The House of Shattered Wings

“It could be a rogue. Someone unaffiliated with anyone,” Selene said. Why did she think of Philippe, suddenly? It was absurd; the young man couldn’t be responsible for six deaths, and he hadn’t been there at Oris’s death. And yet . . . and yet, so much untapped power . . .

“No rogue has the power to do this,” Asmodeus said. “But fine; let us say it’s a rogue. Then every House will need to ally with each other to put him down.”

As if that would ever happen. “You mistake your desires for realities.”

“Desires?” Asmodeus shrugged. “I have no desire to ally with any other House. In an ideal world, Hawthorn would reign supreme, and every House would be our vassal.”

“You didn’t used to be that ambitious.”

“Don’t presume to know me.” He put his hand, almost gently, over hers; touched her on each finger as if playing some secret instrument. Bile rose in her throat.

“You go too far,” she said, withdrawing her hand.

“Or not far enough.” He moved away from her desk, and leaned against the wall, watching her: a predator through and through, a shark or a tiger or something more unpleasant still, lurking in the murk and fog, oozing out only to destroy others. “What do you say, Selene? Shall we have a conclave in Silverspires?”

She had little choice. She could have said no; which was the equivalent of admitting guilt; or worse, weakness—that the House wasn’t strong enough, not protected enough to welcome other Houses on its grounds, and to withstand their scrutiny. “It can’t end well,” she said. “You know this, Asmodeus.”

His smile was all sharp, pointed teeth. “You mistake me. Who says I want this to end well?”

*

WHEN Madeleine, out of breath after running from the omnibus stop, finally reached Selene’s office, she found Father Javier in the antechamber, his face dark. “You might not want to come in—” he said, but she’d already pushed past him.

Selene rose from behind her desk when she saw Madeleine. “I have other worries at the moment,” she said, and then she must have seen Madeleine’s face. “What is it?”

“We’re under attack,” Madeleine said; and in the cold, unfriendly silence that followed, told the entire tale of her expedition to Lazarus, and what she had learned.

When she was done, she looked up. Selene hadn’t moved, and her face had not changed expressions. If anything, it was even colder. “You’re late,” she said. “And you disobeyed my express orders that you weren’t to go to Lazarus.”

That was all—all she had to say? After the information that Madeleine had brought her? After she’d ventured into enemy territory on her own with only trinkets for protection—after she’d spent ages examining corpses in a dark, dank basement with the head of a rival House—all Selene could think of was whether she’d followed orders? The arrogance of it, the casual anger . . .

“I don’t understand—” she said, because the other words would have damned her.

“You don’t have to understand,” Selene said. She pulled her chair, and sat, staring at the papers on her desk—looking, for a bare moment, disoriented and panicked, an odd, disturbing expression Madeleine had never seen on her face. Then she looked up again; and the familiar cool, arrogant mask was back on. “You missed Asmodeus.”

Madeleine took a deep, burning breath. So that was why Javier had been so agitated, and with reason. The thought of him so close to her . . . She willed her heart to stop beating madly against her chest. She was safe here in Silverspires. She would be protected against him and anything he could think of. “What did he want?”

Selene’s lips contracted; a rictus rather than a smile. “A conclave,” she said. “Considering that the six deaths are linked to us, he thinks he can help us find out who did it. Or help us fall further. Or both.”

A conclave. Every child in the city knew what a conclave meant, and how the previous one had ended—too many people with magical powers, too much pent-up rage and too many grievances. The Houses hadn’t meant to start a war; they’d just thought to use the opportunity to weaken a few rivals—except that the wrong people had died, compensation had been judged inadequate; and the fragile peace of the city had fractured into magical duels and assassinations that soon escalated into ranged battles and large-scale destruction spells.

A conclave wasn’t safe, by any stretch of the imagination. “How—” Madeleine stilled the trembling of her hands. “How bad is it?”

“As you said—we’re under attack.” Selene’s smile was mirthless. “By another House.”

“But you’ll have all the other Houses coming here. . . .”

“Among which might well be the culprit. Yes. We’re invaded, and quite possibly compromised.” Selene didn’t move.

“Do you . . .” Madeleine hesitated. Selene’s wrath appeared to have abated, or to not be directed at her any longer. “Do you know who is behind it?”