Michelle West - The Sun Sword 02 - The Uncrowned King

by The Uncrowned King

  11th of Lattan, 427 AA

  Averalaan Aramarelas, Terafin Manse

  She thought, when she heard the knock at the door, that she might as well not have bothered to sleep at all, for all the good it had done her. There were accounts, after all, to be kept, and reports to be taken; she had been given, in her tenure with Terafin, the running of two of the smaller merchant routes. They were safe routes, to be sure; they sold pearls from the bay and jewels from the Menorans both to the West of the mountain chains and to the South. Trade in the South had diminished at her command, but the men who actually traveled the route were anxious to be off, and she often put faith in the men who did the real work while she sat behind a too-large desk playing with inkwells.

  Inkwells.

  The knock was louder.

  "I'm coming!" she shouted, and sank a bit farther back into the bed. The last of the dream had left her, but the visit with the spirit of Terafin now carried a greater, a more terrible, weight.

  The door opened. It was Finch. "Yeah. Right." She marched into the room, as officious in her own way as Avandar, and threw off the light covers. Jewel didn't like to sleep without covers, even at the height of summer. A remnant of a childhood belief that if, in bed, she was covered from toe to chin, the monsters that only materialized in the dark of a bedroom—and obviously, only preyed on young children—couldn't get her. "Get up!"

  "Finch—"

  "Or have you forgotten that you told me to make an appointment with The Terafin when you woke us all up in the middle of the night?"

  She had forgotten.

  "And you know you've still got to talk with the Commanders, right?"

  "When?"

  "If you get dressed, you can breakfast with The Terafin; the Commanders are coming here, after all. I think The Terafin wants to feed them, so you'll have some time between her and them to sleep if you need it." Her expression made clear that whatever Jewel thought. Finch thought she needed it. "I brought clothes."

  "Avandar's supposed to do that."

  Finch shrugged. "I guess he trusts me."

  "Hardly."

  Avandar stood in the doorway. He held out his arms, and Finch placed the carefully made bundle of day's clothing into them. There was no point arguing with—or making fun of—Avandar. "She's your responsibility," the younger woman said, brushing pale brown strands of hair from her face. "Get her there on time."

  "Why, thank you," Avandar replied, "for reminding me of duties that are obviously so often forgotten." His sarcasm, even at this time in the morning, was unpleasant.

  No, change that. Especially at this time in the morning. "Does it meet with your approval?"

  He offered her a very rare smile. "All of the clothing that young Finch has easy access to does. I chose it, remember?"

  Whenever he tried to be too friendly, he expected it to be a bad day. She nodded, swung her legs off the bed's side, and shed her nightclothing in one easy pull of flannel over head and shoulders. He offered her her underclothing and she slid into it, hating it in the summer's heat. It was, she thought, going to be a hot day.

  "Tell me," she said, as he handed her the pale blue dress that made her feel so insipid—it had a silly neckline and a sightly pinched waist—"what we're going to do about Rymark."

  "Any suggestion I have," he replied, his voice light, his smile thin, "would cost rather more money than we could divert without suspicion."

  "Oh, ho ho ho. Look, I'm being serious. Here, hook me in."

  "I was being half serious. If we were discussing Haerrad, there would be no half about it." He stepped behind her, to the back of the ridiculous dress, and deftly made it tight. Jewel could safely and easily say that this particular year's fashions were meant for young pretty women whose job it was to look, well, young and pretty. She was falling off the edge of young real fast, and she'd never, in her own mind, been up to pretty.

  She held out her hand and he plunked a necklace into it—pearls, a show of solidarity with the merchants who mined, in a fashion, the sea's gems. "Good. Let's—"

  "Hair."

  The part she least liked. "Avandar, it's only The Terafin. It's not like she hasn't seen me—"

  "Straight from The Terafin into the meeting with the Commanders. Your hair."

  "Look, if I'm late again, I'm going to be cleaning the balconies the pigeons live above. And you're going to be right there beside me." She knew, by his expression, that it didn't much matter. "All right, but hurry."

  There were fairly strict unspoken edicts about who could run down the wide halls of the Terafin manse, and who could not. Jewel Markess ATerafin was definitely and without question in the class of those who could not. She reasoned, however, as she walked perhaps a little too quickly that there was a difference between, say, a canter and a gallop. Which of course applied to horses, not Terafins, but it was a thought.

  The skirts of this season's wear were wide—praise the Mother— enough so that she could take the steps three at a time. She did, but even over the sound of her too heavy footfalls and her slightly labored breathing, the Terafin manse being a large area to cover in the very short time remaining her, she swore she could hear. Avandar's teeth grinding.

  Jewel did not have to clean the balconies.

  But while she did not care for the grand or dignified entrance that seemed so important to so many ATerafin—and to Avandar, if she were honest—he did. It wasn't that it didn't impress The Terafin; Avandar often showed a remarkable nonchalance when it came to the perfect good opinion of The Terafin herself. No, it was rather that it showed some sort of imagined flaw or weakness to The Terafin's domicis, Morretz.

  One day, she thought, as she watched them both, and saw the peculiar tensing of either man's jaw, 1 'm going to find out just what in the Hells it was that made you hate each other so much. She'd had no luck so far, and it had been well over a decade.

  One day—and then, she felt it, and she knew that what she had just said to herself was the truth. And instead of feeling comforted by it, she felt chilled. Cold, although the heat of the day was already notable.

  "Jewel?"

  She shook her head and smiled weakly at the woman who had given her her name, her life, and the time to develop the talent she'd been born to. "It's been a long night."

  "So I gathered. I received an urgent request from young Finch."

  She took a seat at a small table in the room just off the library, following with some speed The Terafin's unspoken command. Food filled a room too small for it with its aroma; Jewel realized, with a pang, just how hungry she was. She hoped it wasn't obvious—not so much because Amarais would dislike it, but because Avandar would kill her. Well, no, not kill her, but make himself unpleasant enough that she'd wish he'd just put her out of her misery.

  "You're unusually expressive this morning," The Terafin said softly as she took the seat Morretz had, without remark, pulled out for her use. Before Jewel could respond. The Terafin carried the morning's conversation in the direction she meant it to take.

  "Finch took it upon herself to send me this." She held out one ringless hand, and Morretz very carefully handed her two pieces— no, three—of curling paper. She set it down upon the table where Jewel might see it more clearly.

  Finch's writing.

  Jewel's dream.

  Silence surrounded them, permeated with the smell of a morning meal; a summer meal, fruits, cool water, cold breads, early wine.

  Neither woman touched what had been set out before them. Morretz gestured, almost unnoticed; but what was not unnoticed, not by Jewel—and she bet not by Avandar either—was the spark of light, of orange heat, that fled his fingers in a fine, delicate web, fading almost at once into the colors of the dawn.

  "Jewel," The Terafin said quietly.

  Hunger dissolved into ash. Into the memory of ash and sand. "Last night," Jewel answered.

  The Terafin looked out, out into the bay that the windows faced. Boats flecked the seascape in the distance, and beyond it,
the curve of the old city, the hundred holdings, cathedrals to the gods who were not part of the triumvirate reaching up and pulling the eye with them. At last, she said, "I've been to the shrine."

  "Me, too."

  "He offered me a warning," The Terafin said, delicately. She reached out for a glass, thin-stemmed and empty; Morretz moved at once to fill it. The wine was almost clear, it was so pale.

  "What—what warning?"

  Silence again. And then The Terafin said softly, "I must choose— and announce—my heir."

  "Word travels."

  "Indeed. Angel mentioned, in passing, to Torvan, that Rymark ATerafin thought to gain your support at a rather unusual hour."

  Jewel raised both eyebrows and turned on her domicis, who had not seemed to hear The Terafin's words. "I see," she said dryly, utterly unfazed. Not much went on in this House that The Terafin didn't know about. You could fool yourself into thinking that you had privacy, that you operated on your own, that you owned the little territory she granted you.

  But you were an idiot if you forgot that it was hers. Everything was hers.

  "You find this amusing?"

  Jewel laughed out loud. It was a good feeling, the laughter; it traveled the length of her body. "I find it funny, yes. I'll strip Angel's ears, but I do find it funny."

  The Terafin's smile was a relaxed echo of the younger woman's laughter. "What are we going to do, Jewel?"

  "I don't know. I asked, but the spirit, as it were, wasn't willing."

  Stillness. Then: "You spoke to him?"

  "He spoke to me."

  "And was there anything unusual about him?"

  "You mean besides the fact that he's dead?" But the laughter died because The Terafin's words brought back the night, and the night was strong. She looked up, met the older woman's dark eyes, and wondered how the spirit could look so fragile when the woman looked so strong. She turned her face away, to the light upon the water.

  "If I name my heir," The Terafin said softly, "that person's rule will be contested, either before my death or after it."

  Jewel wasn't an idiot. She understood what The Terafin meant: the heir was unlikely to survive the naming.

  "So name Haerrad. I'd be willing to see him buried in the infighting."

  "If I could bring myself to do it, I would. But there's always the chance, however small, that he would survive—and of the self-proclaimed candidates, he is the least acceptable."

  "And what is it exactly that Terafin's Founder will do if the candidate who reigns is unacceptable?"

  Silence again. "You know what Terafin is asking of you."

  And then Jewel spoke, so quietly that she was surprised the words carried at all. "Yes. And… I don't know."

  The Terafin was silent again, a punctuation to her still vigil, the watchful clarity of her clear eyes. When she spoke, those eyes were leveled upon the younger woman's face, searching for something buried there. "When I came to Terafin, I came with dreams of power. There was no other reason to join a great House.

  "When you came to this House, you did not seek power."

  "No." The younger woman stared out at the ocean because it was safer. "I came because Rath told me to come. And I stayed because I thought—I really thought—that here, my den would be safe."

  "You came to Terafin seeking safety." Her lips touched her glass as if it, and they, were ice.

  "There's no such thing, is there?"

  "Yes, Jewel, and no. Most things that are worth seeking exist only a moment at a time. Safety. Strength. Love. A moment at a time, you might build a life; it would certainly be architecture that would stand the test of time."

  "But you never—" Jewel had the presence of mind to leave the sentence dangling; she wished she'd had the presence of mind not to start it in the first place.

  But The Terafin, this awkward morning, was expansive. "If each of those things is worth pursuit, and each exists a moment at a time, it is also true that each takes time, dedication of its own. I chose to rule; I chose this House. This is as close to the Crown as any man or woman will ever come."

  "The Kings marry."

  "The Kings, my dear Jewel, have never married for love' You are past thirty; no young girl. You must be aware of this."

  Jewel ATerafin rarely saw the Kings; she did not speak with them. And because she was no longer a young woman, she did not bridle at the veiled accusation of ignorance, although it was a near thing.

  "The fact that they marry as they do doesn't mean that no love can grow. Nor does it mean that there is no affection, no respect. But they marry for children, and they marry women who understand that the Kingdom will—and must—always come first." She paused a moment, the stem of her glass between fingers made translucent by sun's lack. "It seems such an easy thing, to the young, that they think they can accept this: they dream of love with little understanding. But the ability to accept that one will, and must always, come second in time of need is rather more rare than that.

  "I sometimes think you've never been young. Jewel. But today, this morning, I look at you and I also realize you've never been old enough."

  At that, Jewel Markess ATerafin did stand. "I've always been true to the responsibilities I've accepted. I'm not you. I don't want what you want. I never did.

  "I want my den. I want to choose my den. I want to build it a bit, I want to surround myself with people I trust. But I won't do that if I can't protect them. Because that's what I promised them."

  "No," The Terafin said softly, making no move or gesture that might indicate displeasure at the outburst, "that's what you've promised yourself. I believe this interview is at an end. Remember that we are to meet with the three Commanders in the afternoon, and be prepared. Commander Allen, in particular, will view you as a skilled talent which, like any of his soldiers, can be trained and pointed. Watch what you say to him."

  "We've met," Jewel replied.

  "Ah, yes. I'd almost forgotten."

  Jewel didn't snort, but only because she was with The Terafin.

  "And?"

  "He's the Eagle."

  The older woman frowned as the younger woman smiled.

  "Jewel, you would do well to remember that that's what his soldiers call him. It is not an acknowledged title."

  "I've got more in common with his soldiers than I do with him."

  "Is that really true?"

  You guard the Standard. Jewel turned pale in the white-gold of the sunlight's rays. "It—used to be."

  "Jewel—"

  "I don't know, Amarais."

  Silence, long, profound. Jewel did not use The Terafin's given name. Only those who were her equals, or her confidants, did. But she had to do something to stop that question. Oh, she was afraid. She felt it again, and again; The Terafin spirit's words were working their way to her core. She wasn't sure what would happen when they reached it. Half her life had been spent in Terafin; a quarter with her dimly remembered parents, a quarter on the streets of the twenty-fifth holding.

  Yet it was true that the quarter on the streets still defined her. Her friends, she kept; her responsibilities, she entrenched. Oh, she could read Old Weston now, and Torra, the tongue of the Dominion; she knew the history of the realm as if it were more than her grandmother's superstitious, dangerous, and terrible stories.

  But when she thought about herself, she still felt like the sixteen year old who had crossed the Terafin threshold seeking— demanding, in her awkward, naive way—shelter. She didn't feel like a woman of power, although Avandar assured her she had become one.

  It suddenly occurred to Jewel, as she sat in the sun's growing heat, the woman she most respected watching her quietly, expectantly, that she never would feel like a woman of power. Like, say it, an adult. Even if she was one; even if she had to become one. She would always feel like she was groping for the right thing, the right answer, the right action.

  For the first time in her life, Jewel Markess ATerafin looked at the woman who ruled and saw past her to
her age. And that age, like a web, lay beneath the surface of translucent skin, where all else lay trapped by it.

  "You were… gentle," Morretz said quietly, long after the thud of doors closing had faded into the silence of birdsong and wind. He glanced at his master's face, but only briefly; there was something in the wide eyes that he felt might sear him if he met it too directly.

  "I understand her," The Terafin replied. "I understand her desire to protect those that she can. I am not immune to it myself. She is… she is to me what Alea was."

  "She is not Alea." Morretz began to remove the fine-stemmed glasses from the table. It was rare that he desired something to do, but when he did, he found it.

  "No. She's younger."

  "She's stronger," he said.

  She did not speak to him of her visits to the shrine of Terafin, but what lay between them was such a visit; she had come, ashen, from it, and had gone directly to the roof, forbidding him access to a moment of weakness that still echoed in the little nuances that defined her. He had tried most of his life to understand her. He tried now.

  "Amarais," he said softly, using the personal.

  For his trouble, he received her attention, but not as he desired it; she did not meet his eyes, and her shoulders stiffened and rose, as did her chin.

  He thought she would remain silent, but he waited, as he had always waited. There was reward, this time, of a sort.

  "I wanted," she said, speaking so softly a strong sea breeze would have taken her words, "nothing but the House. I left my blood kin for it, and that was bitter. I had only the approval of my grandfather—but he said to me, the last time we spoke, that I wanted it because I did not understand what it was that I wanted.

  "'Like children,' he added. 'Like first children.'" She raised her head further; her skin caught light, and the light was unflattering in its harshness; it traced the contours of time-worn crevice, bleached the color—what there was of it—from cheek and brow. "What was my first act as Terafin?" Soft question. Hard edge.

  He was silent a moment.

  "Let me ask a different question, then." She turned to face him, fully, and he almost regretted his desire for her full attention. "Why did you choose to serve me?" She had never asked him before.