House of Sand and Secrets (Books of Oreyn #2)(88)
There is no resolution in a never-ending war, and I already knew that.
*
Jannik and I walk hand in hand down the stairs and slip out of the front door with the ease and silence of ghosts. Of the ghost that should be leaving. Don’t hate me for this, Carien, I need you to understand how sorry I am. When I’ve said what I need to say, I’ll let you go.
It will be a while yet before the others know that we’re gone, and it is easy enough to hire a carriage once we are on the main thoroughfare closest to Harun’s street. The night has dropped heavily, an indigo veil spattered with faint city stars. The gas lamps that line the roads emit a sulphurous glow, and the waiting carriages have a sinister look, their nillies standing dejected in their traces. Jannik pays the nearest driver a handful of brass for his service.
We head toward the Mata side of the river. The few carriages that pass us are mostly unmarked, although here and there I see a House symbol painted on the sides. None of them are the windswept leaves of House Eline. My heart beats slower, as if each jolting step that draws us closer to Eline Garret is killing me, forcing me to shut down into nothingness.
The carriage leaves us on the broad, tree-lined avenue. Overhead the branches meet, and the darkness is filled with the rustling of the broad leaves. We walk the last few paces to the now-familiar front of the Eline mansion, with its ancient glass and stone overlaid with its nods to modernity. There are gas-lamps lit; new things. From inside the building it would be easy to see us. We are not approaching in secrecy and I need for Eline to understand that. I reach out to the brass knocker, and rap it with a solemn finality.
A servant wearing a neat brown uniform opens for us. He shows no surprise at the late hour visit, but allows us entry, leading us to the glass-lined room. The broken ornaments are gone and the dead mynah has not been replaced with a new caged bird. The spiked monstrosities of Narlet’s signature pieces are still there, however. How typical for them to have survived.
Two more servants enter at the ring of a bell. They do not offer us any hospitality, merely watch us nervously. The head servant disappears. We wait in silence. I don’t even need to talk – my mind is open to Jannik’s and his to mine. His thoughts flutter against the insides of my skull, black as night-ravens.
“Lord Eline will see you now.” The servant is back. He indicates for us to follow him, and we are taken to a small lounge, smoky with tobacco and ‘ink. Three men are there with Garret. I recognise Yew Avin. The other two must be Rutherook and Karin.
Eline is standing, smoking a long thin pipe of silver. At his thigh a little green-glass table holds a carafe of pearly liquid and several small liqueur glasses. “Lady Pelim,” he says. “How fortuitous your arrival is. My friends and I were just discussing your little note, and what exactly we would do about it.”
Jannik’s note; the one he wrote before Carien died, telling him of our little abortion. The one we planned to use to draw him out. Back when I thought I knew what I was doing.
The room is full of the smell of scriv. I eye the three men. Eline is a Saint, but the others – I confess I know nothing of them, except for Yew, leaning casually in the shadows, as if he were some student from the University in a public house. He grins lazily at me.
“And to what conclusion did you finally come?” I ask.
Eline laughs. “Please.” He waves at one of the leather couches. “Do take a seat, my dear.” Jannik might as well not exist.
“I prefer to stand,” I say back at him, my voice soft and mild. I keep close to Jannik, and it’s not just his presence that calms me, but the pulse of his magic.
“Suit yourself,” Eline says. “Allow me to introduce Rutherook.” He gestures to the long-limbed man sprawled on a leather coach; he has an ascetic’s face, and pointed jutting eyebrows that give him a look of sly surprise
“Karin.” A compact balding man with grey hair hanging over his little ears dips his chin like a little bird pecking at seeds. Something about the way his gaze slides this way and that makes me think he is most likely a Reader. He’ll be watching me for anything that will give me away. I bring myself into a state of calm, safe in the crumbling stone walls of my mental room.
It’s getting harder to not be scared. The last gambit is a weak one, and I know it. I have to stop myself from simply blurting out that Carien is dead, and accepting the bribes I will be expected to pay to stop Eline from involving the Mata. Carien was a piece of his property, and Eline will want recompense. He’ll want the Lark back at the very least. And if my last play fails, then I’m going to be left in a bad position.
If it comes to the worst, Eline will ask for the assurance of my support in some later deal, he’ll want a percentage of the Pelim holdings, he’ll want to cripple our business dealings in MallenIve. Gris alone knows what else. I’m prepared to give it to him, if Jannik and I can walk away from this, and if Isidro and Harun will be safe.
Finally, Eline inclines his head toward the youngest of the group, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. Yew grins wider. “And this–” Eline says.
“We’ve met,” I snap.
“Then you must know how interested he is in what you own,” Eline continues smoothly, my interruption no more meaningful than a moth’s path across the night sky.
I smother the rising anger in me before it even has a chance to solidify. “Indeed.” I incline my head as if I am accepting some kind of compliment.