The House of Shattered Wings

“Ah.” Claire paused, halfway to the door. “But who warned her against herself?”


“I don’t follow your meaning.” It was a mistake, exactly what Claire had expected, but Selene couldn’t help herself. She was acutely aware, as she stepped closer to Claire, of Asmodeus, who hadn’t yet moved from his chair and was staring at the desk with an odd, predatory intensity. This alliance between them was . . . unsettling.

“Oh, Selene. I did warn you, didn’t I? About cleaning your House. But no, you have to take in the strays and the defectors—”

So that was what it was all about. She could feel Asmodeus tense beside her. She’d always assumed Madeleine was beneath his notice: a mortal with little magic, and no great position in Hawthorn, and God knew he’d had so many people die in the bloody night he’d taken Hawthorn. But perhaps he still considered her his property; and still demanded from her the same loyalty he demanded of all his dependents.

“You can talk, Claire,” Selene said, pointing to the pack of children waiting outside, frozen in uncanny intentness, even as they played among themselves. “I thought Lazarus prided itself on its . . . inclusiveness.”

“Of course.” Claire’s smile was the toothy one of a tiger. “We’ll take in the poor and desperate, but we’ll make sure they clean up first.”

They could go on like this for hours, but Selene had no patience for prevarication anymore. “The hour grows late. Say what you want to say, Claire, instead of talking in riddles. Surely you’ve thought it over a thousand times already. What about Madeleine?”

“Ah, Madeleine. A sweet, sweet child, the apple of your eye—”

Hardly. Selene snorted, and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for the sting.

“I warned you,” Claire said. “Do you know where she is now, Selene? She’s inhaling her life away in some corner of Silverspires, like some junkie on the streets.”

Inhaling. Selene said nothing, but she felt as though she’d been doused with a cold shower.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed,” Claire said. “Her lungs are wasted, and she’s never had much magical talent. How much easier to steal it away—”

“You will stop,” Selene said, slowly, coldly. “This . . . allegation has no truth.” But she’d heard Madeleine cough; had seen the circles under her eyes become larger; had felt the power that filled her alchemist from time to time, far larger and fierier than any magical talent Madeleine might have shown. For a mortal and an alchemist, she was shockingly undertalented. Selene had assumed sickness; there were more than enough of these going around.

“No?” Claire said. “My mistake, then. I’ll leave you to your House and the handling of your dependents.”

Madeleine. Angel essence. That . . . was not possible. She would have known. She should have known, if she’d been paying attention.

Someone came to stand by her side; with a shock, she realized Asmodeus had left his chair. “You’d do well to leave this alone,” he said to Claire.

“Why, Asmodeus.” Claire’s voice was coquettish. “One would almost think you cared for her.”

Asmodeus did not answer; but did not budge, either. There was something in his eyes: anger, fear? How could he possibly care about Madeleine?

By the looks of it, Claire couldn’t work it out, either. “As you wish,” she said. “I’ve said all I had to. Good-bye, Selene. I’ll see you on the parvis.”

After she’d gone, Asmodeus bowed to Selene, with the same old, usual irony. “And I shall see you later.”

“Asmodeus,” Selene said, when he started to move. He didn’t bother to turn around. “She’s right. You don’t care.”

A silence. Then, in a voice as cold as the chimes of winter: “Don’t presume to tell me about what and whom I should and shouldn’t care.”

And, with that, he was gone.

For what felt like an eternity, Selene stood there, trying to make sense of what he had said; knowing she was wasting her time, that he wouldn’t explain anything to anyone, least of all her. And now he was in her House looking for God knew what.

Great.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of Father Javier and Aragon, both in a mess and with the pale look of the sleepless. “Any news?” Selene asked.