Battle: The House War: Book Five

by Michelle West

  “Thank you, Guildmaster,” The Fennesar said. She resumed her seat.

  Jewel did not wonder, as she often did in such a gathering of the elite and the powerful, what Amarais would do. Amarais would never have been in this position. What Jewel had promised the woman she almost revered was that she would become Terafin, and she would hold the House. Not more, not less. She did not, therefore, resume her seat as The Fennesar had done; she had not finished speaking. She had barely started.

  Be cautious, Jewel.

  Jewel did not reply.

  Anger is not your friend here.

  “It has been suggested, at least once, that I abdicate. It will not be suggested again, and if the idea is entertained by any of my peers, it will be entertained entirely in my absence. If it is a motion that is being considered, I will absent myself from the rest of this meeting because the meeting will be irrelevant to Terafin. I am The Terafin. I will remain The Terafin until my death.”

  It was The Berrilya who nodded, an odd gleam in his eyes. No one else spoke, although The Tamalyn was listening carefully to the woman who was whispering in his ear.

  “I am willing to listen to your advice and your counsel; I am aware that I face the Twin Kings in a position that not one of our ancestors have ever occupied. I understand the reluctance of the Kings to merely overlook what is an obvious danger in different hands. I understand that I will be the personal magnet for the Astari and the Lord of the Compact while I still draw breath anywhere in this Empire. In your position I would consider that advantageous.”

  The Kalakar chuckled. “That is the silver lining to the storm clouds?”

  “In your position, I would accept it,” Jewel replied, with a slight smile. “But, in your position, I would not be concerned about Terafin.”

  “If you wish us to speak bluntly,” The Berrilya said, “I feel that you are being disingenuous.”

  “I understand that the god we do not name is waiting outside the borders of the Empire. I infer, from the brief exchanges between the Exalted and the Order, that a god’s power is a matter of legend—and in this case, of nightmare. None of us understands what a god can—or cannot—do. Most of us believe there is very little of the latter. Our enemy is a god.

  “I am a mortal. I’m human. I’ve lived in the humblest streets of this city and in its most exalted. Everything I currently have, and every commitment I have undertaken, involves people. Mortals. It does not, oddly enough, involve magic or sorcery. I cannot explain the whole of what I can do.”

  Jewel.

  She ignored Avandar. “But I would not give it up now, even if that were a possibility. Not to cozen the fears of the god-born nor the fears of The Ten. We face an enemy that is almost beyond our comprehension. We cannot afford to casually discard any weapons we might have, even if we do not understand the whole of their import. I am not being disingenuous, Berrilya. I have the seer’s vision, and in my early life—before I joined House Terafin—I saw the god we do not name. I have lived in his shadow for all of my adult life.

  “And I would never willingly throw away a weapon unless I thought he could turn it against me. He can’t.”

  “You are so certain of this?” The Garisar said sharply.

  “I am.”

  “Guildmaster?”

  Sigurne did not speak. Meralonne, pipe emitting tendrils of smoke, did. “She is certain,” he said, sounding bored. “If your concern is that she is capable of turning that power against you, it is not unfounded; she will be. If you kill her, she will be no threat to you.”

  “No one,” The Berrilya said, “is considering such a death.”

  “Yet you play petty games, Berrilya. All of you. You play games, and you waste time that should not be wasted.”

  “The governance of—”

  “The governance of ten Houses—even The Ten—is of little consequence if the city falls. The city is the heart of the Empire; without the city, the Empire is lost.”

  “The city will not be—”

  Meralonne lifted one hand—the hand that did not hold the pipe. His fingers danced in the air with practiced grace, and an image began to coalesce above the center of the table.

  “APhaniel,” Sigurne said, rising. “That is enough. Our opinion has been offered; more is not desirable at this time.”

  “Guildmaster,” The Kalakar said, also rising. “In your considered opinion, is The Terafin critical to the city’s survival?”

  “It is the opinion of the Order of Knowledge,” the guildmaster replied, “that The Terafin poses a graver threat to the city than any we have encountered—as an Empire—in the past.”

  Silence.

  “But it is also the opinion of the Order that because of that threat, she is critical to our survival. She poses a risk. Some of the members of the greater Council dislike the nebulous and unknown nature of that threat; some consider the god we do not name enough of a danger that the risk is necessary.”

  “But not all,” The Garisar said.

  “No. Not all.”

  “And the guildmaster?”

  “I speak as the representative of the Order,” she replied, as if her personal opinion counted for little. “The Terafin has made clear that she has no intention of abdicating—and in this, I must agree. The heart of her power is the Terafin manse. To separate her from her seat at this time would be impossible.”

  “If she chose—”

  “She will not choose. The matter is not under consideration.”

  The Berrilya cleared his throat. “You consider such a choice unwise.”

  “Yes, Berrilya; you are perceptive. But it is entirely outside of my hands, for which I am grateful. She will face the Twin Kings as The Terafin. It is possible that the Twin Kings will demand her abdication.”

  “That is not their right,” The Kalakar said stiffly.

  Sigurne fell silent.

  Jewel assessed the uneasy silence. Teller gestured again; this time, she nodded and drew breath. “That is the question that we face. I am Terafin. I will be summoned by the Kings. I do not know what they intend—but if they intend to demand my abdication, I will refuse. I owe loyalty to the Twin Kings and the Empire—but I owe a more binding loyalty to my House, and I will not betray it.

  “If the Kings feel they have the power to force an abdication, will they not then have the power to choose who rules?”

  “We are aware of the difficulty such a demand presents,” The Garisar said curtly.

  “And aware, as well,” The Darias added, “of the exceptional circumstances in which such a demand might be made.” He watched Sigurne.

  The Wayelyn rose. “We have been in discussion since the crack of dawn, and we have not notably moved in anything but circles. The nature of The Ten cannot be changed; The Ten cannot vote to have one House stricken from the Council. Nine of The Ten can, should they so choose, approach the Kings to offer support should the Kings choose that option—but it would have to be nine.

  “Wayelyn will not be among that nine.” He smiled broadly as he met Jewel’s stony gaze and winked.

  What she signed, in a brief flick of fingers, could not be said in this Council hall, not even by a servant.

  His smile faded. “You understand the import of the song. Will you find it in yourself to forgive me?”

  “For singing it in my garden, yes.”

  “For writing it, Terafin?”

  “. . . I am talent-born, as you know; I understand the ways in which our talent inexplicably drives us. If I find no favor with your song, I find no deliberate malice in the writing of it. Its spread, however, is more problematic.”

  “You do not believe, as the bardmaster does, that it is necessary.”

  “No, Wayelyn, I don’t. I am not, however, certain; certainty will only be reached in the future, one way or the other. If, in the end, the spread of the song works as the bardmaster intended, I will bless you for it.

  “In the present, however, the song has increased the censure with which I
am personally viewed by the Crowns. I am aware that there is no assurance, no treaty, no contract I can offer the Lord of the Compact that would ease his suspicion. In like fashion, I can offer little to assuage the concerns of the Council. Nor will I try.”

  “An attempt, at least, would be a sign of good faith,” The Morriset countered.

  “On my part, yes. On yours? Highly doubtful. Terafin has worked hard to amass its fortunes, and it has been intelligent in both the husbanding of its resources and the acceptance of its various treaties. I will not throw away decades of work as a sop to fear, be that fear my own or others.”

  He smiled. “And if we spoke, not of the usual concessions, but of some pact—in writing—that assures The Ten you will not use your inexplicable magic against us in future?”

  “I would be willing to enter into a binding treaty that prevented the use of all magic by The Ten. All magic.”

  His smile cooled. “That is not a possibility. Terafin has chosen to retain a First Circle mage exclusively, and if other Houses do not have the incentive to offer similar contracts to the Order, they nonetheless retain the services of the magi. If The Ten chose to strip themselves of such minor—and regular—advantages, the merchant houses would not.”

  “No? A pity. I do not intend to surrender very real political advantage in return for theoretical support. Nor do I intend to hobble the activities of my House. There is no way to enforce conformance to such an agreement, and I am not of a mind to offer the trappings of an agreement without substance.

  “I will remain Terafin. If unanimity is required to give the Kings consent to remove Terafin from the Council of The Ten and its role, in future, as one of the only Houses granted laws of exception, they will not have it.”

  “It would make a mess of the Gathering,” The Tamalyn pointed out. Jewel nodded; she could practically hear The Berrilya grinding his teeth. “There are Ten days, one for each of The Ten. If The Terafin could be removed from the Council of The Ten, the House would still have its historical significance, and the Gathering is intended to be a reminder of the historic choices of the leaders of each of our Houses—from the first to join the banner of the first Kings, to the last.”

  “Yes, thank you, Tamalyn,” The Berrilya said stiffly.

  Shadow sidled over to The Tamalyn’s chair. He glanced once over his shoulder at Jewel, who exhaled sharply and pursed her lips. Since she didn’t actually reprimand him, he dropped his head into The Tamalyn’s lap.

  It was a sign. The Korisamis rose; more than half of the Council members were now on their feet in the sparsely populated chamber. “It is not our habit, Terafin, to offer trust. We are, and will remain, rivals. But we are also peers in a very exceptional way. If you are willing to overlook The Wayelyn’s deployment, we will set the question of the song itself aside.

  “I will, as Korisamis, set aside the more pressing concerns. I understand that your cat is a ferocious guard—but at the moment, he is only that.”

  Although Shadow didn’t lift his head, the entire table could hear his hiss.

  “You are correct; we employ men and women who could be—and are—considered dangerous. We consider ourselves the masters of our own domains; we have the protection of the laws of exemption for matters that concern only members of our own Houses. And we are, as you are aware, concerned about the structural changes within Avantari. Not one of us has seen the entirety of those changes—which deepens, rather than lessens, that concern. The Kings have been extremely reticent, and the information that has come from the Order of Knowledge and the few garrulous servants within the palace has been disappointingly brief and vague.

  “I will say for the record that should my House and my heir come under the same attack that Avantari and the Twin Princes faced on the first day of The Terafin’s funeral, I grant all necessary permission in advance for your intervention.” His smile was dry. “I cannot say, with any certainty, that Korisamis trusts Terafin in matters that arise between our two Houses. I can say that I trust you to act within the confines of the law; between two Houses, of course, laws of exemption do not apply.

  “But I will take the risk and say I trust your interests to lie, squarely, with the Empire. I do not believe that you have summoned demons; they seem so intent on your death I cannot conceive of a cessation of hostilities. Intent or no, they have failed.”

  “Their failure was not without cost,” The Darias said. “Were The Terafin to locate herself outside of Averalaan, the attack during the victory parade might never have taken place.”

  “And she would be without the ability to defend herself. Come, Darias; we do not counsel murder and we do not counsel suicide.”

  “It would not be the first time in our history that a Council member has ruled from beyond the hundred holdings.”

  “It would be, technically, the second; it would, however, be a first for House Terafin. The suggestion has already been dismissed.” Throughout this discussion, The Korisamis watched The Terafin. She weathered his regard in silence.

  “Given the testimony, however reluctantly offered, of the Order of Knowledge, our position must be clear. Korisamis will not countenance the removal of a legal head of House Terafin. If she will not abdicate, she will remain Terafin.”

  “Very well,” The Berrilya said. Before he could continue, Jewel spoke.

  “If you intend to call a vote, I will speak against it.”

  “A vote?”

  “This is not a matter for Council vote. I am not present as a penitent; I am not present as a supplicant. I own my position on this Council. Working in concert, there might be some small chance of allaying the fears of the Kings should they move against my House in an unprecedented fashion; there is clearly no concerted effort here. A vote is therefore a measure that is both superfluous and insulting.”

  Both brows rose, but in a measured, steady way. Jewel didn’t even blink. Shadow, however purred. Next time, she was going to leave the cat at home.

  She reached out with her right hand, and Teller, without a pause, placed a sheaf of documents across her palm. “If we are done, we might move on to other matters of business. I have a question for The Morriset about his Western route and some difficulties that have occurred.”

  * * *

  Less than a half hour later, the Council session was brought to a close. The Kalakar offered her congratulations with an appraising smile and a slight nod. The Tamalyn lingered to ask a few questions about the Ellariannatte.

  She spoke briefly with The Morriset, and to her surprise, found herself the recipient of The Berrilya’s soft-spoken, “Well done, Terafin.” It should not have mattered; if anything it should have annoyed her. It didn’t.

  Avandar was not angry; he seemed—for Avandar—pleased with Jewel’s performance. He did not, of course, say so. Nor did he leave when the room emptied, because the Guildmaster of the Order and the Terafin House Mage made no move to retreat.

  Sigurne offered Jewel a brief bow. “This is not over,” she said softly.

  It surprised Jewel. “The politics of the Council? No, of course not. It is never over.”

  Sigurne shook her head. “The Kings.”

  “You’ve spoken with them.”

  “Members of my Order have been in session with the Kings at their convenience since your last audience. Not all of the members summoned consider this a blessing, and they are at pains to point it out—to me, of course. In front of the Kings they are commendably well-behaved.”

  Jewel glanced at Meralonne.

  “APhaniel’s service has been, given his contract with Terafin, somewhat more difficult to secure. He is, however, expected to speak with the Crowns shortly.” Her glance at the mage was pointed.

  Meralonne, predictably, blew rings of smoke into the air in nested circles. He did not, however, contradict Sigurne’s statement. Instead, after a long pause spent studying his own brief creations, he turned to Jewel. “You have not yet made your decision.”

  Jewel frowned. “Is th
ere a decision, APhaniel, that I am required to make?”

  His frown was sharper and more irritable. “If you play at ignorance, Terafin, I am your servant. I will allow it.”

  “I am not playing at ignorance,” she replied. “I am not playing, at the moment, at all.”

  “Where is Celleriant?”

  Her frown deepened.

  “Where are your cats?”

  Shadow, standing by the doors and complaining—in as quiet a voice as he possessed—about boredom, twitched.

  “Where, Terafin, is your mount? You cannot leave them behind.”

  “They are all absent in the wilderness,” she replied. “At my command.”

  “And you have not chosen to summon them.”

  “I have Shadow and I have Avandar; I have my Chosen. More is hardly required.”

  He let the embers of his pipe burn down as he met and held her gaze, his silver eyes unblinking. Wind moved through the nets that bound her hair; her hair was so stiff, it didn’t cause any strands to land, as they often did, in her eyes.

  “I will travel with you,” he finally said.

  “No,” she replied, without pause for thought. “You will not. You are required here.”

  “It will not be safe,” was his answer.

  “If it is not safe for you, APhaniel—”

  “I did not say the danger was to me.” He turned and offered Sigurne his arm.

  Sigurne took it. To Jewel’s surprise, her hand, as it rested in the crook of the magi’s elbow, was visibly trembling. Although the Council session’s early start and the discussions that she had missed were upsetting, they were not nearly as unsettling as that visible sign of unease.

  It is not lack of ease, Avandar said, watching as Sigurne and Meralonne at last left the chamber. It is fear.

  * * *

  The carriage was silent as it returned The Terafin and her right-kin to the Terafin manse. Shadow was not, but he was on the outside of the carriage, where he couldn’t be easily corrected. Jewel wondered if passing strangers considered his inappropriate whining—for he was whining, and loudly—amusing, frustrating or frightening. Fear was almost beyond her.