Everyone took their seats, and silence descended, one voice at a time fading into stillness, upon the Hall. The servants who hovered, almost invisible, now exited the hall itself, robbing the room of their quiet and steady presence; this left the Council of The Ten to their privacy.
It was theoretical privacy, of course; the Astari would listen to every word spoken in this room. It was one of the chief reasons why so much of the daily business of The Ten was conducted outside of Avantari.
The Darias, who, like The Terafin, was adept at wading through the undercurrents in a politically charged room, clearly did not like what he sensed here. Had he been a different man, he would have waited. He was not, however. “Terafin,” he said, standing. “You have summoned a full Council meeting with little notice and little explanation. We would hear your explanation for such a summons without preamble. Or delay.”
“Are you truly unaware, Darias?” she replied softly. She watched his expression with care; for just that moment, they might have been the only two people in the almost cavernous room.
His eyes narrowed, but not in the way of a cornered man who is about to unleash the full force of his power in his own defense. It was, to The Terafin, a more familiar expression—one she frequently bore. He was trying to discern what her game was and how she might now maneuver to achieve its end.
It did not dampen the anger that had driven her here, but she felt the twinge of something that might become pity. She was not, had never been, a gentle woman; compassion, now, was beyond her reach.
“I am obviously unaware of the nature of your concerns,” he replied quietly. “I seldom ask a question to hear myself speak.”
It was true of both of them; questions, like any other words, could be expertly wielded weapons; they were seldom idle chatter.
“I spent the better part of yesterday burying almost a third of my Chosen,” she replied starkly.
A ripple crossed the floor, a hint of words, hidden behind hand or cloaked in whisper.
“My sympathies for your loss,” he replied, in a grave voice. “But surely that is an internal matter?”
“It might have been,” she replied, “were it not for the fact that their losses were preceded by an unprecedented attack upon the manor grounds themselves. It was not a subtle attack,” she continued, aware that she now had the attention of every man and woman in the room. “But an attack easily witnessed by anyone who happened to be in the streets of Averalaan Aramarelas at the time.”
Had she not had the full attention of every member of the Council, the silence would have shattered. Words were building in the folds of that silence, and when they started to flow, they would continue unabated.
His eyes widened slightly; it was his only movement.
“Fully one hundred and fifty men—at our best estimate given the lateness of the hour—traversed the Isle’s streets, bearing arms and armor. They came to bring war to my House, and they traveled under a House banner. One of The Ten Houses,” she added, her voice sharpening even as it lowered.
Silence broke like a damn. She weathered it, catching the sharp words and questions, ignoring the demands and the arguments that were already beginning. She had eyes for The Darias, and only The Darias, and for the moment, he had eyes for her.
He knew, she thought. He knew, now, what she would say. But she was not certain that he had known it before he entered this chamber. It brought her a measure of peace.
“Who?” The Berrilya asked, his single, imperative word cutting through all other syllables. “Who do you accuse of this act?”
She nodded at Devran. “House Darias.”
Chapter Twelve
The silence that descended as her words cut through the heat and ice of the raised voices of The Ten would not hold, but it could be—barely—ignored. The Darias’ silence, however, could not; it demanded her attention. His eyes had widened for seconds before they narrowed; the magelight caught them as if they were the edge of a finely made weapon.
The first word he spoke was, “Impossible.”
Had she been calm, had she been political, had she truly been seeking personal advantage or political advantage for her House, she would have done as she now did, when she was none of those things. “Impossible?”
“Not a single one of The Ten would risk the ire of Kings—and the loss of the privilege accorded us by Reymalyn and Cormalyn the First—in such an act. You have proof of this? You have witnesses?”
“I have,” she replied, keeping the edge out of her voice with effort. The ice, however, remained. “I have more,” she continued. “I have the bodies of several of the aggressors. They remain in the keeping of Terafin mages; they are preserved should the Kings inquire. They bear Darias tabards and ranks; they were recognized by some of my Chosen. It was not a simple matter of impersonation or false colors.”
“Darias, explain yourself.” The Berrilya rose.
“Explain myself?” The Darias replied. “I have already said that this is the act of a madman—and I assure you, I am not that. Terafin and Darias have had differences in the past and will no doubt continue to have them in the future, but I have nothing to gain by such an open attack.”
“Nonetheless, they were your men,” The Terafin said. “If you wish to verify this, it can easily be done. My House Guard has been instructed to allow duly appointed members of House Darias access to both the manse and the bodies.
“House Terafin will likewise entertain the appointed representatives of any of the rest of The Ten, should they also wish to ascertain the truth of my claim; we are not, however, accepting any other visitors at the moment. The manse,” she added softly, “was much damaged in the attack; the foyer was all but destroyed.”
His brows rose, and his expression changed.
The Kalakar rose. In truth, Amarais was slightly surprised she had remained seated for this long when The Berrilya was standing. “Much damaged, Terafin?”
Amarais nodded.
“Please expand.”
“The floor, two of the walls, and three of the supporting pillars are now being rebuilt.”
“This was not the action of one hundred and fifty of Darias’ men.” Ellora said, the words flat and certain.
“No.” Amarais took a steadying breath, held it, and then glanced at the Darias. “They did not come alone.”
“Will you insist on being coy?” The Berrilya said, clearly unamused.
“If The Berrilya believes that caution is somehow coy, yes. It is my belief, based on very little information, that regardless of what we now say or do, the Kings will involve themselves in this affair.”
“Given one hundred and fifty armed guards, that is a given.” The Berrilya looked at The Darias.
The Darias was staring at them all, and something about his expression almost gave The Terafin pause. Almost. “Darias,” she continued gravely, “the Terafin mage was present during the attack; if we suffered grave losses, it is due to his presence that those losses were not tripled—or worse.
“And he bid me inform the Council that among the attackers was one rogue mage. The rogue mage is, of course, the responsibility of the Order of Knowledge; I mention it to inform you, no more. But the Terafin mage—”
“Which mage, Terafin?” The Morriset asked.
“Member APhaniel.”
He nodded. “Continue.”
“Also bid me to say that the attack was led, in his opinion, by a woman of your acquaintance.”
“Of my acquaintance,” The Darias replied, as if his search for words of his own had failed him utterly.
“Yes. She is seen, regularly, in the company of Lord Cordufar, one of your lieges.”
He did not reply for a full moment. When he did, he addressed not The Terafin but the Council. “I will not,” he said, “accuse The Terafin of lying, not in this.” That he would like to was not in question. He was not, however, a fool. “But I will tell you now that any attack—any attack—that occurred upon Terafin grounds was carried ou
t without my order and without my permission.” He lifted a hand as The Berrilya began to speak. “Believe that I am aware of what this could cost; it affects not only your Houses but my own. My own,” he added, “most of all. I . . . am not in full possession of the facts, and I must ask a recess.”
“It is premature to demand a recess,” The Garisar replied.
The Darias’ jaw tensed. So, too, did Amarais. The Garisar rarely chose to speak in Council.
“Terafin,” he continued. “You have strongly implied the presence of magic in the attack upon your House.”
She said nothing.
“Given the nature of the attack, it cannot have been magic performed under writ.”
“If the mage was called rogue by a Member of the Order’s Council, no,” she replied with just a trace of sarcasm.
“We will hear the rest of the details,” he said, “before we call a recess, if indeed a recess is granted at all.”
“Very well.” She glanced at The Darias, and the glance offered him nothing at all. “You are all, no doubt, aware of rumors about an assassination attempt that took place upon the grounds of my manse some weeks ago. What was not made clear at that time, and for reasons that will become clear as I speak, was that the assassination was not attempted in the normal way. No poison, no dagger, no crossbow; it was entirely magical in nature.”
“House Terafin has powerful enemies.”
“As no doubt every House in the Empire does,” she told The Morriset. “This one, however, was not deemed to be human.”
The Garisar now rose. The Kalakar and The Berrilya had failed to resume their seats. “Be clearer,” he said sharply.
“Clarity is in short supply at the moment; however Member APhaniel felt the attacker was, in fact, demonic in nature.”
“And you kept this to yourself?”
“Would you have me go groveling in terror to the Kings?” she snapped back, her control unraveling.
“Terafin has always been arrogant,” he replied, with some heat, “but not even Terafin can be so arrogant as to assume that demons and their interest would be focused on Terafin alone!”
It stung. It did worse. Amarais felt her throat constrict, but she met his fury head-on. It was an echo of her own, and it was aimed, in the end, in the same direction.
“I had reasons,” she said, her voice low, “for that assumption, and while those reasons bear some scrutiny, in the end, I feel that my judgment was in error. I have therefore called this Council Meeting in haste.
“The second attack upon my House was not, in my opinion, about House Terafin at all. And it was only the second of the attacks that made this clear and rendered my previous assumption unworthy. I am here, now, Garisar. Any penalty to be paid for my caution will in the end be decided not by The Ten but by the Twin Kings.”
He was not mollified. He did, however, grant her a stiff, furious nod. She half expected him to stride out of the Council doors and toward the Kings’ Court.
“The second attack,” she said quietly, “in which Darias men participated, was led by a demon. And the foyer,” she continued, “was destroyed, in part, by that demon, and in part, by Allasakari.” The silence that followed her final word sounded like thunder.
The Darias moved away from his seat. “I will not have my House maligned in this fashion,” he said stiffly. “House Darias does not and has never worshiped the Lord of the Hells. I demand a recess. I will repair to my House, and I will return with whatever information I can find.”
“Darias—” The Garisar began.
But The Darias lifted a hand. “Now,” he said quietly. There was no request in the single word.
Amarais nodded.
“He did not know,” Morretz said quietly.
“I concur.” Amarais stared out the window of the moving carriage. The Darias had demanded a recess, and she had granted it. He had also remained to see that the recess did not devolve into a discussion of House Darias in his absence. It was, of course, wise; she would have done the same.
But she could not imagine that she could find herself in The Darias’ position. The magnitude of his crime could not be excused by ignorance; he knew this. But if the attack was conducted without his awareness, his crime was his ignorance.
It was not a crime she herself could conceive of committing. She was the House. What occurred within the confines of her manse, she knew.
And yet, she had almost died within the confines of her manse. Treacherous thought, but truth often was; she shared it with no one. She had almost died; Torvan ATerafin had almost killed her.
She understood what had happened to Torvan, and she took some of the blame for that catastrophe upon her own shoulders. If something similar had happened within House Darias, could The Darias be held accountable?
Yes. In the end, yes. Because he was Darias, as she was Terafin.
Gabriel ATerafin reached back to massage his neck. “What will you do?”
“What I can,” she replied. “Word has already reached the Kings, and we will no doubt find a summons to Avantari to discuss events awaiting us upon our return to the House. The Kings will wait,” she added softly, “upon the Council of The Ten and the outcome of this meeting.”
“You are certain?”
“As certain as one can be, given the Twin Kings.” She glanced at his expression and then, once again, at the moving city. The air was crisp and chill, the sky a neutral shade of blue; it suggested clouds without actually producing any. “I do not know, old friend,” she finally said, still watching as buildings moved past. “But if we have played the game of politics and power—and demonstrably, undeniably, we have—and the Empire suffers for it, we, too, will be judged.
“We have made our decisions. We will live—or die—by the consequences. More than that, we cannot do; we cannot unmake or reverse the past.”
“It is not for the past that I am concerned,” replied Gabriel gravely. “What will you do with Torvan ATerafin?”
She offered him a very slight, and very pained, smile. “You are unkind, Gabriel.”
He did not respond in kind. He knew her, and knew her well.
“I have not yet decided,” she finally replied. The answer was not to his liking, but he accepted it. “He did nothing wrong, in the end.”
“If nearly killing you is considered nothing wrong—”
She lifted a hand. “You know, as well as I, why that occurred.”
“And I know, as well as you do, that it doesn’t matter. You have thrown all of your focus and will into the Council, and it is commendable, given your current state. But, Amarais, I have known you for years. You often choose the work that must be done to avoid other work that must also be done.”
Morretz was silent throughout this discussion, and as it continued until the carriage drew up the Terafin road, he did not speak until they were once again ensconced within her quarters.
“The Chosen will accept your decision, regardless of what it is.”
She was slightly surprised by this, but she nodded; it was simple truth. “I am not certain the rest of the House will do so—not easily. But Gabriel is right; I have avoided the issue.”
“You cannot be faulted for that, given the current situation.”
“I am,” she said, glancing at the pile of missives that had been as neatly stacked upon her desk as a large pile can be, “faulted much, it seems.” She lifted one letter and grimaced. “The cost of the repairs will be staggering.”
“I believe the cost of the repairs can be left in the hands of the right-kin, Terafin.”
She nodded, and then lifted her head. “I will let him choose,” she told her domicis, her expression as open as it had ever been. “I will not execute him for treason or treachery; he deserves far, far more from me. But I chose him for a reason. He will understand the difficulties I face.”
“Then you give him, in the end, little choice at all.”
She closed her eyes. “Leave me,” she said.
He
did.
12th of Corvil, 410 A.A.
The Hall of Wise Counsel, Avantari
The halls of Avantari were now notably adorned with the Kings’ Swords; The Terafin wondered if all of the reserves had been called. She had taken, in the late hours of night, her room illuminated by both magelight and grief, an early report that suggested the assassination attempt in Avantari had been conducted with or by demons. More than that, her sources had been unable to divulge, and she did not have the luxury of time; what they were certain of, and what she accepted as fact, was that the Princess Royale, Mirialyn ACormaris, lay abed in the Queens’ healerie, recovering from unspecified injuries.
The Ten gathered in ones and twos as the hour of the meeting approached. They took no care to time their arrival; for once, they arrived early, and they arrived prepared. She wondered what information they now possessed about both the attack upon House Terafin and the attack within Avantari; no doubt some of it would come to light in the meeting itself.
But if The Ten gathered, there was one glaring and notable exception: The Darias himself.
Nine were gathered, and if they continued to speak among themselves, they watched the doors; the doors failed to open until fully an hour had passed. The Terafin nursed her anger and her grief as the minutes dragged on; she responded politely to questions directed at her, but she did not otherwise engage any of the Council members.
When the doors finally opened, they opened upon a stranger. A stranger who wore the colors of House Darias. She frowned, trying to place him; there were very few members of import in any House that she had not met, if only briefly. He was young, this man, and fair where Archon had been dark; he was tall, but his shoulders were curved inward, and he did not have the physical bearing of The Darias.
He glanced around the room at the seated heads of the other nine Houses and then swallowed almost audibly. She thought he might be a designated messenger, but no Terafin messenger would hesitate so openly to discharge his duty.
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