Iron Kin: A Novel of the Half-Light City (9 page)

He shrugged. “Nothing much. Faint glimpses. One on one I can usually keep them under control.”

“Usually?”

He ignored that, studying me. I didn’t like the speculative expression lurking in the depths of that gaze. What did he see around me? My stomach tightened as I realized that he might be seeing my future. I wouldn’t ask. I didn’t want to know. Or did I? “But surely stopping your visions isn’t a good thing. You earn your living through them, don’t you?”

“Yes. But that doesn’t mean I like it.” His left hand drifted toward his right wrist, then jerked back.

I looked again at the iron chain. “You told me that didn’t hurt.”

“I lied. I do that.” The last held a hint of warning.

I resisted the urge to rub my temples. It seemed the combination of not enough sleep and the frustrations of the morning were combining to set me up with an aching head of my own.

“I don’t understand—” I stopped for a moment. Tried to think. “It has to have something to do with my powers. I have an affinity for iron. Maybe that means my power is like iron to yours?” I stopped again, unsure of myself. “But surely if that worked, someone would have known about it before?”

Fen’s expression was intrigued . . . if a little skeptical. I knew how he felt. My theory was just that, a theory. A wild-sounding one at that.

“Not necessarily.” He spoke slowly. “The Fae and the Beasts don’t really spend much time with metalmages, after all.”

“The Fae sometimes do.”

“Fae seers?”

I had to admit I didn’t know the answer to that. “Where does your sight come from, anyway?”

Another fluid shrug. “Nobody knows the answer to that particular question. There aren’t many Fae-Beast-human by-blows like me.”

I could believe that. While Fae and Beasts both slept with humans, I couldn’t imagine a Fae doing the same with a Beast. They would consider that far too undignified. Fen’s heritage was, if not unique, then at least very rare. Much like his powers. That was unfortunate, but it also meant my theory was as good as any right now. No one knew exactly why metalmages had an affinity for one metal over another either. It was plausible that whatever made iron and me a good match could mean that I could be the human equivalent of iron for Fen.

Not that I had any idea what earthly use that might be. Did he? “Why did you want to know for sure?”

“Because, as Holly would say, information is power.”

That didn’t ring true to me. It wasn’t as if this particular fact was any use to anybody but him.

I studied him. He met my gaze calmly, but I wasn’t reassured. “Don’t start lying now. What were you hoping to achieve?”

He made an exasperated noise, then stood and stalked over to the window.

Silence reigned as he stared out the window. He had good aural wards, that was for sure. The Swallow and the Dove were both large and constantly busy. They also faced
one of the busier streets in Brightown. It was nearly midday now. The streets below us would be crowded with people and vehicles, yet all I could hear was the sound of Fen’s breathing and the faint rustle of my dress as I eased my position on the chair.

Eventually Fen turned back to me. “I don’t know.”

“So it’s just curiosity?” I paused. “Why don’t I believe you?” I tried to remember everything he’d said here in this room and back at the Guild. “Wait—you said something else happened last night. What?”

“That doesn’t concern you.”

“It does if it sent you scurrying to my doorstep.”

“I do not
scurry
.”

“Fine. Sent you striding manfully to my doorstep,” I retorted. “What happened?”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

“This is going to be a long day then.”

His mouth flattened. “You know, it’s possible that you’re even more annoying than your brothers.”

I smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You like being annoying?”

“It’s better than being invisible,” I said.

“I hardly think many people would consider you to be invisible.”

“You might be surprised.”

“Humans are idiots,” he said.

“Aren’t you half-human?”

“Technically, it’s three-eighths.”

“Oh?”

“My father was Fae. My mother’s mother was
immuable
. Do you know what that is?”

I nodded. “A Beast who doesn’t change.” I’d known he was part Beast but not the
immuable
part. No wonder he could charm the birds from the trees. I’d met only a few Beast Kind—those who sometimes came to the Guild to commission work—but they were invariably handsome men and women, radiating . . . something I didn’t want to think too closely about. And the
immuable
—the Beast Kind who didn’t change—were said to get all the other qualities of the Beasts in extra doses. Strength. Beauty. Charm. Temper. Along with a helping of Sight. Fen’s grandmother must have been a very interesting woman.

And apparently her blood ran strong. Fen had those same qualities. He drew the eye. Amongst other things.

“Interesting,” I murmured.

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“I’m a mage. My brother’s a mage. My future sisters-in-law are likely to be a wraith and a demi-Fae. If none of that bothers me, why do you think your parentage would?” I lifted my chin. He might have me in the category of “good human girl” in his head, but I’d rather he saw me for what I really was. A person in my own right. Someone who was capable of more than decorating drawing rooms and ballrooms, someone who valued more than just the strictures of the privileged human society I’d grown up in.

“Perhaps I underestimated you,” he said.

I tamped down the immediate glow of pleasure. “Yes, you did. So now that we’ve cleared that up . . . are you going to tell me what happened last night? Maybe it’s a problem that I could help with.”

“I doubt it,” he said. He looked for a moment over to the shelf that held the brandy. He probably wanted a drink. Holly said he drank too much. I was beginning to understand why.

“Tell me,” I said again, trying to coax him.

Fen shook his head. He moved to the bed, sat, and dropped his head into his hands. Then he straightened. “I don’t want to drag anybody else into my mess.”

“Tell me or I’ll tell Holly that you’re in a mess and then you’ll have more than me to worry about.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Care to put that to the test?”

His expression turned resigned. “No.”

“Then tell me.”

“Let’s just say that last night I received several invitations to participate in the treaty negotiations.”

I stared at him. “That’s a bad thing?”

“Sweetheart, if you could see what I see, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere near those negotiations. In fact, you’d be leaving the City.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“Because apparently it’s not only humans who can be idiots.”

“You really don’t want to be on a delegation?” Anger and disbelief sparked in my stomach. I had spent
months
trying to achieve what he was going to casually discard. Sweated and slaved and—

“No,” he said shortly.

“Why not? Simon and Guy will both be on the Templar delegation,” I said. “Holly too, I guess.”

“I know,” he said. “But just because Holly has lost her head doesn’t mean that I want to lose mine.”

My jaw tightened. “Did you ever consider that perhaps the way to prevent whatever it is you’ve seen happening is to work to stop it?”

His brows drew together, dark slashes that matched the dark worry in his eyes. “You think it’s that easy?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what you’ve seen.”

“And you’re not going to,” he said.

“I’d do it,” I said. “If someone gave me the chance to help, then I would.” I bit down before I could say any more and all the disappointment of this morning came spilling out of me.

His mouth twisted. “Then that’s the difference between you and me.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said. “I know you helped Holly when Reggie was in trouble.”

“Holly and Reggie are my family.”

“Everybody’s family might be at risk if what you’ve seen is true.” It had to be bad, whatever it was that made him look so haunted.

“I can’t help everybody.”

“How do you know unless you try?”

“Spoken like a well-protected human girl. You don’t know what it’s like outside your safe little world. The Night World is dangerous.”

I was all too aware of the costs that the Night World could impose. “I’m not—”

“Don’t try and tell me . . . you didn’t grow up in the border boroughs. You don’t know what it is to fight for survival.”

“Only because no one will bloody well let me!” My voice was louder than I intended, echoing around the room. “You think I just want to sit on the sidelines and embroider hankies? No. I want to make a difference. And I wouldn’t throw away the chance if I was offered it.” I rose from the chair, not sure exactly what I was intending to do. But I couldn’t just sit there.

Fen rose as I did and took one step toward me before stopping. We stared at each other. I wanted to read something in his eyes, something to tell me he wasn’t really so cynical. But all I saw was a flat resolve that I couldn’t decipher any further.

“Are you really not going to help?” I didn’t want to believe that he would turn his back on what was right.

“I don’t think I’ll have a choice,” he said bitterly.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I either accept your brothers’ offer to be on their delegation or I inevitably end up being forced into helping somebody else.”

I wondered who else had made him an offer. Someone from the Night World, I presumed. The Fae had their own seers—I couldn’t see that they would trouble themselves with a half-breed who seemed to be at war with his powers.

Night World then. Beasts or Blood.

“Would you really consider working for the Night World?”

“It wouldn’t exactly be a choice.”

“If you don’t want to do that, then, it seems as though you should choose our side.”

“I’d rather choose my own side and stay the hell out of things altogether.”

“And I’d rather grow wings and fly to the moon, but that’s not likely to happen, is it? You can help.”

“That’s part of the problem, I don’t know if I can. I can put my bloody neck on the line and be completely useless. Or worse.”

What was worse? “Because you can’t control the visions?”

“Partly. But it’s not just that. It’s—” He stopped. “No. I’m not talking about this.”

“Because it hurts,” I said softly. “Doesn’t it?”

I crossed to him. I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t a healer like my brother but I didn’t have to be to feel the pain in Fen. I laid my hand—still safely gloved—on his cheek.

“Yes,” he said simply. “And I can’t make it stop.”

Chapter Five

F
EN

The
touch of Saskia’s gloved hand was warm against my cheek, the leather soft where it brushed my skin. But instead of leaning into the comfort she offered, as part of me wanted very much to do, I made myself stop, straighten, step away.

Admitting my pain had been an error in judgment. I wouldn’t compound my mistake.

Saskia’s hand fell slowly away, but she didn’t protest my retreat. The weight of her gaze, the knowing look in those eyes, seemed to bore right through my skin, as though she could see into me. I didn’t want her seeing that. The mess that I was.

“You can’t stop it,” she said hesitantly. “But maybe I can.”

She started pulling off her gloves.

I held out a hand, palm out. “Don’t.”

“I can help you, Fen.”

“No.”

Hurt flared in her eyes, then turned to something hotter. Anger.

“Why not? Too proud to accept help from a female?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

I hadn’t entirely understood my instinctive rejection, but her questions had made it clear. “Because,” I said, trying not to snarl the frustration that knowledge brought, “knowing there is a way for it to stop will just make the rest of the time harder than it already is.”

“Oh.” Her expression softened again.

Which, perversely, made me angry. “Exactly. You can’t just snap your fingers and fix everything. This is the real world.”

Her hand twitched. Probably wanted to slap me. Wouldn’t be the first woman to do so either. But her fingers curled into her palm instead, and her chin came up.

“I’m well aware of that,” she said. “And maybe it won’t work all the time, but surely some of the time is better than none?”

“You going to come down here every night and hold my hand? It’s a tempting offer, sweetheart, but I’m not sure your family would approve.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not offering to go to bed with you, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” Her chin tilted higher still, her eyes suddenly flinty. “You’re not my type, anyway.”

I let that one lie. I knew it wasn’t true. Knew that she felt the same pull toward me that I felt toward her. But given that I thought the smart thing to do was ignore it, I was glad that she seemed to have reached the same conclusion. “Then what exactly are you proposing?”

“A mutually beneficial arrangement.”

I lifted an eyebrow. I might be prepared not to act on the attraction between us, but I wasn’t entirely above a little flirtation. Her cheeks went pink, but she just ignored that and kept going.

“I have something you need. You have something I want. We can help each other.”

“And what is it of mine that you want?” I asked, curious despite my better judgment.

“I want you to join the Templar delegation.” She paused, took a deep breath. “But I want you to tell my brothers you’ll agree to join if they take me too.”

“And in return for me sticking my head into the lion’s den, I get what?”

“You get relief from your visions.”

“How often?” How far was she actually willing to take this? She had determination, I had to give her that. Not to mention a certain degree of courage—or misplaced bravado—to come to see me in the first place.

“We can discuss that once you agree.”

“Why should I agree before I know what I’m going to get out of it?”

She flapped her gloves at me. “Oh, stop being difficult. The choice is easy. You can suffer or you can help me and I’ll help you.”

Definitely Guy and Simon’s sister. Ruthless in pursuit of what she wanted. Still as attractive as her offer—the thought of no pain, even temporarily—was, I wasn’t going to drag her into a situation that I didn’t want to be in myself.

“No,” I said.

Saskia’s mouth flattened. “I’m getting very tired of people telling me no.”

“Be that as it may, no it is. Simon and Guy would have my head if anything happened to you.”

“Simon and Guy don’t get a say in what I do. Sainted earth, I’m twenty-three years old.”

“They might not get a say but that won’t stop them from coming after me.”

She looked like she wanted to throw something. At me.

“Maybe you should be more worried about me than them.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m a metalmage, Fen. I’m not some delicate female flower who needs a big strong man to protect her. I don’t see you telling Lily or Holly what to do.”

“I have more sense than that,” I muttered.

“Then I suggest you add me to whatever strange mental category you include them in.”

“Lily is a wraith.
You
can’t walk through walls to escape if something goes wrong at the negotiations.”

“Nor can Holly.”

“Holly can handle herself.”

Her eyes had moved beyond flinty. Now they were a storm cloud shade. Lightning lurked in their depths. It matched her thunderous expression. “How do you know I can’t?”

“You work metal, don’t you? That’s not going to help you if a Blood or a Beast comes after you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. Beside, you’re not yet a metalmage. You’re still a student.”

“That’s just semantics.”

“Well, right now, in this city, your semantics might just get you killed.”

“Is that so? Tell me, Fen, what special powers do you have that make you invincible?”

I shrugged. “I can see trouble coming.” That was a lie, but nearly thirty years of life in the border boroughs had left me with a healthy instinct for trouble and the ability to fight my way out of it when I had to.

“I thought you wore that chain around your wrist to stop yourself from seeing. So I really don’t see how your sight can be all that useful. It’s hardly practical.”

Before I could answer, she reached up and yanked a hairpin free from the neat coils of her hair.

“Whereas I can do this.” She held the bronze-colored pin upright between her thumb and forefinger, then narrowed her eyes at it. The tip of the pin burst into flame.

Impressive. Not that I was going to tell her that. “I don’t think any Blood or Beast is going to stand still while you stick a flaming pin in them.” I did my best to sound bored.

She shot me a look that made me wonder why my head didn’t ignite as the pin had. The flame on the pin died abruptly and she flicked it toward the empty grate, where it made a little sizzling noise as it hit the hearthstone. One quick glance around the room and she stalked over to my mantel and picked up a pewter candlestick. “Can I borrow this?”

It was obviously a rhetorical question. I sensibly stayed quiet, limiting myself to a nod. She shot me another flat glare, then moved her hands, one to each end of the candlestick.

I wondered if she was working up to braining me with it, but then she suddenly pulled her hands apart and the metal . . . stretched. That was the only word for it. As if it were rubber or clay or toffee. I stared as her right hand moved over one end of the candlestick, working it to a wicked point, more dagger than candlestick.

She made a satisfied sound, then moved her grip so that she held only the blunt end. Definitely more daggerlike. Perhaps I had underestimated her after all.

She aimed the sharp end toward me and snapped her fingers. The point lit up like a flare, burning with a clean white light. She smiled nastily at me and before I could say anything she threw the flaming dagger toward me with deadly force. It whistled past my head, close enough for me to feel the hot rush of air as it traveled past me and buried itself in the far wall with a solid
thunk
. At once the wallpaper began to smoke and char, the burning smell hot and acrid.

“That’s going to cost me extra rent,” I said. I didn’t bother trying to put the fire out. Nothing I could do would extinguish a flame set by a mage.

Saskia made no move to douse the fire, just folded her arms, gaze locked on mine. The paper around the dagger caught with a soft whoosh of flame.

“You’ve made your point. Do you think you could put that out now?”

“Of course.” She snapped her fingers and the flames died. I picked up the pitcher of water and crossed the room to toss it over the candle dagger and the wall. I was sure she could put the flame in the metal out, but I wasn’t so sure about the wood. I didn’t want to wake up in the small hours with my room on fire. Saskia said nothing.

I wrapped my hand around the end of the dagger, half expecting it to be hot. It was warm but not unpleasantly so. I pulled it free of the wall, carried it back to her.

“This is yours, I believe.”

“Actually, it’s yours.” She laid it on the table. “Consider it a gift. Still think I’m helpless?”

“It was a good throw,” I admitted. “But you’re still not going to have time to fashion a weapon every time you need one.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Do you think I’m an idiot? I carry weapons. And I can do that to any piece of metal around me.”

My eyes traveled around the room, noting all the bits and pieces of metal. My chain around my wrist suddenly weighed a ton. But there was still no way I wanted to put myself in the position of having to explain to Simon and Guy exactly why I was going to demand that they put their sister in danger.

“How does that work, exactly?” I said, stalling while I tried to think of another way to dissuade her. “The fire?” I’d known that metalmages could manipulate metal, but the fire part was new.

She shrugged. “All metal was molten once. It remembers the heat.”

“I’m not sure that makes any sense.”

“It’s magic. It’s hard to explain. You try to explain how your visions work to me and, if you can, I’ll try again.”

“Touché.”

“So?” Saskia lifted her chin.

“So what?” Playing dumb was my last bastion of defense.

“Do we have a deal? Throwing a dagger isn’t the only thing I know how to do. I’m a pretty damn good shot and I can use a sword too.”

“You can?”

“I grew up with two older brothers who wanted to be Templars. They got lessons, I paid attention. And as soon as I joined the Guild, I started up again. After all, if you’re going to make weapons, it helps to know how to use them.”

“What kind of weapons do you make?”

“Guns, daggers, swords. Lots of things. We have to learn all sorts of metalworking as part of our studies. I like the weapons.”

The girl continued to surprise me. I shook my head. I should have guessed as much, given her brothers. “Was there a particularly bloodthirsty ancestor in your family?”

Her smile this time was almost scary. “We’ve had our moments, but really the DuCaines are just a normal human family.”

“You and Simon are both mages.”

“Guy and Hannah aren’t, though.”

“Two out of four is a high percentage, isn’t it? For your sort of family.”

“Two out of five,” she corrected.

“Sorry?”

“There were five of us. I had another sister.”

Had? Damn. There was a subject I wasn’t about to delve into. Her face had turned shadowed.

“Five,” I corrected. “It’s still high.”

“These things happen. My parents don’t like it, but there’s not much they can do about it.”

Her parents would be worried about who would take over the family concerns once they were gone. Guy was a Templar, and unlikely to give that up, from what I could tell. Simon was busy with his patients and St. Giles.

The senior DuCaines had to be hoping either Saskia or Hannah would marry the right sort of man and bring him into the family fold. I looked at Saskia, standing there ready to charge into battle to get what she wanted. She could run a family’s estates. I didn’t think she wanted to, though. I had trouble imagining her sitting sedately behind a desk, going through piles of ledgers and bills.

The faint images ghosting her didn’t show such a fate. But right now they didn’t show much of anything beyond the same sense of heat and flame I’d gotten the night before. Which was a good thing, and how I wanted it to remain. “You should listen to your parents. And your brothers. They’d all tell you not to do this.”

“As I said, I’m very tired of being told what to do. Do we have a deal?”

“The situation is complicated . . .” If I couldn’t convince her with logic, maybe I could intimidate her with something else. She was a good human girl, after all. Perhaps I’d taken the wrong tack.

“I can handle complications. I understand the politics of the negotiations—quite well.” She looked me up and down. “Possibly better than you do.”

“I wasn’t talking about politics, sweetheart.” I let my voice go softer, deeper. Holly called it my female catnip voice. She ribbed me relentlessly about it when she caught me using it, but even she couldn’t deny it worked. I could talk most women into anything when I used that voice on them.

Saskia’s cheeks deepened in color but she made no move. “What exactly did you mean?”

“You’re volunteering to spend a lot of time in my company. And I know you feel something for me.”

“Why, you—” She sputtered for a moment.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Or if you truly don’t know, then you really have no business trying to make this deal.”

She continued to stare at me, seemingly struggling to come up with a suitable retort.