Battle: The House War: Book Five

by Michelle West

  Snow hissed.

  “I fully intend to have both Night and Snow on guard for my first walkabout in the victory parade.”

  “You will take Lord Celleriant?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the Winter King?”

  “No.” Although she was grinding her teeth in an attempt to keep half of her annoyance on the right side of her mouth, Jewel found Haval’s obvious irritation a boon. If the servants, the guards, and the Chosen accorded the office far more respect than Jewel found comfortable, Haval did not. “Have you heard anything new?”

  “Of relevance? Possibly. It is not, however, of relevance right now. Standing still, on the other hand, is. Honestly, Jewel, you might spend more time in the company of young Finch; she adapts. You might absorb something.”

  “I would, if Jarven were around less often.”

  “I believe he is her central adviser on Council matters.”

  “He’s also her boss—I consider it a conflict of interest.”

  “Meaning you don’t care for Jarven ATerafin.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Finch seems fond of him. The inimitable Lucille ATerafin also holds him in some obvious esteem.” Haval stilled; he lost his pinched and parental look as his face became expressionless. “What do you see, Terafin?”

  “I’ve had no visions involving Jarven.”

  “Ah. Why do you dislike him? I will assume it is not for reasons of petty jealousy.”

  Jewel glared down at him; the stool’s height gave her that advantage. “I don’t trust him.”

  “Very well; you are obviously not a fool. He is, however, a valuable source of information. It is my considered opinion that he means no harm to either Terafin or Finch personally.”

  “It’s not that I think he means harm,” she said, turning as he nudged her. “I just don’t think he cares if harm happens.”

  “Astute. Irrelevant, but astute.” He stepped back, examining his work. “I believe Ellerson is waiting as well. The order of guards?”

  “Torvan and Arrendas are in charge of that at the moment.” She stepped down, fussed with the skirts; they were a color of blue that most closely resembled the House Colors, but there was a wide swathe of white that ran from throat to ground, and the sleeves and hem were edged in black and gold. Every other member of the House Council was allowed, by mourning custom, to wear white and gold; The Terafin alone was exempt.

  “Let me remind you, Terafin, that the victory parade—the return of the Kings’ armies after a significant and important battle—is meant to be a celebration.”

  Jewel nodded. “I know what they were facing,” she told him. “Part of me is surprised that there’s much army left to return.” She hesitated and then said, “Did I forget to tell you that the Council of The Ten will convene in three days in the Hall of The Ten?”

  “You did. Devon, however, did not.” He fussed with the fall of her skirts, and then folded the cuffs of her sleeves, which she accepted. “The Southern victory was—and is—important, Jewel. You were in the South; you understand why.”

  She nodded. Morretz had died in order to deliver the message that had summoned her home from the Terrean of Averda. Summoned her, she thought bitterly, in time to witness—but not prevent—The Terafin’s death.

  Haval’s hand tightened. “Remember that you desired the position you now occupy. Attempt to occupy it well. Devon will be situated in the crowd.”

  “Devon will? Why?”

  Haval pinched the bridge of his nose. “Two of the four attempts would have been successful if not for the speed of your response—and yours alone. I believe he takes this fact personally.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “No. I am grateful, at the moment, for your survival. Do not tax my joy. If I may have a moment of your time after the late dinner hour?”

  “You can have an hour.”

  “Good.” He set aside his needles and turned to the white sprawl of lounging cat. “Snow, I believe it would be best if you accompany Jewel now.”

  Snow hissed. “She’s not leaving yet.”

  “Very well. You may remain here. If she forgets to summon you—”

  The cat rose. “I like assassins,” he said as he padded toward the door. “They aren’t boring.”

  * * *

  The Terafin garden was almost empty, for the first time in eight weeks. Even the by now familiar robes of the Order of Knowledge were nowhere in sight. Jewel stepped down from the terrace and instantly populated the grounds with her battery of Chosen, House Guards, domicis, and two cats, the latter of whom were arguing and stepping on each other’s feet. As Jewel found it difficult to move without stepping on someone she had some small sympathy for their annoyance, although the resultant behavior was fast destroying it.

  “Night,” she said, choosing one of the two arbitrarily, “go find Celleriant and bring him here.”

  “Why do I have to do it?”

  She answered his question with a silent glare, and his belly slowly sank toward the ground. After a minute of this, he moved, complaining as he left. Snow was hissing, because he was spiteful.

  A breeze touched her cheeks and hair; not even a full summer storm would dislodge so much as a strand given Ellerson’s work. Leaves rustled as that breeze moved through the tall, tall trees that could be seen from the street—any street—on the Isle; they sounded like the sea. She closed her eyes, lifting her chin as she did; she reached out with one hand from the terrace and felt, for a moment, the rough touch of bark beneath her fingertips. She lost sound, let go of frustration; the scent of undergrowth rose, and with it the quiet of a forest seen in isolation. Birds sang in the distance, wordless and insistent.

  “Terafin.”

  The single word brought her back to the terrace, the manse, and the reality of the city. Celleriant strode up the path toward where she now stood; she could see Night in the air, weaving his way around the trunks of the great trees.

  “Lady.” He bowed.

  “Rise,” she told him, and he did. He carried no sword, no shield; he wore armor that seemed, in comparison to the armor of the Chosen, light and trifling. His hair fell down the length of his back in a straight, unfettered drape, and his eyes were the color of silver leaves, sharp and cutting. “We travel into the city, to celebrate the return of the victorious Kings’ armies.”

  Celleriant nodded.

  If Torvan and Arrendas resented his constant intrusion, they kept it to themselves, wordlessly rearranging their own marching order to accommodate his presence. They accepted Avandar’s presence in the same way, although Avandar was domicis, and they had become accustomed to Morretz. They were less copacetic about the cats, in large part because the cats failed to maintain a peaceful marching order. The cats were, however, more or less respectful in the presence of Lord Celleriant, which is as much as Jewel felt she could realistically ask.

  * * *

  Marrick was waiting for Jewel in the foyer. To her surprise, Angel was by his side. He was smartly and neatly dressed, although the current high-collared style of his jacket—a dark blue very similar to Terafin’s colors—did not suit his hair. Then again, very little did. Marrick was dressed in full mourning; he offered Jewel a deep bow as she approached. “Terafin.”

  “ATerafin,” she replied, dipping chin. “Marrick.”

  His smile was the broad and avuncular smile that characterized his presence in the Council Hall. “House Terafin will be given position less prominent than that afforded Berrilya and Kallakar.”

  “Given their position as Commanders, that was to be expected, surely?”

  He chuckled. “It was. Haerrad, however, is displeased. He wishes to know if you argued for position by prominence at all.”

  She shrugged and began to walk toward the waiting carriages. “He can ask.”

  “Ah. And if I ask?”

  “No, I did not.”

  Marrick’s smile froze in place.

  “I was in the South,
Marrick, in case you forget. I was in the South, and aware of the enemies the Commanders faced. Their losses there are both a loss to the whole of the Empire and a personal loss; it is in respect of the personal that I declined to play political games. If Haerrad—if you—have a problem with that decision, let me make clear now that I expect it to remain your problem.”

  A gray brow rose as animation once again returned to Marrick’s face. “What did you see in the South, Terafin?”

  “Demons,” she replied. “And death.”

  “We have not been absent demons ourselves.”

  “No. But here at least our mages can be said to be functionally on our side. I’m not sure I understand the role of the Sword’s Edge or his subordinates in the Dominion; if I ruled there, I’d disband them.”

  “That is possibly easier said than done. Haerrad has gone ahead. I have not seen Rymark.”

  “Elonne?”

  “She traveled ahead with Gabriel.” He bowed again. “I will take a separate carriage as well, unless you wish to make room in yours.”

  “It’s probably safer if you don’t, given the last two months.”

  He chuckled. “I believe that was Haerrad’s thought, as well.”

  She would have laughed—or cursed—but was forced to break away to mediate between the two cats who had decided that they would ride on the roof of the carriage.

  * * *

  The carriage door closed upon four: Avandar, Celleriant, Angel, and Jewel. The cabin, with its padded, velvet cushions and backing, all in House blue, was neither large nor spacious, but Jewel felt herself relaxing. This was as much privacy as she’d been granted in weeks. Even the room in which she slept contained four of the Chosen, Avandar, and two cats at its least occupied; two more of the Chosen stood sentinel on the other side of closed doors. Torvan and Arrendas had, for the better part of six weeks—since the first failed assassination attempt—urged her to expand the ranks of the Chosen.

  She couldn’t. She was willing to let Arrendas or Torvan make recommendations—but she made the offer with care. The Chosen served The Terafin, and they were called Chosen for a reason; the choice had to be hers. The trust implicit in the choice, hers as well. She needed to make the time to observe—or to spy on—the House Guard, and she had not yet done so.

  She could not leave her room without her retinue; not to slip into Teller’s room, or Finch’s; certainly not to travel to the large offices in which most of The Terafin’s records and paperwork loomed. Jewel wondered if a day would come when the constant presence of people who were not her den would feel natural. Amarais had never seemed troubled by it.

  But Amarais sometimes shed some of her Chosen and her domicis to retire to the garden of contemplation, or the House shrine, a feat that Jewel had yet to duplicate. It was not, however, the only reason she had failed to visit that shrine. It stood too close to the heart of the hidden, the wild. Even with four loud wheels beneath her seat, she could hear the sounds of leaves—gold, silver, diamond—and the crackle of a lone tree of fire, as if each movement was a syllable in a strange, compelling chorus.

  She understood her home: it was her den. Her House. With time, it would encompass the Chosen. But the forest eluded all but her dreams—and her nightmares. Those had been bad.

  Celleriant said, as if her thoughts were visible and loud, “Lady, will you not reside in the forest?”

  “The manse comes with the office.” She turned her gaze to the window and watched as the mansion began to recede. Although the carriages were horsed, they could not travel quickly; not today. Fully a third of the Isle, from servants to the Kings themselves, would be traveling across the bridge to the heart of the Common.

  “Will you play games with words?” the Arianni Lord said sharply. “The heart of the old woods is yours, here. You are not Queen, and you are not firstborn—but if you will it, the forest will grace your manse of stone and wood, and lend it both splendor and life.”

  She said nothing.

  Angel, however, did. “The Kings, the magi, and the Exalted are watching every move, every action, and every decision of the current House Council. Turning part of the manse into a forest wouldn’t be to anyone’s advantage.”

  “Oh?” was the chill reply. “It would not be to yours, certainly. But since the day of The Terafin’s funeral, my Lady has not walked the wild roads, except in her dreams. Had she, at least two of the assassins might never have reached her side.”

  “Angel’s right,” Jewel said sharply, turning from the window. “I can’t just wander into the ancient forests; the paperwork—and all of the meetings it engenders—still has to be attended. And if two attempts might—might—have been prevented, two would not; if I had spent more time being political, and gathering information on the House Council, they might have been prevented.”

  “Do you still consider it unwise to dispense with the current House Council? Excepting, of course, those members who are already in your service.”

  “This is the Empire. Murder is frowned on.”

  “This is House Terafin. If the deaths occur within the manse—or any property owned by Terafin—they are not a matter for Imperial Law.” Celleriant spent most of his time in the gardens, lost to all sight; she should have been surprised at what he’d managed to learn in his almost complete absence. She wasn’t.

  “Whatever else you think I can do for—or with—the forest, I can’t make wholesale changes just on a whim.” He started to speak; she lifted a hand. “If it were possible, it would still be wrong. I understand that the old forests—the deep forests—were the home of your youth, Celleriant. Understand that the old city, the hundred holdings, were mine. I don’t know how far my reach extends, and I don’t want to take that risk without a damn good reason.”

  “You are afraid to learn.”

  “Does it matter? It’s my decision. If I use the power on a whim, if I change the landscape to no useful purpose, I’ll probably turn thousands of people out of their homes. I don’t care if you think their homes are hovels, or worse. They probably are. But so was mine. Regardless, if I tried, the Kings would be forced to remove me. And I can’t depose the Kings. I can’t bring down the cathedrals.”

  “You have already made changes in the palace of your Kings.”

  She flinched. She had not yet seen the changes Celleriant spoke of, but she knew he was right. It was why Duvari had become so quietly threatening. She was almost certain that none of the four attempts on her life to date had been engineered by the Astari, but the distance between that almost and certainty couldn’t be breached.

  She was more comfortable assuming that they were organized and engineered by members of her own House. How wrong was that? But Haerrad had been difficult in Council—more so than she remembered, although she had never liked him, and they had often clashed. Rymark had been remarkably helpful—publicly. His considerable arrogance had disappeared, like a bad dream. She found its absence perversely unsettling.

  He did not, however, treat Teller or Finch with any great consideration, and while she didn’t wish Rymark on either of them, it made it hard to forget that he was clearly capable of decent acting. She felt no additional resentment for his almost open dislike of the cats. People were contrary.

  Haerrad was the obvious choice of antagonist; Rymark was a not-very-distant second. But Elonne was also a candidate, although Elonne had voted in Jewel’s favor. Marrick, Jewel had given up on suspecting, much to Haval’s annoyance. Yes, he was capable, and she suspected he was capable of attempting to arrange her death, but so was Haval, and she didn’t suspect him.

  “Jay?”

  She looked up, her gaze sliding off Avandar’s instant and glacial frown.

  “He’s right,” she told Angel. “I did. I don’t know what the changes are, and I don’t want to see them. I didn’t do it on purpose, but it doesn’t matter. In some ways, it makes it worse.” She glanced at Celleriant; ice would have been warmer. Her voice dropped; the words, however, didn’t sto
p. “I did whatever I did at the Palace—and I’m sure someone will helpfully walk me past it on the way to the Hall of The Ten—because of the earth and the air. I could hear them. I couldn’t understand them, not the way I understand us—but I knew.

  “I was angry,” she said, her voice dropping further. “I was angry at the damage. I was angry at their presence and their stupid fighting in the middle of The Terafin’s funeral. I was angry at the demons, at the death I couldn’t prevent. I didn’t think. I just reacted.” She laughed. It was not a happy sound. Angel’s silence wasn’t, either—but it was a comfort.

  “Standing near the terrace—our terrace—I did something to the structure of Avantari. I might have killed people. I might have injured them—you don’t move chunks of stone like that and disturb nothing. I touched things I couldn’t even reach. Because I was angry.”

  Angel shook his head. “Not because you were angry. You wanted to protect your home.”

  “Most people can’t—”

  “It doesn’t matter. They’re not you. You’re not them.”

  “I was angry,” she said, denying the comfort he’d folded into the words. “I was angry because of what I’d already failed to protect. Morretz is dead,” she said. And then, because the bleakness was there and she’d already touched its sharp edge, she added, “The Terafin is dead. I’m not. It’s never me.”

  “Don’t expect me to regret that.” The words were as low and intensely spoken as her own.

  “I wanted the power. I wanted it because I could use it to protect my home. But I don’t want—” her breath was sharp, singular. “I don’t want a power that I don’t control. If I want to kill a man now—I mean seriously want a man dead—I can arrange that. But I’d have to be careful. I’d have to work. I’d have to plan my way around even the discovery of it. This way?” She laughed again. “I’d barely have to think. I don’t want that. I don’t want it to be so easy, because I can’t bring them back.

  “I’ve had to apologize and grovel for the words that fall out of my mouth so many times I’ve lost track. But I can’t apologize and grovel to a corpse and expect to be forgiven. I can’t bring the dead back to life.”