“Stop, in the name of the head of the House!”
When Emmanuelle managed to look up again, she saw the woman facing the birds. She was small and slight, and wore the cloak of Harrier—the uniform of the House’s magicians, without the collar ribbon that would have marked her rank outside the Great Interior. The bird had shifted, to face her.
The woman threw back the hood of her cloak. She wasn’t small—she was young, a teenager at most, flush with Fallen magic but in perfect control of it. Her hands were weaving the pattern of an unfamiliar spell—something to stop the birds?
The world was swimming and folding into a hundred different fragments. Emmanuelle struggled to keep her grip on reality. As she tried to push herself back to her knees, the foremost bird dived towards the woman. It went through her face as though she wasn’t there, except that she gave a little low moan as it did so, and that, when it finally emerged from her back, it was heavier, struggling to free itself from her flesh as though the girl was holding it fast—head and beak, and wings, and with every fragment that emerged, color drained from the girl’s face, and her eyes grew darker and darker, the color of smoke and winter evenings.
As the bird’s talons finally pierced her skin, she collapsed—not like a living body or even like a corpse, but limp and boneless as though every bone and every organ in her body had been broken or liquefied, leaving only a cloak of cloth over a cloak of skin.
The bird gave a long, triumphant screech. Emmanuelle pressed her hands over her ears. She didn’t even move when the birds slowly faded away, or when guards in the blue and black of Harrier came, cautiously sidestepping the remains of the magician, to drag her into the Great Interior.
SIX
Wounds Old and New
Thuan was thinking on House Harrier.
It was late, and he should have been going to bed. He’d dealt with all his non-conflicting obligations: he’d read the reports from the various courts; dealt with the curt message Second Aunt had sent, expressing sympathy with his situation but subtly reminding him the kingdom wouldn’t intervene.
Which left only his ongoing and larger troubles. Asmodeus still hadn’t woken up, and Iaris had blocked all of his accesses to the hospital. So he’d settled for the backup plan of taking a serious look at the House Harrier business.
He’d spread a map of Paris on his desk, and had laid a finger on the Grenelle bridge, the one that separated Hawthorn and Harrier. The thin sliver of l’Île aux Cygnes, the land that was neutral in principle, but was in practice claimed by neither of them, because the dragon kingdom’s soldiers would drag anyone on the islands down into the depths of the Seine.
The kingdom wasn’t going to intervene.
He’d known this for a while. The kingdom had been embroiled in civil war, and Second Aunt’s authority was too badly shaken. He’d have liked House Hawthorn not to intervene, either—and if it were any other House they might get away with it. But Harrier was their neighbor. All the reports said the House had descended into civil war, with different factions fighting each other for dominance over the ruins of the House. If it convulsed and collapsed, it was their own border sinking into chaos—and chaos had a habit of not being neatly contained.
He traced, idly, the lines from the other Houses: Silverspires, on Île de la Cité, too far away and too powerless to embroil themselves in anything; Lazarus, always eager to sow discord; Shellac, a minor House in the southeast, hungry and desperate to be larger; Mansart, Fontenoy and Solférino, the three small Houses closest to Harrier, and the first who’d swoop in to fill the void if House Harrier became irretrievably diminished.
That was assuming the fighting remained contained in Harrier.
Having a war zone on their doorstep was going to be a problem, and he couldn’t see a path that didn’t embroil them irremediably in Harrier’s succession. Which they couldn’t afford. As for an alliance with another House… even if they’d wanted to, trust would be a problem. A House that was half-dragon and half-Fallen was a new and unknown quantity in Paris, and that meant the other Houses were steering clear of them, unable to predict by which rules the new Hawthorn would operate.
He had his own troubles in the House; but this would blast them into insignificance, if it happened. If only he could make Iaris see it.
Thuan became aware someone was watching him.
He looked up, and saw Asmodeus leaning against the door jamb. The smell of bergamot and citrus fruit wafted into the room, alluring, intoxicating. He wanted to close the distance between them both and kiss his husband, hard—to bear him against the door where he couldn’t escape, and take in all the glorious proximity of his body. But the other smell—the one his dragon senses couldn’t ignore—was blood. Thuan would have said not Asmodeus’s, but the way Asmodeus leaned against the door jamb was characteristic—a little too slouched, a little too tense. He was using the wood for support, rather than for effect; which meant that he was still weak.
He didn’t ask how Asmodeus was doing. That was never going to get him any kind of useful answer.
“We missed you earlier,” Thuan said. “When House Harrier tore itself apart.”
Asmodeus smiled. He moved away from the door jamb, and into the room. Thuan was impressed, because there was barely a shake in his legs, or even a hint that walking unsupported was a problem.
“Or when you got into a shouting match with Iaris and Phyranthe?”
Thuan winced. “I see news travels fast.”
Asmodeus snorted. “It’s a wonder Iaris wasn’t sitting on my bed with a checklist of grievances when I woke up.”
He reached Thuan, grabbed him. Thuan felt the way Asmodeus’s hands used him for support, but that didn’t matter because Asmodeus’s lips were on his, pressing down hard enough to draw blood. Desire rose, trembling and unbearable, just as magic stroked his spine all the way down.
Asmodeus smiled. “Well, isn’t it pleasant to see you.”
He pulled away, sat on the desk, on the edge of the map of Paris, playing with a knife that seemed to have come out of nowhere. He was watching Thuan, his green-gray gaze lambent with Fallen light. Thuan ached to kiss him again.
“About Iaris…” he said.
Asmodeus bent a fraction. “Do tell.” He still sounded more amused than angry.
Thuan shrugged. He could be detailed, but clearly that wasn’t what Asmodeus was after.
“I made some decisions. Iaris thought they were poor ones. Some of them concerned the Court of Persuasion.”
“Hence Phyranthe.” And, in that same light, amused tone, “You do know Iaris doesn’t run the House.”
Some days, Thuan wasn’t sure he did, either.
“But you do.”
“We do.” Asmodeus’s voice was sharp. Thuan couldn’t tell if he was pleased or not.
“You know it doesn’t work that way.”
Another snort. “To say the least. One of the ways it works is that those who show loyalty are rewarded. That’s not something I plan or want to set aside anytime soon. Are we clear?”
All too clear. “Yes.”
A pause. Asmodeus cocked his head to watch Thuan, in a way that suddenly threw Thuan back to Phyranthe’s office, with the smell of smoke and Vinh Ly on the carpet, shivering and trying to move away from them all.
“All the same, things have changed in the House, and those once loyal would do well to remember the new order of things.”
Thuan threw caution to the winds. “I need to know if you approve of what I’m doing.”
Laughter, genuinely amused. “In need of reinforcements?”
Given the situation with Phyranthe… But Thuan knew Asmodeus didn’t like weakness, and would only laugh if he admitted to it.
He weighed his possible answers, and found only the truth.
“We have something,” he said. “I don’t want to see it destroyed.”
He must have looked away—because suddenly the desk was empty, and Asmodeus was by his side, one hand running o
n the line of his jaw, until it rested on his lips. A pleasurable tingle, that ended when Asmodeus withdrew his hand.
“My sweet dragon prince,” he said, slowly, almost gently, “of course we do have something.”
A shiver ran up Thuan’s spine. He clamped his lips on a moan, and instead kissed Asmodeus, drinking in bergamot and citrus, on the verge of a chasm that would engulf both of them whole.
He was the one who pulled away, gasping for breath. Asmodeus’s shirt was half-open, revealing soft skin the color of milk. Thuan ached to drink it all in.
He said, finally, “You must think I spent my time getting into fights.”
Asmodeus’s lips tightened. “It takes two sides to have a fight. I’ll have a word with Iaris. And you will keep your dragons in check.”
A sore point, there: he’d grudgingly admitted their presence, but he was more disturbed than he’d like to admit by having near-unkillable beings in his House, ones that only owed loyalty to Thuan rather than him.
Thuan nodded. “On it.”
“Good.” Asmodeus turned, to stare at the map of Harrier. “You have rather dry bedtime reading.”
“Harrier is mired in a succession war. I’m trying to see where we stand.”
Asmodeus ran a hand along the Grenelle bridge, following its lines until he hit the midpoint: the place where their boundary to Harrier was.
“An interesting turn of events, isn’t it.”
Not the tone Thuan wanted. He took in a deep, shaking breath.
“Asmodeus. Please tell me we’re not going to involve ourselves in it.”
“They are our neighbors, in case you failed to notice.”
“I did notice,” Thuan said, mildly. “I also noticed that we’re not in the strongest of positions right now.”
A gentle touch of magic on his lips, like a prelude to another kiss; and Asmodeus’s hand, moving to hold his, sending a shock of warmth through his body.
“Dragon and Fallen united? You think that’s a weakness?” Asmodeus asked.
Thuan forced himself to focus on the matter at hand.
“It was a costly union. The dragon ice killed off part of the House, and a lot of dependents. And now this happens, when we have forty wounded dependents in hospital, in case you hadn’t noticed, from the shock wave.”
Asmodeus’s face hardened, almost imperceptibly. “I did notice.”
“Asmodeus. They’re not harmed.” There was no need to hound House Harrier to the end of the earth because something or someone that belonged to him had been touched. Thuan said quickly, “It’s a regrettable business and it will weaken them, but the best thing we can do is to stay out of it. There’s no gain from rushing in.”
“You forget. We have dependents inside Harrier.”
“I didn’t forget. But there’s a difference between recovering dependents in danger, and deciding we need to intervene to designate the new head of the House, or support the old one, or whatever else you have in mind.”
“I don’t have much in mind.” Asmodeus’s hand still held Thuan’s, and his other one was on Thuan’s neck now, gently trailing along his jawline, sending a small shiver of pleasure up Thuan’s spine. “Not in the matter of politics, at least.”
And that was very clearly a lie.
“Who is in Harrier?”
“Darrias.”
Thuan took Asmodeus’s hand and held it immobile against his neck.
“Darrias? In Harrier? Are you trying to start a war between Houses?”
“She asked.” He sounded amused again. “I told her she’d bear the consequences.”
But he’d still said yes. Typical. Always go for the dramatic and explosive option.
Thuan said, more forcefully than he’d intended to, “The consequences are a war on our doorstep. It’s going to change the balance of forces in Paris.”
Asmodeus paused, for a moment. “Afraid?” he asked, and his eyes glinted behind his horn-rimmed glasses.
Thuan stared at him. “Yes.”
Asmodeus’s smile was fond. “That’s you all over, isn’t it. Always overcautious. Getting involved doesn’t mean fielding an army. The time for war is past.”
How desperately Thuan wanted that to be true.
“But I agree with you on one thing,” Asmodeus said. “It’s too early. We don’t know where the points of pain are, yet. We can afford to wait.”
“You think so?”
Asmodeus’s smell trembled in the air; his presence was besides Thuan, a palpable warmth.
“Of course. In the meantime, you can get on with your… reforms.”
“You indulge me,” Thuan said sharply.
“Oh, believe me, I don’t. I do trust you to get the House where it needs to be.”
Asmodeus’s hand climbed up—now they were either side of his neck, long, graceful fingers trailing over the planes of his face, ending each time with a soft, long stroke at his collarbone, like raw, naked heat on Thuan’s skin.
“And I trust you in other matters, too.”
Thuan shuddered. Asmodeus merely went on, slowly, each touch unbearably warm—making Thuan’s entire being ache, everything sharpening and folding around him until the entire world seemed to be in the gentle, deliberate sweep of these fingers like fire on his skin, each touch filling more and more of him until he thought the intensity of his desire would tear him apart. There was nothing left but his imperious need.
“Other things.” Thuan struggled to breathe. He reached out with both hands, drawing Asmodeus closer to him. “Your private business.”
A sharp, wolfish smile, and the heat and hardness of his body closer to Thuan’s.
“A significant part of it.” The smell of bergamot and orange blossom trembled in the air, and the room felt cramped and stifling. “Wouldn’t you say?”
Thuan tried to speak, but the same gentle touch of magic that had stroked his lips now silenced them, pressing itself against them with the slow and fierce intimacy of a kiss. All he found was an incoherent moan.
“Asmodeus,” he said, drawing his husband closer for a kiss, a long, drawn-out one that made his entire being tremble and ache.
“Ssshhh,” Asmodeus said, pushing him back in the chair, holding him down, searching for the buttons of his shirt even as Thuan pulled away the swallowtail jacket and opened Asmodeus’s own shirt, revealing skin as pale as alabaster and swirling with magic—and the world shrank down to the shivering heat of pleasure.
* * *
Thuan woke up to someone frantically knocking at the door. It took him a moment to orient himself: they were in his bed, in his rooms, with him pillowed in the hollow of Asmodeus’s broad shoulder. As he got up to hunt for clothes and a quick way to make himself presentable, Asmodeus stirred, opened his eyes, and immediately went from vaguely awake to knife-sharp.
“My lord, my lord.” It was Sang’s voice, high-pitched and panicked.
Great.
Thuan located a dressing gown and hastily wrapped himself in it.
“You have clothes in the bathroom—”
He turned to see Asmodeus already dressed in pajamas and a startlingly colorful dressing gown that mingled thorn trees and roses with the antlers of deer.
What was happening?
He glanced at Asmodeus, who raised an eyebrow. Your room, your rules.
Thuan threw the doors open—and was all but bowled over when Sang swept into the room.
“Your Majesty, there’s an emergency.”
With some difficulty, Thuan managed to pull away from the panicked dragon.
“Sang? What are you doing here?”
Sang had just seen Asmodeus—who’d pulled up a Louis XV chair and was sitting in it with steepled hands.
“I’m sorry, my lord, I didn’t know…”
So whatever she wanted to say, she didn’t want Asmodeus to hear. Unfortunately, it was too late for Thuan to throw Asmodeus out of his rooms. Great.
“Tell me,” Thuan said.
Sang paused, for
a bare moment. “Ai Nhi just lost control of her powers. She’s scalded another child in the school with khi ice. And Phyranthe arrested her.”
Thuan stared at her. He’d misheard. He must have, but the words didn’t go away.
“She did what?”
Sang looked forlorn. “The other child is in hospital. Iaris refuses to let us help with the healing. And Vinh Ly…”
Thuan didn’t think it could get worse, but apparently it could.
“Vinh Ly argued with Phyranthe about Ai Nhi’s arrest, and it turned badly, so Phyranthe arrested her too. For disrespect of her superior.”
Arrested. His oldest and most respected dragon, and a child. A five-year-old.
“Where are they both now?”
“Ai Nhi is in the cells. Vinh Ly is in her room under guard—Phyranthe said her offense wasn’t as grave…”
The cells. And Vinh Ly had decided the best course of action was to try and plead with Phyranthe, rather than immediately go see Thuan. Which would have given Phyranthe ample time to devise punishments for Ai Nhi—and for her interrogators to get started. Because of course Phyranthe wouldn’t waste an opportunity like this. No wonder she’d been content with locking Vinh Ly in her room: Ai Nhi herself was opportunity enough.
Thuan turned, to look at Asmodeus—who was looking at him with that same amusement. No, not amusement. Anger, and ill-disguised at that.
“She didn’t mean…” he started, when he saw Asmodeus’s face harden.
“I did tell you to control your dragons, didn’t I?” Asmodeus rose from the chair. The shadow of black wings clung to his back. “Instead, they decide to create a diplomatic tangle in this House that will take me days to sort out, and make me look weak by making it apparent I can’t teach my own husband’s court the basic rules of good behavior.” His voice was flat. “You will stay here. I’ll get your dragon child back from the cells, where she should never have been locked in the first place, and make sure she’s appropriately disciplined. Your other dragon dependent is your own business to sort out.”
He made for the door without a single look at Thuan.
“Asmodeus…” Thuan started, but Asmodeus was already gone, and the doors slammed shut behind him.
The House of Sundering Flames Page 12
