House of Sand and Secrets (Books of Oreyn #2)(89)

“Snow-pear?” Eline indicates the cut-glass carafe on the table near him. “Or would you decline that too?”

“I’m not here to drink your alcohol.”

“Of course not.” He pours himself a small glass, and sips at it, before taking clamping his mouth about the stem of his long silver pipe, and blowing a fog of scented smoke between us. “You’re here to do what exactly? I believe your little missive was designed to drag me out to the Guyin’s hovel.” His eyes glitter in the light of the fire-place. “So why then are you here?”

“To talk.”

“I think, before we discuss anything, it would only be fair if you were to return my property. A show of good faith, if you will.”

I close my eyes briefly. “There’s – there’s been an accident, I’m afraid Carien passed away earlier this evening.” There. Passed away, such a lukewarm description. Magic scrapes at me as Jannik’s own anger turned inward. His control must have slipped.

Eline scowls. “An idiot,” he says. “Taking the chance on an abortion. It’s better this way.”

My breath catches in my throat. “Better-” And I can’t help but turn to catch a glimpse of Jannik. His face is set and impassive, but I know, this has made his mind up as much as it has my own.

“A miscarriage, a death,” Eline takes a sip of his drink and creases his brow, contemplating this new development. “It’s an acceptable ending, one that won’t raise any suspicions of foul play.”

“Leaves you open,” says Rutherook, from the couch. “I’ve three sisters.”

“Every minor House in MallenIve has a handful of unwed sisters, Drury,” Eline says, before inclining his head to me. “I never wanted her back, you imbecilic woman. I’m talking about the thing you stole from me. The Lark.”

Carien deserved a better ending than this. He couldn’t even be bothered to ask for her body back or to even pretend that she mattered. A game piece. That’s all she was, and Eline never saw her as anything else. I narrow my eyes. “All right, then. I’ll bring him back, but perhaps we could come to some kind of understanding first.”

Eline looks beyond me, to Rutherook. “An understanding? Talk, then.” The air ripples with the awkward feel of a lower-caste War-Singer testing his control. Rutherook is potentially lethal.

That leaves only Yew unaccounted for. He touches his fingers to the curls of brown hair that falls over his eyes. Mocking me.

“I will return your property, and say nothing more of the matter.” I damn Merril for the chance at saving other lives. “You bought him. He is yours to do with as you wish. In return, I ask that you refrain from any contact with the bats belonging to either the Lord Guyin or myself.”

“Of course, it is only a courtesy.”

“And that you do not buy, steal, or accept as a gift any other bats.”

“Really?” Eline’s smile is acid, wreathed in smoke. “Would you also assume to tell me how to run my House?”

“In exchange, we will not go to the sharif with our knowledge of your involvement in the murders of the bats found in the Lam-heaps and in the Casabi.”

We stare at each other.



“How gracious of you.” Eline turns from me to stopper his silver pipe and set it cross-wise on the glass table. It chinks softly, like a warning bell. “Although I must admit that your offer is one that amuses more than anything else. Do you honestly believe that the sharif care about a few bat corpses?”

I shake my head. “I do not, but I thought it only fair to offer you a reasonable compromise first.” Jannik’s magic is building up in the air, waiting for me to access it. It amazes me that I am the only one in this room who can feel it, scraping and sliding and angry. A caged beast, watching its executors and waiting for the chance to leap. “I confess I had hoped that you would acquiesce.” And I also hoped that he wouldn’t. If I am truthful with myself.

The room goes silent.

“I think,” drawls Eline, “that we should bring this farce to an end.”

Rutherook coughs loudly, and I start, shifting my attention to him just as Yew straightens from his slouch against the wall. It is my only warning before the pain hits me from an unexpected direction. I am pummelled, driven back against the wall by a force like a fist made of storm winds. The sound of shattering glass drowns my scream, and fire lances down my back. Yew must have driven me into one of the glass sculptures and slammed us together into the wall.

There is no smell of burning flesh, but I remember this pain from scalding my wrist once with boiling water when I was still living in the squat in Pelimburg. It is the same – magnified a thousand times, with bright hot points all over my back from which the burn spreads.

Then the pain is gone; replaced by an icy numbness. My head is too heavy to keep up and it is only a War-Singer’s art keeping me upright, pinned to the wall like a broken butterfly in a display.

“Was this truly necessary, Garret?” Yew drawls. “I thought you wanted them both alive. If she dies, you will have the sharif all over your House like white-ants. She’s not some bat you can discard.”

“She was dangerous. And unliked.”

I can’t see Eline, my head is held straight. The short Reader, Karin, and Yew, are the only ones in my line of sight. I have no idea what has happened to Jannik. The War-Singer moved before I had time to react.