Oracle: The House War: Book Six

by Michelle West

  She had not come to this one seeking escape. She had come, she said, seeking knowledge. She knew that she could sell her field notes to fully two dozen of the magi in the Order of Knowledge—for she had been given permission they had been denied. She wouldn’t even have to endure their condescension, they would be so eager.

  What they wanted was not so different, in the end. They wanted to walk into story. She closed her eyes. “What do you want?”

  “I want there to be no reprisals,” he replied.

  She frowned. She did not dislike Jester, and knew that she should pay this conversation more attention; had she been standing anywhere else, she would have. “Do you not feel,” she said, ignoring the words he had forced himself to speak, “that you walk in story?”

  When he failed to answer, she turned; he was staring at her, arrested.

  “Have I surprised you?”

  “I’ve spent three weeks digging whatever dirt you point at. You’ve never struck me as the fanciful type.”

  “No. I have never struck myself that way. But—here, I feel it. I feel almost disarmingly young again—but not in the ugly, helpless way of childhood.”

  “I didn’t live in a forest.”

  “No. I didn’t, either, more’s the pity. But it was my retreat. It was the only place it was safe to dream. I do not know why I speak of this now—and to you, of all people.” She shook her head, turning her back on the tree of fire. She could not see how flames framed her, but was aware of the effect her positioning would have. “Duvari does not, except in the most extreme of circumstances, engage in pointless reprisals.”

  “That is not what is said.”

  “No, of course not. And you perhaps do not have a window into the ranks of the Astari to observe the facts, and no reason to trust my evaluation. I am concerned, Jester.”

  “Oh?”

  “You are disconcertingly serious; I feel that I may have misjudged you.”

  He shrugged. “I take no offense.”

  “No. You don’t care enough to take offense. And yet, you care enough to be here. How does this affect the right-kin and the director of the Terafin concerns in the Merchant Authority?”

  “Did I mention that I’m not fond of intelligent women?”

  “Frequently.”

  “It has never been more true.” His face was the color of fire, reflected fire. His hair was that color regardless. She had thought him young and feckless, but in the firelight realized she had underestimated his age. “Is it true that Vareena knows little of value?”

  “She would know the manner of her own placement. She would know how any information that requires or merits attention would be conveyed. Beyond that, no—and the circumstance of each would—as you can imagine—be individual.”

  “And were this information to be shared or discovered, Duvari would not consider it too much of a threat?”

  “He would consider her discovery a threat—but once discovered, he would assume the compromise was complete.” She was silent for several beats as she digested the conversation—and her own almost inexplicable part in it. “Tell me, ATerafin, you said Vareena was attacked?”

  “I may have let that slip.”

  “How severe were her injuries?”

  He looked above her head to burning flame, his expression momentarily unreadable. “You understand my difficulty.”

  And she did.

  “I understand that Duvari considers The Terafin a threat.”

  Birgide lifted a hand. “Do not do this, Jester. I am not here as Astari. I will not carry any threat you make, and it is clear to me you mean to threaten.”

  “Is it a threat to give warning? There are people within Terafin that Duvari might dispose of—for his own reasons. The Terafin might be angered; she might be relieved. But there are people it is best to leave well alone unless you have disposed of The Terafin first. Duvari has never struck me as the type of man who takes things personally.

  “Has The Terafin struck you, ever, as someone who doesn’t?”

  • • •

  Jester watched Birgide. She had turned her back upon the tree of fire, but even in the midst of their conversation, her eyes were drawn to it. And away. To, and away. What must it be like to serve two masters? Jester wondered. He could not with certainty say he had ever served so much as one. But he had a rare moment of clarity, watching her. He understood why he had found her so quickly. He even understood why he had found her here.

  “I am the only man associated with the House Council—however tenuously—who will speak with you. I am perhaps the only member of The Ten who will do so. For reasons which are so glaringly obvious they require no explanation, The Ten do not exchange information with Duvari.”

  “And yet, you seek to do so?”

  “No. I’d sooner die than be stuck in a room with Duvari. I have a personal dislike of people who never smile. Have you ever seen him smile?”

  She laughed. “No. Never.”

  “Were it not for his line of work, he would be the very definition of uninteresting.”

  “But his line of work absolves him of that status?”

  “It does. People loathe him. People resent him. People fear him. All of the social fortifications they might otherwise employ against minor dignitaries like me, they turn toward him instead.”

  “And they are, therefore, more careless than they would otherwise be.”

  “Around me, yes—but I am, and will remain, insignificant.”

  She was once again glancing at the tree.

  “It is seldom that I am less interesting than a plant.”

  “There is no one—not even Duvari on most days—who would interest me more, if that is any consolation.”

  It wasn’t, but he didn’t come to people expecting consolation. Or kindness. Jester saw the world clearly. “We don’t believe that Vareena was discovered through any competence on the part of either our House Mage or our surveillance.”

  She didn’t even blink. But this time, when she turned toward the tree of fire, she turned fully. Her back was stiff, straight; her hands fell to her sides and remained there. He knew that she could kill him; she could not kill him easily. “What makes you say that?”

  “We’ll know within the next few days whether or not Vareena was an isolated incident. I imagine Duvari will know first—but not by much.” He wanted a drink. He wanted a drink, his bed, and some idiot waking him to tell him that he’d overslept. At this point, even if that idiot was Haval, he’d take it.

  On the other hand, if this pleasant fantasy did somehow become the new reality, Haval would no doubt inform him—in that pinched, humorless voice of his—that the day’s events had been even more of a nightmare than the current reality’s. And he’d probably still be talking to a woman who seemed to prefer the company of plants and dirt to the company of people.

  Jester—at this particular moment—had some sympathy for that preference; hours of dirt would no doubt whittle it away.

  “It will be difficult for me to carry word to Duvari.”

  “I would speak with Devon,” Jester replied, taking the first of the no doubt hundreds of risks the day before him demanded. “But he is currently seen almost exclusively in the company of Patris Larkasir—at the behest of the Crowns. You are the only alternative available. Trust is not required; you may do nothing with the information and wait to see how events unfold. I must, however, ask that you refrain from denuding the House of necessary members.”

  “I will refrain—but it is not, of course, to me that you wish to make this request.”

  Jester, watching her, said, “I think you underestimate your own importance.”

  “Hardly. I am aware of my standing within the ranks of Duvari’s many agents. He is not best pleased with my presence here. He could not—unless my services were urgently required elsewhere�
�forbid it. Not unless he felt that my presence would compromise the safety of the Kings. He wished The Terafin to forbid it, and made clear to her that I served him. She did not hold this against me.”

  “Do you think the forest—the forest as it is, now—would survive The Terafin’s death?” he asked, looking at the height the tree’s flames reached. The question sounded idle; it was not.

  That he’d asked it surprised her enough that she turned, once again, from branches of fire. “Do you?”

  “I am not the expert. You are. You’ve spent time studying within the august halls of the Order of Knowledge—but you wear no medallion, and you are not among the rolls of its mage-born.”

  “You have been busy.”

  “The information, as you suspect, was given to me without so much as finger lifted on my part.” This was, of course, a lie. Jester would have dearly loved for it to be the truth, however, and he had learned to gild his words with whatever truth he could find. “It is not possible to study within the Order without gaining some knowledge of—some appreciation for—the talents of the mage-born. Not for a woman of your character. I’m almost certain that part of your education was, in fact, the clear and careful gathering of that information. You might ascertain who was promising, and who powerful; you might learn which of the mage-born have accepted—or at least applied for—the right to accept a patron.

  “And this is conjecture on my part; it is idle.”

  “Yet you are here.”

  He shrugged. “You have as much working knowledge of magic as one who isn’t mage-born could be expected to have.” He kept his voice level and even, which was difficult. The branches of the tree were shifting in place. He thought at first this was due to the haze caused by rising heat—but he was never going to be that lucky.

  And he was curious. Birgide had found this tree; without Jay’s active consent, locating it should have been almost impossible.

  “The magics involved in the creation of this forest are not magics that any of the mage-born—any—could facilitate. Given that fact, even my conjectural replies hold no weight. The god-born sons of Teos have offered speculation, no more; their god is strangely reluctant to engage them in matters that concern The Terafin.”

  Jester frowned.

  “But if you insist, I will offer my opinion. The forest in its present form will not survive without The Terafin. Such a forest would not have been considered a remote possibility by most of the mage-born without objective proof of its existence. Indeed, they argue about it in frustrated ignorance, even now. But you have, as House Mage—exclusively, and rumor has it, free—Meralonne APhaniel himself. He believes that the forest is real; he believes that it came into existence exactly as The Terafin claims.

  “How much do you know about Member APhaniel?”

  Jester shrugged. “He smokes a pipe which irritates any number of patricians; I have long suspected that it’s almost the only reason he does. He is as fractious as the rest of the magi—but far more arrogant. He doesn’t give a damn about anyone’s opinion but his own, and means it, unlike a majority of people who make that claim. He fights like a demon.”

  “An interesting choice of words.”

  “Is it? I stay out of his way.”

  “His area of speciality is ancient—and legal—magics. If he feels a claim is credible, it lends that claim both weight and authority. It may also bring a certain amount of resentment; the magi are famously political.”

  “Everyone with power is.”

  “Meralonne APhaniel believes this forest is real. And Meralonne APhaniel treats The Terafin with unheard of respect. The power of First Circle mages has never moved him to offer either respect or consideration. The power of your Terafin does. Do you know where she has gone?”

  “Not exactly, no. I wouldn’t tell you if I did—but I don’t.”

  Birgide nodded, as if both the question and the answer were pro forma. “It is believed that she is to be instrumental in the survival of Averalaan. In the survival,” she added softly, “of the Kings.”

  “You don’t want to share who it’s believed by.”

  “It might come as a surprise to you, but any answer I give you would be pure conjecture. I am told—as are we all—what Duvari feels is necessary for my duties. No more and no less.”

  “And you are not here as a member of the Astari.”

  “No. But of course, as I am here, and as I am considered an expert in botany and its many branches, I will be asked to offer my opinions about the composition of this forest, its soil, and its various impossible trees.”

  “Will Duvari listen to you?”

  “Yes. He will not listen happily, but he will listen. It is for that reason that it is necessary for my replies to be definitive and objective.” She exhaled. “And there is very little objective fact to be found in this forest. It is a wonder of a place. And the heart of it must be this tree. I cannot guarantee that Duvari will listen to reason when it comes to the safety of the Astari, and there are costs in even the attempt to have such a discussion. He has survived these decades because he is, at base, suspicious of everyone and everything.

  “The Astari have been compromised before.”

  Jester’s eyes widened. He held up a pale hand; it was golden in the fire’s extended glow. “Please do not continue in this vein. It is making me feel distinctly less safe.”

  She didn’t smile. “Is it not why you came to find me? To inform me that the Astari had been compromised?”

  “Yes. And I am reconsidering the wisdom of that as we speak.”

  “You are not. It is not to save Duvari and the Astari, nor to save the Kings or the Empire, that you sought me out. You are afraid for your former den. You are worried about Finch and the right-kin. You are concerned about Jewel’s reaction should Duvari attempt to secure knowledge by removing a healer.

  “Regardless, it is not the first time the Astari have been compromised.”

  “And those compromises were demonic in nature?”

  “Once. Once that I’m aware of.”

  Jester whistled. He shouldn’t have, but stiff protocol had already been abandoned by the simple decision to be here with Birgide at all. He felt himself relaxing in the warmth of the tree of fire. Had he been Haval, he could have feigned relaxation without actually condescending to enjoy any. “I feel I’ve wasted your time,” he told her.

  “Don’t. If I appear unruffled, the news you have carried is disturbing. You feel there is a demon in our midst—a demon who is aware of the Astari and its methods of communication. Aware, as well, of the least and quietest of its members. That implies an infiltration of a higher order.”

  “You don’t think it could be Duvari?”

  “No. We are demonstrably still alive. If Duvari had somehow been taken, we would stand no chance at all.”

  “But you’d fight, anyway.”

  “Yes. I love this forest,” she confessed. “And these trees. Silver, gold, diamond—but most of all the Ellariannatte. I owe your Terafin a great debt; Duvari told her, point-blank, that I was Astari, and she elected to allow me to join her Household Staff.”

  “Could you speak with Vareena?”

  “That would not be wise.”

  “I’m afraid she’ll try to kill the healer.”

  Birgide closed her eyes. “It is not, I am sorry, the healer who concerns me. Nor is it Vareena herself. Tell me, in exact detail, what happened.”

  “Will you make certain to lie about your source?”

  “It is never wise to lie to Duvari. If you mean for me to speak with him—and you do—I cannot dissemble.” She folded her arms, waiting.

  Jester cursed her genially. “There are days it is not wise to leave one’s bed. I accept that. But I feel it unreasonable that there might be whole weeks—or months, more likely—where that is the case. This is vastly more trouble t
han I am accustomed to dealing with.”

  “But you are here.”

  “To dump the difficulty on the shoulders of someone vastly more responsible.”

  Her eyes rounded; he could almost see the fire through them. Her genuine outrage, unvoiced, made him laugh. It felt surprisingly good. He held his amiable silence until her eyes narrowed. “Do you know Devon?”

  “I know of him.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Her arms, still folded, had tightened.

  “Devon is Astari,” Jester continued, when she failed to interrupt him.

  “That is not commonly known.”

  “It is not widely known, but it is known. I do not,” he added, “discuss it often. I discuss it now for a reason.”

  “I hesitate, given your attitude, to ask what that reason is.”

  “You stand at the heart of The Terafin’s forest,” he told her. He walked closer, moving quietly and almost diffidently. “You’ve crossed a continent to study The Terafin’s trees. Duvari would not have introduced you as Astari if he had meant for you to remain here. But remain here, you do. I think it will take a full-on emergency to pry you from your position here.”

  She said nothing.

  “But you are, according to the Master Gardener, a woman of great fame in the circles he occupies. He speaks of you with healthy, glowing respect. He is beside himself with joy at your current position—you are working for him. On our grounds.”

  The nothing extended, although Birgide’s eyes narrowed.

  “If Devon can be both ATerafin and Astari, why can’t you?”

  Outrage had vanished into silent watchfulness. If a woman could be said to be bristling with suspicion, this one was. Jester was aware that he should not be enjoying himself quite so much, but felt that he had earned it, given the week so far. “Apologies,” he said, with the usual amount of sincerity. “Suggestions such as this aren’t usually considered a threat.”

  “Or an insult?” was her chilly reply.

  “Or that. I’ve more experience with that one, though.”