House of Sand and Secrets (Books of Oreyn #2)(77)
“Or he killed it,” says Harun.
Or it’s lying upstairs, trussed like a feast goose on Long Night.
Carien’s lips thin. “And if he did?”
“Sit down,” Harun says. “Sit down, shut up, and smoke your Gris-damned ‘ink. Master Gillcrook?”
“My Lord?”
“Please make certain our guest has every comfort she needs, but do not allow her to leave.”
Gillcrook’s expression changes not a jot. Jannik has a talent for hiring close-mouthed men.
“You cannot do this, Guyin,” Carien says, although she makes no move to leave. “I’ll have you dragged out of your hermit’s hovel and into the Mata Court before you know what’s happened.”
“Oddly, I’m just on my way there now.” He grins, flashing a little of the Harun mockery he had when I first met him. “Relax. I’ll let you go soon enough. In the meantime, I invite you to make the acquaintance of my husband, Isidro.” He gestures at the small glass doorway that leads off into a book-lined passage. Through the pale blue panes, I can see the shadow of Isidro. I have no idea how long he has been watching and listening.
Husband? I raise a questioning eyebrow, but Harun ignores it and takes my arm above the elbow. “And now, we really must leave.” He steers me out of the door, leaving a confused Jannik, a smoking, expressionless Carien, and the lurking Isidro to their conversation.
*
I have never been to the Mata Palace, and as I walk through the glass and bone gates I try not to look like some awe-struck plebeian straight from the Pelimburg docks. It’s harder than it sounds. The Mata Palace is a monstrosity, a towering cake of a building festooned with glass turrets and bridging cat walks. The vast air-monster called a blaas is rocking high above us. It looks like one of the floating men-of-war that wash up on Pelimburg’s beaches, only a thousand times bigger, and buoyed up by air rather than water.
“What is it?” I say in a low whisper. “Does anyone know?”
Harun shakes his head. “Rumour has it the previous Lord Mata found it on a sphynx hunting expedition in the desert. When he brought it back it was no bigger than a cat.” He glances upward at the trailing poisonous ribbons of its tentacles. “Just look at it. Gris knows when it’s going to stop growing.” Indeed, the blaas is big enough that the Mata have used it as transport, buckling a wheel-less carriage beneath it between the stinging ribbons. It is similar in design to the silk hot air balloons the Mata had banned when they came into power.
The skies belong to their House now.
We follow a guide who leads us deep into the heart of the palace to an underground amphitheatre. Most of the seats are empty, typical of how we take out duties here. Harun hands the guide a small folded note and whispers some instruction. The guide nods then tucks the note away.
“What was that?”
“A business proposition, Felicita.” His tone is bored and annoyed. “Do allow me to continue to run my affairs without your involvement.” He can’t help his mood. I know because I feel the same – scared and angry and helpless.
Eline Garret is already here. He smiles thinly at us as we enter, then turns his back as he discusses details with another House lord. His shining hair is almost white in the low-lit room, and I can’t help but watch him. Hatred crawls in my throat. I want him dead, I realize. I never even felt that for my brother. This is visceral. He hurt what is mine. He would have done worse. He will do worse.
“I’d quite like to see his face smashed into a wall,” I remark as we take our seats.
Several lords have stopped their murmuring to watch us. There are whispers of surprise, and some half-heard comments. Someone says “the bat f*ckers” and I pretend not to have heard them.
Harun snorts. “And you think I wouldn’t?”
I want Eline to attack us. I want him to come crawling in the night and give me a reason to unleash Jannik’s magic and slam his inbred body against the walls of the house until every bone in his body is broken, I want to burn out his mind, and I want him to feel every second of it.
“He’s turned me into a monster,” I say faintly.
“Or merely opened your eyes to the monster inside you?” Harun’s not looking at me.
“You think you know what I am,” I say. “But there is more to me than those little glimpses you got in your Vision.”
He remains close-lipped as the lords file in to the Council chambers. “I know, Felicita.” He stands, and all around us the lords take to their feet. The Mata must be approaching. “Don’t always assume your friends are judging you, not when we have our own sins to deal with.”
I’m stunned into silence. I gather my skirts and stand next to him, suddenly aware of how warm it is in this subterranean room.
A flash of red hair at the wide doors, and there comes the Mata prince himself. The man barely acknowledges the waiting lords, merely waving us to our seats. There is a rustle of silks and wools, the creaking of old bones. He says nothing, head bent over the paper on his dais. Eline’s proposal. Finally he looks up.
“House Eline proposes we reclassify the vampires,” he says. He seems no more interested in the affair than if it were a meeting to choose a wine for his dessert. “Current status allows a vampire to be given his freedom by an owner, or to earn enough to buy himself a citizenship. Eline proposes that since before the opening of the Well, the histories show no mention of vampires, that allowing them the status of slaves assumes that they are people. The histories are proof enough that this is not so. They came into existence only after MallenIve was built. Therefore, Eline wishes that we change their current status to that of magical animals, and list them under controlled beasts.”