Skirmish: A House War Novel

by West, Michelle

  “No,” the Lord of Justice said. “She is not that mortal. But she stood in the Deepings and she held the road against the Queen and her host. If she is what we fear, and we allow her to live, she might hold the road against even our brother, for a time.”

  The Lord of Wisdom frowned. “She is both young and unschooled; she is willful. She will not bend when it is wise to bend. If she can, indeed, build her home at the edge of the ancient, what guarantee have we that what she builds will not be used against our sons?”

  But the Mother now turned to Jewel and the look she gave was one of compassion. Or pity, which was infinitely worse. “She will not always bend when it is wise, perhaps; but she has, in the past. She has given much to her House, and perhaps she will give as much to our City in its time. I do not like it,” she added, to the Lord of Wisdom, “but she has shown us some of the future here. The day is coming.”

  “And if we grant her our silence—with my misgivings—what will she then do?”

  “What she has already done, perhaps. The kin will find no easy entrance to the Isle from these lands. If what we fear is true, they will find no entrance at all, save the long, mortal road.”

  Reymaris smiled; it was a narrow, cool smile. “The Lord of the Compact would no doubt agree with you, brother; it is a pity that I was overruled, and his presence forbidden.”

  But the Lord of Wisdom bowed his head. “So be it. If you will bind me to ancient oaths, I will accept your decision. But I will lay one task upon the shoulders of this mortal.” He turned to Jewel and lifted a hand. “You have shown that your hold on the hidden ways is strong; it is strong enough, little seer, that it invades even the neutral lands it borders.” He glanced at the columns that all but enclosed them. “Find the path to the Eldest, and undergo her test.”

  Jewel stared at him.

  “I will have your word.”

  She was silent, but only for a moment. “I can’t give you that. I have responsibilities here, and a prior oath I mean to fulfill—or die trying.”

  “That oath?”

  “Was made to The Terafin.”

  “And if she released you from its confines?”

  Jewel’s grip on the Winter King’s antlers tightened. “She’s dead.”

  “Indeed. But Mandaros’ Hall is also known to us, and we traverse it without cost.”

  “I can’t,” was her flat reply.

  “No. But the children of Mandaros can speak with the dead. They can call her back. If she is summoned—”

  “She’ll tell you to drop dead.” The words fled her mouth before thought could stop them, she was so certain. She had the grace to redden in the extended silence that followed them. “She wouldn’t use those exact words.”

  “Perhaps that is true,” the Lord of Wisdom replied. “But The Terafin was a pragmatic woman. If she understood the whole of the threat the Empire faces, she might see the necessity of our request.”

  Jewel met the god’s disturbing eyes as she listened to his words. She heard nothing of Amarais Handernesse ATerafin in them.

  And if you had, Jewel? The Winter King asked.

  She pricked her fingers on tine’s edge, and understood, as she did, that the small cut she’d received was intentional on his part. It stung. So much in life did.

  “She didn’t make the oath to me,” she told the Lord of Wisdom, her voice steady, her hands now in her lap, where crimson welled bright along the side of her left hand. “It was my oath.”

  His eyes were the eyes of god; he saw much. “You offered it unprompted?”

  “I offered it,” was the firm reply. “That’s all that needs to be known.” She swiveled on the back of the stag to look down the row of columns. “What would the test of the so-called Eldest prove? What must I learn, to pass it?”

  “It is not that kind of test,” the Lord of Wisdom replied. “It is not a ritual which you either pass or fail.”

  “What, then?”

  “It will teach you, seer.”

  “To do what?”

  “To see. To control the fragmentary talent with which you were born, if you have the strength to look into your own heart.”

  As he spoke, she turned again. It was the Mother’s face she sought.

  “Yes,” the Mother replied, in as hushed a voice as a crowd possesses. “You have seen the seer’s crystal, and you know what it is. You knew then. You are not kin to the gods, ATerafin. We cannot command you.” Before Jewel could speak, she lifted a hand. “We understand the Kings’ Laws. In spite of all you have said or feared, the Kings, in this, cannot command you either. And if you take the Terafin throne and you sit in the Hall of The Ten, you cannot be moved; you can merely be confined to the full force of the Kings’ Laws.

  “But you will see war, Jewel ATerafin.”

  Jewel nodded.

  “You misunderstand me. I counsel you to consider, with care, what you have done to these shrouded lands—unknowing, unintentionally. If you cannot, I ask you to consider a different question. From beneath the bower of the tree that has grown above the pavilion at the heart of the Terafin grounds, the Exalted heard the voice of an ancient, ancient enemy. Do you think, where there was one, there will not be more?”

  “There’s bound to be more,” she replied, with just a trace of edge in her voice. “They’re demons.”

  “Yes. They are. And they are the Angelae of the Lord of the Hells. They bide their time and play their games because the Exalted have some measure of power against them—but, ATerafin, the power that our children can bring to bear will not, in the end, be a match for the power that you might wield. You are young, and you are ignorant, but even in your ignorance, you have touched the ancient power of your distant kin, and you have marked out the boundaries of a domain of your own on a path that was once riven and unapproachable by those of mortal blood.

  “You are not—yet—a danger. But you will be, and the Kialli Lord whose will and command you frustrated will know just how much of a threat you pose. Do you think that the Shining Court will remain idle? They cannot. Even if we do nothing, turning a blind eye to your untrained and untested power, they will not. We watch. We measure. If you are too great a threat...”

  Jewel slid off the back of the Winter King. Avandar stood to her left; Celleriant stood behind him. To the right, the Winter King stayed his ground. The cats, however, had taken to the air, and were circling. “What will you do?” she asked the gods.

  The Exalted stood in their shadows, almost forgotten until the son of Cormaris chose to speak. His voice was thin, but it was not quiet. “They will, as they have always done, advise us, ATerafin. No more and no less. But even given their advice, the decisions are in our hands.”

  The Lord of Wisdom raised brow; he did not however raise rod against his outspoken son. “In this,” he said softly, “we can offer no advice.”

  This surprised the Exalted of Cormaris; it also surprised the Exalted of Reymaris. The Mother’s Daughter, however, merely looked resigned.

  “The ATerafin herself has more of an answer for your questions than either of you understand,” the Lord of Wisdom continued. “For she has walked in the far South, and she has seen some of what has lain, protected and silent for centuries, beneath the living earth. There, in part, her answers lie. And yours.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Exalted were silent.

  Jewel was silent as well. But she felt both stunned and slightly sickened as she turned to her domicis. To Avandar, called Viandaran by the gods, as if they recognized him on sight. As if they had spoken to him before, and not in the Halls of Mandaros.

  He offered her a slight smile.

  “Yes, Viandaran. What you suspect, we also suspect. What, now, will you do?”

  “I? I will fulfill my contract with her. While she lives, I will serve.”

  The Lord of Wisdom frowned. “Your service has been costly, in the past.”

  Jewel lifted a hand as the landscape beneath her feet began to shift in both color
and texture. If she was subconsciously reconstituting images of the distant past, she had no desire whatever to conjure any of Avandar’s. In the South, in the desert, she had seen enough. “It will not be costly here. What he did in the past, he will not—cannot—do to Averalaan.”

  “How, if he so desires, will you prevent him, ATerafin? He cannot die.”

  “He can,” she replied.

  His eyes widened.

  “But not yet, not now. Allasakar is not the only god who can grant him the freedom he desires.”

  His brows rose. She’d managed to surprise him over the years, but never like this. “ATerafin—”

  She lifted her hand again. “I don’t know more, Avandar. I just know.”

  The three gods spoke among themselves in a thunder of syllables that traveled beyond her comprehension. Judging from Avandar’s expression, it was beyond his as well, although he clearly liked it less.

  “Very well,” the Lord of Wisdom finally said. “Leave us, ATerafin. We have much to discuss with our children.”

  If she could somehow transform the whole landscape of the Between in which gods and mortals might mingle, it didn’t belong to her; she felt the ground shift beneath her feet as the world shattered and re-formed before her eyes, and the throne in the audience chamber snapped into clear view. Girding it were the House Guards; occupying it was Gabriel.

  She glanced around; Duvari still leaned against the far wall, and the cats stood by her side, lolling in a way that implied they were very bored. Luckily, they hadn’t descended into complaint.

  As she blinked, the Exalted began to move toward the three braziers that still emitted their faint trails of smoke. They gestured, and the embers from which the smoke rose were guttered.

  “Regent,” the Mother’s Daughter said, tendering a bow of respect—and exhaustion. “We must repair to the cathedral again. We will return in two days to convene the first day of the funeral rites.”

  Gabriel raised a brow. “The gods—”

  “The gods are troubled, but we give leave to return to your duties; we have much work to do on their behalf before we return to your halls.”

  Duvari now lifted himself off the wall, his eyes narrowing into unfortunate slits as he strode from the back of the chamber to where the Exalted now gathered. He bowed to them; it was the first time Jewel had ever seen a bow used as both an interruption and a demand for instant attention.

  “Lord of the Compact,” the Exalted of Reymaris said, as the priests who attended him gathered—and emptied—the brazier. “We do not have the luxury of time. If you wish to speak, accompany us.”

  Duvari rose. It was not to the Exalted that he now turned. “Member Mellifas,” he said, in as severe a tone as he generally reserved for powerful members of the patriciate.

  “Lord of the Compact,” Sigurne replied. She glanced at Matteos. Matteos, however, failed to notice; he was staring at the ground as if by so doing he could unlock the answer to the Mysteries.

  Jewel frowned.

  What troubles you now, Jewel?

  I thought the magi came with us, but I...

  She felt the Winter King’s smile. It was sharp. They did. They were witness to the gods and their conversation.

  I don’t remember seeing them after the gods arrived.

  No. But they were present; they were given no voice and no role. I do not believe it was to the guildmaster’s liking, although it is hard to tell.

  She wondered how he knew.

  He didn’t answer; not directly. Instead, he said, They wished the guildmaster to bear witness; I am not certain why. Did you truly not intend to take control of the landscape?

  You already know the answer to that.

  Again she felt his smile, but this time it was less cutting. I will leave you here, Jewel. I believe the day will be trying, but the worst of it is now over.

  He was wrong.

  The return to the West Wing was only a little less demanding of attention than the procession to the audience chambers had been; the Winter King had departed. This left the cats as obvious, out-of-place markers of strange magic. The magi, who accompanied her in silence, raised no eyebrows, however.

  Celleriant did not travel to the wing; he veered off at the doors that led to the garden, or more precisely, to the forest. Jewel was content to let him go, because she had no questions she wanted answered at the moment. She was surprised when Avandar excused himself and followed; it made her feel oddly underdressed. The distinct unease of the past several hours had grown sharp enough to scare her, and she wasn’t ready to face it yet. Just give me three days. Three days. Funeral rites. Last respects. It might be too much to ask, but it was not too much, in the end, to demand. When the first flowers were planted and the last prayers spoken, she would be willing to face the shrouded future.

  Sigurne was silent as she walked; Matteos, silent as well. The cats, however, were not; they were restless and very, very bored, a fact they made clear enough that servants paused to see who’d been so ill mannered. Jewel very much doubted they knew what to make of the answer. But that was something she’d have to worry about, as well.

  The small party made it to the wing, where Ellerson greeted them at the doors, his expression one of mild concern. “The audience was short,” he said quietly, the last syllable trailing slightly upward in tone.

  “Was it?”

  “Very.” It was Sigurne who replied. “It was almost over before it began; Duvari will no doubt be beating a path to your doors in short order. If you’ve developed an appetite at all, I suggest you eat something; you are likely to miss lunch.”

  “And you, Member Mellifas?” Ellerson bowed head as he spoke.

  “If Jewel’s discussion with Duvari does not satisfy Duvari, I am certain that we, too, will be entertaining him. In a manner of speaking, and with my prior apologies, in your domain. I would, I think, like something warm.”

  “Tea?”

  “Indeed. I would not take it amiss if it were, on this single occasion, fortified.”

  Jewel seldom felt grateful to the gods, but today, she managed. It was, she knew, going to be a long day, and in any event, had Duvari been present, he would probably have attached himself at the hip and followed her back to her home. The gods had saved her time, which was in very short supply.

  They might have even saved her some of Haval’s decidedly short mood.

  “ATerafin,” Sigurne said, as she turned for the hall. “Will you join us?”

  “Yes—but I need to check with Haval first; he’ll be in that room all day making clothing that we need to fit properly in two days.”

  The door was closed. Most of the doors in the hall—including her own—were in this state, but only one of them contained an underslept and therefore cranky dressmaker. Jewel stared at the door for a long minute. Avandar reached over her head and knocked. She wasn’t profoundly grateful. A muffled command to enter saved Avandar from being told as much in too many words.

  She pushed the door open carefully, aware of what rooms generally looked like when Haval was working in them. He’d only had this one for a handful of hours, which meant she could still see floor—although admittedly not nearly as much of it as she knew existed. At the moment, he was on his knees, rather closer to ground than looked comfortable, fussing with the hem of a dress; he was adding black lace. To her surprise, Finch was still in the room. Teller, however, was not. Jewel lifted her hands and gestured briefly; Finch gestured back, but her movements were muted.

  “Oh, do, please, answer her,” Haval told Finch. This didn’t appear to surprise Finch, although it did make her look momentarily guilty.

  “He’s in Gabriel’s office. When Haval’s ready, we’re to send for him; Barston is inundated with people he can’t afford to offend.”

  “What, all twelve of them?”

  Finch chuckled. “From the sounds of it, yes. At once. On top of each other. I did offer to send them to Lucille, but Teller wasn’t certain that would be more mercifu
l.”

  “I offered to eat them,” Snow said. He was reclining to one side of Finch’s chair, and although he should have been impossible to miss, Jewel had. Probably wishful thinking. Finch dropped a hand to the cat’s large head and scratched behind his ears.

  “Has Snow been at all helpful?” she asked. She asked it of Finch because she was a coward.

  It was Haval who answered. He set aside his pins and rose; his knees cracked. “I think,” he told Jewel quietly, “you should see that for yourself.” He gestured toward a screen that stood in the corner of the room.