House of Sand and Secrets (Books of Oreyn #2)(84)
Or would the whole world have been different? Carien‘s a Reader. What use would she have been to Dash – he wouldn’t have bothered to snag her, to fall a little in love with her. He and Jannik might still be passing books of poetry back and forth, meeting in shadows and stolen moments.
Where would I have been?
“Carien,” I say and my voice ghosts about the room, trembling at the lit fatcandles, making the flames dance. “You’re certain you want us to do this?” All I can give her is this last moment to make sure the decision is hers and hers alone. I sit at the foot of the bed on which she’s lying, while Jannik - who seems desperate for a chance at flight - skulks by the locked door.
She raises her chin, not looking at either of us, staring instead at the stained geography of the ceiling. She drags her hands through her curls, freeing them. When she turns her head to us, her eyes glitter with the candle-light. “There is nothing I want more,” she says in a low cat’s hiss, as if she is about to start a fight, claws out.
There, it’s said, and now we must press on. I can do this. I have practised a little with Jannik in preparation, using his magic to move things, to test my control. It has been something like joy. And something like terror. To use his power my mind needs to be completely open. No secrets.
Just magic. There is a well of it within him, deep and dark and sweet.
“Drink,” I say and pour her a strong infusion of willow-bark. It will be little enough help. I’m loath to give her lady’s gown too – although it will help her sleep. I need her to be with me while we do this – at the slightest chance I am doing something wrong, she needs to be able to tell me.
Her fingers tremble against mine as she accepts the drink, but that is the only sign she gives. Her face is calm, her body limp with a resigned expectation – a strange lethargy that I put down to that moment when one realizes they have changed their future irrevocably.
I’ve been there – it’s like being drugged, shifted out of your body and mind, and walking alongside yourself, watching everything you do with curious detachment. “You need to tell me if you experience any pain worse than cramping.” I take the cup from her hands. She’s drained it.
“I understand. Must you repeat everything as if everyone around you had merely a child’s mind?”
I flush. “Lie back, close your eyes.” Carien does as she’s told and when she’s no longer looking at us, I turn to Jannik. “Please?”
He crosses the room to stand next to me, one hand resting on my shoulder. The weight of it comforts, but also leaves me with a flickering sense of unease. I feel pinned in place, committed now to what I have offered. When Jannik drops his mental guards I am unprepared for how much power he is offering. The hiss and slide of sand pours through the room, and I look down involuntarily, expecting the ground to be covered in beach-white sand, dry and unforgiving. There is nothing. Only the plush pile of a woollen carpet woven of Ives blue and Mata gold
“Let go,” says Jannik.
“Of what?”
“Indecision.”
He’s right, I am still holding my house—my room – tightly locked up, like a music box holding childish secrets. I fling open the door of my mind and I am immediately caught in two worlds. Jannik’s labyrinthine mental house folds my room and my secrets into his. My childhood bed sinks into white sand, and the sea mews fly in through the open window. They bring the wind with them, and all the drawers of my bureau rattle open, sending paper whirling about the room. The breeze smells of heat and river water instead of the cold salt sea.
My secrets dance about the room, written in a black slanted hand that I have perfected to appear less childish than it used to. The papers fold themselves, take on new shapes, spread their sharp hard wings and fly out into the desert.
“Are you ready?”
I turn. Jannik, barefoot as he always appears here, is waiting for me, one hand held out. Faint after-images dance around him, snaking ghostly ribbons between us. I wonder if this is some outward sign of our bond, if these ribbons will grow deeper and darker the longer we are together. I take his hand and his magic surges through me, freely given, unbelievably powerful. I suck in a gasp of air and find myself back in the closed chambers of Carien’s room. The air is damper here, filled with our exhalations, with the humidity of MallenIve in summer.
When I was still a War-Singer, adept of scriv and air, I knew I was powerful, that with training I could have been as great as some of the famous generals of our House. But that – that was nothing. Jannik’s magic unleashed willingly into my control is immense, unbelievable. I am reminded of his mother, of the time we met and it seemed to me that her power could just about strip my skin from my flesh unless she kept it in constant check. Jannik has always been this powerful, and I never understood that. Perhaps the vampiric hierarchy is in place not because the females are the only powerful ones, but because only women have the ability to tap into that power.
I whirl his magic about myself, and it dances at my command, part of me, but not. A sentient thing, almost playful despite what it is about to do. With a quick inhalation to centre myself, I focus on my task. Carien is lying still. Her hands are palm up on the coverlet, relaxed. The room is sweaty with her trust. I close my eyes, and sink into the darkness inside my head. Everything goes silent around me. With one hand pressed against her stomach, I breathe slower, stiller, and the room changes.