Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 386
wouldn’t just get a beating if he was found this time.
Upstairs, he ducked into a niche as two servants passed
carrying a heap of linen. He poked his head out after they’d
gone; there was the back entrance, in plain sight not five meters
away. All he had to do was walk out the door, and he was free.
Except that he couldn’t do it. The conversation Ka had
relayed from upstairs had been chillingly familiar to Jordan, if
not in its details, in its thrust. Just as Jordan’s father had
ordered Emmy to acquiesce to Turcaret’s attentions, so
Tamsin’s uncle was ordering her to become his thing--bait,
perhaps, to dangle in front of some high born household’s son.
And though Jordan didn’t understand what threat Suneil was
holding in reserve, it was obviously dire.
He owed Tamsin nothing, really. Jordan knew, though,
that he would no more be able to live with himself if he left her
in this situation than he would have if he had stayed in bed,
those many nights ago, and let Emmy run.
Tamsin was drowning.
There was no water here. She could breathe, her heart
still beat, she could walk and sit and even eat. Still, she was
drowning.
The thing shaped like her uncle moved across the room.
He was talking, but she couldn’t make sense of the words
anymore. They came to her like sounds underwater, distorted
and harsh.
What was drowning her was the horror she felt every
time she looked at him--knowing that inside that familiar body
was a soul that had helped her, sheltered her and cared for her,
laughed with her and murdered her parents.
"--Get ready for bed," he said now. "Tomorrow’s
another day, niece."