Burying the Shadow by Storm Constantine Page A

cousin, whereas Vicretia had been a silent
and delicate girl of thirteen. Vicretia had blossomed into a very
attractive young woman; Leda, on the other hand, had just
blossomed. I assumed she now had a brood of her own.
    ‘Fashaw,
Gimel,’ Leda told me, breezing into my solar, trailing limp gloves
like filleted limbs, ‘but you haven’t changed a bit! Four years
you’ve been away too! Wild air suits you, truly. Look at me!’ She
twirled before my dark mirror. ‘A pound for each year of your
absence!’ I suspected it was slightly more than that. She bustled
towards where I lounged, in artistic composure, on the divan. Her
lips pursed in anticipation. ‘Oh, but you’ve been missed.’ I
deflected the kiss by turning my head. She caught me on the
ear.
    ‘Don’t lick
me, Lee!’ I laughed sweetly, to sugar the sting. ‘You lie to me,
anyhow. What of your other favourites, hmm?’
    ‘None as lush
as you!’ she quipped, admitting to nothing.
    I peered over
her white, plump shoulder. ‘Hello Vee, how lovely you look! It’s
been so long. Come, sit by me.’ I patted the divan, protecting the
place with my hand, so that Leda could not stuff herself into
it.
    She fitted
herself into a chair opposite instead. ‘So, are you ready for
news?’
    Silent
Vicretia, dear little thing, eased down beside me like a floating
feather. I curled my fingers over her own, but addressed her
sister. ‘Always, Lee, always. So, tell me.’
    ‘There has
been a riot of suicides among the artisans.’
    Yara Sarim,
whose family was in some ways connected with ours, had communicated
with us, directly on our return, and had told us everything. This
was not news, but I feigned interest. ‘Indeed?’
    Leda nodded
eagerly. ‘Quite so.’ She counted off on her fingers. ‘Camiel,
Murek, Sasleel - it’s like a disease. And that’s not the worst. Two
years ago - oh, it seems like history now - Lilthia Emim took a
knife to both her parents, her brother and - finally - herself. You
have been wise to keep your distance. Father says it must be an
evil taint from the Strangeling, blowing over the city in the wind
that affects the sensitively composed. Personally, I think it’s a
result of hedonistic excesses and you, dear Gimel, are not prone to
such; neither you nor your brother.’ She frowned. ‘Where is Beth,
incidentally?’
    I considered
it politic, under the circumstances, to reinvent his excuse. ‘Oh,
he’s working. Feels guilty being away from the courts for so long,
I expect. He sends his regrets, but may join us for refreshment
later. You will stay for refreshment, of course.’
    ‘Persuade me
otherwise!’ Leda rolled her eyes. ‘Now, you must tell me of your
travels. It must have been so exciting.’
    I pulled a
rueful face. ‘Hardly such. Beth was researching and spent most of
his time sketching. I simply mooched around waiting for him.’
    ‘But all those
exotic people!’
    ‘They are not
that exotic beyond civilisation, dear Leda. I found very little to
attract me, I must confess.’
    ‘You are a
connoisseuse,’ Leda declared, patting herself in congratulation.
‘Nothing but the best for Lady Gimel!’
    I could not
help but flinch at that.
    After half an
hour or so of further pointless exchanges, I summoned Beth with the
mind-chime, and ordered him to join us. He remonstrated, but I kept
up the chord until he gave in. He could have plump Leda; she would
enjoy it. Beth had been too picky recently, refreshing himself far
too meagrely. I wondered whether he’d damaged himself by all the
gorging he’d indulged in when we’d first arrived in Lansaal, four
years ago. However, sustenance from Leda should restore him
utterly. Me, a sensible refresher, and able to pace my supping,
would lick an aperitif from the sweet flesh of little Vicretia.
Being sensitive, she knew this already, and trembled beneath the
light, cool touch of my hand.
    Beth was
magnificent when he came to the solar; his tawny hair polished as
sun-burnished