Iron Kin: A Novel of the Half-Light City (3 page)

“You sound like my mother.”

“Sometimes mothers make sense,” I said, more because it seemed the right thing to say than because it was anything I believed. What did I know of mothers? Mine was hardly a stellar example of maternity, but Saskia didn’t need to know that. Better she thought me boring and left me alone and I didn’t find myself being hunted down by Simon and Guy.

I looked past Saskia to see if I could spot Holly. She was still standing where she had been earlier and she raised an eyebrow at me as I caught her eye. I lifted my hand to wave at her, our long-standing “come save me” signal.

The movement made my coat sleeve fall back and for a moment my chain flashed into view.

Saskia’s smile died. “Why do you have an iron chain around your wrist?”

I smoothed my sleeve, hiding the chain from her sight. “How do you know it’s iron?”

“I can tell.”

“From one look?” I doubted it. It was only a glimpse, after all, and one dark metal chain looked much like another.

“I’m a metalmage . . . an apprentice, at least. It’s iron.” She looked confused. “But you’re half Fae, aren’t you? Like Holly? That must hurt.”

I’d known that, somewhere in the back of my mind. Holly must have told me. I tried to reconcile the young woman in front of me with my mental image of metalmages—which consisted largely of forges and flames and grime. It didn’t work. “Some of us aren’t affected by iron. Like Holly.”

“Holly’s immunity is pretty rare. Are you saying you have it too?” It was her turn to sound disbelieving.

The lie stuck on the tip of my tongue, caught there, perhaps, by the pain in my wrist where the chain bit. Luckily I was saved from answering by Holly’s arrival.

She looked from me to Saskia and back, eyes narrowing as they met mine. I kept my face carefully bland. After all, I was innocent in this particular situation. Saskia had sought me out, not the other way around.

“I see you two have met,” Holly said.

Saskia nodded. “Fen was just telling me how the iron around his wrist doesn’t hurt him.”

Holly’s eyes widened, her famous composure, for once, disturbed. “Was he now?” One hand strayed up to toy with the chain at her neck. Worried, then. “Saskia, your mother asked me to fetch you. The speeches will be starting soon.”

I knew that tone well enough to get the “you stay right here, Fen” intent. I was being warned away from Saskia, which I had to admit stung a little. For one thing, did Holly really think I was stupid enough to mess around with a well-connected human and, for another, if she did, did she really think I wasn’t good enough for her future sister-in-law?

I watched the two of them leave, my wrist throbbing and the taste of champagne sour in my mouth. I turned back to the barman. Fuck restraint and fuck Martin Krueger. I needed a proper drink.

Chapter Two

S
ASKIA

The
half-healed burn on my right hand itched under the leather of my glove. I resisted the urge to pull it off and scratch.

Young ladies don’t scratch in public. It’s impolite.

My mother had drummed that, amongst many other rules of correct behavior, into my head from the time I was big enough to appear in anything even vaguely resembling a public place.

Of course, I was hardly a polite young lady despite her best efforts. I had stopped being a polite young lady when my powers came in, but Mother did her best to ignore that and I did my best to pretend she was right when I was with her. It was easier that way, even if sometimes the pretense itched worse than the burn on my hand did. Itched and scratched and made me feel like I couldn’t breathe, as though I was wearing a too tight corset. Which I often was, around my mother.

Still, I could never quite banish her voice telling me exactly how I was falling short of her standards at times like these.

I tried to think of something else as I listened with half an ear to whatever it was the always dull Anthony Killington was pontificating on to his circle of admirers. The trouble with trying to think of something else at this point was that the only other things my mind kept returning to were the amused dark green eyes of the mysterious Fen and the iron chain wrapped around his wrist.

It only proved my point. He wasn’t the sort of man polite young ladies thought of. No, they would have the sense to give him a wide berth, to feel that hint of otherness about him and distance themselves. Men like him didn’t keep you safe from danger. Men like him attracted it. The same atmosphere that surrounded Holly and Lily—that same sense of potential for . . . mayhem? Danger?—hells,
freedom
—surrounded him like burning spice. Exotic. Enticing.

I wanted to let it surround me too.

But Fen wasn’t the right path for that. No, if I wanted to be finally allowed to
do
something and not be kept wrapped in cotton wool by my brothers, then my best chance was the Guild of Metalmages and mastery of my powers.

My hand itched again. The Guild. I couldn’t wait to get back there. Back to the power and fire and the place where I was valued for myself, not for some idea of who I should be. Back where the metal sang and everything seemed simple. Where no one looked at me with that polite face that said, “Oh, Saskia, she’s a little . . . odd.” At the Guild, those without powers were the odd ones.

Tomorrow Master Aquinas would be choosing the students who would be part of the Guild’s treaty delegation. Choosing me, if all my hard work had paid off.

One more night.

But first I had to get through this hideous ball.

The first ball of treaty season, thrown by my mother, as usual. Short of actually setting myself on fire, there was no way I would be able to leave until early morning. Not whilst Hilary was keeping her eagle eye on me. If I tried to slip out any earlier, I’d have to deal with weeks of lectures on my shortcomings. A few hours of pain now were worth avoiding that. Which was why I was standing in uncomfortable shoes, in an uncomfortable dress, pretending to enjoy myself while my hand itched and Anthony Killington droned on about his latest victory in banking in a voice that buzzed like a very dull bee.

Across the room, my mother smiled approvingly and tipped her head in Anthony’s direction, urging me closer. I resisted the desire to stick out my tongue in response. Surely one definite and one imminent engagement were enough? My brothers were settling down, hopefully ensuring the family line for another generation. Couldn’t my mother let that distract her from trying to match me up as well?

Apparently not, if I read the gleam in Hilary’s eyes correctly.

Perhaps because of the women Simon and Guy had chosen, my mother’s determination to marry me and, in a few years or so once she turned twenty, Hannah, off to suitable—for which one could read
human
—men seemed to have intensified.

Well, she was just going to have to wait for any form of marital triumph when it came to me. I was only four years into my studies at the Guild. Marriage, if it ever did tempt me, would come after I became a Master.

Anthony changed the topic of conversation to currency valuation and the impact of the silver stockpiles. The itch intensified. It was warm in the ballroom, the candles in the chandeliers and the press of bodies heating the air to an unpleasant closeness. My hands were damp in my gloves, sweat stinging the burn. My fingers flexed unwittingly to ease the pain.

If I’d been sensible I would have asked Simon to heal it for me, but if I ran to my brother every time I had a minor scrape or burn at the Guild, I’d spend all my time traveling to and from St. Giles.

Hardly conducive to clinching the race for the top spot in my class and securing my inclusion in the delegation.

Beside which, I’d have to put up with Simon teasing me about a metalmage burning herself each and every time I asked for help. He knew as well as I did that, while metalmages can’t be burned by metal being worked with their power or fire they have called, we are perfectly susceptible to the whims of other sources of heat. But he was also my older brother and therefore duty bound to tease me when he could.

Determined to ignore my hand, I excused myself from the group of Killington hangers-on and made my way slowly through the crowd, trying to look like I had a destination in mind. My attention was only half on the endless parade of couples whirling around the room while I looked for a place to hide away for a few minutes. I didn’t understand how they could all be so cavalier. Acting as if they didn’t have a care in the world and as though the looming treaty negotiations were nothing to be worried about.

Denial seemed to be in fashion amongst my mother’s set. And she kept up the charade as well, moving amongst her guests, laughing and smiling and making sure everybody was having a good time, though in reality she knew more than most about the trouble that lurked in the heart of the City.

I caught sight of her across the ballroom, smiling determinedly. Trouble indeed. She only had to look at the women standing beside her sons to be reminded of that.

I didn’t know exactly what the trouble was. Guy and Simon both turned stony-faced and closemouthed when I asked. Yet here was Simon with Lily, a former Night World assassin and Guy had risked a trip to the Veiled Court to help Holly—a relative stranger at the time, not to mention half Fae—rescue her mother. Lord Lucius had disappeared around the time Simon had met Lily and there were all sorts of rumors flying about the Veiled World being in an uproar since Guy and Holly had been there. Whatever trouble was driving the undercurrents of unease swirling through the City, my brothers were at the center of it.

And totally determined to keep me ignorant in their knuckleheaded belief that it would keep me safe.

Stop me ending up dead like our sister Edwina.

But just as my mother was wrong in her belief that I was her perfect lady of a daughter apart from that whole unfortunate metalmage issue, Simon and Guy were wrong if they thought they could keep their secrets and keep me from helping them if I could.

I just had to find a way in to the truth.

Tomorrow
, I reminded myself. Tomorrow I would have a ticket to the negotiations and they would have no excuse to keep me ignorant any longer.

I could make it through tonight—behave myself—to get to tomorrow. But even as I thought it, I found myself turning back to look across the room to where Fen had been, seeking another glimpse of dark hair and wild green eyes.

There. I spotted him just in time to see my brothers coming up on either side of him. My fingers tightened around my fan. What were they doing? My hand stung as I watched, wishing I could hear what they were saying. But for that I would need one of Holly’s charms. Instead, I just had to stand and observe as the three of them made their way across the ballroom to one of the doors. Damn. Where were they going?

I wanted to know, to follow, but any chance of escape was thwarted when Anthony Killington appeared before me, bowing low, and I remembered I had promised him the next dance.

F
EN

* * *

The door shut behind me with a quiet click. I stayed where I was, close to the exit, as Guy walked over and lifted a decanter from a tray on a table near the window. “Brandy?”

I nodded agreement. I assumed that whatever was kept in the decanters here, in what looked like someone’s private study, was probably a step or two up from the liquor they were serving downstairs. And what they were serving downstairs was more than a few steps up from what Madame Figg served.

While Guy poured, I waited, still aware that Simon stood behind me, near the door. I’d never been in the DuCaine town house before. Too risky.

“I thought we’d agreed not to talk tonight,” I said. Letting Reggie and Holly talk me into this was one thing, but being seen going off with Guy and Simon was another altogether.

“It’s all right,” Simon said. “You’re glamoured.”

Holly’s work, I presumed. Well, that was risky too. “There are people who can see through glamours.” I examined the room, looking for wards. The drapes pulled tight across the window were dark red brocade and the furniture was deep brown, both wood and leather. A fire burned in the grate despite the mild night, faintly sweet smoke mingling with the smell of the gaslights. On the walls hung portraits of Hilary and Garret DuCaine and their children. The whole place reeked of elegance and wealth. The wards were elegant too, subtle shimmering layers of magic that would take a lot of work to break. I let myself relax a little.

Guy filled one glass, then put the decanter down and picked up another to fill a second glass with the whiskey he preferred. “Simon?” He looked past me to his brother.

“No,” Simon said. “I’m working later.”

Behind me a tingle of magic prickled my neck. Simon giving the wards another boost. Nervous, was he?

Apparently I was going to need that brandy Guy was holding out to me. I walked over and took the glass, feeling the weight of good crystal in my hand. Probably not good form to bolt the whole drink at a gulp.

I sipped it instead, watching the DuCaines warily. “I take it you didn’t ask me here just to share your family’s excellent brandy,” I said. “So talk.”

Guy looked at Simon, one of those inscrutable Templar looks he was good at. Apparently Simon had no problem interpreting it. He shrugged, then pointed to the chairs near the fireplace as Guy tipped his own glass and half drained it. Maybe I could have bolted mine after all.

I chose the chair closest to the door, mostly to watch Guy squirm when he couldn’t take the most obvious defensive position.

“The negotiations start next week,” Simon said, once all three of us were settled.

“Just as well, when your mother has gone to all this trouble with this ball,” I said.

“This ball might be one of the few pleasant things associated with the negotiations,” Simon said.

“This is hardly news,” I said. “Your point?” They wouldn’t risk dragging me in here for no good reason. I wondered exactly what Simon had to say that had him dancing around the subject like one of those silly girls who came to the Swallow and took several nights to screw up their courage enough to sit down at my table and pay to hear their fortunes.

“Do you have somewhere more important to be?” Guy asked, tilting his glass slowly so that the whiskey glowed red in the firelight.

I looked away quickly before the color could spark the visions to renewed strength. That happened sometimes. The insistent fog of futures had mostly dissipated here in the study, away from the crowds, but Simon and Guy had always been hard to be around. The futures swirled around them like moths circling a lamp. Men with destinies.

Destinies that, at this point, seemed as full of blood and fire as everybody else’s. I didn’t know whether I was seeing true or still picking up the overflow from what I was seeing from the masses below. Either way I wanted to close my eyes until I didn’t have to see any more.