Battle: The House War: Book Five

by Michelle West

  “I have. They are more complicated than the precautions taken as matter of course in this office.” He sat, lifted his chin, and said, “I’ve spoken with Finch.”

  Hectore inclined his head; he was not surprised. “Have you spoken with The Terafin?”

  “No. We spent much of our day in Avantari, and she is now in a meeting of some import.”

  Hectore chuckled. “You will have to tell her, you know.”

  The right-kin’s brows rose slightly.

  “I am about to offer House Terafin a joint venture of some value,” the merchant said. “It is a gesture of good faith, on my part; a gesture as well of my support for the current Terafin. I would therefore like to ensure, by all means necessary, that the current Terafin retains her seat.”

  “In that, if nothing else, Patris Araven, we are agreed. Finch is expecting you. While I am fully capable of looking over minor trade agreements of a limited nature, almost all of the agreements of any note are undertaken by our office in the Merchant Authority.”

  “Of course.”

  “May I ask why you are here?”

  “If you have spoken with Finch, you are aware that the aid I have offered is not entirely confined to the Merchant Authority. The Terafin has accepted my aid, in principle.”

  Teller nodded. He was more obviously reserved than Finch.

  “With your permission, ATerafin, I would like to have the grounds—and the manse—searched.”

  “We are responsible for our own security,” Teller replied. “The Terafin trusts that it is thorough.”

  “Indeed. I do not ask to offer insult to the men and women who serve your House. I ask for reasons of my own.”

  “And those?”

  Hectore sighed. “Andrei.”

  “At least one new employee within the manse is a member of the Astari.”

  The right-kin inclined his head. After a pause, he said, “I believe there are three. We do not, at this point, distrust the Astari.”

  “Of course you do. Trust in the Astari is almost poor sportsmanship,” Hectore said. “If it will comfort you, I am happy to attend my requested inspection; I am also happy to have it conducted in the company of any man or woman you choose.”

  “I admit I am confused, Patris Araven. I was uncertain what to expect when you asked for an appointment; I admit that I thought your visit would involve information.”

  Hectore frowned. “Of course it does.” He exhaled. “Very well. I wish my servant—my personal servant—to have a more intimate knowledge of the layout of the Terafin manse. Not more and not less.”

  “Why?”

  Andrei offered Teller a bow. It was deep. It was also unusual; servants generally remained invisible, standing against the far wall until their masters chose to leave. A bow was acknowledgment that servants did not offer. “I am tasked,” he told Teller, “with protection and preservation. I informed Patris Araven that the security measures undertaken by The Terafin would be up to the task; he is, of course, less willing to trust matters that are not in his own hands.”

  “That is not what I said, Andrei. I am certain that your security is functional. It did not, at its height, prevent the previous Terafin’s death.”

  The right-kin stiffened.

  “The current Terafin has, however, survived similar threat. It is my belief that her survival is tied in some way to the . . . unusual nature of both the grounds and the manse itself. I have seen her personal quarters. Were I tasked with protection of The Terafin, I would be unconcerned.

  “It is not, however, The Terafin. It is Finch.”

  Teller was silent.

  “I believe that The Terafin intended exactly that. If Finch is capable of manipulating the same magical power that Jewel Markess ATerafin does, tell me, and I will apologize for the unpardonable waste of your time. If, however, she is not, she does not have any of the advantages The Terafin currently enjoys.

  “Her enemies may, with impunity, attempt to poison her where she works; they may, with impunity, attempt to poison her here. She has no Chosen, and if I am not mistaken, she has not availed herself of the privilege of House Guards. She has no domicis, and were one to be found, he or she would never be the equal of The Terafin’s.

  “She has not played games in which death is practically the price of admission. But she has been drawn into them now—and so, ATerafin, have you.”

  “No attempts have been made on my life.”

  “None yet. How long do you think that will last?”

  The right-kin stood. “Patris Araven, I am grateful for your concern.”

  “Andrei?”

  The servant turned. He walked over to the bookcase and stood before it for a long moment. “Two,” he said.

  Teller frowned. “Two?”

  “I believe one belongs to Member APhaniel. I see his signature in some of the more complicated enchantments.” Hectore could hear the frown in his servant’s voice, and smiled in spite of himself. Andrei would be vexed when they left.

  “To be expected. The second?” Hectore grinned.

  “It is subtle,” the servant said, after a long pause. “Subtle enough that it appears to be one of the several protective spells that gird the room. The trace of the magic does not appear to leave the room.”

  “I did not realize you employed a member of the Order as a servant,” the right-kin said, after a brittle pause.

  “I do not. No more does The Terafin. Is it under the purview of the Lord of the Compact? It is just the type of enchantment the House Mage would ignore.”

  “It is exactly the type of magic he would not,” Andrei replied. “Meralonne APhaniel is not known for his subtlety; nor is he known to be politic or pragmatic if he feels someone is trespassing in his domain. Not all of the enchantments that gird this room are his; I believe some laid here are older.”

  “They are,” the right-kin said. He had not resumed his seat. Instead, he moved to stand beside Andrei. “You think there is a protective enchantment in this room that is not meant for my use.”

  Andrei nodded. “I believe it is protective in nature. But, yes, I think it is not meant to give the right-kin the advantage here.”

  “Can you ascertain what it is meant to do?”

  “I am attempting to do just that, ATerafin. As I said, it is subtle.”

  “And now we come to the crux of the matter,” Hectore said as he, too, rose. “Do you trust me? Do you trust my servant?”

  * * *

  Teller watched Hectore of Araven for a long moment; his question faded into silence, and the silence grew more pronounced as the minutes passed. It was not a question he had expected to be asked; trust was little more than a polite fiction when one dealt with people outside of the den.

  It was a necessary fiction, of course; it was civil. It was politic. But he understood the risk Hectore had taken; he had chosen to deliberately reveal at least some of his servant’s ability. “Can you ascertain what some of the other spells are?” The question was subdued, but measured.

  Andrei replied, although his gaze never left the bookcase. “The book on your desk is a defensive spell. It does not convey silence; it conveys conversation. But it is a particular type of conversation. I believe the page to which the book is opened is relevant in this regard. You might close the book, and the conversation would be subdued and awkward; you might open it to the end of the first chapter—or perhaps section—and the conversation would be genial. Farther in, and angry words will be exchanged. They will sound natural; they will mimic the voices of the people in the room.”

  Teller exhaled.

  “If the eavesdropper is aware of the properties of this particular spell, he may attempt to breach it. If he is not exceptionally skilled, he will, after some strenuous effort, be successful. But success in this case leads to a secondary line of discussion.”

  Teller did not stare at the servant, but it took effort. “If he is exceptionally skilled?”

  “The spell has a feedback contingency.
If he is competent, he will be deafened for a few hours.”

  “If he is not?”

  “It will be far longer than a few hours.”

  It was all true. Every word of it. Teller’s security had either been heavily compromised or Andrei was a mage of far more subtlety and expertise than most mages seconded to the Houses.

  Andrei continued. “It is not, of course, the only spell woven around this room. There are basic silence spells across both doors, and spells which prevent simple projectiles from breaking the windows. There are spells of seeming upon the curtains, and if the curtain holders are twisted in a certain way, when closed, they will show a shadow of your back, as you sit at your desk and labor over your paperwork.

  “The carpet and one wall have also been enchanted to respond to magic in proximity; the proximity detection has made exceptions for the convenient minor stones that men of Hectore’s import frequently carry upon their person. It would be very, very difficult to enter this room unseen.”

  “But not impossible.”

  “No, ATerafin. Not impossible.” He turned from the bookcase and glanced at Patris Araven. “Is that satisfactory?”

  “It is not up to me, Andrei; I am not the person you need to impress at the moment.”

  Teller, watching them, smiled. “I think, Patris Araven, that you are. Your servant believes he is to be judged by your standards of what is considered impressive; he is unaware of what mine are.” The smile faded. “I am aware that The Terafin has chosen to trust you.”

  “And that is not enough for you?”

  “It is not my job to question her judgment. We do, on the other hand, have men who are paid to do just that. They are not, in my estimation, nearly as impressive as your servant. Do you seriously feel that the office of the right-kin is in danger?”

  “Did you,” Hectore countered, “believe that Finch was? Or has she lulled you into the belief that someone is attempting to give Jarven the death he richly deserves?”

  Jay trusted this man. Without that certain knowledge, Teller was not certain he would; Hectore was far too moneyed, far too powerful; his servant was frighteningly competent. Rumor had it that Hectore did not particularly care for guards; it was attributed to his desire to be seen, somehow, as a “regular” man. The attribution was wrong. In Teller’s estimation, Andrei was the equivalent of a dozen armored men. Perhaps more; he would not, in most cases, be noticed.

  “No,” Teller said. “Nor did she try. She was uncertain, but Jarven was not. She has worked with him for her entire tenure in the Merchant Authority, and in this, she trusts him.”

  “In this?”

  “She understands Jarven ATerafin’s peculiar foibles.”

  Hectore had a laugh reminiscent of Marrick’s. It was full, loud, resonant; it filled the room, demanding at least the shadow of a smile in return, which was what Teller gave him.

  “I would, if given the choice, prefer to have Andrei examine the Merchant Authority in a similar fashion, if you can spare him. The Merchant Authority is not entirely under the auspices of House Terafin—”

  Hectore coughed, loudly. “I should hope not.”

  “—And therefore does not fall under our oversight. If Finch is at risk, the risk would be greatest in the Authority.”

  Andrei pursed his lips, but said nothing.

  “You don’t agree.”

  “No, ATerafin. Precautions have been set in place, but at this time, I feel it unlikely. If Finch—along with Jarven—were to die within the Authority offices, their deaths would fall under the laws of exemption if The Terafin did not see fit to demand a public inquiry. She will not, of course.”

  “If they occur within the Merchant Authority proper, the same will be true.”

  “You fail to understand the scrutiny under which the House has been placed. If the Crowns wish to press the issue at this time, they have a case.”

  “They have not pressed it in similar circumstances in the past.”

  “No. But in the past, they have had access to The Terafin. I do not think any of the spies who serve the Crown will gain entrance to the upper remove of this manse without express permission. Without, in fact, The Terafin’s presence. They are hampered, and they are already concerned. They might use public deaths to push for very private concessions.”

  “Which would imply a benefit to the Crowns for such public deaths.”

  “Indeed.”

  “May I give you a tour of the manse, Patris Araven?”

  “I would appreciate it. Terafin has, I am told, very fine public galleries, but I have been so pressed for time on my previous visits that I have failed to see them.”

  “And would you care to dine in the dining hall?”

  Patris Araven grimaced.

  Andrei, however, said, “He would.”

  “Then let me notify Barston that we will have such an illustrious guest.”

  * * *

  Teller’s tour of the manse was thorough. Hectore lingered at some sign from his servant—but it was not a sign Teller could easily intercept. Outside of the confines of the right-kin’s office, Andrei once again adopted the mute and perfect silence expected of a man of his station. Teller had some difficulty with this sudden shift. Hectore, however, did not; when Teller’s gaze rested for too long upon Andrei, Hectore would ask a question.

  “Do you have any desire to view the grounds?” Teller asked.

  “Not today; I believe the grounds are impressive enough we would miss dinner entirely were we to venture there.”

  Teller nodded. He suspected that the grounds—like the library—were beyond Andrei’s ken. Andrei offered no observations. If he found anything unusual, he gave no sign at all.

  But they followed a course set by Teller, and it led, eventually, to the West Wing. As the doors were opened, he said, “Our rooms are currently here. There are twelve occupants, although the West Wing is capable of housing more.”

  “The twelve?” Andrei asked—after the doors were shut at their backs.

  “The original occupants of the West Wing, one domicis, and one child.”

  “The child is whose?”

  “An orphan,” he replied. “She arrived on the day The Terafin returned from the South, and has been with us ever since.”

  “Are visitors entertained in this Wing?”

  “Yes. Generally in the great room.”

  “Servants?”

  “None currently resident within the Wing; the servants who care for the Wing have been working here for years.”

  “None are new?”

  Teller shook his head.

  “We will want their names,” Hectore said, unexpectedly.

  “They are all ATerafin,” Teller replied, the tone of his voice his only offered warning. He turned toward the great room, entering it as the doors were opened. “If you wish to have a seat, we may take drinks before dinner here.”

  “Andrei.”

  Andrei turned and bowed, briefly, to Teller. “With your permission, right-kin, I would like entry to your personal rooms here.”

  “And Finch’s?”

  He nodded. “Patris Araven?”

  “I have had enough exercise, I think. If you feel it necessary to accompany Andrei, please do; I will avail myself of your fireplace and your very comfortable chairs.”

  * * *

  Jewel might have remained uncertain about Haval’s mood, but Shadow was not. The large, gray cat never bothered Haval the way he did Angel, Arann, or select members of her Chosen; he was not hugely disrespectful the way he was with Celleriant, Avandar, or Meralonne. Nor did he start this afternoon—but he did attempt to step on the feet of the Chosen and he did mutter “ugly” and “stupid” under his breath while glaring at Avandar from the corner of his eyes.

  He was no longer on full alert.

  Haval, for his part, now looked like he was overdressed and slightly uncomfortable to be so. For Jewel, there was no slightly; she longed to return to her rooms and change into something that di
d not feel so confining. She didn’t even ask. She understood that the lunch with Haval had been a test. She was accustomed to Haval’s tests, and frequently failed them. She knew that this was not a test she could afford to fail.

  It was not Haval’s way to offer comfort. He offered opinion—some of it caustic, much of it frustrating—and fact. Comfort was not something that the reigning Terafin should require. Ever. He therefore said nothing as he walked by her side toward the West Wing. He frowned once at her grip on his arm, and she forced her hands to relax. More than that, he did not say; they were in public.

  He trusts your intent, Avandar told her, his voice tinged with mild frustration. But feels you are wise enough and mature enough to understand that intent counts for little. He is also aware that his wife would be beyond upset if he were to kill you; if he chooses to act against you, he will not do it while there is any chance she will survive.

  Avandar had a sense of comfort very similar to Haval’s.

  She approached the West Wing, wondering if anyone, besides Adam and Ariel, would be present.

  The answer was not quite what she expected; as she opened the doors and entered the hall, she saw a familiar man slide between the doors of the great room. She felt Haval stiffen and glanced at his profile.

  “Andrei?” she asked, as she released the clothier’s arm.

  His brows rose slightly. “Terafin.” He bowed.

  * * *

  Teller entered the hall a moment later. His brows rose as he met Jewel’s gaze; his hands moved briefly in den-sign.

  No, she replied, in the same language. No danger.

  He glanced to her right, where Haval stood. She grimaced. No immediate danger.

  You’re all right?

  She didn’t answer. She wanted an hour and real words for that. Haval did not immediately move. Neither did Andrei. Jewel cleared her throat. “Is Patris Araven here?”

  Teller nodded. “He is. He’s in the great room, at the moment. I took the liberty of offering him a tour of the manse.”

  “We don’t mean to interrupt, of course. Haval is currently measuring me for two dresses—hopefully less confining than the monstrosity I’m currently wearing.”