Battle: The House War: Book Five

by Michelle West

  King Reymalyn complied.

  The Oracle exhaled. “No.” Her tone was cold. “But I warn you: she is mortal, as are you all, and your time grows short. Illaraphaniel cannot give her the guidance she requires if you are to avoid the . . . transformation you have seen. If you cannot avoid it, hope still remains for your city; but there will be no way to defend the whole of your Empire.

  “Nor will your city survive long if you choose to exile—or destroy—her. You speak with your parents across the divide. Ask them how the Cities of Man were created, and then ask them how they were ruled.”

  The Kings bowed in concert; they bowed to the Oracle. Jewel could not remember ever seeing them bow to anyone. “We are in your debt,” King Cormalyn told her.

  “Then I ask a boon,” the Oracle replied. She stood, light from the crystal illuminating the whole of her body.

  “Ask. If it is within our power, we will grant it.”

  “Do not destroy this room—or the other. Guard them if you will, and as you must; observe them in like fashion. But if The Terafin petitions you, grant her the access she will request.”

  “Very well.” He turned, then, to glance at Jewel, and she stiffened at the unexpected pity his gaze held. King Reymalyn did not meet her gaze at all. He glanced at the Wisdom-born King and they made their way to the door, Duvari preceding them. The Exalted followed, although Shadow simply waited until Jewel approached.

  “I like her,” he said, watching the back of the Mother’s Daughter as it receded.

  Jewel was grateful for small mercies. Sigurne waited until the god-born had cleared the door before indicating that Jewel might safely join her.

  “Is the other room like this one?”

  “The other room is almost entirely unlike this one,” was the grave reply. “But I believe the Kings will adjourn at this point; they have much to discuss.”

  “Will you join them?”

  “I will almost certainly be summoned, although it will not be for some hours yet, if I understood King Cormalyn’s expression. Will you release Member APhaniel to my service?”

  “I would prefer you did not,” the mage said.

  “You have a preference for a meeting of The Ten?”

  His lips pursed in genuine distaste. “You make an excellent point, Terafin. I will, with your leave, accompany the guildmaster. It is my hope that the meeting of The Ten will take less time than the meeting of Kings; I may then avoid both their summons and two meetings of questionable interest.”

  “APhaniel,” Sigurne said, in a tone of resigned disapproval.

  Jewel glanced at the Chosen. “Please tell the Kings’ Swords that I will accept their escort momentarily.”

  * * *

  Jewel approached the Oracle as the Kings withdrew. So, too, did Teller. He offered the statue the very bow he would have—and had—offered the Exalted. When he rose, his hands were in motion; it was brief and pointed.

  Jewel shook her head, but Teller didn’t spare her a glance. “What price must I pay,” he asked, “to see what the Kings have just seen?”

  The Oracle considered him with care; the crystal remained in her open palms. “What price?” she asked at last, as if musing. “You are Teller ATerafin?”

  “I am. And you are?”

  Her stone eyes rounded at the question, and then she laughed. Her laughter was like sunlight, caught and given voice; it was bright, harsh; it made deserts. But it also, at winter’s height, provided warmth. “You will not survive the long road ahead of you if you so carelessly ask such intimate questions of powerful strangers.” She was clearly still amused. “Yes,” she said, as if the gift of amusement were enough of a payment—and given her existence, perhaps it was. “I will take your thoughtless courtesy, Teller ATerafin. I would take more—but you will pay, and pay again, before you at last release the burdens you have shouldered.

  “You do not yet know how heavy they will be. But come; I see you have borne heavy burdens in your time, and at a much younger age.”

  He stilled. He didn’t stiffen—Jewel did that—but for a moment, the grace of motion was denied him; it returned, first, to his lips. “Can you choose what I see?”

  “Yes. The wise are aware of this, when they ask for a glimpse of the future. They understand that they are never given the whole of it.”

  “They couldn’t be,” was his reasonable reply. “The future is just the present; if we were to see it all—we would have to live as long as the gods do.”

  “Indeed. Or as long as the Oracle.” Her smile faded as the clouds at the heart of the crystal began, once again, to shift.

  Shadow hissed. His fur rose, adding inches to his height, all of the calm the Mother’s Daughter had briefly bestowed on him undone. “Don’t let him.”

  “He serves me,” Jewel replied. “But I don’t—and can’t—own him.”

  “He obeys you.”

  It was true. She wanted to order him to stop, but the words wouldn’t leave her mouth. The thought of them returned echoes of her conversation with Haval: Teller was right-kin and she needed to trust him. “He is not a child,” she told the cat, more of an edge in her voice than there should have been. At least the Kings were no longer here to witness it.

  “Can I choose what I see?”

  “Not easily, ATerafin. The wise do not make the attempt.” Before he could ask why, and clearly he intended to do so, she added, “The future is one part of a story that shifts in the unfolding; it answers no direct or simple questions. It is not a small stream into which you might dip cup or bucket to quench your thirst—it is an ocean.”

  No one attempted to quench their thirst by drinking from the ocean.

  Teller nodded, his gaze upon the crystal; its light was harsh and bright as those clouds opened. Jewel bitterly regretted her decision to abstain; she could not see what Teller saw, and the only echoes the crystal permitted her were engraved in his expression; it was rigid.

  He raised hand once, and only once, reaching for the crystal; the Oracle caught his wrist before he could touch it. “Never touch a crystal such as this one,” she told him, although Jewel wasn’t certain that he heard her. Her gaze slid from Teller’s face to the Oracle’s; her hands folded into fists which she managed to keep by her sides. The winds had become stronger as Teller gazed into the crystal, and the emptier room was now winter cold.

  Shadow leaned into her side; she gratefully rested one hand on his offered head. He was as stiff as Teller. Minutes passed. The Oracle did not release Teller’s wrist; nor did he seek to free himself. But she watched him, her lips compressing, her eyes—all of stone—narrowing. Only when the light emitted by the crystal began to fade did she release him.

  “You are bold,” she whispered. “I would have once said you were foolish.”

  Teller did not reply.

  “I will leave you now, ATerafin. Viandaran.”

  He bowed. “Firstborn.” He was the only person in the room who remained unaffected by the events he had witnessed.

  “There are three endings that I see for you. Will you hear them?”

  “No. What my Lord will not countenance on her own behalf, I will likewise deny myself.”

  “Very well. Let me say this: roads are opening to her which you yourself could never master, when mastery was your chief concern. If you do not cleave tightly to her, you will fail utterly in your charge.” She cupped both palms around the crystal, returning it to her chest in a fashion that was at least as disturbing as its withdrawal. “Yes, Terafin. There is pain. There is always pain. And there is exposure. You will come to understand this, if you survive.”

  “I’ve been told—”

  “That you exist in the future? You do. But not in all futures; no one of us, but one, does. Return to me.” Before Jewel could reply, the wall shifted in place, flowing outward to engulf her. Teller took three quick steps back as the Oracle became submerged in stone, until she, like the other statues, remained half-chiseled in place.

  Even then
, he didn’t turn to face Jewel for a long, long moment.

  Chapter Seventeen

  10th of Fabril, 428 A.A.

  Hall of The Ten, Avantari

  SHADOW ACCOMPANIED JEWEL down the hall that led to the grand Council chamber. So did Teller and Avandar, but it was the cat who drew obvious attention—and given the very strict standards imposed upon visible servants in Avantari, obvious was perhaps the wrong word. The Kings’ Swords were notably more numerous, but Jewel found this neither surprising nor distressing.

  The one good thing about Duvari was it was very hard to take his suspicion and disdain personally. To do so required work. Although there were men and women of notable power across the Empire who were willing to make the effort, Jewel was not one of them. She didn’t like the Lord of the Compact, but she understood his loyalty to, and his concern for, the Kings. She couldn’t despise it.

  She hoped, at this point, to survive it.

  Duvari was not a man who liked to take risks. Men like Jarven appeared to live for them, and given the two approaches, Jewel found herself in sympathy with the Lord of the Compact’s, something she would never say aloud.

  Even thinking it, she felt Avandar’s glacial disapproval, although she knew her domicis respected Duvari.

  What I mean by the word respect is not, sadly, what you mean by it. You will be early.

  Jewel nodded and glanced at Teller. Probably better that way; it will give everyone else less chance to reach difficult agreements about the subject of the meeting behind my back.

  The door of the Council chamber was open, and Jewel, flanked by Shadow and Teller, entered; the room was not empty. She was surprised, but she suppressed all outward signs, passing beneath the door’s frame with a confidence she did not feel.

  The Kalakar, seated, rose to greet her, and with her, Verrus Korama. Had Ellora been Terafin, Korama would be right-kin; there was no like position within House Kalakar, and very few woman like Ellora. She lifted brow at Shadow. “Your cat appears to be larger.”

  “We’re overfeeding him,” Jewel replied.

  “I imagine that must be expensive.”

  “Not really. He has his pick of the assassins that seem so ubiquitous within my manse.”

  Jewel.

  But Ellora laughed. The stiff formality of proffered bow slowly deserted her, although her posture would never descend to the slouch in which Jewel most often worked. “It has been an eventful few months for House Terafin.” As she spoke the last word, her expression shifted. “I am not enamored of the politics required by House governance.” She once again resumed her seat.

  Korama moved papers laid out against the great table, which Jewel presumed was his show of disapproval. His expression gave nothing away.

  “But I regret my absence at The Terafin’s funeral. Amarais was cunning, but graceful when she stooped to conquer. I think even she would find the current situation difficult. You are here rather earlier than expected.”

  “As are you.”

  “I arrived at Avantari in my role as one of the three Commanders of the Kings’ armies; there has been much study and discussion about the final battle in the Dominion. There is some concern that we did not leave the war behind when we returned.”

  “The Berrilya?”

  “Is an entire council of war on his own. He will be present, but I do not expect him before the session begins.” She studied Shadow, who, aware of her regard, returned it, tilting his head until it practically touched shoulder. “You understand that you will be the subject of this meeting?”

  Bold and blunt. Ellora was capable of finesse when it suited her; she clearly felt no need for it now. If she were The Darias or The Berrilya, her choice of words would constitute a challenge, a command, a statement of relative position within the Council hall. Amarais had, in Jewel’s opinion, been the indisputable head of this table.

  Jewel, Ellora implied, was not Amarais. Fair enough. Amarais might—just might—have been able to control the direction the meeting took. Jewel could not, in The Kalakar’s opinion. It was a warning.

  Jewel accepted it. “Yes.”

  “Have you seen—”

  “The basement? Yes. I was there at the behest of the Twin Kings and the Exalted; it is from those rooms I have come. I assume The Berrilya has also been shown the rooms.”

  “You would be incorrect in your assumption; if you assume that I have seen the rooms in question, you would likewise be incorrect. The Kings have closed the entire wing; only the most senior of the palace’s servants are given access to the halls. They have consulted with the Exalted, and with the Guildmaster of the Order of Knowledge; they have also—to my surprise and considerable curiosity, requested the attendance of the Guildmaster of the Order of Makers.” She glanced at Korama, who immediately stopped fussing with the unread papers.

  “You were absent when The Ten last attempted to convene.”

  Jewel nodded. She said nothing.

  “Given the last assassination attempt of which we are personally aware, your absence has become the possible subject of Imperial concern.”

  “It was not the first time a demon has attempted to kill me since my acclamation as Terafin,” Jewel replied evenly.

  “No?”

  When Jewel met—and held—The Kalakar’s gaze, Ellora shrugged, a half smile on her lips. “No, then. My reports in this regard are of necessity less factual than ideal. Were such an assassination attempt made against me within the confines of the Kalakar manse, you would likewise be informed.”

  Jewel inclined her head. She liked Ellora; she always had. But she had never gone head-to-head with her over a matter of import to her House; Amarais had, but seldom. Instead, they had circled each other, making agreements outside of the Council chamber to avoid just such collisions. In public, neither woman bowed.

  “A demonic assassin would be of concern to the Crowns, given the Henden of 410; it would be of concern to The Ten. But the creature that came to the Common was of grave, grave concern to the woman whose knowledge of the forbidden is without parallel.”

  “Sigurne Mellifas spoke to you?”

  “No, Terafin. Nor had she need. I have had discussions with the guildmaster in my tenure as The Kalakar, and I understand her measure. What she saw that day was the death not of you, not even of Kings, but of Empire.

  “I will not minimize the difficulties we faced in the South. Were it not for one Kalakar House Guard, I do not think we would have survived what came; it was not, in any way, human.”

  “Which House Guard?”

  “Kiriel,” The Kalakar replied. “Kiriel di’Ashaf.” Her eyes narrowed as she watched Jewel’s open book of an expression.

  Kiriel. “Did she survive?”

  “Yes. She attends the Tyr’agar as one of his personal guard.”

  “She is not in the North.”

  “No. She is no longer in my service,” The Kalakar continued. “But I have not forgotten. You spoke for her.” Ellora glanced down at her hands. “I was not present for The Terafin’s funeral,” she said again, in a voice entirely free from the regret she had first expressed. “But I am tolerably well informed of what occurred in Avantari on the first day rites: an assassination attempt upon the Princes.

  “It is rumored that the Kings’ Swords hold you personally responsible for its failure.”

  Jewel said nothing.

  “The Kings, however, have not chosen to publicly acknowledge any part you played.”

  “They can’t. They haven’t chosen to publicly acknowledge that an attempt was made.”

  The Kalakar nodded. “But given your role in saving the future Kings, I would expect your reception to be less chilly.” She exhaled, looking up to meet Jewel’s steady gaze. “There was not a man or woman alive on the Isle who did not hear your voice at the height of what should have been funereal services.

  “Reports about the events have been uneven and conflicted; I find that even the eight present are reluctant to speak of it at all—sa
ving, of course, The Wayelyn, who appears by all accounts to have written a song.”

  “. . . A song.”

  “Yes. It has received notable attention from the younger bards at Senniel College. Judging by your expression, you have yet to hear the piece in question. You may therefore assume it an irrelevant piece of entertainment by a man who is politically irreverent. Devran is unamused—and may bring the topic into today’s committee meeting.”

  Which would serve Jewel’s interests. She frowned. “You have heard the song?”

  “Indeed.”

  “You don’t consider it apolitical.”

  “No, Terafin, I do not. I consider it disturbing. The bardmaster has been uncooperative in attempts to restrict venues in which the song is played; it is rumored that the Kings have mentioned their concern about its appropriateness.”

  “One does not rebuff the Crowns.”

  “No, indeed. But the song has clearly escaped its cage.” She lifted hand before Jewel could reply, taking unsubtle control of the conversation. Unsubtle, Jewel thought, and unconscious; she was accustomed to both rule and respect. Jewel was willing, Avandar’s sharp warning notwithstanding, to cede both in the privacy of this room.

  It is not private; if you do not believe that the Astari listen—

  Of course they listen. And what they note, now, is that The Kalakar has all but declared herself my ally.

  She has not. She is here to gather information.

  She’s here to gather information to make an informed choice; she is willing to give Terafin the benefit of the doubt.

  She may not be willing to continue to do so if you do not choose your approach with caution.

  “Yes, if the Bardmaster of Senniel commanded it, the song would cease its travel. But, Terafin, it has been heard across the breadth of the city—in drawing rooms, in taverns, in the Common. It has traveled to Morniel College, and from there, west.”

  “Will we hear it today?”

  The Kalakar’s brows rose at the question. Jewel, however, was clearly serious. “If The Wayelyn enters the Council chamber with a lute, we might; I do not think even he will dare such an open display of disrespect at a meeting of this gravity.”