As they walked to it, Madeleine said, “Hm, my lord?”
“Yes?”
“Can… Can I ask how he is?”
Thuan stared at her. Iaris had disappeared: she’d clearly just been there long enough to make sure Madeleine found Thuan.
“Lord Asmodeus,” Madeleine said.
There was something in her gaze he couldn’t interpret, a mixture of fear of Asmodeus and genuine worry.
“He’s fine,” Thuan said, lying through his teeth. “He’s been pushing himself too hard, that’s all. He needs to sleep.”
“Oh.” Madeleine looked relieved. “I’m glad to hear that.”
She and Asmodeus had some kind of rapport he wasn’t privy to. When he asked why she’d been raised to the vacant post of alchemist, Asmodeus’s only answer had been a curt, “She deserves it”, that invited no further discussion.
Thuan hesitated. “You can go see him later.”
Asmodeus would probably bite her head off for her concern, but she must have known that.
Madeleine nodded, and looked away from him.
The laboratory was a cavernous room that must have been one of the secondary pantries. On its sagging, rotting wooden shelves, bags of flour mingled with charged mirrors and knives, and a faint, electric smell of angel-breath saturated the air.
It was also full of roots.
Vegetation had climbed from the floor—slender branches bursting from between the cracked blue-and-white tiles, clinging to the faded wallpaper, questing until they’d stabbed through the shelves, and on upwards, pausing only to grab indiscriminately charged artifacts and cardboard boxes of eggs. The top of the shelves was festooned with white, sickly flowers, and the branches were so thick on the lower shelves Thuan could barely make out the items beneath. The flowers shone, faintly, with Fallen magic.
The khi currents in the room were going haywire: Thuan couldn’t even pick them apart, and magic wasn’t his strong suit. He had people to do that for him, though, nowadays.
And the strongest and most experienced of them was Vinh Ly.
“Explain,” he said, curtly, to Madeleine. And, poking his head out of the door and gesturing to the first dependent he could find, “Get me Vinh Ly if she’s conscious. Lan if she’s not.”
“I don’t know.” Madeleine took a deep, shaking breath. “I was working there.” She pointed to the small table in the center of the room, on which crates of apples and pears had been pushed aside to make way for an opened mirror shimmering with Fallen breath. “There was a sound like… paper unfolding, and next thing I knew the branches were growing all over the shelves.”
Thuan stared at the room. “They’ve stopped now. They didn’t touch you?”
Madeleine shook her head. “I ran out.”
Which was eminently sensible, and he couldn’t fault her for it.
“Good.”
Thuan walked into the room carefully. Behind him, Madeleine breathed in sharply, but didn’t intend to stop him.
Nothing moved. He knelt by the lowest shelves, stared at the mass of thorns and branches and withered leaves—took a deep breath and reached out. Hundreds of tiny invisible spikes immediately pierced his hand. He withdrew it with a curse, staring at the blood beading on the palm of his hand. The wounds were already closing.
“Clearly I’m not allowed to touch,” he said aloud, more for Madeleine’s benefit than for his.
“My lord.”
It was Vinh Ly, accompanied by Mia. She looked much as she always had, stern and unbending and unbowed. Thuan fought the urge to hug her, which would have looked bad, but more importantly earned him an ear-splitting rebuke in full earshot of Madeleine.
“You wanted to see me.”
Thuan said, “I’m glad you survived.”
Vinh Ly snorted. “One advantage of being a prisoner is that I’m not allowed to escape by dying.”
Mia bristled. Thuan said, “No quips. Can you take a look at the khi currents here? I want to know if it’s dangerous.”
Vinh Ly was already kneeling by Thuan’s side. She looped, methodically, khi wood and khi water, cocking her head.
At last, Vinh Ly stood, thoughtfully. She shook her hands—droplets of khi currents clung to them for a moment before vanishing in the maelstrom underneath.
“Not dangerous, per se.”
“But?”
Vinh Ly’s face was grim. “You’re not going to like it.”
* * *
In their hospital-room-cum-office, Asmodeus was awake and sitting up, propped on pillows. Ai Nhi had pulled a chair over, stuffed it with enough cushions to sit at his height, and was currently watching, enraptured, as Asmodeus demonstrated how to peel an apple. Though, by the sounds of it, the conversation was about skinning, and not about apples at all.
“Blood is going to get in the way,” Ai Nhi said, with a frown.
“That’s why you have to be careful. And keep the blade sharp.” Asmodeus angled the knife so that it caught the daylight. “Blunt instruments only lead to grief.”
“Asmodeus,” Thuan said, more sharply than he intended. And, to Ai Nhi, “This isn’t appropriate.”
Asmodeus raised an eyebrow. “Extremely appropriate, I would say. How else will she defend herself?”
Thuan closed his mouth on the most obvious answer.
“Well, you can resume your… lessons later. With the permission of the child’s aunt, obviously. Ai Nhi.”
Ai Nhi gave an exasperated sigh. “Adults shouldn’t have all the fun, Unka Thuan.”
For various definitions of “fun”, which most definitely didn’t match Thuan’s. Thuan waited until she was back with the bodyguards and the door was tightly shut before he pulled another chair to Asmodeus’s bedside.
Asmodeus took off his glasses, and carefully wiped them clean on an embroidered handkerchief.
“You’re upset.”
His face was sharp again, but Thuan wasn’t fooled. The way the cushions behind him were set, Ai Nhi had helped. Which meant he’d let her. Which also meant he was still exhausted and ragged, or he’d have sent her packing. He’d certainly never hesitated to before.
“We have a problem,” Thuan said.
“Just one? At last count, there were several.”
“The House is so weak it’s eating our reserves of artifacts to replenish itself.”
Asmodeus went very still. “Ah. That problem.”
“I need to know two things,” Thuan said.
And stopped, because his brain caught up with his mouth. He couldn’t possibly ask Asmodeus how desperate the situation was—not when the previous assessment had driven Asmodeus to the brink.
Asmodeus’s face didn’t move. “You’re not asking me questions.” An exhaled breath. “Ah. You’re trying to work out if I can take them.”
Thuan watched Asmodeus, carefully. He seemed exhausted, run ragged; but nothing quite so bone-deep as he had in the grove. He finally exhaled.
“Do I pass the test?” A light, ironic voice that sounded almost normal. “You’re quite free to take this up with Iaris if you’d rather.”
Well, if nothing else, Asmodeus knew exactly where to apply pressure where it hurt.
“Iaris doesn’t run the House,” Thuan said, sharply.
Good-natured laughter, but with an edge beneath.
“True. Ask.”
Thuan said, “How desperate are we, and how likely is it to escalate? Vinh Ly said that the artifacts were a piffle compared to what it took to maintain the House.”
A grimace. “Not inaccurate.” And, grudgingly, “She does have more uses than annoying Phyranthe.”
“Thank you,” Thuan said, more sharply than he’d intended. “I’m flattered. Can we come back to the matter at hand?”
Asmodeus leaned back against the pillow. Thuan found himself reaching out, squeezing Asmodeus’s hand. No sarcastic comment whatsoever, just a weary sigh. Things were bad. Very bad.
Asmodeus said, finally, “You weren’t there when I t
ook the House.”
“As I am frequently reminded.”
“Behave.” Asmodeus’s voice was sharp. “This isn’t about the old guard. The House needs blood and magic to sustain itself—and if it doesn’t have them, it’ll take them from outsiders.” A smile that had barely any joy in it. “I taught the House what it meant to care for one’s own, at all costs. That’s what makes us different. The other Houses will eat themselves alive to survive.”
To survive. Because they were going to die otherwise, like Harrier. Because Houses were vulnerable after all, and could be killed. Because Hawthorn itself could die, leaving them unprotected. The thought was a stone in his belly.
“And we won’t.”
“We’re smarter than that.”
“Smarter.” Thuan stifled bitter laughter. “We don’t look very smart, do we?”
“We will. At some point.”
“If you say so.” Thuan kept his voice light, but it cost him. “You forget the part where someone tried to kill us. And will try again.”
“I’m not forgetting anything.” Asmodeus’s voice was sharp. “I’ve got magicians analyzing the ruins, and trying to raise wards against it happening again. Your dragons can help.”
Thuan measured the depth of Asmodeus’s fear, then. He’d never suggest this if he wasn’t desperate.
“I’ll tell them,” he said. “But…”
But there was nothing they could do. But they were powerless and vulnerable against such an attack, and how could they tell if their would-be killer would strike again?
“I know,” Asmodeus said.
“All right,” Thuan said, fighting fear. “So that answers my question about how desperate we are. And the escalation—the next thing the House will do is attack outsiders. We don’t have any handy ones in the House.” He stopped, then, with dawning horror. “We do, don’t we?”
Aurore had left the grounds, but Emmanuelle most certainly hadn’t.
“Emmanuelle?” A thoughtful look. Asmodeus didn’t look despondent anymore—just chewing on a problem he could cow or stab into submission. “She’s under the protection of another House, and not an easy target, even if that House is dying. They’d expend more trying to consume her than they’d get.”
“It’s nice to see you care,” Thuan said, dryly.
“I do.” Asmodeus looked annoyed. “I’ll remind you we’re wounded, with not enough manpower or supplies, and with a House that’s certainly too weak to protect us against much of anyone or anything.” Something that looked almost like a regretful smile. “My personal feelings about Emmanuelle don’t rate above the survival of the House.”
Nothing did, did it? Thuan exhaled.
“Well, I guess it’s high time I went and checked in on Emmanuelle.”
“You still think her responsible?”
Thuan said, cautiously. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
He didn’t voice the rest of his suspicions: that it was all linked to khi fire, which meant an Annamite, either mortal or Immortal or dragon, was the cause. It was all so precarious, without undermining the fragile understanding between him and Asmodeus.
“But I’d like to be sure. And”—he hated to say it—“the Houses are going to be at each other’s throats again, aren’t they? After this.”
“Because we’re all vulnerable and desperate?” Asmodeus smiled.
Thuan had to grant him this: he’d adapted remarkably quickly to a new order of things. Their world had utterly changed in one night: all the Houses under attack, weakened and perhaps dying; their own House frantically hoarding magic; their only advantage that it would not kill its own… And yet Asmodeus had never once attempted to argue they must have been mistaken. Whereas Iaris and most of the dragons were still in denial.
“You want a deterrent.”
“I think it’d be good to know Silverspires won’t attack us.”
Thuan had the nagging suspicion they’d missed something. Something said quite recently that had stood out in the moment, but which he couldn’t put his finger on now.
“So you’re advocating keeping her? Indefinitely? You surprise me.”
“You’re the one who holds on to things,” Thuan said. “I don’t hoard, but I do hate to give up an advantage.”
“Holding her indefinitely does have its merits.”
“So you can toy with her?”
“You seem to expect me to act decently.”
Thuan exhaled. “Well, you’re definitely not putting her back into the cells. What’s left of them.”
“Mmm,” Asmodeus said. A thoughtful snort. “Have it your way, then. But remember this isn’t about being kind. It’s about survival. Ours, and that of everything that belongs to and depends on us.”
Being kind. Thuan sighed. He’d been hoping to avoid the conversation for a while, but Phyranthe was going to wake up any time soon.
“We need to talk.”
A raised eyebrow. “We’re not?” But his gaze had turned sharp again.
Thuan exhaled, noisily. “Phyranthe.”
“Ah.”
A painful, charged silence. Well, there was nothing for it.
“We never did finish the conversation we were having, before the House exploded.”
“The one where you kept expecting fairness from the world?”
“You’re not going to blame me for trying to change things,” Thuan said sharply.
He saw Asmodeus’s face shift, and realized what he’d been doing. Answering insult to insult, and stoking tempers on both sides. What was it Asmodeus had said? It takes two for a fight. They were spouses, and joint heads of the House: they could do better than this.
He could do better than this.
“Wait. I’m sorry, that went wrong. I shouldn’t have said this.”
Another charged silence. At length, in a tone that was a touch softer, “You really need to stop apologizing for everyone and everything.”
Asmodeus’s own way of apologizing, Thuan guessed. As good as it was ever going to get.
Thuan sighed. And threw himself bodily into the abyss.
“I need your help. With Phyranthe.”
Asmodeus said nothing. Thuan didn’t dare to look him in the eye—because of what he’d see if he looked up. Distant amusement? Contempt? The same regretful smile he’d had for Emmanuelle, before consigning her to the bottom of the priority list?
Thuan knew he wouldn’t bear any of this.
He said slowly, “You said you wanted the House to change. To not be built on fear anymore. I…” He spread his hands, frustrated. “You have to stand by these words. You can’t just throw me into the pond and watch me struggle as I’m drowning.” Ancestors, what an appalling metaphor, it wasn’t as if drowning was ever going to be a problem for him. “Please. I really need the help.”
A silence. The bed creaked. Then, unbearably close, the smell of bergamot and citrus, and the familiar warmth of a body next to his; a hand, lifting his chin so he’d look into Asmodeus’s face.
Asmodeus had left the bed and was standing barely a handspan away from Thuan. His grip was iron; Thuan couldn’t have looked away even if he’d wanted to.
Asmodeus’s gray-green eyes were watching him, with an odd expression—not the fond amusement of watching someone thrash and fail, but faint exasperation.
“Oh, dragon prince. Pleading really doesn’t suit you.”
And his other hand, grabbing Thuan, locked them body against body, for the briefest of moments—Asmodeus’s lips brushed his, a moment before he released Thuan. Thuan’s breath came fast and ragged.
“Asmodeus…”
A sharp, edged smile, but as with Phyranthe, Thuan saw that Asmodeus’s anger was directed at himself: it was annoyance that things hadn’t gone the way he’d wanted or foreseen.
“You could simply have asked,” Asmodeus said, and it sounded almost plaintive.
The only words that came to Thuan were the truth.
“You make that difficult.”
“Why?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t know,” Thuan said. “You despise weakness in everyone, and in yourself most of all. How…? How am I meant to keep your regard, if I abase myself before you?”
He didn’t even see Asmodeus move. His lips were on Thuan’s—the smell of citrus and bergamot in his mouth—and Asmodeus’s hand was stroking, gently, slowly, the nape of his neck.
“We do run the House.” Asmodeus’s voice was a whisper on Thuan’s lips, sending a warmth that spread to his entire face and made his breathing absurdly constricted. “Jointly. Of course you ask. You always ask. Otherwise I’ll be… most disappointed.” He bent down, and kissed Thuan again, running his fingers on the soft, quivering flesh at the base of Thuan’s dragon antlers. “Now tell me what you need.”
EIGHTEEN
Extended Hands
Emmanuelle, lying in a heap at the foot of a ruined wall, heard the distant screams; the thud of masonry collapsing; the dependents calling for one another—the groaning sounds of the House reeling around her. Under her feet, magic flared like a hundred spikes—she had the feeling of a snake or some other massive animal, raising its head to sniff the air. But something turned it aside—another lure? Another thing of more interest, or easier to get at?
When she managed to get up on shaking legs, pushing away plaster and debris, she tottered to the door and tried to open it. The wards pushed her back, gently but firmly. Asmodeus’s friendly, courteous magic: sweetness around a core of steel.
She managed to find her way to what remained of the bed, and sat down, exhausted and wishing the world would stop spinning around her. The link to House Silverspires was calm again—she clung to it, to the calm, steady presence of Selene like the only lifeline she had left. The link was there. She could still feel it; could still feel Selene’s distant presence. They were alive. The House wasn’t wounded or dying.
It had to be.
What had happened? The same thing as Harrier, but why? Was Guy still hunting Darrias? But how could he reach into another House? And he hadn’t seemed to know how the explosion had happened when she’d been his prisoner, merely scrambling to preserve himself and his grip on the House.
The House of Sundering Flames Page 31