House of Sand and Secrets (29 page)

We all stare at one another. Jannik leaves his post with a sigh and goes to sit on one of the smaller couches, his head in his hands.

“When do we need to be there?” I hand Harun back his paper. He keeps looking at it, as if it will start spouting the answers to all his questions. Perhaps he is still trying to think of some way to do this and still stay safely here, far away from the Council of Lords who hate him and everything he stands for.

“Soon.” He frowns. “We can’t run late. That bastard the Mata Blaine is still cock-strutting since his father’s death, trying to prove himself. He has a vicious temp–”

The pain hits me in the back of my neck, needle teeth digging into the flesh, ragged nails scratching at my face. I shriek, and a dark boiling mass of magic engulfs me, sinks into me like a poison cloud. My organs are tearing out. This feels like Jannik’s magic, only instead of tearing uselessly at the walls and air, it is inside me like a living beast, and desperate for release.

The blackness surges back out of me and rips through the air, whirling me about in its wake. Whatever just poured through me, I have no more control over it than a sand-ghost. It slams into Merril, lifting him into the air and hammering him against the wall so hard I can hear bones crack.

Jannik is covered in blood, and utterly silent.

The magic dissipates as quickly as it appeared, and Merril’s body hits the ground with a thump.

“What–” says Harun then falls quiet.

Jannik and I are looking straight at each other and, for one fractured moment, I see both him – the blood pouring from the bite on his neck and the long scratches down his face - and myself – pale with fright, untouched – like a ghost image wavering over him. My eye is watering. I can still feel where one of Merril’s nails caught at the sensitive jelly of it.

My face goes gauzy, disappears and I see only Jannik.

Harun bellows for a servant to bring bandages and salt water to clean the wounds.

“Are – you – are you badly hurt?” I don’t even know why I’m asking, I can still feel it.

“What did you just do, Felicita?” Jannik says, taking small even breaths between each word.

“I have no idea – truly.” But I think I do. That magic, that power that tore through me and unleashed my fear and anger on Merril. It was not an unfamiliar magic – I am used to the touch of it on my skin, the energy of it changing the air of a room, infecting my mood.

“You used me,” Jannik says from between gritted teeth. “Like a fucking spoon of powdered horn.”

I did not. It was nothing like that – I had no intention of pulling Jannik’s magic from him – indeed, I had no idea it was possible. “I saved you,” I say instead, and hammer the iron nails of my stupidity into his pride.

Servants enter the room; one with a basin of heated water, another carrying bandages. Jannik suffers them to wipe the blood away but won’t let them bind him. His anger and embarrassment cloud around him, so much so that is seems to me even the air in his corner of the room goes darker. But it is merely a trick of the light, the shadows stretching.

“Well,” says Harun, carefully not looking at Jannik. He walks over to the still body. “At least you saved me the trouble of killing it.”

Merril is dead. Hot tears gather in my eyes, threaten to go spilling over my face. I will not cry. He had been waiting, sly, waiting for a moment when we were not watching him. I hate him for attacking Jannik, for signing his own execution order. I hate him for what he made me do.

“Just keep quiet, both of you,” Jannik says, holding a wadded piece of raw silk to his neck. “He’s faking.”

Harun kicks the corpse, and Merril curls in on himself like a lizard in death throes. “Not for long.”

“Wait,” I say. Despite what just happened, I can’t bring myself to stand here and watch Harun kick the boy to death, or suffocate him with a pillow or whatever death he chooses for a punishment.

“You must be joking,” Harun practically spits at me. “I warned you.”

“I can’t let you kill him, not even now.”

“Your damn female pity almost cost Jannik’s life, and if that doesn’t bother you, remember at least that his death is your own.”

I stand straighter, hold my head higher. “My damn female pity just gave us the sword to swing at Eline’s neck.”

“You can’t mean that,” says Jannik. “No.”

“What would you have me do? Go back to scriv, never touch you again? If I can – if you would just let me try this again – see if we can replicate it – then we will have a weapon.” And I know I could. It feels right, like my bones settling into place. The hollow places I used to fill with scriv are waiting. I know how to use magic, and I could use this.

“I am not your hunting dog.”

I sigh and press my hands to my head, trying to bring some semblance of calm back to me. “Jannik, it is not always about the same thing – can’t you see this is something we can both use, we work together. We can refine it. If there’s a way for me to tap your magic then why should we waste that chance? The world has given us teeth, given us claws, don’t you see?”

It’s Harun who speaks into the silence. “Could we all do it, do you think?”

“I do not know.” I don’t want to confess to him that I think it relies on the strength of the bond between partners, and that I have no idea exactly what has happened between him and Isidro. “Perhaps, perhaps that is something you should look into.” After all, the more weapons we have, the better. A slow bubble of something giddy and wild rises in me. It’s not quite happiness, there’s something triumphant about it. Elation. I have never liked being powerless, and even now, with everything going wrong in every way possible, I am fiercely glad. If we have to go to our deaths, at least it won’t be cowering like the little mice I thought we were.

We will take as many of them with us as we can. The memory of Jannik’s magic ghosts through me, and I shiver in fearful delight.

“Tie him up,” Harun says, jerking his chin in Merril’s direction. “You and I need to leave soon. We’ll deal with this when we come back–”

“Sir?” A Hob girl is paused in the doorway, her hazel eyes wide. “Master Gillcrook sent me, there’s a visitor for you downstairs. From House Eline.”

Jannik pulls the cloth from his neck and looks at the crumpled crimson-stained silk. “Shit.”

“How succinct.” Harun marches to the doorway. “Tell Master Gillcrook that I will be with my guest shortly.”

She nods and goes off, leaving the three of us alone with Merril.

“Well, it seems he’s simply decided to walk into my home,” Harun says. “No playing of games, no subterfuge.”

“How very unlike a Lammer.” Jannik is edging toward Merril, who is now sobbing softly. “Move, and I will be forced to hurt you,” he says to the boy. He gathers the coiled ropes from the table and jerks Merril’s arms forward to bind his wrists. I must have really damaged him, because he does as he’s told, whimpering like a beaten dog.

When the boy vampire is firmly bound, Jannik stands, leaving him lying on the floor, his sides shaking. “Well,” Jannik says as he examines the blood on his hands. “I’d like to speak to this guest of yours, myself.”

We’re all going to confront him then. I feel security twisted with confusion. If Garret tries to hurt Jannik, I will be able to destroy him with magic. Even if he comes here to parley, perhaps I will tear him apart anyway, in payment for the things he’s done.

IN THE PALACE OF THE MATA

Carien rises from
the pale green couch as we file into the visitor’s parlour.

An icy rage sweeps over me, and my heart beats faster and faster. The rage dies as suddenly as it rose, and in its place I feel a faint green shimmer of hope. I quell it. Don’t fall for her, for her false innocence. “What are you doing here?” I say. “How dare you–”

Harun raises his hands. “Felicita, stop.”

Carien looks at all of us, her face a blank House mask. Her eyes widen at Jannik’s appearance; the fading bruises, and the blood still welling from his wounds. She seems genuinely flustered. “Oh -I – Oh my, what happened?”

Jannik snarls, and says nothing.

I’m torn between wanting to believe her display of confusion, and my fierce knowledge that it’s her scheming that brought Jannik to Garret’s attention.

“I thought – my husband said that you were called away with great urgency – and the next I heard your warehouses were empty.” She flushes, embarrassed to be discussing our apparent poverty so openly. “I asked after your new apartments, and went to go visit you, but the house stood unoccupied – not even a servant to answer the doors. I didn’t know what to think.”

“You play so prettily, Carien,” I say. “One could almost imagine you’d spent time among the street-mummers.”

She stiffens, her gloved hands pressed against her thighs. “Say what you mean, Pelim.”

“Why exactly are you here? Did you think to run back to your husband with proof of what happened to his prisoners?”

Carien frowns. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She takes a small gasping breath, and searches through her beaded velvet purse. “There, if you don’t mind.” She withdraws a small paper packet and an ivory pipe. The smell of poisonink cuts sharply through the air. In a moment, she has filled the little bowl and lit it. She blows scented smoke out in a two curling plumes. “What are you ranting about? You sound like a mad woman. Prisoners?”

Jannik, Harun and I say nothing. I know I am not ready to trust her, and I sincerely doubt the others are any more likely to treat her as a friend.

“We must leave,” Harun says. “If you would be so kind as to stay here until we return, then we will discuss what has happened.”

“I think not,” Carien says. “Tell me what is going on.”

We hardly have time. I am beginning to think this is just another tactic of Eline’s mean to delay us, throw us off balance. I glance to Harun.

Surprisingly, it’s Jannik who breaks the stand-off. “Does your husband own a vampire?”

Carien takes a deep drag from her pipe. “Not for years. He had one long before I married him, a child. It died of some fever. You know how weak these rookery things can be.”

“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 fuckers” 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.