Battle: The House War: Book Five

by Michelle West

  * * *

  When the doors to the great room closed, Meralonne APhaniel sat—heavily and gracelessly—in one of the large chairs closest to the fireplace. Avandar stood to Jewel’s left. She resisted the urge to tell him to sit down, although he looked exhausted.

  “Jewel,” the mage said, tapping ash from his pipe, “do you understand what you have done here?”

  “Maybe. What do you call the trees?”

  He looked momentarily astonished at the question. Shaking his head, he said, “they are called many things in many different languages.”

  “The Weston word?”

  He all but snorted in derision. “The Kings’ trees, the god trees, The trees. They have more formal Weston names; you will have heard none of them.”

  “If I had, I wouldn’t be asking.”

  “You have not asked your Master Gardener?”

  “No.”

  “And yet you presume to ask a First Circle mage of the Order of Knowledge?”

  “Clearly.”

  His smile sharpened. The Winter King was right. People wanted approval. Jewel wanted approval, even the small scraps this arrogant man occasionally threw. “Very well. One of the oldest words for those trees is Ellariannate. It is not a word in common use; the word is often abbreviated. Ellarian.”

  “It sounds . . . like a name. I mean, a person’s name.”

  “As you say.” The pipe, filled, was lifted to lip, where it paused. It was his punctuation. “But you were wrong in one regard.”

  “Only one? I’ve improved.”

  “Indeed. You called them natural trees. By that I assume you meant they were not magical in nature.”

  “They’re not.”

  “As I said, you were—and are—wrong in that regard.”

  “Meralonne, I can see magic.”

  “Clearly you can, as you crudely put it, see some magic. There is a reason the Ellariannate grow only in the Common. And here,” he added, as she opened her mouth. “I leave it to you to divine the reason, and perhaps that is unwise.” He closed his eyes. “You do not understand what you have done here.”

  “No. Not in a way I can put into words.”

  Eyes still closed, he leaned back against the chair, his hair spilling down his arms. No wind moved it, but in the light, it gleamed in a way that implied color. “The stability of your leadership?” he asked, without opening his eyes.

  “As you’ve no doubt heard, I’ve had some difficulties. This counts as the fifth attempt on my life in the last two months; it’s certainly the most public, and easily the most dangerous.”

  “All of the assassins were demonic?”

  “As an adjective, yes, but in the physical sense, no. Three of the five—if you count the Common—were demons.”

  “They worked alone?”

  “Yes.” She paused and then added, “To the best of our knowledge. It’s probably more accurate to say they made the attempt alone.”

  “And the other two?”

  “Men. Four men in the uniform of the House Guard—they were not House Guards. One woman.”

  “Your investigations?”

  “Are internal. I am willing to discuss what I’ve learned; I am not willing to compromise my own.”

  “Very well.” Pipe smoke, like fire, could be strangely comforting. She wondered what her Oma would have made of the mage were she here; she was certain that there would be two pipes burning in this room, not one. “You require a House Mage.”

  Which he knew. “I do.”

  “I will, for a concession, add in some small way to the political stability of your House.”

  She considered Celleriant’s continual offer to do the same, and wondered darkly if this were similar. But Meralonne was a member of the Order of Knowledge, and he served Sigurne Mellifas; a woman less likely to slaughter the difficult parts of the House Council could not be found. Certainly not in this room, on this day. “Your concession?”

  “You are free, of course, to refuse. The Order will second one of the First Circle to these duties—but if you refuse, Jewel, it will not be me.”

  She tapped the arm rest of her own chair impatiently. “APhaniel, your concession?”

  One pale brow rose. “I am to be granted access—at times of my own choosing—to the Terafin grounds.”

  She waited. When it became clear that he had no intention of adding further words, she rose. She was, not unexpectedly, exhausted. She wanted word sent to the Common, but knew it was unlikely to be heard; although the demon had followed her, he had caused damage, and the resulting chaos, where it involved the Kings, would be the primary concern of everyone present.

  Everyone except Teller, Finch, and Angel. The Chosen as well. She desperately wanted to know that everyone had survived—but Meralonne APhaniel was not the man to ask. She considered asking Avandar to go to the Common and discarded that option; if Meralonne was an acquaintance of long standing, he was also an unknown. She could not afford to give Avandar a public order that he would refuse to obey.

  “Why do you require that access?” She knew, before she asked, she would acquiesce. If Meralonne was an unknown, had always been an unknown, she was nonetheless certain that he could do her no harm in the grounds of the Terafin manse. Even the attempt would see him cast out of the Order as a rogue mage—a very, very dangerous one.

  “My reasons are my own, Terafin. I mean you no harm.”

  “And I mean the Empire no harm.”

  He frowned. “Is there a reason that you are stating the almost criminally obvious?” He might have been Haval. Or Avandar.

  She swallowed exasperation and gave reign to the amusement the words had also evoked. “You haven’t spent much time with Sigurne since your return from the South, have you?”

  “I have.”

  “And she’s voiced no concern?”

  “Ah, I see the difficulty. You misunderstand me, Terafin. You misunderstand,” he added thoughtfully, “almost artfully. She is aware—most of the Isle is aware—of the unusual circumstances that now surround House Terafin, and in particular its young leader. The magi dislike mysteries as a matter of principle, and they will speak the life out of them if given the smallest opportunity. They attempt, again, given opportunity, to turn magic into rudimentary mathematics.”

  “And you do not count yourself among the magi?”

  “Not in that regard, no. The work is too dry for my taste. You have now wasted minutes of my time at your leisure, and Sigurne has requested my attendance.”

  Jewel turned. “When you leave to attend Sigurne, please inform my House Council that the situation is in hand.”

  “Very well. Your decision?”

  “I think you understand what I don’t,” she replied. “And inasmuch as it affects my House, I require you to share the information you gain from the unlimited access you request.”

  “I am willing to tender reports of that nature at your convenience.”

  “Good. I also require one of two things in return.”

  “And those?”

  “You will either indenture yourself—and the entirety of your time—to House Terafin for a period of not less than five years,” which Jewel knew would be flat out impossible, although the words left no impression on Meralonne’s face, “or you come—and go—as your current House contract dictates, without monetary concession.”

  Meralonne stared at her for a full minute, and then he burst out laughing. It was a deep, rich sound that filled the whole of the room; it probably traveled up the empty fireplace and out the chimney, where it would startle birds. “The guildmaster will not be pleased.”

  “That is not my concern; it is yours.”

  “She could order me to refuse the House contract.”

  “She could—but she’s never struck me as foolish. You’ll do what you want, Member APhaniel. She’s known you for longer than I’ve been alive; she knows. She may tell you your acceptance of the terms harms the future earning potential of the magi, she may ask
that you consider refusing it; she may even go so far as to paint it an insult. She won’t forbid it.”

  “Terafin, I believe I am genuinely surprised.”

  “The demon did not surprise you, the cats did not surprise you, the forest did not surprise you. Even the demands I have made did not surprise you. A single observation about Sigurne?”

  “Even so.” He rose, tapping ash out of the bowl of his pipe into the empty fireplace. It was not, strictly speaking, for such ash. “I will deliver the message. Both of them. Word will travel,” he added.

  “If you know I’m not dangerous—”

  “I did not say that. I merely said that it is obvious you intend no harm. You have touched things that even the magi cannot touch; you have demonstrated that you are powerful. You are content—in a way that almost no mage would be—to wander in ignorance. You are a threat.”

  She was silent as he left.

  * * *

  He did not return to Sigurne, not immediately. Instead, he followed the galleries until he reached the wide glass doors of the terrace. They were guarded, but loosely; most of the House Council was still absent. Meralonne made certain that the pendant that marked the Order of Knowledge was clearly visible as he approached the closed doors.

  One of the guards stopped him.

  “The grounds are forbidden.”

  “The Terafin has returned from the grounds, and she has given me leave to examine them for magical interference. I am not in danger.”

  The guard was young. He was not foolish; Meralonne considered many courses of action, but chose waiting. The wait was under ten minutes, and involved a second guard moving with unseemly haste down the hall. In five minutes, a man whose tabard had the subtle marking that distinguished the Terafin Chosen from the Terafin House Guard appeared; he did not run. He was no youth; nor did he appear to be perturbed by Meralonne’s gently spoken demand.

  “Member APhaniel.”

  “ATerafin.”

  “The grounds are off-limits to anyone currently resident within the manse, by order of The Terafin.”

  “I have just retired from an audience with The Terafin, and I enter the grounds at her request.” It was more or less the same claim he had made in the face of the younger guard’s nervousness.

  “Very well.” The Chosen turned to the guard who’d been sent for greater authority. “Member APhaniel is granted a temporary leave to enter the grounds. He is the only exception.” Thus, the power of the Chosen in the Terafin manse. The man accepted responsibility for allowing Meralonne to leave when no countermand had been given to prior orders.

  Meralonne turned to the young guard who blocked his way, and the man almost gratefully moved.

  * * *

  He heard the voice of the wind. It was playful, light, sweet with the scent of hidden flowers, clear water. He heard the movement of leaves; a different man might be mistaken in thinking their rustle entirely due to the passage of air. His pipe, he put aside as he approached the path crafted by the Terafin gardeners. It did not conform to the forest, but it did not confine it, either. The trees that lined this walkway, tended like the path and the flower beds, nonetheless surrendered the white stag and Celleriant as Meralonne walked.

  “I have come,” he said gravely, “with your Lord’s permission. I am no longer entirely certain that I could do so, otherwise.”

  The Winter King lowered his tines briefly; the gesture was tense.

  “It is not Summer, here,” the mage said.

  “But it is not Winter, not quite.”

  Meralonne smiled. It would have shocked Jewel, had she seen it. “No, it is not quite Winter. You truly serve her, now.”

  Lord Celleriant nodded. He was unarmed, in the way that the Arianni are. “Will you walk the forest, Illaraphaniel?”

  “I will.” He took a step forward, hesitating in a way that was almost foreign. Lord Celleriant did not hesitate, as the Winter King had; he stepped aside and Meralonne stepped off the tended path, and onto the wild one.

  * * *

  He could feel the difference in the earth beneath his feet almost instantly; could sense the playful breath of the wind. There was, as yet, no water here, although he was certain, if Jewel explored, she would find brooks, streams, perhaps even a significant river. He wondered if she would know what to do with them, or rather, if she would attempt anything at all.

  He walked until he reached a tree of living diamond. “It has been so long,” he said, lifting a hand to the tree’s cool bark. “And I have been so entwined in the affairs of this mortal city I am almost ashamed of my thoughts.”

  “Oh?”

  “Her House might cull a leaf or two and sell it.”

  Celleriant’s silence was sharp and sudden. It did not last. “You have, indeed, been too long in the company of mortals.”

  “Your Lord is mortal.”

  “Yet she has never considered such an enterprise.”

  “Not yet. Would you stop her?”

  “. . . No. But I would make my feelings quite clear.”

  “And you would survive it, no doubt; Jewel ATerafin was ever a woman comfortable with an excess of feeling.” He lowered his hand. “Diamond, gold, silver.”

  “You did not expect them.”

  “No. And yet, they feel natural to me.” He lifted face and gazed at the height of the Ellariannatte. “But these? One could almost feel young again beneath their bowers. I have served as the Terafin mage for decades; I have worked in this City for longer. These trees are at the heart of the hundred holdings—where any child might play atop exposed roots. Did you not see them?”

  Celleriant nodded.

  “Did you not wonder?”

  “The trees in the mortal city are silent, Illaraphaniel. They do not speak, they do not wake.”

  “Yet they grow. I do not think they will remain sleeping; before this is over, even in a forest of wood and stone and human foibles, you will hear their song.”

  “It will not please my Lord.”

  “No, perhaps not. Perhaps she will be content to let them sleep; they have slept long. But where other trees might wither in mute silence, these do not, not there. In the Terafin grounds they are not mute, but their voices are subtle,” he added, “and curious.”

  “Curious?”

  “They do not speak with a single voice. They speak with two, and one of them is Jewel Markess ATerafin’s.”

  “She does not realize how much of a danger you are.”

  Meralonne chuckled. “No. No more does she realize how much of a danger you are.” He turned; the Winter King had followed at a safer distance than the Arianni Prince. “Will you not bespeak your Lord?”

  “No. I will leave that in your hands.”

  “I do not serve Jewel.”

  “No, you do not. But I perceive that you better understand the subtleties of her thought than I.”

  “Did you not first encounter her upon the hidden path, Lord Celleriant? Were you not then part of the Winter Host?”

  Celleriant nodded. “And I have waited, APhaniel. I have listened. I have remained in this forest. But I have not heard the song of the Summer Queen. I have not felt the call of the Summer Court.” He smiled, and to Meralonne’s surprise, it was rueful, not bitter.

  “What is this?” the mage asked softly.

  “The Summer is not for me, now.”

  “It is not,” Meralonne replied as he stepped away from the trunk of the rising Ellariannate, “for any of us.”

  Celleriant stiffened and turned. “Explain yourself.”

  “Have a care, Lord Celleriant. I do not wish to engage in combat here, but your Lord will allow it if it does not endanger either your life, or mine. She might not notice it at all if we do not damage her trees.”

  For a moment the very air around the Arianni Lord’s hands seemed to waver. Merlonne’s hands, however? They now contained his pipe. “I have become accustomed to mortal arrogance,” he said, when Celleriant failed to draw sword. “It never fail
s to amuse. But you are not as they are, Lord Celleriant.”

  “. . . No. Why has there been no Summer? She called the long hunt against the Winter King; I heard the horns; I saw the host pass.”

  “She did. The Winter King perished, as he must, at her hands.”

  “Then—”

  “There are no Summer trees.”

  Celleriant stared at Meralonne APhaniel as if the mage had lost his mind.

  “I make no cruel, tasteless jest. There have been no Summer trees, and it is my fear that there will be none. She will not reign in Summer, nor again ride in Winter; both faces of her power will be denied her.”

  “Illaraphaniel—what could now prevent it?”

  “The Lord of the Shining Court removed the Winter seedlings. His Kialli planted them in mortal lands—in the newly killed flesh of mortal children.”

  No words escaped the Arianni Prince, but Meralonne did not expect them, not yet. “I traveled the length of the borders of the Terrean of Averda, at the side of Kallandras of Senniel College.”

  “Kallandras.”

  “Yes.”

  “He has returned?”

  “No, but he will. The South holds him until the coronation of the new Tyr—but it is to Averalaan that he is drawn. The trees were planted in such a corrupting fashion along the border of the Terrean. We hoped to find one we could purify without destruction.”

  “You did not.”

  “No.”

  Celleriant closed his eyes briefly. “They will die, for this. Does she know?”

  “That the seedlings are gone? Almost certainly. But if the Kialli sought to remove Ariane from the game, they have also hampered themselves; there is no Winter upon which to draw power.”

  “They have never derived power from Summer.”

  Meralonne was silent for a long moment. “Not never, Celleriant. But if not for the suspension of all natural law, I do not think your Lord would have survived this first meeting. Darranatos was always powerful.”

  “If he is upon the plane—”

  “Yes. He was not summoned. Could not be summoned by any save the Lord of Night. They have opened their gate, and the demons now cross the barrier without the need of name as a binding to hold them here.”

  “And the Summer Queen cannot take arms against him.”