Battle: The House War: Book Five

by Michelle West

  Jewel fiddled with her napkin. “Why is Avantari relevant?”

  He smiled. “You have more information at your disposal than I, Terafin. If you will not speak of the palace, I will force you to answer that question. Changes were made in the structure of the palace. It is not spoken of in Avantari itself—and I admit that the Kings have a heavier hand than I suspected would be possible; it is spoken of in careful, hushed whispers outside of the palace.

  “It is my suspicion that you know the full extent of the architectural changes that occurred on the day of The Terafin’s funeral. When the Terafin terrace was destroyed by water, it was rebuilt in almost an instant. It is the same in shape and form; it is entirely different in construction. The Terafin gardeners are not royal gardeners; they do speak.

  “What do you fear in Avantari?”

  “Besides the Kings?”

  “You do not fear the Kings,” he replied. “You are cautious, and that is wise, but the Crowns engender no fear. Nor do you fear Duvari, or his Astari. Given your particular talents, I do not feel this unwise. But you fear the palace. Why?”

  “I don’t fear the palace,” she said, her voice sharper.

  “It is my supposition that had you never ventured to Avantari at the Kings’ behest, Hannerle would now be awake. She would be awake, in our home; she would probably be in the kitchen making lunch. Or cleaning; she will be appalled at the state of her home when—and if—she does wake.” He watched her. He ate. The conversation might, given his comportment, have been about the price of cloth.

  She was silent for another long beat. “When I went to the South,” she finally said, “I didn’t leave Averalaan the way I’d intended to leave it. I was in the Common and the Common was attacked.”

  “By demons, yes. They did very real damage in your absence. Were you the target?”

  She did not reply.

  Haval, being Haval, noticed. She thought, as she ate, that there was nothing he did not notice, but very little that he chose to bring to bear in any discussion. Hannerle stood between them like an uncomfortable ghost.

  “I ended up in a mountain fortress, and the only way to leave it was to walk. The walk was entirely underground.”

  He waited.

  “It was through stone, Haval. The Stone Deepings. I don’t know if those words have any meaning for you.”

  “They do not. Do they now have meaning for you?”

  She nodded. “They’re like my gardens, in a way. Meralonne thinks that at one time, stone from the wild ways was quarried. It was used to build. Some of that stone lay in the foundations of Avantari.”

  “What properties do you ascribe to this stone?”

  “Ask Meralonne. I don’t know what properties the stone has; I don’t know all that it can—or can’t—do.” She swallowed “But I do know that when I went to Avantari at the behest of the Kings, it was because two storage rooms had been entirely refashioned. They were much larger than they had been. I saw only one room; I was informed that both rooms had been significantly altered.”

  “In what way?”

  “The room I saw was circular in shape; it was large. The ceiling was domed in a way that implied the basement is tall, even cavernous.”

  “In much the same way the doors to the library imply a library?”

  “Yes. In just that way.” She closed her eyes. “The walls of the room were carved. The carvings were of figures.”

  “Not mortal.”

  “No, I don’t think so. Some of the carvings were reliefs, but some were almost standing statues. One of them was the Queen of the Wild Hunt.” She opened her eyes again, because, eyes closed, she could see Ariane, and in this room, Haval was preferable.

  “And you recognized the others?”

  “Not all of them, no. But some, yes; they came to me while I walked the Stone Deepings, looking for a way out.” She swallowed. “The Kings were there, in silence; the Exalted. Duvari. I don’t know what I looked like to them. I don’t know how composed I was. I don’t know what they hoped to see me do.

  “But while I was there, one of the statues stepped away from the wall and began to speak.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  ‘‘I SEE.” HE TURNED, then, to Avandar, who now stood against the wall. “You recognized all of the figures.” It was not a question. Had it been, Avandar would have met it the same way: in stiff silence.

  “Haval—he is my domicis.”

  “He is far more than that. Do not look surprised; I will find it insulting. I assume that the demons that attacked the Common meant to kill him, not you. Your silences, Terafin, say as much as your words; possibly more.”

  “But it is my words, not his, you will have. He is part of this, but he is part of this now because I am.”

  “Very well. This statue?”

  “The Oracle.”

  Haval frowned, as if in thought. “I believe I have heard that name before.”

  “Seers of old, if they wished control over their visions, walked the Oracle’s path. Before you ask, no, I don’t know what that means; I don’t know if it’s a physical path or a metaphorical one. I know only that she tests; the tests are harsh, and they are costly.”

  “Costly in what fashion?”

  “They are meant, I think, to test breaking points. If you break, you fail.”

  “This is supposition.”

  “It is. But I’ve seen a seer’s crystal before. If a seer has one, she can control her vision to some extent. I don’t know how large an extent, before you ask. The crystal looks as if it is a prop. It’s not. It’s not separate from the seer; it’s an extension of everything they are.”

  “You do not have one.”

  “No.” She swallowed. “The Oracle offered the Kings a glimpse of their future. I don’t know if she did it for my sake or for theirs. They accepted.”

  “As did Teller.”

  “She didn’t offer the same to Teller; he asked.” Jewel wanted to ask him how he knew this; she wasn’t certain he would answer. And if he did, she wasn’t certain she would like the answer offered; she said nothing. The table felt confining; she longed to rise and pace. After a moment, she did.

  “What I did to the library, I did by accident.” Her voice was low. “The whole of this place. The trees that are shelves. This room. The former office. You haven’t seen it yet—it’s a war room, Haval. There are weapons Meralonne feels are significant on its walls, and a long, flat table. There are windows—without glass—that open into skies that are not Averalaan’s skies.

  “An accident.” Her lips twisted. “Carver and Ellerson disappeared when they entered a closet. An open door. The door led to gods only know where. Snow and Night are hunting for them now, and I do not know if they’ll be found. I didn’t intend for those doors to open. Not on any level. They weren’t mine.

  “They were part of the wilderness. Part of the ancient byways that the children of the gods and the firstborn walk. They weren’t meant for an elderly domicis and a man who spends most of his free time in the servants’ quarters. I think—I think, if I were Evayne, I could find them. I think I could look into my own heart and see some hint of where they might be.

  “But I can’t, as I am.”

  The rigidity of his perfect posture left him, then. “Jewel—”

  “Teller thinks I don’t know.” Her voice had dropped almost to a whisper. “Teller thinks I can’t tell what he saw. He thinks I don’t know how badly it’s affected him. It’s true: I don’t know what he saw. But I don’t need to know; I know how it affected him. How it still affects him. The only thing he’ll say is that he saw no sign of Carver or Ellerson.”

  “He is your right-kin,” Haval said, as if that made sense in this conversation. When he realized that it didn’t—to her—he added, “He understands your strengths and your weaknesses, Terafin. He understands them in a way that even Gabriel did not for The Terafin he served. The Oracle asked you to take this test.”

  “More or less.”
<
br />   “And you have not yet decided what you will do.”

  She swallowed. Paced the length of the room twice before she stopped and turned to face him. “I’m The Terafin,” she whispered. “And not all those who take that test pass it. Those that don’t—I don’t know if they die, or if they’re driven insane, but for the purposes of the House, it’s one and the same.

  “The Oracle believes that I am—I am—”

  Haval waited. Jewel knew he exposed what he wished her to see; she knew he could feign delight or anger at the slightest of whims. She knew she couldn’t trust any expression that crossed his face. But the expression he offered her now was one of compassion, and she wanted to believe in it.

  It was Haval who had warned her to distrust her own desires. Do not put faith in the things you want to see. Desire is the simplest way to manipulate another; it clouds vision, it impedes perception.

  “What do you believe the Oracle showed the Kings?”

  She closed her eyes. “The fall of the city,” she whispered. She knew what he would ask next, but waited anyway.

  “Did the Oracle imply that the only hope of preventing that fall lay in you?”

  Jewel lifted her chin. “Yes.”

  “And so you risk everything. If the city falls, Terafin falls with it, and all your oaths to the dead will amount to nothing.” He frowned. It was his usual frown, and so familiar she almost smiled to see it. “You have not been entirely forthright.”

  “You’re always annoyed when I am.”

  One brow rose. “What have you seen, Jewel?”

  She swallowed. She had not spoken to anyone of her dreams. She had not called her den. She had not led them to the kitchen.

  “You intend to take this test. You intend to walk this path.”

  “I am trying to think of any alternative, Haval. Any. But I know that if I stay in this manse until the end, it will be the end.”

  * * *

  “And so my wife lies sleeping,” he said. But he said it in the familiar cadences of the tailor.

  She could not deny that fact. Hannerle was asleep. She would not wake without intervention. “Haval, I would never harm Hannerle.”

  “No. Not consciously. And perhaps not subconsciously. You know that she was very, very unhappy at my presence here.”

  Jewel had not resumed her seat; nor did she intend to do so. “I’ll try to wake her now.”

  He smiled. It was a tired smile. “I understand, now, why she sleeps. I am not, as you have wisely observed, happy. I believe you will attempt to wake her. Tell me, Jewel, why you think I am necessary.”

  She pursed her lips and said, in a thicker voice, “Tell me—tell me truthfully—that you are not. Tell me, Haval, and make me believe it. You can; you know I want to.”

  He grimaced.

  “If I leave Terafin—if that’s what the Oracle demands of me—I leave a House that I have ruled for a bare two months. In that time, five attempts have been made on my life, and I would not have survived even the first were it not for my talent and my companions.

  “The last time I took such a risk we had The Terafin. She knew how to prepare; she knew what to watch for. If they had not sent a demon against her, I do not think she would have died. This time? We have Haerrad and Rymark. If I can hobble Rymark, it will always—and only—be by presence. If I appoint an heir—” she swallowed. “Alea and Courtne died. I won’t do that to any of mine. I can leave the seat vacant for some small period of time—perhaps weeks.

  “But the Chosen are so few. I cannot call Snow and Night back.”

  “Cannot?”

  “They’re searching for Carver and Ellerson. To call them back—”

  “Is to abandon all hope.”

  She swallowed again. Her throat felt thick, and she felt so tired. It was midday. She had not yet seen to her correspondence. She had not reviewed the documents from the Merchant Authority that required her personal attention. But she wanted to sleep. She wanted to pull the covers over her face and curl up in her bed and sleep.

  “Tell me that you believe you are not necessary, Haval.”

  “You understand,” he said, rising, his plate a good deal cleaner than her own, “that I could do as you ask. You have always believed that I am an excellent prevaricator, with reason. But, Jewel, I lie seldom to you. I have no objections to lying to those who employ me, although most of my lies in these latter years have been in the form of flattery.

  “But in your case, Terafin, it is my considered opinion that your talent would prevent your belief, and I am loath to make the effort where I am not relatively certain of success. You will leave your den in charge.”

  “Teller is right-kin.”

  He stared at her. After a long, silent moment, he lifted his fingers and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “. . . You don’t think Teller can hold the seat.”

  “Do you?”

  She said nothing. Teller was known to the House Council; they were in frequent contact with his office. He was capable of handling their daily demands and the myriad nuisances that entailed.

  “When do you plan to leave, Jewel?”

  “Not before I wake Hannerle.”

  “You are aware that I will not remain resident in your manse when she wakes.” It was not a question.

  She nodded.

  He smiled and offered her his arm. “What would you have me do, Terafin? You will not be present. Any aid I might have offered is entirely irrelevant on the road you feel you must travel.”

  “I would have you keep my home safe,” she whispered.

  “Your home? Not your House?”

  “They are now one and the same.” Her hand tightened. “I don’t want to come back to a funeral. I don’t want to leave at all.”

  “And what would you have me do? I am not in the councils of your enemies; nor is any member of your House, save perhaps one.”

  “It’s not the demons I fear.”

  “Ah.” He glanced down at her hand, frowned, and readjusted it. “I will speak with Hannerle.”

  * * *

  Hectore arrived at the Terafin manse moments after the traditional lunch hour. This of course required that he sit in his carriage for an inconvenient length of time before at last ordering his driver to proceed. As was his habit, he traveled with Andrei, but no guards. While he did not disapprove of guards in theory, in practice he found them difficult. If they took the initiative, he was frequently required to smooth over the resultant difficulties; if they took no initiative, he found them annoying. Regardless, guards and servants often served two masters, neither particularly well.

  Nor did the lack of formal guards cause difficulties; Andrei could, in an emergency, deal with anyone who meant Hectore immediate harm. Andrei, however, had never approved of the lack of guards. He felt that guards distinguished a man of means.

  “They are men, not jewelry,” Hectore replied—as he so often did. “I am not of The Ten; my dignity will survive a lack of guards.” It always had. But it was only on visits of import that Andrei felt it necessary to return to a subject Hectore considered long closed.

  The Terafin right-kin was, of course, of import.

  “What pretense did we give for this visit, do you remember?” Hectore asked Andrei. He chuckled. “I can’t help but notice that you don’t care for the Terafin manse.”

  Andrei glanced briefly at his master. “I do not care for the Astari,” he finally replied.

  “They are everywhere, Andrei; you cannot expect to come to a House of any note and remain untroubled by their presence.”

  “They are not to be found in the Araven manse.”

  “Yes. I found that decision unwise, but in matters of security I am generally willing to bow to you.”

  “Bow in matters of dignity and I might be willing to compromise.”

  Patris Araven laughed. It was a bold, sharp sound, and the acoustically unforgiving ceiling carried its echoes; to the credit of the page who now led them to the right-ki
n’s office, he didn’t so much as turn or pause. “My dear Andrei, we both know you do not fully grasp the meaning of the word. Come. The servants are staring.”

  * * *

  Teller ATerafin reminded Hectore, superficially, of Finch. If The Terafin was not nondescript—and she was not; her attendants guaranteed that—both Finch and Teller were self-contained. Their gestures were fluid but minimal, their voices smooth and inflected in a way that spoke of education, not birth. Jewel Markess ATerafin was wild-haired, dark-eyed, her skin more likely to take sun than either her right-kin’s or Finch’s. She stood and sat as if her energy was only barely leashed, and her frequent gestures were sharper, broader. She conveyed her meaning and her intent just by moving.

  Hectore liked her. He had not expected to like her, but was not surprised; she was the only child his godson had ever taken under wing, and when he could no longer protect or contain her, he had sent her here. From her flat in the twenty-fifth holding to her seat in the Council Hall in Avantari, she had followed a path Ararath had set.

  But Ararath disdained the patriciate, and he loathed The Ten. What would he make of the girl who had shouldered the burden of Terafin, who had become his estranged sister’s heir?

  “Patris Araven.”

  “Forgive my manners, ATerafin. I am admiring the paintings on the far wall. They are new acquisitions?”

  “They are,” the right-kin replied. “Barston is the expert here; I served as consultant, but the final choice was left in his hands.” His own hands he clasped loosely behind his back while he waited.

  Hectore then turned, nodded, and allowed the right-kin to lead him into his office. It was not an office that Hectore had had much occasion to visit, although he had, of course, seen its interior before. He was not surprised to see it remain almost unchanged.

  Teller ATerafin did not immediately retreat to his desk; he paused before the shelves to the right of it. He inspected the spined books with some care, and eventually chose one. It was not a ledger, by look. He carried the book to the desk, where he placed it upon the surface on which he had clearly been working.

  Hectore glanced at his servant as the right-kin opened the book. Andrei offered a controlled, minimal nod. “I see you have taken some precautions, ATerafin.”