House of Sand and Secrets (Books of Oreyn #2)(87)
“Carien?” I say. “You should wake and eat a little.”
She is exhausted from what was done. I understand because I can feel it too. The aftermath of using Jannik’s magic has left me shaky. Even after a good meal, some rest and several cups of tea I have a washed-out feel like an old bed sheet worn gauzy in the centre. I sit on the edge of her bed and feel myself crumple inside. Carefully, I brush her dark curls back from her cheek where the sweat has dried them in place. Her skin is cold, or my hands are too hot. She doesn’t move.
A feeling like the unravelling of a favourite shawl starts inside me. There is a hole in the lacework that I do not want to acknowledge, that I hope I can disguise or mend. I hold my palm before her mouth and feel nothing.
“Rae!” The maid has only just left, she can’t have gone far. I stagger to the decorative cords and set the glass bells in the servant’s rooms chiming. I keep tugging at them as if they will anchor me and the sound will call her back from the dead.
There is something in me, a sound that makes no sound. A giant invisible beast that presses my ribs out, that shoves all my internal organs apart and still there is not enough room for it. It cannot make its way up my closed and narrow throat, it cannot scream, and so I am like this, my mouth wide open and soundless, rocking on the floor to dislodge the beast, when the servants come running into Carien’s chamber.
Hands haul me up, and voices call for Jannik, for shrouds, for water to clean away the traces of her death. I am embraced. I am led away. I am made to sit. I am made to drink.
Jannik says nothing. He holds my hands so that the tea does not spill. It tastes of bitter fire. The sound of sand fills my head, fills my little broken room and covers everything away.
THE MELANCHOLY RAVEN
We wake alone. The house is standing expectant, waiting for Eline to strike. I think of the body cooling in the blue room and press my fist against my mouth until the urge to sob passes.
Another little game piece, fallen. We met at a party, and her first words to me were about the Ives’ girls who had just been brought into the House games of power and prestige. I couldn’t tell if she felt sorry for them or not. Certainly, she didn’t see them as innocents. But she never had their weapons, their training. And she lost because of that, and more importantly, because of me.
I let the tremors pass through me. She’s gone. She’s not going to paint raw and wild pictures, or smoke ‘ink in back street tea shops.
And with her, our leverage is gone. It was one thing to think of provoking Eline into an outright attack so that we could use his anger to our advantage, but it’s become too big now, too dangerous.
Carien is dead, murdered. I shouldn’t have made the offer at all.
I put my pride before her safety. “Jannik?”
He stirs next to me.
My head is clear, as if the sand of his mind has scoured away all the ugly things that were confusing me. It frees me, gives me purpose again.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
It doesn’t matter. “We need to leave.”
Jannik sits up, rubbing at his eyes. “Do we now?” I think he has grown used to my changing moods, content to see where my heart is taking me now.
My stomach clenches, over and over, as if willing me to just give in a retch all over my bed.
I did this.
I did this.
What did I think I was going to do, in my pride, in my stupid belief in my power?
I can add another name to the list of the dead, to the people who are gone now because of my f*cking pride.
None of this must show in my face, must flash through my thoughts. I take my failures, my aching need to cry, to beg forgiveness, and I shove it deep into my mind-room. More secrets to keep, but I need Jannik to believe in me. “We must go to Eline ourselves, minimize the damage.”
He is silent.
“Please.” I put one hand over his, and pull him to me with just a thought. I can feel how our bond is stronger; I already know that he will do this – that he agrees with me. I am already condemned by my actions; committing this murder within the safety of Harun and Isidro’s home, with their consent and help will only condemn them too.
When this is over, Carien, I will say my, “I’m sorries,” I will call your ghost and set it free. If I can. Already Harun’s servants will have covered all the mirrors so that the ghost will leave. I don’t even know if it’s true, but the Hobs believe it, and I have come to trust their superstitions. They’re no more ridiculous than mine, after all.
Jannik pulls his hand gently out from under mine and gets up. He chooses a jacket of dark blue, and begins to dress as if he is putting on the last of his armour.
I go to the dressing table, with its little collection of combs and bottles. The mirror is indeed covered; a long silky length of dark-green cloth has been draped over it. While Jannik knots his tie, I flip over my little hand-mirror and catch a glimpse of my face, drained and sickly. I slide the glass behind a collection of perfumes.
“You’re certain?”
I start, and glance away from the flash of the silver, hoping that he hasn’t seen it. “Yes. More than certain.” I will play my final move, and if that fails, we can strike some kind of bargain with Eline; we will have to even if it bankrupts us. It’s what we should have done in the first place. After all, MallenIve runs on bribes and deals and schemes. And blackmail. I should have understood it from the very first, and if not, I should have realised when Harun paid House Ives in favours to change their vote.