Battle: The House War: Book Five

by Michelle West

  “No. I’m afraid the events of the afternoon have thoroughly destroyed my schedule, and there are some matters to which I must attend while I am still on my feet.”

  Hectore offered her a perfect bow. Andrei did not; he had retreated into the role of servant, and he looked as if he intended to stay there. The great room was therefore silent—except for whining cat. “Do not scratch the furniture, Shadow. The Master of the Household Staff is already angry with me.” Angry was too paltry a word. Enraged? Yes, that was more suitable.

  Meralonne’s strict instructions on the doors that could—and could not—be used would fan the flames. Avandar brought wine; Jewel stared at it. She did not generally drink, except where social circumstance mandated it.

  And the knock on the door indicated that this might be one of those occasions. “It’s Haval,” she told her domicis. “Please, see him in.”

  * * *

  Haval chose to present himself as a deflated, older man. Jewel watched him. She felt sympathy for an expression that was, in all likelihood genuine; Haval’s lies almost always were. She indicated that he should sit, and Avandar placed a glass of wine in his hand; he accepted it absently.

  “Hannerle was angry,” Jewel said.

  “She was.” He glanced at her and frowned.

  He knows, she thought, unsurprised. Haval was one of nature’s liars; Hannerle was not. People believed that any man who was thoroughly encumbered by honesty could not be lied to effectively; Jewel believed the opposite. Lies were a particular type of work, and it was work an honest man might never fully appreciate.

  “What did you say to my wife?”

  “I believe she will have to answer that,” Jewel replied. She lifted her own glass and held it between them, looking at Haval as if through a facet-less prism. “You’ll stay.”

  “Yes.” The look of exhaustion fell away instantly, as if brushed aside. He observed her, his eyes sharp, his gaze steady. “It was cleverly done, Jewel. I will give you that. I do not think I could have achieved the same result, and I am a man of both experience and guile. What did you do?”

  Jewel exhaled. She could refuse to answer the question a second time, but knew, from long experience, that he would get the information he desired in one way or another. Acceding with grace was something she could afford at the end of this bitterly long day. “I threw myself entirely upon her mercy,” she replied. “It’s not something you could do.”

  One brow rose.

  “She knows you too well, Haval. If you dissembled in any fashion, she would be insulted.”

  He smiled. “Indeed. And she knows that you are not me. You cannot lie to save your life, Jewel. You hide none of your weaknesses; indeed, where my wife is concerned, you expose them all. You cannot be The Terafin in her presence; you have a weakness where autocratic older women are concerned.

  “You will leave?”

  She nodded.

  “When?”

  “I’m not certain, Haval. Soon. It has to be soon.”

  “You are waiting for something?”

  She nodded.

  “But you do not know what.”

  “No. I know that I’ll know when the moment arrives. Until then I will try to put my House in order and prepare the people I trust for my departure.”

  “What will you do about Rymark?”

  She shied away from the question.

  “Very well. Tell me what you want, Jewel. Be explicit. Offer guidelines, and if it pleases you, strict codes of behavior. I will speak with Devon, if you will allow it.”

  She nodded. “Haval—”

  “I will require a budget. While you are within your manse, I will report to you. I will answer any question you are adept enough to ask; I will hide nothing.”

  “It’s not me who’ll be asking the questions,” she replied, deciding. “It’s Finch.”

  “You are aware that she has already been the target of one assassination attempt?”

  She froze.

  “Ah. I see she failed to report it.”

  “How—how do you know?”

  “Jarven. Finch believes Jarven found it both entertaining and even amusing.”

  “You don’t.”

  “I believe Jarven is angry.”

  Jewel frowned. “He’s not the type of man to get angry over something like that,” she finally said. “I don’t have the same affection for Jarven that Finch does, but I have a good sense of who he is; Finch has taken no pains to hide it.” She grimaced. “He reminds me of my cats.”

  Shadow hissed in astonished outrage.

  Haval chuckled. “An apt description. I have a great deal of respect for your cats.”

  “I haven’t noticed, Haval, that you offered a great deal of respect to Jarven on the few occasions I’ve seen you together.”

  “Ah. Jarven is to me what your cats are to you.”

  Jewel laughed. Shadow looked confused. He couldn’t quite tease out the insult he was certain was in the statement.

  “Finch is an easy person to underestimate. It will be her chief strength in the coming months. Jarven is angry, Jewel. Understand what his anger means. Jarven could make a game of assassination attempts—but they would be just that. If he is aware of them beforehand, they become a test. He did not see this one coming; he takes it as a personal insult.

  “I do not know what he expects of Finch.”

  “He expects her to hold the House,” Jewel replied. “In my name. For as long as it must be held.”

  “He expects that the first attempt will not be the last,” Haval replied.

  The hand in her lap tightened. She drank slowly and deliberately. “I expect her,” she said, forcing her jaw to relax, “to do exactly that. She’ll have Teller.” Her hand tightened again.

  “You are afraid.”

  “Haval, I’m always afraid.” She laid the stark words between them, meeting and holding his gaze.

  His smile lost its edge. “Yes,” he said, “you are.”

  “Will you go back to the store, or will you be resident in the manor?”

  “I will retain rooms in the manse for my use; I will, however, require some time to tend to my business. I have taken a select handful of commissions during my stay in House Terafin, and I must tend to them. It will also ease Hannerle’s mind.” He lifted his own glass and studied its contents.

  “Keep them safe,” she told him abruptly. “Don’t treat this as another lesson, Haval. You know me. You’ve known me for my entire adult life. You know what’s important to me. You know why it’s important. I won’t be here. You will. Be what I can’t be. See what I can’t see. Keep them safe. Do whatever you have to do.”

  “You are aware that what I might consider necessary and what you yourself would deem acceptable are not always consistent.” He set his glass down. “I am not you. You have, by dint of birth and talent, survived in an environment that most men of power would consider lax. You are likely to continue to do that. Finch, however, is without many of your advantages.

  “What limits will you place upon me?”

  “You want me to say ‘none.’”

  He failed to acknowledge the statement.

  “But I won’t. It’s true, you’re not me. It’s true I won’t be here. But, Haval—they will. You told me I needed to trust them. You were right. I do. I trust them to make those decisions in my absence. Do what Finch will accept. Don’t do more.”

  “Very well.” He rose. “Terafin. Hannerle will be fit to travel in two days’ time, in Adam’s estimation. If you are to be present for those two days, I will content myself with waiting on my wife.”

  He paused at the door. “I will make one further request.”

  Jewel tensed but nodded. “And that?”

  “One member of your den is not, in any obvious way, meaningfully employed. I wish to change that.”

  She frowned. “Jester?”

  “Indeed. He is an interesting young man; he has mastered the art of invisibility in one of the more diffic
ult ways.”

  “Jester’s hardly invisible.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Jester doesn’t care for the patriciate. He’s fine with Terafin, because it’s ours.”

  “It is yours,” Haval replied.

  “If he’s willing,” Jewel finally said. “Then, yes. I won’t order him to obey you.”

  “No, of course not.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  ‘‘ANDREI, YOU’VE BEEN positively morose all evening,” Hectore said to his servant when the Araven carriage at last rolled away from the Terafin manse. “Was the Terafin dining hall so difficult?”

  “I’m sure your food was excellent,” was Andrei’s sour reply. He did not, of course, join Hectore for the meal, although food was offered in the servants’ mess. Andrei seldom joined a gathering of such servants; he had surprised Hectore by accepting the obligatory invitation.

  “The company was fascinating,” was Hectore’s genial reply.

  “I’m sure it was. The company in the back kitchen was likewise fascinating. I now live in fear that I will come to the attention of the infamous Master of the Household Staff.”

  “I should hope not!” Hectore was willing to cede some of Andrei’s time and service to Terafin, but he had standards; Andrei was not under the auspices of any other Household Staff.

  “You are determined, given the active presence of not only Jarven ATerafin but Haval Arwood, to continue in your present course?”

  “Does that question even require an answer, Andrei? Finch is a civil and pleasant young woman; if I am not involved, Jarven will likely corrupt the poor girl.”

  “Hectore, please,” Andrei replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The girl, as you call her, is well aware of Jarven’s various foibles; I cannot understand how she holds him in such great affection.”

  “But she clearly does. Perhaps he has mellowed.”

  “You don’t believe that.”

  “Why not? I certainly have.”

  “You were never the man Jarven was.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. Come, Andrei. What exactly did you see in your inspection that caused such a souring?”

  Andrei exhaled. “The Terafin kitchens are appallingly lax in their security. The House Guard and its hiring practices are suspect. It is my belief that it wouldn’t be much harder to infiltrate the House through the time-honored practice of servants than it would be to walk in through the front foyer.

  “Some precautions will be required where food is involved.”

  “Surely we’ve seen that already.”

  “The Merchant Authority is not the manse,” was his stiff reply. “The Terafin Chosen are good. I’ll give them that. If the guards in your employ could be expected to serve at that standard, you would complain less about them. It is Teller who concerns me. Finch will be less at risk for a variety of reasons; the right-kin will not. Security around the right-kin is, and has been, tighter, but I am not certain he is yet at Gabriel’s level of competence.” He glanced, almost rigidly, out the window.

  “Things will change,” he said. “And we’ll have little control in the end over their eventual shape.”

  “We’ll have the control we always did,” Hectore replied. “As long as we continue to be moving targets. Who hired the assassin? Was it Rymark?”

  “No. If eyewitness reports—suspiciously convenient reports—are to be believed, Rymark did indeed meet the woman before the attempt; he was not, however, responsible for her presence.”

  “Who, Andrei?”

  “I am not yet certain. The necessity for certainty, given your continued commitment, is now high. I will also have words with Avram on the morrow. Hectore, expect things to become unpleasant.”

  “How unpleasant?”

  “If we are lucky, we will avoid the darkness of the Henden of 410.”

  Hectore fell silent and remained that way for the duration of the carriage ride home.

  * * *

  The kitchen that night was crowded. Jewel had slipped into clothing suitable for her early years in the West Wing, to Avandar’s disapproval, and she had commandeered a chair at the head of the table. Angel sat to her left; Teller, to her right. Beside Teller, in clothing far more casual than Jewel’s, sat Finch. Arann had taken the chair beside Angel; Jester sat beside Arann. Daine and Adam filled in the empty seats. Shadow wedged himself between Angel and Jewel’s chair, and dropped his chin onto the table’s surface.

  “If you bite the table,” she told him, “I’m going to be angry. Scratching counts.”

  He sniffed. “Tables don’t bleed.” He eyed Avandar rather malevolently.

  There was an empty chair that Carver would have occupied, to one side of Jester. Jewel looked at it once, but couldn’t bring herself to tell people to shuffle over. She understood why it had been left empty. It spoke of the hope—the increasingly painful hope—that he would walk through the kitchen door and take his place in their councils.

  “So, what happened to your hair?” Jester asked, before Jewel could bring the meeting to a start. Since he’d asked what was probably the most pressing question in everyone’s mind, she didn’t speak; she looked, instead, to Angel.

  Angel, predictably, shrugged. “It was time,” he said, as if his hair had not been his defining characteristic for as long as they’d known him. “It was a gesture of respect for my father.” He started to say more, stopped, and signed, I’m done.

  It was understood, among the den. You shared what you wanted to share. You shared what you could. When you couldn’t, people mostly left you alone. And some days, that was hard.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t called kitchen in the last few weeks,” Jewel said. “Because if I’d been living here, I would have. None of you would have gotten any sleep.”

  Teller hesitated.

  “You don’t need to write it down,” she told him. “I close my eyes and I can see it. I’m not going to forget—and if I did, I wouldn’t want reminders.

  “You all know—you’ve always known—that I’m talent-born. I’m seer-born. It’s been useful, sometimes. I don’t know if you remember Evayne, but she’s seer-born as well. And she can look and see what she needs to see. I think. I’ve never asked her directly.

  “What I did in the grounds—with the trees, what I did in Avantari and here, for the terrace, it’s part of that somehow. I don’t understand how, or why. Changing the shape of a garden or a palace doesn’t seem to have much to do with random glimpses of the future.

  “So is the library—or what the library became. The sleeping sickness wasn’t my fault, but I woke the afflicted.” She hesitated again, and then said, “Those sleepers aren’t the only ones we have to worry about. In any real sense, we didn’t have to worry about them at all.”

  “They would have died,” Adam said quietly.

  “Yes. And we saved them. But asleep they wouldn’t kill. And awakened, they couldn’t destroy a city. You all know the phrase ‘When the Sleepers wake,’ right?”

  Nods, one or two murmurs. Silence that held understanding.

  “Yes. Those Sleepers. They’re here. They’re here, beneath Moorelas’ Sanctum. The gods worked to put them to sleep—to force them to sleep—until some unspecified appointed hour. No, I don’t know what that hour is. I just know that they sleep.

  “We’ve all assumed that the demons—that the god—avoids the Empire because of the Twin Kings and the magi and the makers. We’ve assumed that we’re somehow a threat to the god and his demons. He’ll send them in ones and twos, but he’s never come down here with an army—and we know he can field one.

  “The Kings’ armies faced such an army in the South. So, that part’s not guesswork. But we felt confident that he wouldn’t bring them here. And we were right—but not for the right reasons. He doesn’t want the Sleepers to wake.

  “And bringing a large army of demons to the city might be the thing that wakes them. I think the god doesn’t care about us. He cares about them.”

>   “What are they?” Finch asked quietly.

  “The most powerful servants of the Winter Queen. The most powerful hunters of the Wild Hunt. They don’t care about us, and we’re living on top of them. Meralonne thinks it likely that they’ll take our existence as an affront, and they’ll destroy us for the presumption of playing in their bedchamber, so to speak, while they slept.

  “And they will.”

  They all watched Jewel now, arrested. She swallowed and nodded. “Three dreams,” she said quietly. “Three long, horrible dreams.” She looked at their familiar, living faces as if they were anchors that could hold her in place while the storm raged around her. And they were. They always had been.

  “They’re beautiful,” she whispered, staring into the lamp’s fire. “Beautiful, flawless, and entirely without mercy. We’re like rats. No, we’re like cockroaches. It’s that bad. Nothing the god-born can say will matter. Nothing anyone can say will matter.”

  “How do we stop them from waking?”

  She hesitated again. “Right now? Kill me.” She exhaled. “But that only works for now. It doesn’t work soon. I don’t know why. They take orders from one person, and one alone. Ariane. The Winter Queen. But had they obeyed her orders, they would never have been imprisoned in their long sleep. They’re wild. They can’t be fully tamed.

  “And these are not their lands.”

  Teller said, “You can do something.”

  She closed her eyes. “Yes.”

  “Jay?”

  She rose. She rose and walked away from the table, to pace at its head, her hands behind her back, her head bent. She hated fear, but she had not lied to Haval: she was always afraid. As long as fear didn’t stop her from moving forward, she accepted it. “What I did to the manse, I might be able to do to the city. But if I don’t learn how, I’ll destroy it. I won’t mean to destroy it,” she whispered. “But—I’ll be like a god. I’ll be able to do anything I want. Do you know how I changed the palace?” She stopped and turned to face them. “I told the earth to clean up after itself before it left.

  “Just that. I didn’t tell the earth what to build, or how. I didn’t tell the earth to wake the wild stone that was part of Avantari’s foundation. I told it to clean up. No one was killed by the earth; the demons killed dozens.” She spread her hands out. “I don’t want to go that route. I don’t want it. I don’t know what I’ll be. I don’t even know who.”