he has filed them like that. Or perhaps Garret has done this. I want to feel sorry for the boy, but he makes my skin crawl. “Who are you?” I say to him, very softly.

He stops laughing. The indigo eyes narrow.

“You do understand.”

“Stop talking to it,” Jannik grumbles from behind me. The door opens and one of Guyin’s household Hobs sets down a tray of tea. The sweet smell of honeybush is tainted with bitter willow. Jannik’s relief floods over me, just a momentary lapse, and I realize how much he must be hurting, and how hard he is working at keeping that hurt from me.

I shiver but keep watching the boy. “I know you do,” I say. “Are you thirsty – do you want tea?”

“Felicita,” Jannik says.

But the boy nods. Ever so slightly. If I hadn’t been staring at him, waiting, I would have missed it.

“Then tell me your name,” I say. Tea trills against porcelain, and Jannik sighs after taking a sip.

The silence grows uncomfortable and the boy lies still, warily watching my face. His chest is softly rising and falling, the breathing growing slower, until finally he answers me. “Merril.” His voice is nasal, the broken nose distorting the sound.

Next to me Jannik snorts. “Good,” I say, ignoring my husband’s anger. “Merril, I’ll bring you tea.”

“You can’t bloody give it tea.”

“I can, and you’re going to help me.”

“Ah.”

“Jannik, please. I just need you to help him sit. I’ll hold the cup.” I scramble back and press both my hands on his knees, and lean closer to his face. He’s so tired now I can feel it eating at me, ants around a cake. Heat thrums through my palms, and I move closer until my cheek skims against his. The stubble scrapes at me, comforting rather than painful. I touch my tongue to the curve of his ear and he shivers. “Please?” I whisper.

“That’s cheating.”

“Not really.” I want so badly to hold him close to me, but I can feel the wounds down his chest, growing deeper in my own skin. How do I tell him this? “You need to sleep. So does he.”

He puts his hands to my shoulders and gently moves me back so that he can stand. The tea pots are waiting, one of honeybush with willow, and a second smaller one holding an infusion of lady’s gown. I pour that into a cup. The brew will be strong and extremely bitter. I add two swirls of honey from the little jar then take the tea to Merril. I wonder if that’s his true name, or one that Garret gave him.

“Here,” I say, and nod at Jannik, who slips one arm under the bound boy’s back so that he can sit a little higher. I crouch to hold the tea to Merril’s mouth and he sips hesitantly. Jannik has his hand in Merril’s tangled hair, holding him still. His throat moves as he swallows, and I notice the bandage Sallow put on him is discolouring a little. I’ll need to look under it in the morning. I picture the maggots underneath, eating away at the dead skin, and almost vomit.

“Now,” I pull the bowl back a little, out of reach. “Where are you from?”