Battle: The House War: Book Five

by Michelle West

  “Not yet. I am not—entirely—without hope, but it is scant.” Shadows touched the forest floor and spread. Meralonne frowned, his eyes narrowing. These were not shadows cast by light. They were sharp, cold. Celleriant was angry. “Your Lord does not understand what she holds, here. It is a small miracle that she holds it at all.”

  The Arianni Lord stiffened and glanced at the shadows that had caught the mage’s attention. “She does.”

  “I have seen that; the Ellariannate speak her name.” He continued to walk through the trees until he found the lone tree of fire. “But this, Celleriant, this is a sign.”

  Lord Celleriant was silent, shuttered; the news had disturbed him greatly. Here, too, the shadows that lay across the forest floor had darkened. The red light of fire did not dispel them; it deepened them.

  “Does she understand at least this much?” Meralonne asked. He reached, carefully, for the trunk of this rooted flame; it could not be said to have bark. It was, in height, the shortest of the trees.

  “I do not know. She has entered this forest only twice; she skirts its edges timidly, otherwise. She lets the Master Gardener play at arranging life as he sees fit; she will not touch his flower pots or his flower beds. She will not alter his tame, tepid saplings, his lifeless stone pillars; there is only one work worthy of note here at all, and it is all but hidden.”

  “The fountain on the terrace?”

  “Yes. She could change all of the lesser things. She might build a garden here, and a palace, that would be reckoned truly beautiful, even by our kin. But she will not welcome the forest into her home.”

  “You did not expect otherwise, surely?”

  “Mortal men once wielded power of this magnitude. They were not terrified of what it signified. They did not doubt themselves because they had touched it. They built, Illaraphaniel.” Celleriant lifted his face toward the bowers of fire, his lips curved in reminiscence. “Even I, who seldom had cause to visit the Cities of Man, remember what they wrought. They came, at times, to the Summer Court with gifts for the Summer Queen—and those gifts rivaled ours, not in execution, but in conception, in urgency. We know death,” he added softly, “but a life as long as ours so seldom instills that urgency, that bright desire, that obvious desperation.” He shook his head and lowered it. “She is not—entirely—at home here.”

  “Yet she is at its heart.”

  “Is she?”

  “You serve her, Lord Celleriant. Can you not feel her presence? It is at the heart of this tree—and a tree such as this, I have seldom seen planted. Not even the Winter King could hold it in the heart of his lands. It does not burn the trees; it does not burn the undergrowth.”

  “It will burn the birds that currently fly here.”

  “They are not foolish enough to land. Tell me, if you will: why did she plant it?”

  “It was Lord Ishavriel’s fire. I believe she sought to contain it or use it; I am not certain. But its fire has not guttered.”

  “No. And she did indeed use it. It is one of the few defenses she might have brought to bear against Darranatos. And,” he added, slowly lowering his hand. “She did.”

  “It was sloppy.”

  “It was.” He turned to Lord Celleriant. “They fear her.”

  The Arianni Lord pretended no ignorance. “No more than she fears herself. It is only when she is pressed—and today, she was—that she overcomes her fear.”

  Meralonne shook his head. “She does not overcome it; she merely gives way to a stronger, more visceral fear. That fear moves her to protect what she claims to love. Without it? She is afraid to be a threat to the Kings, the Exalted, The Ten. No—it is not even that. She fears the cost of this magic upon the people who dwell in the old city, the hundred holdings.”

  “They cannot harm her.”

  “No, not in any way that would be of significance to us—but we are not Jewel, and we are not Sen.”

  “What will you then do?”

  “I? I will bespeak Sigurne Mellifas. I will counsel the Kings. I will serve as House Mage, and in that capacity, I will counsel your Lord.”

  “To what end?”

  “You were in the South, Lord Celleriant. What we saw there is only the beginning. I have never been one to believe in destiny or fate; destiny or fate is something applied after event, when bards create their narratives. But having said that, I will say this: without Jewel, this city faces annihilation.”

  “And with her, Illaraphaniel?”

  “War. But that was coming, regardless. There is power, in this city, to withstand much.” He walked away from the tree of fire. As he did, he frowned. “Lord Celleriant, there is a presence in this place that is not hers.”

  Celleriant fell silent.

  “It is elusive,” the magi continued, as if the pause were insignificant. He glanced at the Winter King, not the Arianni Lord. “Do you sleep here?” The words were sharper, colder. The mage knelt, touching the ground with the flat of one palm. He spoke a word, two, and the wind grew stronger, pulling at the strands of his pale hair.

  The Winter King shook his head: No.

  “When did this occur? Is she aware of it?”

  The Winter King nodded, but it was a hesitant nod.

  The mage rose and uttered one weary sigh. “I will speak with Jewel,” he told them both. “But I fear there is now a danger that I did not anticipate. One of the firstborn found this path before it called her here—and what one discovers, the others are certain to discover.”

  * * *

  Haval joined Jewel a scant hour after her return to the West Wing; she had, with the departure of Meralonne, successfully dismissed her domicis. The clothier looked pinched and exhausted, and he surprised her by allowing it to show. Suspicion followed surprise; she weighed his expression carefully against known facts. “Did Hannerle wake?”

  “Not as such. But she spoke in her sleep, and she spoke clearly and lucidly. I thought she spoke to me,” he added, with a trace of bitterness. “And so she did—but no words that I said reached her ears. Her dreams—of me—are clearly not kind.”

  “But—this is the first time she’s talked in her sleep.”

  “It is. Or at least it’s the first time she’s done it while I’ve been present. Can I consider this progress, of a type?”

  “Did you call Adam?”

  “I did not. I was fascinated, being the object of the rather heated conversation; I did not wish to pull myself away. There is always a certain amount of curiosity about what one’s nearest and dearest actually think. There is also a strong incentive not to share the experience, especially not with one as young as Adam.” The words were, again, bitter, but he adorned them with an ironic smile.

  “You might not have heard—”

  “That there was difficulty in the Common?”

  “You heard.”

  “Very little. I did ascertain that you were materially unharmed.” He glanced pointedly at her sleeve. “What happened?”

  “A much more public assassination attempt.”

  His brows rose in concert.

  “Not one that can be pinned directly upon any member of the House,” she added.

  “Another demon.” His voice was flat, his expression neutral.

  She nodded.

  “And your injury?”

  “Not from the demon.”

  He raised a brow; she failed to see it—which took a little effort.

  “Casualties?”

  This was the question she dreaded. “I don’t know yet. Word hasn’t returned to the House. The army was called into action; the Kings, the Exalted, and the magi were likewise forced to make a stand.”

  “And you?”

  “I flew here.”

  “Alone?”

  “On Snow. I thought the demon would follow me. He did.”

  “The demon?”

  “He left.”

  “He was not destroyed, then.”

  She exhaled. “No. I don’t believe it was possible.”


  “Very well.” Haval took a seat, dismissing the attempted assassination as if it were no longer of concern. He was a practical man, at heart; it wasn’t. He could do very little about demonic assassins. “You will meet with The Ten in the Hall of The Ten on the morrow.”

  She nodded. “I expect the meeting itself to be interesting. Finch has prepared documents about the three contested trade routes; Devon has added his own information. I’ll have that information at hand for the meeting—but I don’t think we’ll be discussing or negotiating financial concerns if it’s at all obvious that the demon was hunting me.” She folded her hands in her lap as Ellerson entered the great room with tea. He did not immediately leave, but lingered by the doors.

  “The Berrilya and The Kalakar are unlikely to come to the meeting prepared for financial concerns, although they will also have relevant documents to hand. They have returned from the war in the South; your own part in that war was, in the end, small. My suggestion, if it is at all possible, is that you focus discussion on matters of that successful war.”

  “Likelihood of success?”

  “Vanishingly small. I realize it’s difficult for you to, as you put it, waste time in the attempt if you’re certain to have no success. The reasons for this so-called waste of time?”

  “It buys time.”

  “It does. The meeting may well take more time than anyone has anticipated; I believe every House leader was in attendance in the Common today. Your attendants?”

  “Gabriel ATerafin.”

  Haval sighed heavily. “Gabriel will not remain by your side for much longer. Take Teller.”

  “Teller’s not my right-kin.”

  “Not officially, no; nor is Gabriel. It is time, Jewel. Take Teller. Given the gravity of the circumstances, he will be noted; it is important that he be noted.”

  “The continuity of the House—”

  “Is not a concern to outsiders. If you rely too heavily on Gabriel, a man who has made his intent to retire quite clear, it implies a lack of resolution on your part. In this, you cannot afford to be meek or reliant on an old regime.”

  “I haven’t ditched the rest of my House Council, either.”

  “No. Nor would you be expected to do so, and believe that The Ten will be aware of this fact. But they will no doubt be aware of the fact that there have been attempts—all failures—on your life, as well; it will indicate that your rule is contested in a way that your predecessor’s had not been for decades. They will see weakness and opportunity. Make your stand, Terafin.”

  She remembered the Winter King’s words. Avandar’s words. Her own fear.

  Haval saw it. “Jewel,” he said softly, “if you will not and cannot trust them, you will leave them behind. They are not yet your comrades; they are your responsibility. You are not, yourself, content to sit, to wait, to gather; do not expect—do not impose—that fate on your den.”

  “Is it wrong to care about them?”

  “No. But this is not care. It is fear. Understand that there is a difference between what you do and what you are afraid to do. You are afraid to ask them to face risks you don’t face. That is respectable, even admirable. But you are, at the moment, afraid to allow them to face the same risks you undertake. That is not.” He mimicked the folding of hands and watched her. After a long, long moment of silence, he picked up his teacup and began to drink. During this careful, civilized action, he never once took his eyes off her face.

  “You were not always this way,” he finally said, conceding ground to her in some small fashion.

  “I was.”

  “No, Jewel. I remember the first day I met you. Do you?”

  “Rath brought us.”

  “He did. I remember why. I considered refusing his request at the time. Hannerle was extremely unhappy. She liked you. For some reason, she doesn’t approve of any interactions I have with people she likes.” His smile was chilly.

  Jewel waited.

  “You came with Duster. She was not, then, like you.”

  “She was never like me.”

  “No. But you could give Duster orders—subtle orders, to be sure—and she would follow them inasmuch as she was capable of following any order. She did not like you.”

  “No.”

  “But she loathed herself.”

  “She didn’t—”

  He held up one hand. The other, the hand which held the cup, was perfectly steady. Far steadier than Jewel’s would have been.

  Jewel bit her lip and then continued. “Duster didn’t like anyone except Lander. She didn’t like anything. It’s just the way she was.”

  “She is dead. There is no need to protect her from my assessment.” He sipped tea quietly. “But that is the point, isn’t it? She is dead.”

  Jewel shrugged uneasily. “She’s been dead for half my life, Haval. You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.”

  “No. Sadly, I am not. You will find that people frequently wish to ignore the things they know; they can be quite perceptive about the things they don’t; it is exceedingly frustrating. Ignoring what you know is unlikely to change the simple facts. So let me now expand upon what you do know.”

  Jewel rose. She made it halfway to the fireplace, clenched her jaws, and stopped.

  “Haval—”

  He was watching her with the same hooded, neutral expression. His eyes were so dark in the interior light, they seemed black.

  “You gave her an order. You told her to protect the den. You were not with her at the time; you knew what she was like, as you so colloquially put it. She followed your orders, Jewel. She followed them in her own context. She died because she did so—not more, not less.”

  She hated him, then. At this very moment, she couldn’t see a point when the hatred would stop. Her hands were fists, her knuckles white with the strain.

  “I have taken the liberty of speaking with Finch and Teller,” he continued, as if her hatred, the sudden pit of rage that had opened beneath her feet threatening to swallow her whole, was insignificant. “Therefore, I will continue. Lefty died following your orders. Fisher died following your orders. All of your den present on either of those two days survived; Lefty and Fisher did not.

  “Only Lander died because he failed to obey you. His death is not on your hands.” Haval continued to drink his tea. In the background Ellerson watched, his expression for the moment as hooded as Haval’s. If she wanted rescue, it would not come from that quarter.

  It wouldn’t come at all.

  “But were it not for your order to Duster, your den would be dead. You might have survived, but it was not your survival that was your concern at the time; it is not your survival that concerns you now, you are so certain of it. What would you change, Jewel? If you could go back to the day of her death—the day of your arrival at the Terafin manse—what would you change? What could you change?”

  She struggled for a long moment with helpless rage. But when she faced Haval at last, her face was as hard, as neutral, as his. “I can’t change anything,” she said coldly. “It is a pointless question.”

  “Is it? Examine facts. She died; the rest of your friends did not. It was not a conscious decision on your part, but that is the truth of it.” He sipped tea.

  “I am aware of that, Haval.”

  “Good. You were, on that day, a better leader—for your den—than you are on this one. You have given them safety—inasmuch as safety is possible in these times. They are not starving in the streets; they are not required to steal or expose themselves to different forms of danger, merely to put food in their stomachs. They are, by all external measure, successful.

  “They have grown, Jewel. Finch is not the child you rescued in the streets of the holdings. Nor is Teller. But you guard and hide them as ferociously as if they still were. You let them be competent only in your absence. But in your absence, they presided over the slow crumbling of The Terafin’s power. They were placed upon the House Council with very little political preparation,
but their roles within the bureaucracy of the House prepared them in other ways, and they have yet to disgrace themselves. I do not believe they will.

  “Teller is young, yes—but so are you. He is, in my humble opinion, worthy of the title right-kin. Barston will remain as his secretary if you affirm Teller in the role, all of Gabriel’s protestations to the contrary aside.

  “Finch will not, in my opinion, as easily replace Jarven—and any hope that Jarven will peacefully retire or gracefully expire is a vain one. But she understands the Merchant Authority, the treaties that have been made—and broken—in the last sixteen years. She understands the ways in which the Port Authority and the Merchant Authority are tied, and she has overseen some small handful of agreements with the Royal Trade Commission. She seems delicate and retiring; she will not, however, be moved in the face of threat or danger. Lucille is quick to jump into the breach of Finch’s silence—I feel Lucille vastly underestimates her—but absent Lucille, Finch is capable of holding her own.”

  Jewel lifted a hand. It was shaking. “Haval, enough.”

  “You even hide Daine, and he is healer-born; he is Alowan’s successor.”

  “Daine is barely twenty! He is only barely—”

  “You were a member of the House Council at sixteen years of age.”

  “I was a member of the House Council because I’m seer-born!”

  “Daine is also talent-born, as I have pointed out. He is granted the lesser respect because he is forced to hide the symbol of the twin hands.”

  “Are you unaware of how Alowan died?”

  “Jewel, please.” He sipped tea, eyed the bottom of the cup, and set it down. Ellerson then moved from his stiff and perfect position by the doors to refill the empty cup. He did not meet Haval’s eyes; nor did he meet Jewel’s. Jewel was the only one who tried to catch his attention. “Tell me how I am wrong, and I will stop. Convince me that you do not cripple yourself. Convince me, further, that you do not impede their growth. The only people you are willing to trust are the people you cannot bring yourself to openly love: Avandar. Celleriant. Meralonne. The cats.”

  “Avandar can’t die.”

  * * *