The House of Shattered Wings

Which only left two Houses.

They came into her office together: a surprise, but not an altogether unexpected one. “Asmodeus,” she said. “Claire.”

Asmodeus wore mourning clothes: a black shirt under his jacket, a severely cut set of trousers, on which the simple white tie seemed almost obscenely out of place.

Claire had dressed as deceptively simply as usual: a gray suit with a knee-length skirt and an elegant coat with a fur trim on the collar. Her usual entourage of children had remained at the door; Selene was impressed she hadn’t even had to ask. On the other hand . . .

On the other hand, there was Asmodeus.

His face was quiet, expressionless; his hands gloved. It was hard to imagine him angry, or covered in blood; but it was a mistake his former enemies had made. “You’ll be leaving, I imagine,” Selene said.

“Of course.” Claire nodded. She readjusted her own gloves: a borderline disrespectful gesture, as if she were already out of the House. “I have things to do, Selene.”

So did Selene, but she wasn’t churlish enough to point this out. “I see. I won’t hold you, then.”

Claire’s smile was bright, innocent. “Of course you won’t.”

Asmodeus was staring at her—grave, serious, with none of the usual sarcasm. “I ask your leave to remain.”

What—? He couldn’t—Selene bit her lip before that thought could escape her. “I must ask why,” she said, keeping her voice as cold as she could manage. She’d hoped to be rid of them all; to have mastery of her House once more, to scour it to make sure the creatures were gone—to spend time by Emmanuelle’s side without worrying about who might come in and how they might judge her.

Asmodeus looked up, with a fraction of his old sarcasm in his eyes. “Why, Selene. One would think you weren’t pleased to see me.”

“You know what I think,” Selene said.

“I do know what you think. It doesn’t matter much,” Asmodeus said. “I have a body to prepare for burial, and a vigil to conclude.”

“I thought—” Selene swallowed, unsure what to say. “You’ll want to do this at Hawthorn, surely.”

Asmodeus shrugged. “Some things will be done at Hawthorn; what we can do. But he died here, Selene. If there are ghosts to exorcise, they will be here.”

Unbidden, a flash of shadows in her memory—of darkness sliding across the faded wallpaper and the polished parquet floors, like what she had seen around Philippe. Selene gritted her teeth. She knew the shadows hadn’t left; she didn’t need the distraction.

She looked at Asmodeus: impassive, elegant in his mourning clothes; though there was a slight tremor in his hands, a slight reddening of his eyes beyond the horn-rimmed glasses. Grief? He’d hardly cried when Samariel died, unless the . . . madness he’d inflicted on Philippe was his way of weeping. One could never be too sure, with Asmodeus.

But whatever he wanted to remain here for, it could hardly be sentimentality; not something he’d ever been known for. Though . . . though he and Samariel had been together for as long as Selene could remember—long, long before Asmodeus became head of Hawthorn. One was, perhaps, allowed a little sentimental lapse; but no, that was exactly why Asmodeus had risen so far; because people wanted to believe he had feelings, that he could be swayed by tender emotions.

It didn’t matter, either way. She couldn’t say no, not to a request framed this way, and he’d known it all along. “By all means,” she said, not bothering to force sincerity in her voice. “Remain a few days more, if you think it’ll help you find peace.”

Claire smiled. “So glad to see everything is settled.” She pulled on her gloves, again. “I thought for a moment it would be war.”

Thought, but hadn’t been worried by. “Don’t be a fool,” Selene said. “Who wants to go to war?”

“You’re the fool.” Asmodeus shrugged. “Who wouldn’t want to? We all cherish the illusion we’d easily defeat all the other Houses. That was the reason we got into the last mess.”

“But you know,” Selene said softly, feeling the fist of ice tighten around her heart, “you know that war would simply devastate us further?”

“Yes,” Asmodeus said. “For the right gain, though—”

For standing in a field of ruins, crowing victory? Selene bit down on the angry answer before it could escape her lips. There was no point. They didn’t see things her way. They never would. “I’ll see you on the parvis, then,” she said to Claire. “For the formal leave-taking.”

“By all means,” Claire said. She smiled again: that soft, vaguely pleasant smile that sent waves of dread down Selene’s throat. “I was hoping Madeleine would be there, too.”

“I think you’ve seen enough of Madeleine,” Selene said, sharply. “I warned her against you.”