He said nothing.
In her fashion, she conceded ground. “Were it not for her intervention, the Kialli . . . would have won the games they played, to the detriment of our Empire.”
At this, he inclined his head. He did not, however, speak.
“She is seer-born.”
If The Terafin had hoped for a stronger reaction, she was to be disappointed; he did, however, pause.
“You are certain.” It wasn’t really a question.
“Yes.”
“The Empire does not contain many seers.”
“It does not, as you are well aware,” Gabriel broke in.
Amarais again lifted a hand. “Gabriel, he is not here as an applicant to the House; it is not as ATerafin that he will serve. To our knowledge,” she added, speaking again to the domicis, “there are none except Jewel. The one other seer with whom we have any experience is not, in my opinion, an Imperial citizen.”
“And he?”
“Is not a matter of concern.”
“Very well. You have in your House a child of the streets who has the talent of a seer and no training whatsoever.”
“I do.”
“And my role?”
“Your role,” she replied, rising, “is to see that she survives as a member of this House. She is not well versed in the political; you would be responsible for some of her education. She has some experience, at this point, with the magi; her early work for House Terafin involved close cooperation with the Order of Knowledge.”
“I . . . see.”
The Terafin frowned. “Avandar Gallais,” she said quietly.
He met her gaze and held it.
“Why do you labor in the guildhall?”
“For reasons of my own.”
“You were not born to a life of service.”
“No. It does not come naturally to me.”
“My understanding, from those I have met and worked with, is that a life of service is a vocation. It is not—”
He lifted a hand. “Believe, Terafin, that I have heard it all. The guildmaster is satisfied that I am both serious and capable. If you are not, you are, of course, free to dismiss me.” He hesitated, and then said, “She is untrained.”
“She is.”
“And yet she was instrumental in the unraveling of Allasakar’s plans?” He spoke the name of the Lord of the Hells so casually he might have been talking about a political opponent.
“She was.”
He nodded to himself. “And she is likely, in your opinion, to have or make enemies?”
“She is. If for no other reason than her talent; she will be seen as too much of an advantage to my House, and my rivals may well attempt to level the field.”
He was silent for a long moment, and then he glanced at Morretz. “I will meet her,” he said, at last.
“It will take some small time to arrange for her presence,” The Terafin replied. “If it is convenient for you to remain here, remain here; if it is not, we will arrange a meeting on a different day.”
“I will wait,” he replied.
In the quiet of the smallest of offices within her personal chambers, Amarais bent and touched a magestone before she rose and turned to her domicis. “Who is he?”
Morretz met The Terafin’s gaze with utter silence. She did him the kindness of turning away, her gaze seeking the Isle beyond the glass of uncurtained windows.
“Will he keep her safe?”
“He is capable of it.”
“He was not trained by the Order of Knowledge, according to the brief sent by the guildmaster.”
“He did not require it.”
“There are very few mages who are not required to at least pay lip service to the Order; the threat of being marked as a rogue mage is not negligible.”
“He is clearly unconcerned.”
Silence. “Morretz,” she finally said, softly.
He closed his eyes. “Yes, Amarais,” he replied. “If you allow this, he is capable of protecting Jewel. Not even the Allasakari could have touched her had he been present, in my opinion.”
She waited.
After a long pause, he said, “Ellerson is not against it, although he has reservations; the guildmaster is not against it. Any misgivings I have are entirely personal.”
“Thank you. I will send the Chosen for Jewel.”
Amarais chose to take a desk that seldom saw use within the confines of her personal library. She spoke to the magestones and received light as her reply; the day—the First Day, in all its fragile glory—was drawing to a close, and the light that illuminated the library from the ceilings above had gradually dimmed as it donned evening colors. She was weary, and when weary, she found meetings of this particular nature difficult; she knew what to expect from the young Jewel Markess.
If she hoped for disappointment, she was not to receive it; Jewel arrived, looking tense and particularly young, in the wake of Arrendas ATerafin. The young den leader glanced at the room’s occupants, and her whole face stiffened when she saw Gabriel and the stranger, Avandar Gallais. She had been in the manse long enough that the Chosen failed to catch her attention, although her gaze did linger upon Morretz.
It was, however, Avandar Gallais who commanded the brunt of her attention; her eyes, ringed with lack of sleep, narrowed. She did not, sadly, look impressed, and curiosity gave way to the underpinnings of instant suspicion. She folded her arms across her chest as she stood.
“Jewel,” The Terafin said. “Please. Be seated.”
Amarais thought she would refuse; she had clearly heard the order. But she acquiesced—slowly and awkwardly, to be certain—and found a chair. It was, of course, the chair farthest from the stranger and closest to the standing shelves that housed the most obvious of The Terafin’s personal collection.
Amarais glanced at Morretz. Did I, she thought, trust you, when we first met? Did I evaluate you accurately at all? She couldn’t ask, but had she, he would have answered honestly. No.
But she had felt no visceral dislike of him, no instant suspicion. She lifted her head briefly, and Morretz nodded. A moment later, Ellerson departed the more enclosed office and entered the room, disturbing what was an almost funereal tableau.
Jewel frowned when she saw him.
“Ellerson, please be seated.”
He nodded stiffly, and he chose a chair that was some distance from the young woman he had served. Jewel was not a fool; she understood what it meant. That understanding was written across her expression like first heartbreak in the young. She mastered it, but with obvious difficulty, and faced Amarais.
“Yes,” Amarais said quietly, answering the question that Jewel was wise enough not to ask.
But to her surprise, Ellerson now turned to face the girl, and his expression—so shuttered and so proper—cracked, as if the openness of Jewel’s demanded a like honesty.
“Jewel.”
What she could contain in silence for the sake of dignity began to break free of her control then. “You told me—only if you died, or if I died—”
He didn’t flinch. Instead, he said, “Or if the contract expired. Or if there was a great change in circumstance.”
“But there hasn’t—”
He lifted a hand, a gesture that was clearly familiar to Jewel, who fell silent. But his voice belied the imperiousness of that gesture. “I am not your lord. It is not my place to tell you things that you obviously have not considered carefully enough for yourself.” He cleared his throat. “Think, Jewel, born Markess; think carefully.”
But Amarais understood that Jewel could not, at this moment, do what he requested. “Ellerson of the domicis,” she said, “you have served well; the House of Terafin is pleased with your effort.” She turned to Jewel, whose expression was far, far too clear. “Understand that it is not at my request that Ellerson has removed himself from your service.”
“But . . . why?”
“Because,” Ellerson said, interrupting Amarais before she could
speak again, “I am not the right domicis for a young woman who will—someday—be a person of great power. Remember what I told you. To serve a person of power, one must be a person of power. I am not that. I have never been that. And to serve in that capacity would be, ultimately, a failure of service so profound that I could not contemplate it seriously.
“You are not what I thought you would be, young Jewel, and I have served many in my time. Had circumstances remained what they were, it would have been my honor to serve.” His voice was the softest it had been, and the regret was genuine.
In his fashion, he was kind. He rose, he offered her a bow—a deep one—and he turned away from her and headed toward the doors at which the Chosen stood guard. Jewel lifted a hand, opened her mouth, and then snapped it shut, watching and learning, as she watched, that not all loss involved death. All of her previous losses, Amarais knew, had. Death could not be argued with; there was no negotiation, no plea, no offerings that could stay it.
She saw some of Ararath in the way the girl stiffened, and it almost hurt. Jewel said nothing. Forced herself to say nothing, although her expression obviated the need for words.
Into this silence Avandar Gallais now strode. To The Terafin, he said, “This is the one?”
Amarais bit back the deep sarcasm that was her first response. She, like Jewel, was tired. “Yes.” The single word was clipped. But as she gathered the strands of her own fraying temper, Avandar responded.
“Good.”
He didn’t so much as raise his hand; his expression gave nothing away.
But Jewel leaped up and hit the ground, rolling toward the stacks as lightning enfolded her chair.
Morretz cried out, gesturing sharply in the wake of the obvious and unexpected magical attack. The Chosen drew their swords, breaking the silence with the sound of steel against steel and the brevity of spoken order. Gabriel left his chair, with less grace and speed than Jewel had left hers, turning toward Avandar Gallais as he did.
Avandar Gallais, however, seemed not to notice; he was watching as Jewel slowly levered herself to her feet, her hands gripping the edges of shelves to do so. The faintest edge of a smile touched his lips; it was a cold smile. Amarais almost dismissed him.
Almost. But she had seldom seen such an open display of power, and never in such casual circumstances as this. It was now clear, if she had wished for some small demonstration of his abilities, that he was capable. What remained in the wake of the brief and unexpected attack—and it was that—was Jewel Markess’ response.
Amarais did not expect Jewel’s relationship with a domicis to mirror her own interactions with Morretz. She knew that Jewel lacked any of the political knowledge that she herself had been born to, and her early life had also denied her the experience of observation. If circumstances were different, she would have forgone a domicis, relying instead upon interactions with the members of the House and the House Council to supply what she lacked. She did not have that luxury; nor did Jewel.
In her search for suitable servitors for House Terafin, she had interviewed a number of the domicis, and she had yet to meet one with the force of personality and the aura of casual power that Avandar Gallais displayed.
Power of this nature could be—was—intimidating, however; it could easily overwhelm. What Jewel said next would be decisive.
She lifted her hand as the Chosen converged, gesturing, as well, to Gabriel to resume his seat. Morretz, bristling at her side, had not moved.
“That was unnecessary.” Her voice held the ice of her expression.
“For you, yes,” Avandar replied. “But it is not you who will devote your life to the service of this one.” As Jewel gained her feet and her expression folded into a glare, he added, “My apologies.”
Morretz spoke then. “Avandar, you go too far.” His voice was low, the words sharp and hard.
Avandar turned to The Terafin’s domicis. “Oh?”
But The Terafin, aware of the tension that underlay the sparse words, watched neither man; she watched, instead, the newest member of House Terafin. He will serve you, Jewel. How will you handle this?
Jewel’s answer was not, Amarais thought, an answer she herself could have tendered; the young woman slid a book off the shelf she had used to support her weight when she rose from her forced roll. Her movements were both economical and silent; she had spoken no word. She watched the two domicis, locked in their own private struggle, and her lips folded in as predatory a smile as The Terafin had ever seen on her face.
She then threw the slender volume; its gilt words and edging caught light as it flew. She had clearly been taught to throw; the book collided with Avandar’s shoulder, breaking the tension that existed between him and Morretz.
She had wondered if anything besides violence would; the answer was no, but it was violence from a quarter that she had not expected. Nor, clearly, had Avandar Gallais.
“It seems that you are not the only one to test, Avandar,” The Terafin said, watching his expression with care.
He raised a brow, and then he shrugged, Morretz apparently forgotten. “No, just the only one to fail.” He turned fully to Jewel then, and he bowed; it was an exaggerated sweep of motion. “Your pardon, little one.”
Amarais almost winced, but she said nothing.
“Terafin, I accept your contract. I will this one.”
The Terafin nodded. “This,” she told Jewel qiuetly, “is Avandar Gallais. He is of the domici, and he has come to fulfill the obligation that Ellerson felt he could not.”
“W-what?”
“I am your domicis,” Avandar replied.
Jewel, however, was staring at The Terafin as if she’d finally lost her mind. “I won’t have him!”
Amarais now rose. “You will,” she said. “This interview is at an end.”
Only when she had left Jewel—and her domicis, Avandar—did she turn to Morretz. He was characteristically silent. But his silences, like his gestures and his spare movements, could be read if one had the experience of decades. She did.
“She is not capable of dealing with the subtle, Morretz. Ellerson was many things, but subtle—with the den—was not one of them.”
“He could have killed her,” Morretz replied.
“Understood. But he did not.”
Morretz raised a brow. “And had he?”
She did not reply; nor did he expect it. After a pause, she said, “It is Avandar Gallais who will walk away bruised. He is a man who is accustomed to power and the wielding of power; she is a girl who is not. Nor am I entirely certain that she will ever wield power in the way that it is customarily wielded.”
Morretz nodded stiffly.
“But in her ignorance she held her own against Meralonne APhaniel, and in her ignorance she held her own against Devon ATerafin. She is not easily cowed.”
“She held her tongue with you.”
“Yes. But only with me, and that is fitting; I am The Terafin.” Amarais’ smile was thin. “And she did not, in truth, hold her tongue in all circumstances. If anything she views as her own is threatened, she is capable, Morretz. You did not hear her on the night I went to Torvan ATerafin.”
“No.”
“Trust her.”
“It is not Jewel that I mistrust.”
It was almost dark by the time Jewel reached the familiar doors of the West Wing. She’d forgotten to ask The Terafin if this was to be her permanent home in the House, but it didn’t matter. She’d come home to the fact that she’d lost Ellerson. He wasn’t dead. But living, he’d chosen to leave. She’d heard all his reasons. The Terafin even seemed to think they’d made sense.
But they made no sense to Jewel, and she didn’t want to try to make sense of them now; Avandar Gallais trailed her like an unwelcome, unwanted shadow. She stopped in front of the closed doors, wanted to rest her forehead against their surface. She wouldn’t, because he was watching.
“Understand,” he said, in his forbidding and unfamiliar voice, “that I am
here to serve you and to see to your needs.”
“What I need,” she snapped, showing him her back because she was too damn tired to school her expression, “is privacy. I need to be at home, where I can relax.”
“And I am not yet part of that home.”
She wanted to tell him he would never be part of her home. She was certain she still had splinters of chair attached to her clothing, and he’d destroyed the chair without warning while she was almost still in it. But she was also certain that refusing to accept him meant that she was obliquely refusing to accept the House Name, somehow—and she had only barely gotten The Terafin’s quiet word that the den would be ATerafin. She struggled with her temper, and she won—but it was close.
“No,” she managed.
“Then let us see this home, Jewel.”
“I’m not called Jewel,” she told him, her palm resting against the closed door. She took a deep breath. He comes with the House. Remember that. “I’m called Jay.”
“Jay? May I ask why?”
She turned and stared at him; he met her gaze without the stiff sense of propriety that had always characterized Ellerson. “How would you like to be called Jewel every day of your life?”
“I am not particularly troubled by what others call me. If you dislike the name, you are of course free to choose another. It signifies little. What you are called, and what you are, are not the same. But if you must choose a name more to your liking, Jay seems . . . insignificant.”
“It’s what I’m called,” she repeated.
He shrugged. It was not a casual shrug; it was too minimal a motion for that. But it was familiar in some way she couldn’t quite put a finger on. She glanced at the closed door. “Why are you doing this?” she finally asked.
He raised a black brow.
“This. This domicis thing. Serving someone.”
He had not, in her brief hour of acquaintance, appeared to be a friendly man. Then again, if she was trying to be fair—and she was trying—neither had Ellerson. But Ellerson’s age had suited his stiffness, and beneath the entirely proper words she had always had some sense of his affection and his approval. Avandar Gallais was about as warm and giving as stone in winter, but infinitely more dangerous. She couldn’t imagine someone like Avandar serving anyone.
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