Battle: The House War: Book Five

by Michelle West

  The growling abated; the lecture she’d half-expected failed to follow. Shadow was watching Sigurne as if she were a truly inimitable foe; it was unsettling. Snow and Night had remained silent, but she noted, as she glanced at them, that they were watching Sigurne as well.

  “You are permitted to ask,” Jewel replied, as if the correction of the cats hadn’t actually happened. “But given the circumstances—and the confusion that surrounds them—I would ask for more time to prepare a comprehensive reply. It will no doubt be required by the Exalted and the Kings, and you will no doubt be in attendance at that meeting.”

  Sigurne inclined her head; it was the answer she expected. She turned to Teller and offered him the nod that passed between polite equals. “ATerafin. Our apologies for taking up so much of your time.”

  Teller returned the grave nod, but added a smile. “Given the list of visitors to the office, Guildmaster Mellifas, your presence was a blessing.”

  “Meralonne?”

  “If it pleases you, Guildmaster, I will remain. I have a few questions to ask The Terafin.”

  Jewel nodded assent.

  “Very well. I believe Matteos will forgive you if you fail to escort me to the Order.”

  One platinum brow rose in obvious dismissal of Matteos Corvel. Jewel had never entirely understood the relationship between the two guild members. Sigurne passed between the cats without apparent concern. She paused before she opened the door. “Terafin.”

  “Sigurne.” It was painful to Jewel to keep her distance from the Guildmaster of the Order of Knowledge; she was an older woman with a spine of steel, a pragmatism born of harsh experience and an utter lack of desire to accumulate power for its own sake—and she reminded Jewel of her Oma, a woman given to much harsher phrasing.

  Sigurne Mellifas said, “While it is not likely that the subject will arise when you venture into Avantari, I feel it is germane. There have been odd reports that have emerged from the Western Kingdoms and the trade routes into Arrend.”

  “Odd reports?”

  “Unusual sightings.”

  Jewel waited.

  “And at least two unexplained disappearances.”

  “When?”

  “The exact dates are not yet known. The Order of Knowledge has sent out its investigators from the Western Kingdoms; they are less easily sent into Arrend.”

  “Sigurne—what was reported? Demons?”

  “Ah, no. Demons, of course, would be taken seriously—but as we are aware that we face the demonic, they would cause vastly less unease in some quarters. We are not entirely certain that we do not face the demonic; demons are not entirely confined in the shape they take when they materialize upon the plane. It is our hope that they will prove to be demonic.”

  “But it’s not your expectation.”

  “You are, as expected, perceptive. No, Terafin, it is not my expectation—nor is it the expectation of Member APhaniel. I would be obliged to you if you would cede him to this investigation for—”

  “I am not interested, Sigurne.” Meralonne accompanied his flat statement with smoke rings and a look of implacable boredom.

  “Meralonne,” Jewel began.

  “I am not interested, Terafin. The source of the request matters little.”

  “If there are demons working on the roads to—and from—the Western Kingdoms, you have the best chance of discerning their location and nature.”

  He nodded. “I do not believe they are demons.”

  “What exactly was described?”

  Sigurne pursed her lips. “Unicorns.”

  Jewel would have laughed, but the guildmaster’s expression robbed the single word of the humor it should have contained: there was an unutterable weariness in the older woman’s eyes, as if this—this impossibility was the final straw, a weight that she could not lift, could not carry, toward her journey’s inevitable conclusion.

  “Unicorns,” Meralonne repeated, “and a single great, golden stag.”

  “You both believe that what was reported has some bearing on the truth.” The last word was meant to rise in tone, to make the words a question; it didn’t. The sentence came out as flat and unadorned as Sigurne’s single word.

  “Yes, Terafin.” Meralonne examined the bowl of his pipe. “We do.”

  Sigurne left the office.

  When she was gone, Teller rearranged the books on the shelf closest to the window. His movements were economical and deliberate; Jewel studied those volumes and their order and saw the subtle nimbus of magic: orange and violet. He caught her watching and lifted a brow.

  “I don’t like her,” Shadow announced.

  “Well, I do.”

  “She is dangerous.”

  “We’re all dangerous.”

  Snow hissed. He was laughing. “Teller isn’t dangerous,” he said, strolling across the room to where Teller had just finished rearranging the shelves. He almost knocked the right-kin over in his demand for instant attention; Teller, trained by his own small—and thankfully nonverbal—cats dropped a hand to Snow’s white head. His brows rose. “They’re softer,” he said.

  She waited until Teller finished, although she cleared her throat to indicate it should happen soon.

  “Meralonne, unicorns? Seriously?”

  “I assume you are underslept and addled, so I will take no offense at your obvious attempt to belittle my opinion. Nor will I evince the annoyance your skepticism richly deserves—although I will say, Terafin, that were you my student and not my employer, more than harsh words would now be exchanged.” He turned to meet Shadow’s intent and unblinking gaze. “I see you have recovered some of your physical majesty. It does not help your master.”

  “It will.”

  Jewel grimaced and approached Teller, who had come to stand to one side of his desk, rather than taking refuge—as Gabriel so often did—behind it. “Can you reach The Ten?”

  Teller smiled. He indicated a stack of meticulously penned papers to his right. “They require your signature and your seal as official correspondence between the rulers of The Ten, and not their internal offices.”

  “What date did I agree on?”

  “You offered tomorrow at dawn—or at any time of the day. The specifics of the time would need to be negotiated, but in this circumstance, I believe The Ten will abide by any firm time you choose; one or two may quibble.”

  She exhaled. “Of course.” They’d quibble in a burning building instead of saving the argument for the open—and safe—air. “Do you have any idea of the timing for the audience the Exalted are demanding?”

  “Requesting,” was his automatic correction. “Due to the nature of your illness, they have left the timing open. They have, however, been forceful in their request to see you at your earliest possible convenience.”

  “Where convenience is defined as breathing, awake, and mobile?”

  “I believe mobility is not their concern; if you are both breathing and awake, they will no doubt offer to arrange suitable conveyance.”

  Jewel’s brows rose, and then she laughed. “You sound just like Barston.”

  He smiled. “It’s come in useful. I don’t know what I would have done these past three days without him.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  He turned instantly to her, but before he could speak, Avandar cleared his throat. Loudly. Teller withdrew immediately, the concern and the brief vulnerability once again buried beneath the face—the adult face—of the right-kin of House Terafin. Jewel took a few moments to do the same, but honestly, she resented the effort more; there was no one dangerous in the room.

  Meralonne APhaniel is present, Avandar told her, his internal voice heated and sharp.

  I’ve known him since I was sixteen. He hasn’t changed at all.

  No. He has not. But he will. He is what he is, and unless—and until—you receive from him, in full measure, the vow you received from Lord Celleriant, you will practice caution.

  Meralonne cleared his th
roat, in much the same fashion as Avandar had done. “You were lost on the hidden path.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I wasn’t lost,” she replied. “I ran into the Warden of Dreams.”

  His brows rose and his pipe stilled as he stared at her; she could have grown an extra head to less effect. He approached her, and to her surprise, Avandar quickly stepped between them.

  Meralonne’s eyes narrowed, replacing surprise with something akin to annoyance, but more dangerous. “Viandaran.”

  “Illaraphaniel.”

  Gods damn it. “Gentlemen.”

  They both turned to look at her. Shadow snickered.

  “The Warden of Dreams,” she continued, her voice as even as her Oma’s would have been—and about as friendly. “Is now forbidden access to these lands—but the sleepers still need to be disentangled from the dreaming and returned to themselves.” She folded her arms across her chest.

  “You . . . spoke with the Warden of Dreams.”

  “Yes. Both of him.” When he failed to reply, she said, “Meralonne, you told me to find him. You told me to—”

  “Terafin, do you understand what he is?”

  “No.” She almost added, and I don’t care, because it was viscerally true. But it wasn’t helpful. “And yes. He’s the child of the gods that once walked the world. He lives only on the hidden path, or in the hidden lands. The sleeping sickness was caused by him.”

  “And you have driven him from the lands in your keeping.”

  She nodded.

  “How?”

  “They’re my lands.”

  “The rumors were true, then.”

  “Which ones?”

  “You were asleep for almost three days; you could not be woken.”

  She glanced at Teller, whose face was a marvel of inscrutability.

  “They were true. They will never be relevant again, but they were true.”

  “How did you wake?”

  She thought he knew. “Does it matter? I am awake now, and I will not sleep in a like fashion again.”

  “It matters, Terafin. Sigurne was not present because you slept; Levec was called—by the House—which furthered speculation about your fate.”

  “The magi have been involved in the fate of the sleepers,” Jewel replied.

  “They have been peripherally involved as observers. But as I said, it was not because of those rumors that Sigurne traveled to the manse today.”

  “Then why?”

  “You are aware that I am a member of the Council of the Magi?”

  She nodded.

  “A mage of the First Circle?”

  She nodded again, failing to see significance in either statement.

  “You are also aware that I have chosen to devote myself to House Terafin as its House Mage.”

  “I am aware that you are the Terafin House Mage, yes.”

  “Some shift has occurred within the manse, Terafin.”

  “What do you mean, shift?”

  “I feel that you are in a position to answer that question far, far more accurately than even I.”

  She stared at him. Turned to Avandar. “Is there some difference, besides the obvious, in the manse?”

  “I have been with you, Terafin. I have had no call to examine the magics upon the rest of the manse.”

  “No, you have not. But I have—and as I have been granted blanket permission in things magical, I have done so. Some of the containing magics, and one of the most complicated contingencies, have been utterly destroyed; no hint of their prior existence can be found at all.”

  “Could another mage—”

  “No. Not the last one. It was removed. It was . . . unraveled, Terafin.”

  “How would one normally remove an enchantment?”

  Meralonne and Avandar exchanged a glance. “If one was the enchanter, it would be trivial,” the domicis said. “If not, it is possible—but most enchantments of that nature are created to collapse in more obvious ways. We can safely assume that Member APhaniel was not the architect of the spell’s dismantling.”

  She frowned. “Was the spell the one that exists in the chambers of the Chosen?”

  “Very good,” the mage replied, in exactly the tone of voice one would use on a difficult student. He had used far, far less respectful tones with Amarais herself; Jewel didn’t expect better. She looked across the room to Torvan. “Captain?”

  Torvan nodded. “The loss of the enchantment was of concern, given the circumstances.”

  “I didn’t remove the enchantment.”

  “You did not deliberately remove it,” Meralonne replied. He emptied his pipe and returned it to his pouch. “But it is no longer extant. Any attempt to recreate it—and it is an arduous casting—has met with . . . resistance.”

  “The enchantments in the right-kin’s office are functional.”

  He raised a brow. “They are. Terafin, what have you done?”

  She started to say I don’t know, but what came out instead was, “I made my lands secure.” And then, because she knew Meralonne APhaniel would serve her for some time yet, she added, “Let us adjourn to my personal quarters.”

  Avandar stiffened, but didn’t demur.

  * * *

  Teller left strict instructions with Barston, but their tone was more plea than command. Barston looked slightly pained, but didn’t correct the right-kin in public; given the slight downward turn of Teller’s shoulders as he left his own office, private correction would be forthcoming.

  “I’m sorry,” he told her. “I won’t have much time. I have an appointment in half an hour.”

  “With?”

  “A very important representative of one of the merchant houses.”

  She nodded, aware that the world didn’t come to a grinding halt for her own emergencies. It hadn’t come to a halt during the darkest of Hendens, either.

  Meralonne was silent as they traversed the grand and public halls; he was silent when they mounted the wide stairs that led to The Terafin’s chambers. The silence assumed an entirely different quality when they at last entered the very ordinary doors that led to the library—and the rest of the interior rooms that she hadn’t fully examined. Had he been carrying his pipe, she was suddenly certain he would have dropped it. She had never seen Meralonne adopt the expression that transformed his face.

  The Winter King was there to greet them when they emerged into the forest of books beneath a sky that had not shifted significantly in color; Celleriant was not.

  He is exploring the library, the Winter King told her. He is not entirely certain it is safe.

  Nor was she.

  The cats, however, fanned out when they emerged beneath the canopy of that sky; Night actually took to the air. She watched as he flexed wings and haunches, leaping upward as if intent on pouncing. Nothing met him in midair.

  “Nothing yet,” Snow told her. He was much more desultory in his own flight, but he joined the black cat in the air above. Shadow chose to stay by her side, a mixed blessing at best.

  “Jewel,” Meralonne said, his face upturned, his eyes like silver coins in the ivory of his face.

  “I didn’t choose the sky,” she said. “I didn’t choose the shelving; I certainly didn’t choose the dimensions of the room.” It wasn’t even technically a room anymore, although it seemed to occupy the same space as the previous library had, at least as far as the manse itself was concerned.

  “And you wonder why the gods are concerned.”

  “Since no one ran from here to the Exalted to tell them what happened to my library, yes, I do.”

  “No one needed to do so,” he replied, slowly lowering his gaze, although it didn’t return to Jewel. It went, instead, to the shelving made of living trees. “The books were not harmed?”

  Since it had been her first concern, she didn’t begrudge the question. “I won’t know until I’m willing to let the archivists examine the collection—if any of the archivists are still willing to work here at all. I imagine they
’ll find it unsettling.”

  “I can assure you,” he said, as he began to walk toward the shelves, “that if your archivists are too timid, there are at least a dozen highly qualified members of the Order of Knowledge who would willingly offer their services. You would not even be required to pay them—although it would further tarnish your reputation among the guild’s membership.”

  She froze as she recalled the books that now lay across the table in what she assumed was the library’s heart. “I don’t think that would be possible.”

  “Oh?” He did turn to face her then.

  “Some of the—not all of the books here—were here before the—before I—”

  Avandar raised a hand to the bridge of his nose; Shadow snickered. Teller, however, offered her a very brief gesture of sympathy. It was all he could spare. “Does it rain here?” he asked, in a hushed voice.

  “I don’t know. I hope not.”

  “That is likely to depend on Jewel,” Meralonne said, dispensing entirely with formality at her expense. “But I gather that not all of the books in your current collection existed in the collection you inherited from The Terafin.”

  “No. At least not that I’m aware of. I didn’t spend a lot of time in the library, and very little of it involved searching the stacks.”

  They reached the first row of shelving. Meralonne spared these books a glance, no more; they were, his cursory gesture made clear, of little interest. These, she thought, were likely to have been owned by The Terafin or her predecessors. He continued to walk, and she let him. Snow and Night didn’t land, but Shadow was clearly amused enough at her discomfiture he felt no need to join them in their careening flight. It wasn’t silent, either; they were trying to occupy the same patch of sky, with predictable results.

  They cleared the shelving and entered the wide, empty plane of wooden slats, table, chairs, and a fountain. It was to the fountain that Meralonne went, which surprised Jewel, because the books were still in an ungainly pile on the table, all save one, which lay open, as it was left.

  When he reached the fountain, he paused. She expected him to draw pipe; he did not. Instead, he bowed head a moment; his hair suddenly broke free of its braid. She had seen this happen a number of times, but all of them had involved combat; there was no danger here.