And patience was his defining strength.
The mortal woman, Jewel ATerafin, was no less predictable than the Lord’s Fist; no less manipulable. To him. To the kinlords, she would be a mystery, for it was clear that she possessed some degree of power—and if, as it appeared, she counted the Warlord among her servants, that degree must be vast.
He smiled.
The meaning of power among mortals was delicate; it shifted and changed, impurities arising in the stretch of short years that caused it to be examined and defined over and over again.
She would preserve the child until the day of his return. Of that he was certain.
And what then?
He closed his eyes, and the earth closed its eyes; he rested in the darkness of death.
And then, across the miles that separated them, he felt a sudden shift in the landscape, a sharp, bitter pain.
His brow lifted in surprise, and although he could not speak, he turned to the North. To the North, to the Terrean of Averda, where she now resided, her companions so distant they were invisible to him.
Kiriel.
He smiled softly.
CHAPTER NINE
8th of Corvil, 427 AA
Terafin Manse, Averalaan Aramarelas
FINCH cringed as she stared at the flickering lamp. Although she was a member of House Terafin and, at that, a member of some standing, she had never forgotten the years she had spent in the streets of the twenty-fifth holding. Jay had occasionally found candles, and, preserved for either emergency or celebration, they would burn in the small rooms the den had squeezed into a lifetime ago. They had been luxuries; fire had been meant for warmth or food. The den had faced whole seasons where both were in jeopardy.
But frugality was no longer an acceptable choice; she had work for days in piles that had once been small and neat. At the moment, her concentration—such as it was—was absorbed by a simple letter. Letters always confounded her; they consigned her words to a type of permanence over which she had no control once the letter left her hands, and the act of composition made clear to her the poverty of her own expression. She struggled with each sentence, hating the powerful.
There was a gentle knock at the door, and because it had been preceded by silence, she knew it was Teller or Ellerson on the other side. She rose quietly, accepting any excuse to set quill aside, and opened the door.
She was surprised to see Devon ATerafin in the shadowed halls. “Devon?”
“Finch,” he said, bowing, the gesture completely unnecessary. “May I?”
She moved out of the way instantly.
“My apologies for disturbing you.”
She shook her head, gazing ruefully at her work. “To be honest, I’m sort of looking for any excuse not to have to work. Uh, any excuse that doesn’t involve death, dismemberment, or more work.”
He laughed. The sound was rich and deep, entirely out of place in the confines of her chosen office. She did not entertain people. Not here.
“Now,” he said, stepping into the room, “You sound like a member of the Imperial Trade Commission. You’ve grown into your rank.”
At the mention of rank, her shoulders slumped. “I’ll never grow into my rank,” she told him.
“If you wait for the magical moment at which you feel that all work is inconsequential, and all labor is easy, you’ll wait a long time. In House Terafin, the work itself is a sign of the confidence of its governing body.”
She cringed. “You heard.”
His hesitation was visible, and of all reactions, the most telling. “Yes,” he said at last, “I have. You and Teller are to join the Terafin House Council when it convenes on the morrow.”
She bit her lip. “If you’ve heard, everyone’s heard.” And was rewarded by the startling lift of a dark brow.
“Perhaps. I was informed by The Terafin.”
“W–why? She told us that we were to tell no one but our guards—well, and each other—until we arrive at the Council meeting itself.”
His silence was unsettling.
“What else has she told you?”
Supple shrug of shoulder. Telling shrug.
“You know.”
“Yes,” he told her quietly. “I know. But . . .”
“But?”
“It was Jewel who chose to inform me. The Terafin’s wishes have not yet been made known.”
“When? When did she tell you?”
“Before she left.”
Finch bit her lip. It was a habit that she had worked very hard to lose, and although she had had some success, it returned at awkward moments.
“You know we’re being watched.”
“Of course.”
“Then you know that everyone will know you’ve come to visit.”
He nodded again. “But you are not the only member of the House that I have visited this eve; I have spoken to all of the House Council.”
“Why?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
He laughed again. “You are not politic yet. Very well. There are matters of import to the House which might affect the Kings.”
The night grew colder. “He sent you?”
“Not per se. But I am here with Duvari’s consent, yes.”
“Why?”
He hesitated for another moment. “This issue is unlikely to be raised in the open, and it is of import that it remain hidden.”
She nodded.
“The Terafin’s mage discovered a demon among the House staff.”
Her eyes rounded, her lips fell open. “But—but he said that things were in order. Before he left. For the South.”
“Please do not take this the wrong way, but we’re aware of what was said. Understand that this is not the first time that a demon has been found in The Terafin’s presence.”
“I . . . know.” She closed her eyes. All of her darkest memories were waking in the face of the man who stood before her.
“Indeed,” he said softly. “You, and your den, know a great deal about the kin.”
“No. We don’t. We just—”
“You know enough. Do you understand the significance of its presence here?”
She shook her head.
“Think a moment.”
Think. She bit her lip again, kneading it between her teeth. “You think that the kin are involved in the . . . succession race.”
“Very good.”
“But that means—”
“Yes. It does.” He walked across the room and took the chair closest to the desk, sitting in it. Seated, he robbed himself of the advantage of height—but not by much; Finch had never been tall. Would never be tall. The legacy of an early life in the hundred holdings.
“The kin attempted to kill The Terafin years ago. They attempted to kill Jewel ATerafin months ago. It is possible—just—that the latter attempt was solely of relevance to the war in the South; the demons came to the Hall of the Kings when the Kings themselves presided over The Ten in regard to the question of the hostages. But the former attempt stands on its own.”
She nodded.
“It is considered possible that the attempts were unrelated, but we believe that they were part of a larger war. It is for that reason—and that alone—that the armies were sent to the South.”
Finch nodded again. She understood what the significance of loss in that war meant: She had lived through the Henden of the demon voices, and she would never, ever forget it.
“It is not in the interests of the Kings to play favorites among the candidates a House fosters for its succession,” he told her quietly. “Nor is it in the interests of the Empire. How much of the history of The Ten do you know?”
She shrugged. “As much as anyone does.”
“Tell me.”
“The Lady Veralaan was the sole surviving child of the ruler of the Empire. Her brothers had killed each other, somehow, and her father was dead. The Blood Barons thought to gain her hand in marriage, and with it, the Empire. Bu
t her father had given her into the keeping of the Mother, and in the halls of the temple, she had been trained as a priestess. So she knew what that marriage would mean for the people who weren’t born to power.”
“Go on.”
“She prayed. She asked for help. And the Mother interceded, summoning her into the Between, where she met the Lords of Wisdom and Justice. Time passes differently there, and she stayed with them. In the Between, the Twin Kings were born to Veralaan, the heir to the Imperial throne.”
“Indeed.”
“Although she was gone a few days—or a few months, the story isn’t always the same here—when she returned, the sons she bore were of age. They were presented to the assemblage of the patriarchs, the scions of the Blood Barons. She abdicated her throne to her sons.”
He nodded.
“The Blood Barons weren’t really thrilled. But the people were. Veralaan’s sons, Cormalyn and Reymalyn the first, made it clear that they were willing to wage a war for control of the Empire which was theirs by right of birth. They traveled the Empire, and survived many attempts on their lives, seeking the support of the nobility in their war. In the end, ten of the most powerful of the families who governed the Empire chose to lend them their support. The Ten,” she added softly, “who rule now. They came from the West, and the East, from the North and the South, and they came bearing arms, at the head of small armies, to lay their swords at the feet of the god-born.
“The Kings accepted their pledges of allegiance.”
He nodded, his eyes never leaving her face. He didn’t seem to blink at all; his eyes were luminescent in lamplight, in darkness.
“We celebrate those vows every year,” she told him quietly.
“Indeed. In Henden, in the darkness, and in Veral, in the Spring. But understand that the offer of The Ten was not so simple an offer as the High Days make it out to be in story; that if it involved nobility of purpose—and it must have—it also involved the brokering of power.
“The Kings accepted conditions to the rule of The Ten when it accepted their pledges. The Ten were to be first among equals in the new world; they were to have their seats of power within the grounds of Avantari; they were to be left to their own devices in ‘internal affairs.’ In essence, the Kings were to allow them rule of their own. The laws that bind the Ten and the laws that bind the rest of the Empire are somewhat different.
“It is not, as you might guess, to Duvari’s liking.”
“Nothing is.”
He smiled. She had forgotten, until then, how handsome he was. Finch, like Jay, distrusted handsome men. “The oaths that were made to The Ten were binding. They are recorded, even if they are not examined often. In a House War, the Kings’ hands are tied by those pledges; they will not intervene unless the war itself is of such a magnitude that it encompasses those who are not allied with the Houses.”
She nodded.
“If The Terafin chooses to kill you,” he said evenly, “and you are incapable of defending yourself, the law will not intervene on your behalf.”
She nodded again.
“And if a member of the House chooses the same course,” he continued, “the same law applies.”
“But—”
“There is no but.”
“But—”
He smiled. “There is a reason that the death of Alea, among others, was not reported to the magisterial guards.”
“But there have been cases, in House history, where members of the House have been turned over to the magisterial. Uh, the magisterial guards, I mean.”
“Indeed. On all occasions in which the crime committed has been committed outside of the jurisprudence of the House. If a House member murders an outsider, or commits an act of treason, the House member forgoes the protection of the House. This, too, is written in the covenant between The Ten and the Kings. But in cases in which the wrongdoing is entirely internal, justice is an internal affair.
“The Terafin, in order to ask for Royal intervention, would have to cede to the Kings what has never been ceded in the History of the House: her sovereignty. I understand that you grew up within the warrens of the hundred holdings; that the force of law does not therefore seem sacrosanct to you. You have lived with the limitations of men, not the rule of the law, for the whole of your life. But the theory of your life in the holdings and your life here are different.”
“Does it matter? It’s all just words.”
“It matters,” he said softly. “We believe that the first would-be assassin did not intend to make the death of The Terafin obvious; that he in fact intended the opposite: To replace her, to assume her form and her role.”
“If that had happened, the Kings would—”
“The Kings,” he said softly, “would rely solely upon the Astari.”
“The Astari? I . . . I don’t understand.”
“I know,” he told her gently. “It is why I came this eve. I thought it might be preferable to a visit from Duvari.”
She nodded.
“Had the control of the House devolved in such a fashion, the Kings would rely upon Duvari and the men and women who serve him. They would rely upon shadows, Finch; upon a war waged in those shadows. In order to move openly against the House itself, they would have required proof of a type that would be hard to obtain, if not impossible, without the direct consent of the other Nine.”
“But surely The Nine—”
“No. That is what you must see, and see clearly. The Nine would know, when approached by the Kings, that by granting them this tacit permission they would be endangering their own power in the future. Even if the House itself were aligned with the worst of our enemies, they would turn a blind eye until it was impossible to do otherwise. If the City itself were under siege, if the armies of the enemy were at the gates, the Kings would have their full cooperation.
“But until then, they would insist that the matter reside within the power of the Houses, by the laws written at the beginning of the Kings’ reign, centuries ago.”
She absorbed this quietly. After a moment, she said, “But if the Astari moved against the House, The Nine would know.”
“Indeed. They would know. But unless they were forced to acknowledge it, by some clumsiness on our part or some threat on the part of the creature who ruled Terafin in human guise, they would turn a blind eye. They understand the necessity of such a delicate operation.
“It is clear that our enemies have some understanding of this condition. Clear, at least to Duvari, that they intend to manipulate such conditions to their full extent.”
“But why our House?”
“Why indeed?”
“You don’t think it’s only House Terafin.”
He said nothing. She realized that he would continue to say nothing.
“Devon, why are you telling me this?”
“Because I think it is something that you have failed to understand.”
“Why is it necessary that I understand it?”
“You are a member of the House Council,” he replied grimly.
“You don’t approve.”
“The choice was not mine to make. And although it may seem strange to you, Finch, under other circumstances, I would do more than approve. I have some understanding of the den, and I trust it entirely. You have been tested in ways that most people—with luck—will never be tested, and you have passed those tests, and survived.”
“But it’s not ‘other circumstances.’”
“No,” he conceded.
“And in these ones?”
“I think she risks your lives needlessly.”
Finch grimaced. It was a prettified version of what she herself thought. “We have to trust her,” she said quietly.
“Yes. You do. But it is not lack of faith in The Terafin that prompts my visit. While she presides over Terafin, there is no question of her loyalty.”
“It’s the others.”
“It is, as you put it so quaintly, the others.”
&n
bsp; “Does Duvari trust Jewel?”
Devon considered his words with care. Finch, who had learned only late in the game to do the same, envied him his poise. “Duvari considers the attack upon Jewel ATerafin to have been a genuine attempt upon her life.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” he said, giving up, “that he trusts her because our enemies clearly want her out of the way.”
“You told him.”
Devon did not reply, not directly. But he continued to speak. “He is willing to support her rule, if it comes to that.”
“The others?”
“Are being investigated. Understand that that investigation is hampered; it does not, in theory, exist.”
Finch nodded, because she did understand it.
“Understand that we, too, watch.”
“Watch?”
“The others,” he said quietly. “And the den.”
“I won’t spy for you, if Jay won’t.”
He nodded. “I know.” Rose. “And I would not ask it. Not directly.”
“Indirectly?”
“Indirectly, I ask that when you take your guards with you to the House Council meetings, you accept one of my choosing.”
“The House Guards are chosen by The Terafin.”
“Yes,” he said softly, “and no. She will accede to your wishes if they are clearly stated; she has done so with each member of the House Council. This is not House Kalakar; the House Guards are not, by virtue of their position, accorded the House name. They earn it, or they fail to earn it.”
“Does she know you’re here?”
“What do you think, Finch?”
Finch grimaced. “She knows.”
“Very good.”
“Who is this guard?”
“An associate of mine.”
The words were met by silence. She absorbed them, turned them over, understood that, unlike the letters she struggled with, they would never be consigned to anything as permanent as paper. “I’d have to meet him. Or her.”
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