“Now?”
“Sadly, no.” He glanced at Ellerson. “Guard those against the depredations of your charges as if their lives depended on it.”
Ellerson, hands full, nonetheless managed a perfectly crisp bow—a bow that Haval failed to notice. He approached the half-open door and instead of pushing it open, slid between it and the doorframe.
Jewel stood anchored to the hall, Ellerson at her back and a narrow window into the waiting room before her. She could see Haval’s back and Duvari’s face, and neither gave much away—but Haval didn’t give things away; if nuance and expression were items of barter, he was their master merchant.
“Duvari,” he said. “It has been a long time.”
Duvari was silent.
“You were never one for idle chatter,” Haval continued. He turned, politely and pleasantly, to Avandar. “If we might make use of your function room?”
“Of course.”
“Duvari seldom drinks. I, on the other hand, am not above it, especially on occasions of import.”
“Wine?”
“Yes. A red, I think.”
Duvari was still silent. But when Avandar led Haval to the large room with the fireplace, he followed. Jewel glanced at Ellerson, arms still encumbered by Haval’s bundles.
“I do not think,” he said quietly, “that your presence would be beneficial.”
“Would it be forbidden?”
“I cannot say, ATerafin. You must, of course, do as you think wise.”
Jewel hesitated. As she did, Avandar left the room and closed the doors behind him. “Ellerson.”
Ellerson nodded.
“Give me Haval’s clothing. I would be in your debt if you could attend them.”
“Of course.”
Jewel approached the door and got a face full of Avandar for her trouble. “No.”
Her brows rose.
“I am not entirely certain that both men will emerge at the end of their conversation.”
She tensed; she couldn’t help it. “But I—”
“Let me be more clear. I think there is not a small chance that only one person will emerge from that room after the conversation starts, regardless of how many people occupy it at its beginning.”
She stared at him, and then at the closed doors behind his back. “Duvari wouldn’t—”
“I said one man, Jewel. I didn’t say which.” His words made no sense.
No, that wasn’t true. They made sense—but it was a sick sense, a wrong one. “Haval—”
“Jewel.”
She bowed her head, thinking not of the clothier who had, in his fashion, taught her so much in his time, but of his wife. Of Hannerle.
“Did you not understand what you were asking of him? Did you truly not understand?”
“Avandar—”
“You know nothing of his past. You’ve said as much. I think it safest, in the end, that you continue to know as little as possible.”
“He can’t—”
“There is a reason that Duvari waited here. I do not know how Haval was drawn to his attention, but I can guess.”
So could she.
“Before you think of strangling Devon ATerafin, consider the action carefully.”
“Haval didn’t want this. He only—”
“Yes. Because you asked. Because you were willing to ask, and willing to make the shoddy attempt at extortion that you did.”
“He knew I couldn’t do it.”
“Of course he did. But he knew that you were willing to try.” He glanced at the doors as Ellerson, tray in hand, approached them. Ellerson’s expression was as grim as Avandar’s; the two men’s gazes met, but neither spoke. Avandar opened the door; Ellerson walked through it. Jewel watched his back, afraid now to peer into the room. “I do not know why, in the end, he agreed. But, ATerafin, he did. He is canny in ways that even I was not in my distant youth.
“Had he wished to avoid Duvari, he could have managed it; he has chosen to confront him, instead. You will allow this.”
“What if you’re right? What if he dies—”
“Either death will be costly. Jewel—you have asked him to advise you. You have asked him, in the end, to do much more. You must now trust him to do as you’ve asked. Unless you have insight into what might, or might not, occur, you will go back to your room and you will wait.”
By mutual—and unspoken—consent, both Haval and Duvari were silent while Ellerson poured wine and water. The domicis also took a handful of minutes to start a fire in the large, central fireplace behind where the two guests were seated. Haval lifted his glass. “I am afraid,” he said, in a friendly, conversational tone, “that I am a very busy man this eve. If I seem curt or short, it is due to the inflexibility of my deadline.”
Duvari raised a brow, rather than a glass. He didn’t touch the water, and had already made clear that wine was not an option. “You are a tailor?” he finally asked.
“I am a clothier. It is how I make a living for myself in these diminished times.”
“And your…living…has led you, coincidentally, to Jewel Markess ATerafin?”
“As you can see.”
The silence was broken by the slowly growing crackle of fire as it consumed logs; it was broken, as well, by the click the door made when the domicis closed it.
“Why are you here...”
“Haval.”
“Haval?”
Haval nodded. “It is my professional name.”
“Why are you here?”
“I find it slightly annoying that you persist in disbelief; it is not, however, surprising. I am here to make two dresses and one suit—both fine enough to serve their wearers during the Terafin funeral rites. One of the dresses is for Jewel ATerafin.”
“And how long have you been clothing her?”
“I have made dresses for her since her adoption into the House, in the four hundredth and tenth year after—”
Duvari lifted a hand. “I am aware of when she joined the House. The other dress?”
Haval shook his head. “If you cannot puzzle that out, even given short notice and the resulting absence of received reports, you are not fit for the job you now occupy.”
The silence was cold. Duvari’s slow smile did little to alleviate it. “You haven’t changed at all, have you?”
“I have demonstrably changed. I have aged, among other things; I am not the man I was in my misspent youth.”
“Misspent? Is that how you are now characterizing it?” Duvari rose. Haval watched him.
“It is, indeed.” Haval sipped wine. It was a very good vintage.
“Will you insist on playing these verbal games?”
“What do you think, Duvari? If, as you have said, I have not changed, what will I now do?”
Duvari stiffened. He had been tracing a small oval across the carpet between the two chairs, his hands loosely clasped behind his back. They were, nonetheless, visible. He knew that Haval would be watching.
Haval now took a small stone from his interior pockets and placed it, in plain sight, on the small table which also contained the tray that the domicis had left.
“Come, Duvari. Sit. Pacing like a caged beast is not conducive to conversation.”
“Very well. It has come to my attention that you have been offered employ by Jewel ATerafin.”
“Indeed. I thought I might have a few days’ grace in which to dispense with this commission; I see that I was in error.”
“You have accepted her offer.”
It was not a question. Haval lifted his glass again. “The wine really is very good,” he told an unamused Duvari.
“You have remained invisible. You have taken no work that I am aware of; you have, as you intended, all but vanished.”
Haval nodded.
“Why now?”
“She made me an offer I could not refuse.”
Duvari’s left brow rose. If possible, he appeared to be even less amused.
“You doubt it?�
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“She is not capable of making an offer that you could not refuse. She is only barely capable—in my opinion—of making the attempt; it would not be convincing to any but the youngest of children.”
“I see you have been keeping an eye on her.”
“I keep an eye, as you put it, on all possible House members of significance. In any House.”
“And this is why you are angry?”
“I am not—” Duvari exhaled and sat. “I am, as you guess, somewhat annoyed.”
“The reason?”
“You know well what it is. You have not come out of retirement for anyone. You have stayed safely hidden on the edges of normal society. You have not, that I am aware, returned to any of your old haunts or habits—and not for lack of encouragement.”
“Ah.”
“Do you know how difficult your absence was?”
“No. I look at you now, and I see no trace of that difficulty at all. You had the illusion, in my presence, that there was some sort of safety net; that I could somehow fix what you yourself could not, should it come to that. It was only ever illusion, Duvari. Had it not been, I would not have retired.”
“Oh?”
“I would not have chosen you.”
“That was not your choice to make,” was the slightly heated reply.
Haval said nothing. He drank instead.
“And now?”
“Now? I make dresses. I make suits. I keep a store with my somewhat annoyed wife.”
“Schaudou—”
“Haval.”
“Haval, if you insist. What will you do?”
“I will do nothing that will bring us into conflict. Whether or not you choose to believe that is entirely beyond my control. I have no desire to go to war with you; nor do I have any desire to unseat what must never, in the end, be unseated. Jewel is not—”
“You did not see the Exalted this eve.”
Haval took a sip of wine. “No. I did not. I was rather involved, if you must know—”
“I do not need to be reminded of your dresses.” He rose again.
“Jewel is not aware of my previous life.”
“If she was entirely unaware, she wouldn’t have made the offer.”
“She’s not a fool; she is aware that I had a previous life. She is not, however, entirely aware of what it was or what it entailed. I think,” he added, draining the glass and reluctantly setting it down, “she would be properly horrified or revolted if she did know. I will thank you not to enlighten her.”
“It is not in my interest to see you in her employ.”
“You would accept me in your own?”
“You were never a man to entirely serve another’s interests.”
“That is not a yes.”
“It is not.”
Haval smiled. “If it will ease you at all, I will rescind my acceptance. I am not acting; I am not what I was.”
Duvari froze, and then pivoted neatly on one foot. “What game are you playing?”
“None. It is clear to me that one of her advisers traveled directly to you, and if she has some part of your network at her disposal, she will have no need of the scattered remnants of mine.”
“She does not, as you well know, have any part of my network at her disposal.”
“Ah. And your informant—is he also aware of my past?”
“No. Nor will he be. But if he mysteriously succumbs to illness or poison, I will be forced to move against you.”
“Do not,” Haval replied. “If I am not what I was, I am not entirely divorced from it; return me to that battlefield, old friend, at your peril. There is, of course, no word that I can give you which will ease your mind in this matter.” He rose. “I will see Jewel ATerafin as The Terafin, if she survives. You cannot possibly have objections to this.”
“It is a House affair.”
“Indeed. But you have taken the measure of the other candidates, and you are aware that one would be a disaster for you and the other—in my opinion—a disaster for far more.”
“There are still two remaining.”
“Indeed—both of whom are more experienced and less easily led than the young ATerafin.”
“Less easily led? You have not spent much time with the girl.”
“I have spent enough time. You dislike subtlety, Duvari; you always did. That was your weakness. It was, however, also your strength. I have no such qualms. What she must do, she will do. Not more, and not less.”
“And you will be certain that she sees this clearly?”
“If necessary, yes. The Terafin died at the hands of—”
“A demon. Yes.”
“You cannot have forgotten the Dark Days—”
“No. That Henden still haunts us all.”
“Were it not for her intervention, it might do more than haunt. I have my reasons, Duvari.”
“And if the girl proves a threat to the Empire?”
Haval was surprised. He didn’t trouble himself to hide it; it was useful. “Are you being serious? I could swear that I was the one who was drinking, not you.”
Duvari didn’t dignify the question with an answer; he was always serious. A man with less of a sense of humor did not, in Haval’s estimation, exist. It was one of the things he had long admired about Duvari, because his lack of humor did not make him predictable—which was otherwise generally the case. He combined his lack with an unswerving devotion to his goals and a pragmatism that such near-fanaticism often failed to allow.
“I have had some contact with the girl over the past decade and a half,” Haval said, when it was clear that Duvari would not comment. “There is nothing in her—at all—that implies a threat to the Empire; I would suggest, tactfully, that a full review of known facts, even yours, would indicate the exact opposite.”
“And if known facts—such as they are—indicate otherwise?”
Haval rose. “Give me your facts, Duvari. Innuendo has its uses, but none of them apply here. Have I mentioned that I am on a rather unmerciful deadline?”
“You have. You will forgive me if I consider the nature of the deadline itself inconsequential.”
“I am not entirely certain that I will. If you consider this a return to old habits, I don’t intend it to be a permanent one; any failure here will, of course, impact my business model.”
“I had forgotten,” Duvari said, glancing at the empty wineglass before he met Haval’s gaze, “how hard it was not to strangle you.”
“Then your memories are indeed mercifully kind.”
“Schaudou—”
“I will not be called that again.”
“You will,” Duvari said, with the faint hint of a smile. “You will not be Haval if you accept her offer of employ.”
Haval allowed that. “Your report.”
“It is not, functionally, a report; I will never be in the position of tendering reports to you again.”
“Very well. Your considered and rational opinion.”
“My opinion? Some of the events of the evening defy rationality. It is not to my liking.”
“No, it wouldn’t be. But people frequently defy rationality, and our dislike does not figure significantly in this fact one way or the other. What have I told you?”
“There are rules to irrationality which can be used as very strong levers.”
“Good. I was afraid, for a moment, that you had forgotten everything. Except, of course, the time. Your opinion, Duvari?”
“I will not prejudice you one way or the other.”
“No, of course not.” Haval lifted a brow. “Was that your attempt not to offer what I’ve asked?”
“It was.”
“Very well.”
“Before you leave for the evening, ask Jewel ATerafin to show you what she brought back from the grounds. I think you will find it enlightening.” He unclasped his hands and let them fall, loosely, to his sides. “Schaudou.”
But Haval shook his head. He offered Duvari a pained smile tha
t was almost genuine. “Only give me your word that you will support her, and I will vanish into a safe obscurity.” Saying it, he knew that no such word would ever be forthcoming.
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