Read Online The House of Shattered Wings by Aliette de Bodard - Free Book Online Page B

wasn’t fool enough to lie to herself. She was dying; but she’d been dying for twenty years, ever since Hawthorn ceased to be a haven—ever since Elphon died. “I’ve never seen anything like this, either,” she said. Her voice rasped against her throat; she brought it under control with an effort. “But it’s gone now, right?”
    Oris nodded. “It could come back.”
    â€œMmm,” Madeleine said. She considered her options. He seemed worried, but not as bone-deep frightened as she’d been—was what she’d seen a hallucination induced by angel essence?
    On the one hand, she emphatically didn’t want to be there when it came back; but on the other . . . with it gone, she couldn’t investigate further. She could take it up with Selene, but then there was a risk—a not insignificant one—that Selene would see she was on essence. “It won’t come back.”
    Oris grimaced. “I don’t want it coming back, Madeleine. You saw it.”
    â€œI did,” Madeleine said, doing her best to keep her voice level. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
    â€œNothing? Are you . . .” Oris hesitated. “Are you sure?”
    Madeleine said, with a glibness she didn’t feel, “It’s an old House. Not everything in it is entirely savory. You should know.” God knew Morningstar had had his share of darkness.
    â€œI . . .” Oris frowned. “I guess I do?”
    â€œYou’ll be fine,” Madeleine said. “It’s gone. And if it does come back, you can call me. Anytime. I’ll come. Promise.”
    She could feel Oris wavering—he trusted her and her opinions, and she seemed confident enough to sway him. She wished she felt as confident as she appeared to him.
    â€œLook. Why don’t I stay here awhile tonight, and we’ll see what happens?”
    It was a mark of how desperate Oris was that he readily acquiesced to this, without even a show of protesting.
    But at the end of the night, there was no trace of whatever had frightened him out of his wits, nor could any of Madeleine’s spells detect any trace of an intruder. “Let me know if it comes back,” she said, as she left the room and went back to her own quarters for some much-needed rest.
    Oris didn’t see anything the next day, or the next night, or for the next week. By then, Madeleine had lulled herself into thinking they’d just had a hallucination; or seen the last of a stray spell from the war, which had finally spent itself in manifesting to Oris. She went through the routine of her days at Silverspires: collecting breath and nail clippings from Fallen and making artifacts out of them; teaching the children in the House’s school the bases of alchemy—and through the routines of her nights, too, inhaling angel essence and glorying in its futile rush of power.

FOUR
    MARKET OF BETRAYALS
    PHILIPPE found Aragon in his office, reading a file yellowed by age. How old was Aragon, really? All he had told Philippe was that he owed Morningstar a debt, and this was the reason why he gave part of his time to Silverspires, taking away from his valuable practice—it had no small value, to be an independent doctor in a polarized city.
    Aragon’s office was a small room that looked like a cross between church stalls and hospital: the lower half of the walls was covered with wooden panels, while the upper half bore a thick layer of white paint, over which Aragon had aligned pictures and paintings. The room had a faint, unpleasant smell—a remnant of bleach or some other chemical, mingling with the heady one of wood varnish.
    Beside Aragon was Emmanuelle, who gave him an embarrassed smile. “Selene told me to report on the exam.” She, too, had a file in her hands. She didn’t sound altogether happy, or approving.
    Aragon nodded, curtly, at Philippe. They’d been