Battle: The House War: Book Five

by Michelle West

  “But—”

  Sigurne raised a brow.

  “Meralonne and Celleriant engaged the demon.”

  “Yes. Had they not both been present, the death count would have been much, much higher in my opinion.” She cast a speculative glance at Avandar. Avandar, of course, said nothing; Jewel chose, for the moment, to do the same. Sigurne then turned back to her drink. “Some damage was done to the creature by the Kings and the Exalted—but not enough to slow it.”

  Jewel frowned. She reached toward the table’s center, placed her fingertips delicately upon a decorative candleholder, and invoked the room’s strongest silence. Sigurne watched, but said nothing. After a moment, Jewel took the conversation in hand, and Sigurne allowed it.

  “There was something different about this demon.”

  Sigurne lifted a brow. “You speak of its power?”

  “. . . No.” Jewel’s frown was marked; she struggled for words with which to express her growing certainty, and failed to find them immediately. “No, that is not what I meant—although Meralonne and Celleriant agreed that this creature is the most powerful we have faced.”

  “Yet you are alive, Terafin. And the demon is not here.”

  “The demon’s alive, as well.”

  “But he is not here; you are. You understand how significant that is.”

  She did.

  “It is not, however, the first demon sent to assassinate you.”

  “No. It’s just the most significant.”

  “And do you feel it will be the last?”

  Jewel was silent for a long moment. She wanted to rise, to pace; she remained in her seat, and kept her hands in her lap to prevent herself from fidgeting with the silverware. “No,” she said at last.

  “Good. Then we are on the same page, in this. Yes, Terafin. There was something different about this demon. Is it the first time, in your encounters with these demons, that you have noticed something strange?”

  “Beyond the simple fact of the demon’s presence, yes. Member Mellifas, do you know what it is?”

  “I have some suspicion.”

  “Is it a suspicion that will require my death if I happen to be informed of its nature?”

  Sigurne’s smile was brittle. “It is not significant in regard to you and the difficulties the demons pose to House Terafin.”

  Jewel nodded.

  “What is, however, is the very fact of your survival.”

  “Please forgive me if I fail to regret it.”

  Sigurne did not smile. “Terafin. Jewel. I believe that we would have forced the demon to flee—at the least—but not without a cost measured in hundreds or thousands of lives. You retreated, strategically, to this manse, with the same outcome. You are not magi; you are seer-born. As you are no doubt aware, those born as seers are rare. But there were no deaths upon these grounds. No lives lost, where we would have been forced to spend many.”

  Jewel nodded. “It’s why I fled.”

  “Yes. I understood that. I believe The Ten will also come to understand it; there was enough confusion that your disposition was not immediately clear, and the fires and destruction of the platforms and the chairs occupied a great deal of their attention. But not all.”

  “Do the Kings know?”

  “That the creature came for you? I believe they will have guessed, yes. Duvari is not entirely certain; it is possibly the only advantage to his infamous paranoia. But it is not an advantage that stands us in good stead.” She frowned. “I have spoken with Meralonne.”

  Not Member APhaniel, Jewel noted. Meralonne.

  “Your negotiated position is unhelpful in my own Council at the moment, but I am willing to cede his services to your House regardless—an acknowledgment that his choice has already been made. But that is not my concern; it is the pretext for my visit, of course.”

  Jewel wondered if Meralonne had accepted her demand entirely for this purpose. It surprised her.

  “You are a threat to the Empire, Terafin.”

  Jewel stiffened.

  “Will you deny it?”

  “I will. I do.”

  Sigurne nodded. “And you will believe your denials. But your denials are based on intangibles: your feelings. Your intentions. Even the oaths you have sworn—to House, to Kings. They are based on protestations of love, of loyalty. They are not, sadly, based on anything else. If I accept the protestations you will certainly utter if given leave, it changes nothing of the facts.” She fell silent.

  Jewel did not speak; instead, she nodded. Sigurne knew what she would say, if she chose to speak; Sigurne did not even deny the truth of the unspoken words. She denied, instead, that they were relevant. They would obviously not come to an agreement on that basis.

  “Tell me,” Jewel said, when it became clear that Sigurne was waiting for her response. “What are the facts as you perceive them?”

  Sigurne inclined her head. Appetizers were carried into the room by Avandar, and set upon the empty plates in front of either woman. They were small, garnished artichoke hearts, and looked more like sculpture than food. They were also of no interest to either of the diners, although Sigurne did move fork first.

  “Upon these grounds, you demanded the obedience of the wild elements. I know of only one mage who is capable of a like task—and not even he, at the height of his power, could deny their use simultaneously.”

  “I can’t summon them, Sigurne.”

  Avandar’s brows dipped, but he didn’t choose to correct her use of the personal name over the titular one. He assumed there was a reason for the choice.

  “So you have said. I choose to believe this, although it cannot be proven conclusively, even by experiment; there is no guarantee that you would genuinely make the attempt.” She lifted a hand before Jewel could answer. “I believe you would, but my belief in this case must be grounded in fact.”

  “Continue.”

  “Upon these grounds, Terafin, you have evoked magics it is my belief you do not understand. There are ancient trees here, in the height of their growth and power, that appeared between one moment and the next.”

  Jewel nodded.

  “Neither of these facts are of interest to the Kings. No, let me rephrase that. They are of interest; they are not an immediate threat. But at the height of your struggle for dominance of your land in the face of the anger of the wild, you touched Avantari. You demanded that the earth still; you rearranged some part of the architecture of the palace. I was present in Terafin that day; I heard your words.

  “But I was not the only one who heard them, alas. Nor were the rest of the witnesses confined to the Terafin manse or its grounds. Your words were heard across the Isle, Jewel. And in some places—although this was less universal—your voice was heard in the hundred holdings.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “No. There are, that we could discern, no changes within the holdings themselves. But within the Palace, yes. It can be argued that air and earth were summoned, and not at your behest. The Crowns are uneasy with the summoning. They understand the necessity for it, and no censure accrues to your followers for using the power they had at hand to preserve the lives of the Princes. But it is clear to the magi, and to the Exalted, that the cessation of those hostilities was at your command, when you were not present.

  “You are not bard-born, and you are not magi; there is no way for your words to carry. No known, accepted way. But they did. What we know of seers is scant, but no story that originated in Old Weston contains any hint that the seers could communicate their visions over great distances. You are not god-born. It is true that the god-born can conceal the color of their eyes from casual discovery, but it requires the cooperation of the magi, and you have not had that.

  “What are you, Terafin? You must understand that a power that can casually stretch to encompass the whole of the Isle is a power that cannot be countenanced in the hands of any save the Kings.”

  Chapter Six

  IT WAS SILENT in the small ro
om; it was an almost intimate silence. Breath was its harmony; even movement was stilled. The magelights’ glow was soft enough that the moons’ light almost equaled it; beneath a ceiling of sky, the two woman regarded each other. Beyond them, by the wall, Avandar was as still, assessing danger. He was not, Jewel noted, surprised.

  She was.

  “Is this the topic of discussion for tomorrow’s meeting with the Exalted?”

  “It is.”

  Jewel glanced at her plate as Avandar once again resumed his duties as domicis. She had lost all appetite, but knew from experience that lack of food had its costs. She ate in silence; the topic had not notably deterred the guildmaster from doing likewise.

  “This is not, of course, the reason I chose to visit. I am to ask you—and I will—about the demon in the Common, and I am to make my displeasure at your high-handed demand for inexpensive service of the Order known.” She smiled; it was a brittle expression, but it held no danger for Jewel. Very little she could now say would.

  “I will grant Meralonne his permission, of course, and I will return, disgruntled, to my Tower.”

  “The Order will be angry at Terafin,” Jewel pointed out.

  “Terafin, oddly enough, will bear the lesser brunt of their outrage; if you do not seek a similar agreement with any other Member of the Order, it is Meralonne they will harangue in their pique. As he will no doubt be absent from the Towers in the foreseeable future, I consider it a small price to pay.”

  “They’ll be angry at you.”

  “Yes, but again—Meralonne is known. Their anger with me will be the anger of co-confederates, for they do not truly believe that Meralonne APhaniel follows my commands, except as it suits his whim.”

  “But . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “But he does.”

  Sigurne raised a white brow. “You are, as expected, perceptive, Terafin. Yes. He does. But it is an intricate dance. I do not attempt to give him orders which I know in advance are too trivial for him to follow. I do not tell him how to dress, I do not command him to attend social events, no matter how it might bolster the Order’s reputation; nor do I deny him the use of his infernal pipe. I know his measure, and he knows mine.” She rose. “I will not tell you to trust him; you have known him for some years now, and I believe you have taken his full measure in that time.

  “But I will ask—if necessary, plead—that you listen to what he might condescend to teach. And if in the course of that teaching, you can break him of the pipe’s habit, I shall be eternally grateful.”

  * * *

  When Sigurne was gone, Jewel lingered in the small dining room. Avandar watched her as she stared at the empty space across the table, remembering other nights, other emergencies, other hopes.

  “You did not mention Rymark.”

  “No.”

  “You did not ask about the Shining Court.”

  “No—given the doubts the Kings now have, I thought it wisest to refrain. If I am to meet with the Kings to make the case for my own survival,” she added, unable to keep the bitterness of surprise—and, yes, anger—from her words. “It’s best to have something in my hand to offer them.” She rose. “Shall I go meet Meralonne?”

  “Is he waiting?”

  Jewel glanced out of the window. “Yes.”

  Silence. Even in her thoughts, Avandar’s reaction to the words was inaudible. “How long,” he finally asked, “has he been waiting?”

  “Since Sigurne arrived. He is in the forest,” she added softly.

  “And you have been aware of his presence for the duration?”

  She exhaled. “Yes.”

  * * *

  In truth, it wasn’t Meralonne APhaniel Jewel wanted to see, although she hadn’t lied; he was waiting for her in the Terafin grounds, near the garden of contemplation. She wanted the cats. Or at least one of them. She was exhausted and almost overwhelmed, and she wanted nothing so much as sleep.

  But she was afraid to sleep tonight. She wasn’t certain why, but accepted it; that was the nature of her gift. Avandar would, of course, stand guard as he almost always did, but Immortal or no, Avandar also needed sleep.

  “Lack of sleep will not kill me,” was his response.

  “Hush, there he is.”

  * * *

  Pipe smoke rose around the mage’s face in thin streams, undisturbed by even the slightest of breezes. It was dark, now; the magelights that lit the path through the garden of contemplation were an even glow two feet from the ground. Meralonne seemed, for the moment, to be alone; he was certainly not with the cats.

  He glanced in her direction as she approached. “You are later than I expected,” he said, as if they had indeed agreed upon not only a meeting, but a time.

  “I was with the guildmaster. Apparently my refusal to pay you what you’re worth has earned the ire of some of the magi.”

  “That would perhaps take five minutes of conversational time to discount.”

  “We spoke of other things as well, all of them relevant to her position as Guildmaster of the Order of Knowledge.”

  “Very well,” was his grudging response; it was framed by rings of smoke. “You are aware that I have been here the entire time?”

  “Like a planted tree,” she agreed. She glanced toward the path that led to the shrines of the Triumvirate.

  “Do not even think it. While you are no longer paying for my time, my time has some value to me. Come, Jewel.” Jewel. Not Terafin.

  “Have you seen my cats?”

  “Yours? They are cats; they seldom acknowledge an owner. But no,” he added, lifting his pipe to forestall her reply. “I have not.” He glanced at Avandar. “You may follow if you insist, Viandaran; she is, however, under my protection now.”

  “She stands upon her own ground,” Avandar replied. “Even from you, Illaraphaniel, protection is no longer what she requires.” To Jewel’s lasting surprise, her domicis bowed. “I will wait for her at the Terafin shrine, as a domicis traditionally waits for The Terafin.”

  * * *

  Celleriant was not immediately visible when Jewel stepped off the gardener’s path and onto the hidden one. She was aware of the transition, but it felt natural now, not abrupt; the great trees of the Common existed no matter where in the gardens one walked. Here, beneath bowers of silver, of gold, and of diamond, they towered taller, and although there was no magelight, the colors of their gold-and-white leaves were visible to the naked eye.

  Or to hers.

  Jewel. The Winter King stepped out of the shadows between two trees. She had passed those shadows, and she knew without question that he had not been standing there moments ago. She didn’t ask where he’d come from; he offered no explanation. Meralonne took his appearance in stride, although he did grimace around the stem of his pipe.

  “You were aware,” he said, as they approached the lone tree of fire that stood burning in the heart of Jewel’s forest. “Of my presence. That implies a strong sensitivity. You were not searching.”

  “No.”

  “You were not aware of the Kialli in the Common.”

  She shook her head. “Not until he was almost beneath us.” She hesitated. “He wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the Common while we were gathering for the parade.”

  “You are certain of this?”

  She was. A lifetime of being taken at her word when she spoke with conviction caused a brief curl in both hands before she forced them to relax.

  “How?”

  Jewel frowned as she watched his expression; it was calm. “I’m seer-born, Meralonne. I know what I know.”

  “Yes. And you see, Terafin, what you see. Have you perhaps heard the word Sen?”

  She stiffened. “Yes.”

  “From your domicis?”

  “Yes.”

  “It is not a modern word in any way; it is not a Weston word, even at its roots. What do you know of the Sen?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You show a deplorable lack of curiosity.”


  “What do you know about the Sen?”

  He raised both brows. “Clever child. Very little. I would, of course, like to know more. And I think I shall, in the end.”

  “You’re lying,” she told him, without any heat.

  “The bard-born would not be able to pick that up from my voice.”

  She noted he did not deny it. “I’m not bard-born. I’m seer-born. It’s not a reliable gift,” she added, as she approached the heat of the burning tree, “but in this case, it’s accurate. Where have my cats gone?” She turned to face him, the tree at her back like an angry sentinel.

  “They are here,” he replied. “And not here. It is a state you should understand.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Do you not? I sense the dreaming here, Terafin. It is strong.” He paused to light his pipe again. “You should sense it, as well. You should sense it almost as clearly as you can sense demons; you should certainly be able to sense it more clearly than you can a simple mage. Where is Lord Celleriant?”

  “He’s over there.” She lifted an arm to point, and dropped it again, turning to stare at the mage. He was smiling; the smile was cool.

  “You do not question what you know. You do not question what you feel. You accept, without thought, the instincts that drive you to safety. It is understandable, Terafin. Jewel. But it is no longer enough. You saw Darranatos. Had you the full range of your power, you could have prevented him from arriving in the Common.”

  She was silent, staring at him as if he’d lost his mind. “How?” she finally demanded. The Winter King drew closer to her, gliding above the undergrowth as if afraid to break it beneath his slender, sharp hooves.

  “The land—in your Common and behind your manse—is not separate. There is a reason the Ellariannate grow in either place. There is a reason that they now grow here—and they are connected. In the age of living gods, a city once stood across the bay. It was a city such as you have never seen.”

  But, she thought, she had. Not in life, although she had seen the deserted remnants of such a city rise from the desert sands in the heart of the Sea of Sorrows, but in dream. In Avandar’s dream. “Many cities have been built here.”