Battle: The House War: Book Five

by Michelle West

  The Kalakar coughed.

  “I do, however, require basic respect, and the spread of a song in which my stature is, for dramatic or comedic reasons, exaggerated, is not to the liking of Terafin.”

  “You have not heard the song,” was his flat reply.

  “No. And for the sake of the rest of this meeting, this is not the place in which I will, if ever.”

  “Very well. You have offered us information, and I will offer information in return. You mentioned the possibility of a second seer.”

  She froze.

  “I believe the name Evayne a’Nolan will be familiar to you. Shortly before—and after—The Terafin’s funeral, she paid a visit. I will say that my House Guards were not impressed at the manner of her appearance.” The smile he offered was grimmer. “During the first visit—which, of necessity, was brief—she exhorted me to watch, to listen, and to learn.

  “I found her intriguing. It is not the first time we have crossed paths,” he added softly. “But I do not see her with any frequency. She chooses both the time of her arrival and the time of her departure. Before the funeral, she was young; younger, I think, than you. She was not as careful in the guarding of her voice, and what lay beneath the surface of her words was alarming.

  “And so I went, prepared, and, Terafin, you were like a waking dream. I will not lie; I saw echoes of ancient stories in you and your attendants.” He glanced pointedly at Shadow, whose head had engulfed The Tamalyn’s lap. “I saw them in the trees that girded your grounds.

  “And I heard them, profoundly, in the words you spoke. But, Terafin, I heard the voices of the wilderness in the water, in the air, and in the earth. It was uncomfortably humbling, and as I did survive, I returned to my manse. I do not hear as you hear—any of you. That is my gift. It is also, at times, a curse; I could not divest myself of the echoes of grandeur; they were a song without words. I gave them voice. In truth, I would not have given them audience without the encouragement of the bardmaster.

  “But when I had finished, Evayne returned. This second time, scarcely two days after her first visit, she was not so young. Her voice was steel and glass; I could not hear anything but the words she chose to offer—and those, she offered with both intensity and care.”

  “She told you to disseminate the song.”

  “She asked, it yes. And believe it or not, I was reluctant. It is not a political song; I have no quarrel with your House at the moment, and no intent to offer to public scrutiny the foibles of its leader. Had I, this would not be the song I would have chosen. When Evayne left me, I repaired to Senniel College, to seek the counsel of Solran Marten.” He turned to the bardmaster.

  She nodded, and resumed his tale. “The Wayelyn was not the only person to whom Evayne a’Nolan spoke that day.” She studied Jewel. “She spoke to me of the song that would soon arrive at my doorstep, and even of its singer. But that was not my concern; she spoke, as well, of the significance of the Ellariannatte. She talked of the god we do not name, and his many servants, and, Terafin—she spoke of the fall of the Empire.

  “It is against that fall that she has labored for the whole of her life. And she felt—and feels, if I am any judge at all—that without you, the city will not stand. What you did to the palace, you might do to the city in its time of peril—but such actions might cause as much panic—and the resultant injuries and death—as the Lord of the Hells himself.

  “We did not allow the song to spread on a whim; I sent it into the streets in the hands of my most gifted bards: Master Bards, all. Some have traveled beyond the limits of the city; the song will take root in places that even I cannot see. But it must. It must be heard, and it must be felt.

  “I do not understand what you will become,” she added, her voice dropping. “And in truth, I fear it. I have watched you for at least a decade. I have seen you at your best, and at your worst. You have many qualities I admire, and almost all of them were at your disposal on the day you gave command to the wild elements.

  “But I know, Terafin, that such commands are not given to the wild by the merely mortal. They obeyed you. They accepted your claim. Where you walk, the Ellariannatte now grow. Have you heard the tales that have come to us from the West?”

  Jewel was silent.

  “Unicorns, Terafin. Winged creatures that are not birds. Great serpents and white stags. Trees that seem to leave the roads. Things are waking that existed only in story or song; they are walking. To where, we do not know. But I would not be at all surprised if you found them within the forest that now grows behind your manse.”

  “I would,” Jewel replied. The Ten now watched her, not the bardmaster. “What counsel have you given the Kings?”

  “I have not. Given the spread of the song, it is not the time to offer counsel; King Reymalyn was ill pleased by my decision.”

  “He heard the song.”

  “Yes. And he understands that it serves two purposes; the one: to plant the seeds of a story that might, if fate moves against us, become true. The other, to sever you, personally, from the realm of the merely political in the eyes of our people. Given the gravity of the situation, such severance might make any decisions about your freedom—or your survival—much more complicated.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  JEWEL WAS SILENT. For a long, long moment, so was the rest of the Council—but that couldn’t last; it never did. They looked to her to break the stillness, to inject her reaction, to lend color and flow to the conversation that would then evolve.

  “When you speak of such severance,” she said, lifting her chin, “you do not speak of the simple act of transforming me into a symbol that the people might recognize.”

  Solran glanced at The Wayelyn. “No,” he replied, “She does not. She is well aware of the difference between the two acts; the Kings are symbols; they are, in song, larger than life. Their concerns are never about the next meal, the next job, or the next child; they are portrayed as legends in their own time—but they are twined and rooted in the shepherding of the welfare of the people they both serve and rule.”

  “I will hear this song,” she said quietly.

  The Berrilya immediately raised voice. “You will not. The Wayelyn has, thank the gods of oversight, failed to bear his instrument into the Council hall.”

  “He is bard trained. He does not require his instrument.”

  “Has anyone present, with the obvious exception of The Terafin, failed to hear the song?”

  No one spoke.

  Jewel frowned. “If the song and its significance are to be discussed, Berrilya, I will not be the only Council member left in ignorance of its contents. If you will not hear the song within these chambers, I will retire from the meeting, and arrange to have it played within my own halls.”

  “It is not merely my distaste for The Wayelyn’s particular predilections,” The Berrilya said, speaking in a much more measured tone. “It is the Kings’ own distaste. If the bardmaster, for reasons of her own, chose to forgo their request, that is her choice; not even the bardmaster can with impunity flout their will in Avantari. I would be surprised if she were willing to sing for you. I would not, however, be at all surprised if The Wayelyn was.”

  “I am, of course, at your disposal, Terafin,” The Wayelyn replied. “I am not the bardmaster; the Kings did not make that request of me.”

  “The bardmaster,” Solran cut in, “is, however, here as your adjutant, and I am unwilling to, as The Berrilya suggests, fly in the face of the Kings’ clearly stated preferences in this regard. My apologies,” she added, to Jewel. “It had not occurred to me that you were in ignorance of the song’s contents—although having said that, I can easily understand why; only The Wayelyn would be bold enough to sing it in your presence, and you have spent little time in the drawing rooms and ballrooms of the patriciate since claiming your seat.”

  Jewel turned to the Council. “Will we discuss other matters, or will we recess until I have been fully apprised of the contents of a bardic
lay?”

  She expected the Council to vote to continue. They did not.

  “I would like to raise one objection,” The Korisamis said. To Jewel’s surprise, the comment was directed to Solran Marten—or perhaps to The Wayelyn; it was not entirely clear from where she sat. “You place her, in the eyes of the people, in a position above the Kings. You make a threat of her, and therefore of her House. While it is true that Terafin and Korisamis have frequently been in conflict over a broad range of issues, The Korisamis has never disputed the right of Terafin to exist.

  “What you do—with the help of one of The Ten—is tantamount to that. You place Terafin in the path of the Astari and its overzealous, undersupervised leader. We are willing to consider and evaluate the danger The Terafin might present to the Kings—but we are not willing to cede the ruler of a House to the Kings’ justice without solid proof that she represents an unchecked and uncheckable threat.

  “Your song speaks to the heart of the difficulties we convened to discuss, and you have removed much of the weight of that considered discussion from the table. We are not pleased with your decision; if you wished to fashion a—whatever it is you mean her to be—you might have considered asking for her permission and her cooperation.” He rose. “Terafin.” He bowed.

  He was as angry as Jewel had ever seen him. No, she thought, that wasn’t true. But she had never seen him discard his perfect control in such a fashion. She fought the urge to ask him to resume his seat, because in the end, he spoke for her in a way that she could not, without some cost, speak for herself. And she was grateful for it.

  Do not be; he speaks thus for his own benefit.

  What possible benefit?

  You are his peer, Jewel. You are his junior, yes, but nonetheless his peer. What can be done to you—without your permission—can be done in like fashion to any of The Ten. They are not angry on your behalf, but on their own. Use it. It is the only chance you have to maintain your position here.

  “Korisamis.” She rose and offered him, measure for measure, the respect he had offered her.

  The Kalakar rose before she could resume her seat. “The Korisamis is, of course, correct. While the substance of this meeting has not been fully addressed, most of the issues that comprise it have been laid out in some detail. If it is acceptable to all present, I suggest we reconvene on the morrow.”

  The vote passed in less than a minute as Jewel watched her reflection in the table’s surface. She lifted a hand, gesturing. Teller’s reflection gestured in response, his fingers blurred and softened by the quality of the light. He had not spoken a word, and did not speak, holding both silence and position while The Ten rose and exited the chamber in ones and twos.

  The Tamalyn lingered, and when the room was empty of all save the Terafin party, The Wayelyn and the Bardmaster of Senniel College, he rose. Shadow grumbled, but allowed it, following him as he approached Jewel. “Terafin,” he said, the syllables hesitant.

  “Tamalyn.”

  Michi ATamalyn smiled. It was a very brittle smile; Jewel had no doubt that the words spoken in the Tamalyn carriage on the return to the Tamalyn manse wouldn’t exactly be friendly. The Tamalyn seemed to be unaware of this, or at least unconcerned by it. “If at all possible,” he said, “and given your busy schedule, I would . . .”

  “Like to see my trees?”

  He smiled. It was the effusive, unfettered smile of a young child—but it looked entirely at home on his face. He nodded.

  “You have my permission, and I offer it with genuine pleasure—something seldom afforded with ease in Council meetings. If you are willing to be shown the grounds by members of my House, and not me personally, you might visit at any time you find convenient. If, however, I am required—”

  “No, no, not at all.”

  Michi ATamalyn flinched, but said nothing.

  “I will speak to my secretary when I return. Is there anything else?”

  “No.”

  * * *

  When The Tamalyn had been all but dragged from the Council chambers by his counselor, Jewel turned to The Wayelyn and the Senniel bardmaster, neither of whom had made any attempt to leave the hall. She inclined her chin, allowing some of the stiffness which felt so unnatural to drain from her face.

  “Wayelyn, must you outrage The Garisar and The Berrilya so casually?”

  The Wayelyn smiled broadly. “Casually? That is unkind, Terafin. Believe that it is an art, and as all art, it must be nurtured and practiced with deliberation and passion.”

  Solran cast a look that was at once both mildly disapproving and affectionately resigned at the former Senniel bard. “I do not believe The Terafin considers the Council chambers a gallery or performance hall.”

  “And I believe she is full capable of speaking for herself,” he replied.

  “She is,” Jewel agreed. “And I must commend the bardmaster on her perception.”

  The Wayelyn chuckled. “Come, the meeting was not a disaster.”

  “For your House, Wayelyn, or mine?”

  “For neither of our Houses, surely.” He offered Jewel an arm, and she accepted it. “I will, with your permission, escort you to your manse. If you feel such an escort is inappropriate, I will, with your permission, invite you to attend me within my own humble home.”

  “Will the bardmaster accompany you?”

  Solran exhaled slowly. “With your permission, Terafin, I shall. I have some small business within Avantari, but I should be at your disposal within the hour.”

  “Very well. Wayelyn?”

  “He will accompany me,” Solran said, before he could reply.

  “Then I will repair to my manse to make certain we have suitable rooms in which to receive you.”

  * * *

  When Jewel left the Council chambers—and she was the last to do so—she was met in the hall by a man she had not expected to see. He tendered her a perfect bow—as supplicant to a superior. It put her off her stride, although she schooled her expression as she bid him rise.

  Dantallon. Healer-born, he served in the Queens’ healerie, and very little could force him from the stronghold he had made of that space. The sleeping sickness, however, had done just that—even if he had traveled only as far as the Houses of Healing.

  “Dantallon.”

  “Terafin.”

  “You look well.”

  He raised a pale brow. “You are politic,” he replied, a slight smile creasing the corners of his lips.

  “Meaning I’m lying.”

  “A man in my position would never accuse a woman in yours of such an act.” The smile deepened. It did nothing to remove the circles beneath his green eyes, and it did nothing to brighten the pallor of his skin. “Might we speak?”

  She nodded. “We are to return to the Terafin manse. If the matter is not too private, we might speak on the way out of the palace.” His silence was enough of an answer. “Or we might speak here, in a room of your choosing. The Council chamber?”

  “The Queens’ healerie.”

  * * *

  The Queen’s healerie was not the Terafin healerie, but there was a peace in the infirmary that implied they had sprung from the same spirit. There were fewer plants, and to Jewel’s eye, no cat; there were wider beds, and cupboards that were flush with the walls into which they were set.

  There was no discernible magic that protected the occupants of the room from eavesdroppers, but Jewel labored under no illusions; no words spoken within the walls of Avantari were private. She accepted Dantallon’s choice, because all choices appeared equally suspect.

  “I have spoken with Levec,” he said, coming to the point. He did not mention Adam. “Levec feels cautiously optimistic about the possible future outcome for those who have fallen to the sleeping sickness.”

  I bet. She did not say this aloud, but her expression must have conveyed it; Dantallon chuckled, although it was pained.

  “I am aware that a great deal of controversy shrouds House Terafin,” he con
tinued, when she failed to speak. “And I am more than aware of the ways in which controversy requires a great deal of both time and attention to manage efficiently.”

  “But you require some of the time I might spend putting out those fires.”

  “Not I, Terafin,” was his grave reply. “In the past few days, we have had no new victims. But in the past few days, we have lost two.”

  Jewel stiffened.

  “I do not pretend to understand the concerns of Kings,” he continued. “Nor will I attempt to understand the concerns of Terafin; they are powers, and I am not. Nor will I ever be, if Kalliaris is kind. I am shepherd of the injured and the ill, as is Levec.”

  “He’s the bulldog.” She exhaled. “The Kings are aware—”

  “The Kings are aware. But they must hold, in balance, the demands and concerns for the entirety of the Empire; I am but one healer, and the lives in the balance are few in comparison.”

  “They didn’t give you permission to speak with me.”

  “Nor is such permission required,” he said. “But they did not consider the danger to be sufficient that it might hold a place within their audience with you.”

  “How long had you been standing outside that door?”

  A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Not more than an hour. The meeting ended more quickly than I expected.”

  “And I am promised to return to the Council chamber on the morrow.”

  “And after, Terafin?”

  She wanted to say yes. She understood why Dantallon had waited. But she thought of Carver, of Ellerson, of The Ten and the possible censure—or worse—she faced from the Kings at the close of their private counsels. “I will do what I can. If the Kings do not decide—” She shook her head. “I forget myself.”

  You do.

  “What I can do, I will do. I do not think I am required in the Houses of Healing in person, but I will travel there after the Council meeting, if I am, at that point, given leave.”