Iron Kin: A Novel of the Half-Light City (21 page)

Then it began again. Not so fast or wild this time. Instead, we moved together, a sliding, twisting dance that moved us across each other and the bed, bodies straining, skin touching.

His mouth came down on mine and the kiss was dark and deep, almost desperate. We followed each other over the bed, at no point breaking contact altogether, always lips or hands or bodies joined, drowning in the pool of pleasure we created, our own moment of escape.

I lost count during the night of just how many times I came or he came or which of us started each new round. It was only Fen and I and, at the end, all I knew was his body curled around mine as I finally surrendered to sleep.

* * *

I woke when the mattress dipped beside me, the warmth of Fen’s body suddenly gone. I rolled over, intending to coax him back to my side once more.

He sat on the edge of the bed, twining the iron around his wrist.

My stomach chilled. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t meet my gaze. “It’s past seven. You need to go home.”

The chill in my stomach stole outward, making my arms and legs feel strangely numb. I reached for the velvet counterpane, dragged it around my body. “You want me to leave?”

That brought his eyes to mine. “I think it’s best. Don’t you?”

I blinked. “I thought—”

“Don’t.” He cut me off as he stood and started dressing. “This was just one night, Saskia. Don’t start weaving any stories of happy endings around me.”

My jaw clenched even as my stomach twisted. “You enjoyed it.”

He nodded. “Yes. I did. So did you. But that’s all there is. Now, you need to get home before your brothers find out you’re not there already.”

“My brothers? Is that what this is about? You’re worried about what Simon and Guy will think?”

“No. I’m just trying to be clear. I’m not—” He broke off, ran his hands through his hair. “There’s no future in this.”

“What if I’m not looking for a future?”

“Girls like you always want a future.”

That finally tipped me over. The curl of anger I felt was stronger than the humiliation of being tossed out of his bed. “I told you last night. I’m not the girl you think I am.”

“Oh really? You just want someone to fuck when the urge takes you?” One dark eyebrow arched, skeptical as the tone that turned his voice to a knife’s edge.

“What if I do?”

“The answer’s still no.”

“I see.” I spoke the words carefully, feeling as though they might shatter in my mouth. The anger was still there, but beyond it was a lurking pool of hurt that wanted to rise up and wash over me. Obviously I had been wrong about him. I thought we had connected last night. Thought there had been something more to it than just satisfying the roar of want we shared.

I pulled the counterpane tighter, climbed out of bed and found my dress and my corset. I didn’t bother with the shreds of my drawers or my chemise. After a moment’s hesitation I dropped the corset as well. My dress would fit well enough without it, thanks to its practical cut. And I’d be damned if I was going to ask Fen to help me.

I pulled the dress on over my head, did up the buttons with jerky motions. My boots—where were my boots?

Then I remembered. By the armchair. I straightened my spine and crossed the room to fetch them. I avoided looking at Fen until I had the shoes on and had found my purse.

Then I turned to face him. “It seems I was right about one thing,” I said with a snap in my tone that would hopefully hide anything else that might be lurking beneath the surface.

“Oh?” His voice was as edged as mine.

“Yes. The women who kiss you
are
idiots.”

There were far less polite things I could think of to say, but I was trying to keep the last shreds of my dignity. Hard to do when a large part of me was desperately hoping he would reach out to me. Say “Stop. Don’t go.” Apparently I was as much an idiot as any woman when it came to Fen. Still, I didn’t have to be a complete fool and let him know that. “Good-bye, Fen.”

I wasn’t going to ask him if I’d see him again. If he was going to still be part of our delegation. He could make up his mind himself and the lords of the seven hells could damn him if he turned his back on our bargain.

We could do just fine without him, I was sure.

I turned to leave. I could feel his gaze boring into my back, feel the temper and other things sparking between us, but he didn’t speak.

And if he didn’t, then I wasn’t going to either.

I made it all the way back to my mother’s house and into the safety and seclusion of my bedroom before I let the tears come.

* * *

Much later the same morning I woke in a foul temper and far too early given how late—or early, rather—it had been when I’d finally slept. I crept down to the garden, carrying my tea, so that I could stand on bare earth for a while and let the power fill me and chase away some of my fatigue. Pity that it could do nothing about my mood.

The day was clear and warm, the powdery blue sky promising heat later. The late-summer sunshine was preposterously cheerful, making everything in the garden shiny and bright. Birds sang and bees buzzed around the flowers, which were blooming riotously, filling the air with scent.

It seemed ridiculous to think that the City outside our garden walls had any troubles at all, let alone that it might stand on the brink of disaster. Surely disasters didn’t happen in perfect weather? Surely there should be clouds and storms and a slinking darkness, like the end of the twilight, the half-light the City got her ancient name from?

But no. It seemed not. Reality didn’t work that way. Bad things happened regardless of weather or place or rank or if the person they happened to deserved any pain or suffering. The world wasn’t a safe, sunny fairy tale.

I needed to remember that. The next few weeks were going to be dangerous. Outward appearances weren’t to be believed. Everything needed to be watched and weighed and balanced, and any actions taken carefully. Time to be the adult I was always telling my brothers to believe I was.

I sighed and swallowed the last of the tea, before shaking the few stray leaves at the bottom of the cup onto one of the flower beds.
Fen could probably tell my fortune from the tea leaves
, I thought, and then cursed myself for bringing him to mind. I gritted my teeth, determined not to cry again. So, I’d been an idiot. I’d slept with a man and had my feelings bruised.

It had happened before.

But never quite like last night.

I heard his voice again then and felt his touch, felt my body pulse in remembrance of the things we’d done.

The things we would not be doing again.

Any more than I would be remembering the sweetness of his kisses and the way he looked at me as he touched me for all those hours we’d shared.

It had been more than just sex.

For me, at least.

Which meant nothing, if Fen was of a different opinion. My fingers curled around the teacup, wanting to fling it at the brick wall just for the satisfaction of hearing it shatter.

No.

Giving in to a tantrum wouldn’t make me feel any better. I walked back toward the house, my steps dragging even though I did feel the tiniest bit better for the time I’d spent outside. Part of me wanted nothing more than to climb back into bed and pretend there was nothing to worry about.

This was what I had wanted
, I reminded myself. To be let in on the inner secret. To know the truth about what was happening. And I’d wanted Fen too.

It seemed the old saying about being careful what you wished for was true indeed.

As I passed through the back door, Ian, one of the footmen, handed me a letter. “Message for you, Miss Saskia,” he said.

I took it cautiously, wondering who was writing to me. Master Aquinas, to tell me I was expelled from the Guild?

Don’t be melodramatic
. I thanked Ian and headed for the stairs, turning the envelope over to see if the seal might give any clue. But no—it was an unmarked blob of red wax, unrevealing as a mummer’s mask.

I was half tempted to leave it unread, but it could well be something important. I tore it open and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

Prentice DuCaine
, it read in a carefully elegant hand.

You were wrong. I am the idiot.

If you would come to see me, I’ll let you say I told you so.

Please come.

The signature was nothing more than an
F
slashed in three bold strokes.

I stared at the note, not knowing whether to be happy or even more outraged.

So he thought I would come if he called, did he? Well, that was just . . . perfectly correct, I realized with a sigh as I reached my room.

I would go.

I couldn’t help myself.

Which, as far as I could tell, made me an idiot beyond any reasonable meaning of the word.

* * *

It was well past one o’clock before I got to the Swallow. I had taken time to bathe and dress, carefully choosing something that was flattering but simple. I didn’t want Fen thinking I’d made any particular effort, after all. Even if it had taken me twenty minutes to decide on a pair of earrings and longer still to determine how I wanted to wear my hair.

Idiot, indeed.

I hadn’t actually expected the Swallow to be open this early, but there were two men at the door as usual, though not the same men as had been there when I’d left the night before.

But like those two, the new bo
uncers looked somewhat surprised at my appearance. I didn’t blame them. I would imagine that men brought the majority of any business that the Swallow did so early.

Still, they let me pass without too much comment.
I should have sent a reply
, I thought as I scanned the tavern.
Should have made him come to me
.

But that would have meant having this meeting with the entirety of Mother’s household plus Simon, Guy, Lily, and Holly present.

No thank you to that particular scenario.

It took a moment or two for my eyes to adjust to the dimness, so different from the blaze of the chandeliers that had illuminated the place previously.

Then I saw Fen. At the bar, a place he looked far too comfortable in. I hesitated. This was stupidity. Nothing more or less. But I couldn’t make myself turn around and walk away.

Instead, I just watched. The room was nearly empty, maybe twenty people in total, a number that would only fill half the stools along the massive wooden bar, let alone make any sort of impact on the small tables scattered around the place. They were all men—I’d been right about that. Half of them wore evening clothes, so presumably they had been out all night. The others, more plainly dressed, were mostly eating or reading newspapers. Perhaps they were staff rather than patrons. I didn’t know or care. They weren’t the ones I had come to see, after all.

Fen was alone at the bar, talking amiably to the barman. The green stone dangling from his ear glinted in the low light thrown by the flickering gaslights. There was a glass in front of him—brandy, judging by its color—but it was still mostly full and he didn’t reach for it in the long moments while I watched.

Then he turned, saw me. The smile he shot me had me stepping forward before I could think any more. Nerves bloomed with each step.

Silly little girl.

Silly, foolish, stupid little girl.

No matter what I called myself, there was someone deep inside who tossed her head and insisted she didn’t care. That what she wanted was sitting before her on that barstool, grinning at her. I still hadn’t decided whether I felt sick or happy by the time I reached Fen and hoisted myself onto the stool next to his.

“You came,” he said.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“Saskia, there’s not a oddsman in the City that would’ve accepted a bet that you would show.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. What was he doing here if he was so sure that I wouldn’t come? Trolling for a replacement?

I squelched the thought. It was unworthy. “I’ll have a brandy,” I said to the barman. Fen cocked his head at me but didn’t comment. Good. Maybe he was learning.

But still the considering gleam in those green, green eyes made my nerves flare higher.

“How are you feeling?” The question came more out of automatic politeness and my need for something to say than anything else. I dropped my eyes to his wrist, but he wore a long-sleeved white shirt whose cuffs hid his chain from view.

He shook his head. “Nothing to concern yourself about.”

That could mean anything from “better” to “hurting like hell.” How long did a person have to know this man before he relaxed enough to actually let her in? A long time, it seemed.

More time than I had in hand and perhaps more time than I wanted to give. The doubts were starting to win. I twisted on the stool. Fen’s hand shot out, circled my wrist. “Don’t go.”

“This was a bad idea.”

“I know.”

“Then why am I here? I don’t understand this, Fen. Why ask me here? You made your feelings perfectly clear earlier.”

His head tilted again. “I’m not all that sure myself.”

My heart sank again and I looked away. “Then I should go. And you can bother somebody else. I’m sure you don’t lack for choice.”

“No, I don’t.”

This time I did slide off the stool. “In that case, I think it’s better that I go now, before we both make any more
mistakes
.”

Fen moved to block me, coming to his feet and stepping around me in that fluid movement that reminded me of his very mixed heritage. Grace and speed and strength. Power. From the Fae and the Beasts. He radiated heat as well as charm, hard not to step closer, to bask in him.

“Don’t go,” he repeated.

To my horror, tears rose in my eyes. “Why not?”

“Well,” he said, “for one thing, there’s this.” Then he laid his hands either side of my face and bent down to kiss me.

It was just as good as I remembered. And this time it wasn’t backed by anger. No, this time there was a dangerous sweetness to his touch, a warmth that stole through me and melted the walls I’d constructed to defend myself.