The Mirador (45 page)

Gideon gave me a flat
I don’t want to talk about it
head-shake. And powers and saints, I didn’t want to push. I said, “Look. You want to play cards or something?”

He shrugged and nodded, giving me a lopsided smile that said as how I was no good at changing the subject but he wouldn’t get on my case about it.

We played cards until the ninth hour of the night. Felix still hadn’t come back by the time we went to bed. Gideon lost the last five hands like he’d never seen a deck of cards before in his life.

Chapter 11

Mehitabel

By nine that evening, I was mostly finished moving in, and perhaps messages had been passed along the grapevine of the back hallways, for it was only at that point that Stephen appeared, Hemminge behind him with a tray holding a decanter and two glasses. Hemminge set the tray down ceremonially on the occasional table, bowed to both Stephen and myself, and left.

Stephen poured the wine, handed me a glass, and said, “So, who should I marry?”

I was tired and had a splitting headache, but I manufactured a laugh. “Surely I’m the last person in the world you should be asking that.”

“I value your opinion,” he said; he wasn’t teasing.

“Isn’t it a little soon?”

“What? I’ve seen them.”

“You don’t want to get to know them?”

He looked at me for a moment with an expression of weariness that unsettled me, then said, “All I could learn is whether they dance well. No romance. Sorry. Political convenience. They know it, too. No sense pussyfooting around it. I hate dragging things out to no point. So who do you think?”

I could appreciate a pragmatic view of the situation. “Lady Enid or Lady Dinah.”

“All right. Why?”

“Zelda Polydoria is too young,” I said, editing out the fact that Felix Harrowgate said with absolute certainty Stephen wouldn’t marry her.

“True,” he said, “and I don’t want to marry into the Polydorii.”

“The Severnii are as poor as a ragman’s dog, and I’ve heard at length from five sources about the hereditary madness of the Otanii.”

“Indeed. And Lady Clementine Novadia?”

“Lady Clementine’s reputation as a virago is well-established and well-earned—fast work for a girl of eighteen. If you aren’t going to marry for love, don’t marry her.”

His laugh was like a crack of thunder. “I won’t, then.”

“Which leaves Enid Lemeria and Dinah Valeria. But between them, I frankly do not see a whisker of difference. They are young, pretty, well-bred, and as far as I can tell Philip Lemerius is no better an addition to one’s family than Winston Valerius.”

“I rather like Philip,” he said mildly.

“Yes, I know, and it baffles me.”

He grinned briefly, then sobered. “And I don’t want a tie to the Valerii, either—although the child seems a nice enough lamb.”

“Suitable for sacrifice?”

“Exactly.”

“Then marry Enid.”

“Just as everyone expects.”

“Yes.” I’d heard that opinion more than once. Most people had seemed to assume that the soirée was no more than a polite form—and a chance for the other girls to get themselves noticed by eligible young men. Certainly no one was upset by it.

I said, a little warily, for I still had no sense for how he reacted to being teased, “You don’t exactly have a reputation for being unpredictable.”

It made him laugh. “I don’t, do I? Very well, then. The Lemeria it is. And now let’s talk about something else.”

Talking wasn’t what he had in mind; I didn’t let myself sigh before I agreed.

Mildmay

I dreamed about Strych and Felix again. I was trying to find Felix and hide from Strych. Only I couldn’t tell which one was Strych and which one was Felix, and because it was that kind of dream, every time I thought I’d found Felix, it turned out to be Strych. And the more times I found Strych, the more I knew I had to find Felix so I could warn him, because I knew it was really Felix that Strych wanted to find. Me, he was just going to kill. And Strych kept smiling at me with Felix’s face and telling me not to be silly, I’d got it all wrong. But I knew he was lying, and I knew if he touched me, it would kill me. And then there wouldn’t be nobody to keep him from turning into Felix for real.

I came awake like falling off a wall. The sheets were sweat-soaked and tangled around me, and I was shaking, like I was a septad old again and Keeper was having to smack me out of my bad dreams.

And I knew what that dream was all about, too. Sometimes Felix was way too much like Strych. I mean, I knew why and everything, but it didn’t help, the way sometimes I could see him turning into Strych right in front of me. I’d never had the guts to tell him that. Either he didn’t know, and it would tear him apart, or he did know . . . and I didn’t want to think about that one.

I concentrated on my breathing and on the basics of getting dressed—doing up the buttons, straightening my cuffs. By the time I was ready to go out, my hands were steady. But I’d also come out of myself enough to hear Felix shouting. I couldn’t make out the words, but it wasn’t like I needed to.

Blessed saints, I thought. Of all the septads of things I didn’t want to do right then, walking out into another fight was right up at the top of the list. But it was either that or stay cowering in here like a mouse who’s spotted a cat, so I opened the door and went on out.

I knew in about a half a second I’d’ve done better to admit I was a mouse. Felix and Gideon were standing in the middle of the room, staring at each other. Felix was still wearing last night’s clothes. They both turned toward me, like they thought I was going to attack them. I stopped right where I was because it seemed like they were maybe an inch, inch and a half, from starting to throw magic around, and I didn’t want to get in the way of none of that.

Gideon said something to Felix. I could tell by the way Felix stiffened. I thought, praying, that Felix was going to be able to keep himself from answering—that was the only way they could get out of the bad fights—but then he said, “No, I’m not bound-by-forms to you, and I’m fucking well grateful for it.”

Oh fuck me sideways ’til I cry, I thought. That was the worst sign, the worst ever. Felix never swore, never anything worse than “damn.” But Gideon was every bit as mad, maybe even madder, and I stood there and watched and saw Gideon doing something I hadn’t thought you could. He was playing the fight by Felix’s rules, and he was winning. Felix actually backed up a step, and I saw something in his eyes that I hadn’t seen there in a long time.

I was praying at Gideon to see it too and stop, but he was past anything like that. I knew what had got him going—it was that same old fight about Felix cheating on him, the fight they’d been worrying at like an old bone the past couple days—but even in the fight that winter where they hadn’t spoken to each other for three days, it hadn’t been like this. Because this time Gideon wasn’t stopping. I could see it. He had had enough, and it got clearer and clearer for me, standing there with one hand still on the door, that this was everything Gideon hadn’t said to Felix for like an indiction and a half, everything he’d turned a blind eye to or laughed off or told himself was just Felix—all of it coming back in Felix’s face at once. Felix wasn’t mad no more. He was white as paper and his eyes seemed to be eating up his face.

“Gideon—”

Gideon stopped him with a gesture, like he was pushing him away. Gideon looked from him to me, and I saw that right then he didn’t care about me any more than he did Felix. He turned and walked out the door. We both stood there, staring after him. Felix said, “Go after him.”

“What d’you want me to do?”

“I don’t know! Just go after him.”

“What about court?”

“Fuck court.”

I didn’t move. I didn’t know what was the right thing to do.

Then Felix’s left hand went up to his eyes, and he said, “No, you’re right. We have to go. But afterward I want you to go find him. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

“About what?”

The look he gave me was full of poison, and neither of us said one word more.

I felt Felix like a fire all morning. If we hadn’t had to go to court, if he’d been able to go after Gideon and talk to him, I think things might have come out okay. Not great, maybe, ’cause I had a kind of idea that some of the things Gideon had said were things that you couldn’t leave lay once they were out, but good enough to get by on. But we had to go to court, and we had to stand there, and Felix had time to think. And that was bad. I could feel his mood shifting. I think he’d almost been to where he might have said he was sorry to Gideon—something he said even less than he swore—like Gideon had managed to tear off that spiked armor. But the longer we stood there—dunno what was going on ’cause I sure as fuck wasn’t listening—the more I could feel the armor going back on, and the spikes getting longer and sharper. By the time court was over, not only was Felix not sorry, he was pissed off at Gideon again.

“He said he was going to Rinaldo and Simon. Come on.”

“Felix, I don’t think—”

“Nor should you. Come on.”

He knew how to shut me up. I followed him, my head down and my face burning.

Simon opened the door. “Felix,” he said. He wasn’t surprised.

“Good afternoon, Simon,” said Felix, in that parody of good manners that most especially made my spine crawl. “May I speak to Gideon please?”

“He says that he has said everything to you he intends to,” Simon said.

“Indeed,” said Felix. “Well, there are some things I intend to say to him. If I can get past his guard dog.”

Powers, Felix, could you be any fucking nastier about it if you tried? But I knew the answer to that: he wasn’t even warmed up yet.

Simon said, “He’s not here.”

“Simon, my darling, don’t try lying to me. You’re very bad at it.”

Simon went red. I saw something I’d never gotten in good light before and felt hollow and sick. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I was leaning away from Felix, like that could keep me from knowing whether he knew how Simon felt about him.

Felix said, “I want to talk to Gideon. I would prefer to do so without hurting anyone who happens to be in my way, but the necessity won’t grieve me overmuch. Unless you think you can stop me?”

Simon and me both knew he couldn’t. No hocus in the Mirador could stop Felix. He said, “Felix, I think this is a mistake. ”

“I didn’t ask you what you thought. I asked you to get out of my way.”

Simon stepped aside. There was nothing else he could do. I didn’t have no choice either. I followed Felix in. Gideon was sitting in a chair by the fire, and he stayed sitting there, his hands folded in his lap. He looked at Felix, and I got to say that it wasn’t a look I’d ever have wanted turned on me.

Whatever they said to each other, it stayed silent. Felix started, I think, because I could tell when Gideon interrupted him. Gideon’s face didn’t change. It was like he’d moved himself into some other place, someplace where he didn’t have to forgive Felix or listen to him or care what he thought. I kind of wished I could get there with him, but I knew I never could.

He didn’t say much to Felix then. I don’t think he had to. It looked to me like there wasn’t anything much left to say, and Gideon knew it. Felix hadn’t, but Felix never could understand when an argument had to be over, not unless he’d won it. Gideon found the right words this time, whatever they were, because there was a moment’s silence—a real silence, with neither of them saying anything—and then Felix said in a weird, flat voice, “Very well. If that is how you feel.”

Gideon didn’t even answer him. He turned away and looked into the fire. I’d never seen Felix dismissed like that—even people who hated him couldn’t ignore him—and there was nothing in my head when we left the room but stupid swear words. Felix didn’t say nothing to Simon. I can’t think of nothing he could have said, and I’m not really sure he even noticed Simon was still there.

He sure didn’t notice me, all the long way back to the suite. I kept up with him as best I could. I wasn’t about to ask him to slow down, even though I could hear Rinaldo in my head, nagging at me.

At the door, he turned, his left hand still on the doorknob. I saw what was coming and braced myself. It was a full-force backhanded blow. If I hadn’t had Jashuki, I would have been on the floor for sure. As it was, I staggered sideways into the middle of the corridor. I put my hand up to my face, and my fingers came away red.

I said, “Did that help any?”

The look on his face was black and crimson murder. And then, like falling through the cover on a well, I saw something else, something the rage was supposed to be holding back, something he wasn’t ever going to admit to Gideon or to me or probably to anybody. I remembered the way he’d been in the Grasslands, how frightened he’d been, and lost, and how bad he’d needed me. And the need wasn’t gone. He just couldn’t talk about it no more, couldn’t get to it through the anger.

He said, “Get away from me, you stupid little rat.”

I went. He could’ve used the binding-by-forms to hold me there, to hit me until I fell down screaming at his feet, and I thought I’d be smart to remember that he hadn’t, that no matter how mean he’d been about it, he’d sent me away instead.