Battle: The House War: Book Five

by Michelle West

  “Why?” Jewel asked, staring. “Why me?”

  “The trees exist in their season,” Kallandras replied. “They are wed to it, bound to it. Evayne can carry coin and weapon across the divide of years—but she cannot carry this tree outside of its season. She has tried. She meant to keep and protect it, but she cannot tread time’s path while she holds it safe.

  “She attempted to carry it to the Hidden Court—but the way was barred; she could find no entrance, and no purchase upon the path that must lead to its heart. You have, at your side, a Lord of that court. Celleriant?”

  Celleriant slowly came back to life. “No,” he said. “I cannot return. Nor can Illaraphaniel.”

  “Evayne felt that The Terafin could,” Kallandras said. “And you are tasked with the safety of what that box contains. If its existence is known—”

  Jewel lifted a hand. She placed the lid firmly over the box. “I could keep it safe in the manse against all intruders,” she said. “But only while I remained here. And I can’t.”

  Celleriant, however, said: “You can carry it to the Hidden Court.”

  “If you can’t go—if Meralonne can’t—”

  “I serve you, and Illaraphaniel—”

  “Cannot return unless he is summoned, and he will never be summoned,” the mage said, finally finding his voice.

  “Your brother, Celleriant. Your hunters. Call them—”

  “You do not understand, Lord. They ride, now. They search. They cannot return to her side unless—and until—there is Summer. The doors to the Hidden Court open but once until the turn of the seasons; they have chosen to ride. But you bear part of the White Lady upon your person. You at least might force entry—but only because of her gift.”

  Jewel frowned. “If it was as simple as three bloody strands of hair, why wouldn’t she just make sure they all had them?”

  Lord Celleriant stiffened. He served Jewel—which Kallandras found almost shocking. Such service had clearly not lessened the regard in which he held the Winter Queen. “It is not, as you imply, so simple.”

  Kallandras said, quietly, “Of what does Lord Celleriant speak?”

  Jewel lifted her wrist. To Kallandras’ eye, the wrist was bare, covered in part by the fabric of sleeve, no more. “Three strands of the Winter Queen’s hair.”

  Meralonne was silent for a long moment. “Evayne and the White Lady share a parent: the father. She knew, Terafin. You hold some small part of her power around your wrist; until you die, it will not be parted from you. It cannot be transferred; it is hers. But it is also yours. Lord Celleriant is correct; while you carry what you carry, there is some small chance you will find a way into the courts that are lost to those who do not remain in their smallness by her side.

  “I would travel with you, now.”

  Jewel shook her head. “You know why I need you here.”

  “The needs of your House are irrelevant.”

  “No, Meralonne, they’re not. I need you here. If you’re afraid of what happens to the box—you can keep it with you.” She held it out.

  “Do not play games—”

  “I’m not. I’ll take it with me if you remain; I’ll leave it here if you follow. Those are the only choices you have.”

  “Illaraphaniel,” Celleriant said.

  Meralonne drew his sword. Jewel stared at him as if he were a particularly stupid merchant. “If you mean to threaten me—don’t. Just don’t. If you mean to threaten anyone else in this room because you know you can’t kill me, really, really reconsider. I understand what’s at stake for both of us.”

  “You will go to the Hidden Court first.”

  “I will not—I have no idea where the Hidden Court is. It’s called hidden for a reason. I will go to the Oracle.”

  “Illaraphaniel,” Celleriant said again.

  Meralonne ignored him. “Do you understand what happens if that box is lost or its contents destroyed?”

  “Yes. There will be no Summer Court and no Summer Queen—and if there is no Summer Queen there is almost nothing that can take and hold the field against Allasakar. I understand what’s at stake. But it is not the only thing at stake for me. I want you here.”

  “Illaraphaniel.”

  Meralonne turned his head as Celleriant at last drew his sword. “Ask the master bard what he hears in her voice. Ask. She will not be moved. If you threaten her, she will accept it; if you seek to threaten those in her care, she will not. She will not kill you, if that is even within her power, but the battle will reverberate throughout the hidden world; it will pierce the dreams of the Sleepers.

  “I will accompany her. She will ride the Winter King. If she needs to eat and sleep, the cats do not. Your presence in the world that waits will not go unnoticed; you risk everything if you are forced to reveal yourself before it is time.”

  “And your presence?”

  “I am the youngest Prince of the Court, and I was never your equal. But I will fight you here, if that is what you demand. She is seer-born. She is certain. Consider what that means. You have seen the Winter Queen’s gift. You understand its significance. Respect the Winter Queen’s choice.”

  Meralonne was still; not even the wind touched him.

  “Illaraphaniel,” Celleriant continued, voice low, “I would have felt as you felt. Before I encountered the mortal I now willingly choose to serve, I would stand as you stand. But I have traveled with mortals, now. I have seen the glimmering of the ancient and wild in those travels. They have not turned from it; they have not fled.

  “I have fought at the side of Kallandras of Senniel. I have fought at the side of The Terafin, as she styles herself among her kind. Are mortals frail? Yes. But against a Duke of the Hells, this mortal stood; she did not fall.”

  “Nor did he,” was the grudging reply. “And you know why she did not; she was here, in the heart of the domain she had made her own.”

  “I would not serve her now if she had not been able to hold the road in the Stone Deepings against the Wild Hunt.” Celleriant’s voice was low, intent. His sword, as Meralonne’s, had not wavered. “But she held the road. And she would have continued to hold it until Scarran had passed.

  “She could not hold it indefinitely against the Winter Queen—but Illaraphaniel, neither you nor I could have held it at all. Yes, she is mortal. Yes, as mortals are, she is beset by frailty and a brief, brief span of years: but she burns, as mortals do, within that short span.

  “You know that the bindings of the Covenant have been fractured. You know that the ancient is leaking, slowly, into mortal realms. You know what that must mean; you have lived among mortals far, far longer than I. If my Lord says she will hold this gift safe, if she says she will deliver it to where it must, after so long, be planted, I believe it.” He closed his eyes, then, and the sword vanished.

  “And if the Winter Queen had chosen to trust Moorelas and his sword, your brothers would not now sleep the long sleep. You understand the folly of their choice; you did not make it, although you might have chosen as they chose.

  “Was the cost and the consequence of that ancient choice greater, in the end, than the possible consequence of this one? You were the pride of the Arianni. Even in exile, your name is carried by the wind; the earth remembers your passage above it, and the water, your calm. Of the four, you were the only one to hold true to the White Lady.

  “I ask you: hold true now.”

  Meralonne closed his eyes. “You are so young,” he said, as he opened them and his sword vanished. His smile was one that Jewel had never seen adorn his lips before. “You have been in the company of mortals for so short a time, Celleriant. You do not understand their history.”

  “Nor have I need. Viandaran was young when I was young, and he walks among us.” He turned to look at Kallandras, who had not moved once during this exchange. He started to speak, but stopped; no words left his mouth.

  Meralonne’s smile faded. He lifted chin and looked at a point beyond Celleriant’s shoulder. �
��You did not see—or war against—the Cities of Man in that youth; you did not walk their streets or fly above their peaked heights.”

  “No.”

  The mage closed his silver, bright eyes. “I will abide, in exile, as I have chosen. When you reach the doors of the Hidden Court, give the Lady my greetings.” He turned stiffly and walked away—into the depths of the library not even The Terafin had yet explored.

  * * *

  In the morning, in a silence that was heavy with words that her den had no way to speak, Jewel Markess ATerafin, The Terafin, left the home which was, in all ways, her foundation, and headed toward Avantari to meet the Oracle.

  I am worried, Evayne had said. She let the fear seep into her words; in no other way did she emphasize them. Jewel is not what I was. Watch her, Kallandras. Guide her where she will accept guidance. There are too many bad choices she can make, and very, very few good.

  She is seer-born, Evayne.

  Yes. But love is no part of that, and love clouds vision. Sometimes we turn away from the truths we don’t want to face when the alternative is too harsh.

  He said nothing, then—or now. He understood the burdens love placed upon those who loved. He understood, as well, that absent an army and the generals familiar with the demands of battle, Jewel now rode to war.

  It was not her own war that concerned her; he saw this clearly. She left her den to do battle in her absence. He hoped, for her sake, they were capable enough to wage, and win, that war.

  The Finest in Fantasy From

  MICHELLE WEST:

  The House War:

  The Hidden City (Book One)

  City Of Night (Book Two)

  House Name (Book Three)

  Skirmish (Book Four)

  Battle (Book Five)

  War (Book Six)*

  The Sun Sword:

  The Broken Crown (Book One)

  The Uncrowned King (Book Two)

  The Shining Court (Book Three)

  Sea Of Sorrows (Book Four)

  The Riven Shield (Book Five)

  The Sun Sword (Book Six)

  The Sacred Hunt:

  Hunter’s Oath (Book One)

  Hunter’s Death (Book Two)

  * Coming Soon From DAW