Battle: The House War: Book Five (19 page)

“Impossible.” The humor drained from his face in an instant.

“He will, of course, make clear that his presence is entirely in service of the Kings and their investigation into a demon that managed to destroy Priests through the barrier of their god-born magic. I will, of course, block him in that regard—but if he chooses, he can be difficult. During normal circumstances, I would ignore the difficulty; at this time, I am unwilling to spend his wrath needlessly. I have no doubt that there will be cause to do so in the near future.”

His nod was reluctant, his eyes narrower than they had been. “What news of the magi, then?”

“It is a trifle,” she replied, “and as such not grounds to call Council—but the Terafin House Mage will serve the remainder of his contract with the House at no cost to the House coffers.”

His eyes rounded briefly before they returned to their normal shape. “What do you hold over the Order of Knowledge that you could gain that concession?”

She merely smiled and rose. “I thank you for your information,” she told him gravely. “And I hope that in future, the vote of confidence you have withheld will be offered me, and the previous abstention struck from the records.”

Only after she closed the door on his back did she return to the desk to look at what he had offered her. It was not—entirely—what she had assumed it would be.

“Well?” Avandar asked, raising a brow at her frown. “It concerns Gabriel, does it not?”

“Yes,” Jewel replied. “But it is not—as I expected—an accusation of malfeasance on Gabriel’s part; it is an accusation of sentimentality and willful blindness.”

“This would not qualify as information on the part of any Council member.”

“No.”

“What information, then?”

“The woman did not work alone.”

Avandar came to stand by her side. “How does Haerrad claim to know that?”

“It seems his shock at the lack of fee on the part of the Order of Knowledge is not mere dramatics; he hired one unnamed mage in his pursuit of the ‘suspicious’ activities of Rymark ATerafin. In the course of that investigation, his investigator uncovered the assassin in question, although he claims not to have understood her significance until well after the fact of her death.”

“Convenient.”

“Far too convenient,” she replied with a grimace. “What’s interesting is this: Rymark met with an investor in the High Market—at the Placid Sea. He used an audible conversation stone for the duration of their meal.”

“Did the mage attempt to listen in?”

She shook her head. “Rymark has always been careful. He would have noticed. There’s no record of the contents of the conversation, and the investigative details were split at that point. One man followed Rymark’s guest, and one continued to tail Rymark. It was the guest that proved fruitful, in the end, and it was the guest who met with his ‘sister’ after the meeting. The sister in question matches the description of our assassin, except for the color of her hair.”

“Hair is simple camouflage.”

“It is. But an eyewitness report based on description, and compared with a description of a corpse? Haerrad is certain—or his source is—that the woman in question was the same one. Why?”

“It is possible that either Haerrad or the investigator recognized the man who clearly handed off the assignment.”

“Yes, that would be my guess as well. He does mention the possibility of a large withdrawal from Gabriel’s account, but not conclusively.” Although it was not information that led her to draw any conclusion she had not already drawn, it was useful in one way. Haerrad, who publicly disdained the magi, clearly had reliable connections within the Order itself.

* * *

When Jarven ATerafin returned to his rooms within the manse, he had a guest. She was not waiting in the hall; she was seated in the parlor; nor did she rise when he entered. Instead, she watched him with care. His clothing was in slight disarray; Jarven had not been one of the members of House Terafin who had made their hasty retreat from the Common to the manse. If he liked to play at age—and he did, when it suited him—he was not a young man by any stretch of the imagination.

“Have you just returned?” she asked him quietly.

“Finch,” he replied, smiling. He offered her a bow. “I must be addled; I was certain I had locked those doors on my way out.”

“You’re still certain,” she replied, her smile both present and reluctant.

“So I am. I admit I am slightly surprised to see you here.”

She lifted a brow.

“That is the absolute truth, my dear. You are honestly far too embroiled with Lucille if you can doubt that—and doubt it so frankly.”

“I suppose it’s the first time I’ve broken into your rooms.”

“I hope it’s the first time you’ve broken into
anyone’s
rooms; it would be considered completely inappropriate behavior for a member of the House Council—and risky behavior for a member of your age and relative seniority. I trust there is a reason for it, other than to test the deplorable security of these locks?”

“There is. I want to know why you approached Haval with information about Gabriel ATerafin. I considered asking Lucille, but thought that should be my last line of offense, not my first.”

“Ah. So you are not yet angry.”

“I’m not angry, no. Worried. Concerned. Curious in an uneasy way. I’ll reserve anger for later use.”

“If you are asking why I did not approach you, I had my reasons.”

“I have no doubt of that—but I would like to know what they were.” She folded her arms across her chest, tilting her chin up as if she were Lucille behind the bastion of her desk.

“Because I had the information. I am fond of you, Finch, but the information, given to you, would be of little value.”

“It would reach Jewel.”

“Ah.” He crossed the parlor and opened a small cabinet. “I have had a rather tiring afternoon—and an unexpectedly exciting one—and I am about to indulge in a drink that is not tea. Will you join me?” He pulled out one glass. “I will take that wrinkled nose as a no.”

“I will keep you company while you drink,” she offered.

“Good. You can perhaps explain what occurred in the Common since you will not be otherwise occupied.”

“Explain? You were there, Jarven. You saw what we all saw.”

“I am certain I saw more than you saw,” was his friendly reply. He took a small table, dragged it across the very fine rug, and deposited his squat, round glass in its center. He then went back for a chair. “But it is possible that your understanding of what you did notice was deeper than my own. I would therefore be quite interested in hearing your version of events.”

“Haval first,” she told him.

“Finch, you wound me. I am all but exhausted.”

She rose then, and fetched a footstool from the corner of the room farthest from the door. This, she carried—although it was much heavier than it looked. She placed it firmly in front of Jarven’s feet, and then resumed her own seat.

“You are not in a terribly charitable mood, I see. Then again, you almost never are, where that girl is concerned.”

“Where The Terafin is concerned,” she said, correcting him.

“My dear, if I answer your questions, Haval will be ill-pleased.”

“Haval is already ill-pleased.”

“Oh?”

“You asked for the House Council seat. Whatever else exists between you, that was no part of his plan.”

“And you are so certain it is part of mine?”

“Tell me it’s not.”

“It is not.”

“Liar.”

He chuckled, lifted his glass, and held it to the light. It was magelight. “Do you understand why I maintain my position in the Merchant Authority?”

“Lucille would kill you if you quit.”

He laughed. “I assure you that is not the case. She will not see me forced out—and she would indeed threaten acts of dire violence against any she perceived had that intent. But if I retired, do you not think she would be relieved?”

Finch considered the question with care; it was a serious question, even laced as it was with his laughter. Lucille held Jarven in the highest respect; she valued the service he had offered the House, and she spoke—when she was tired or unguarded—of his feats of brilliance in the Merchant Authority. But she very seldom turned to Jarven for either advice or guidance; Finch did.

Finch did far more often. “It’s possible,” she finally said. “Why do you think you retain your position?”

“Because it suits me, Finch. I am disarming. I am an old man whose days of glory are far, far behind me. I forget things easily. I lose track of complicated numbers.”

Her eyes had narrowed with each short sentence; they were almost closed by the time he lifted his glass again. “You know Lucille hates it when you do that. And you do it almost all the time, these days.”

“I do, indeed. I am somewhat more fragile than I was when you were first introduced to my office—and you, my dear, are much less so.”

“You didn’t get the information about Gabriel’s accounts by being a doddering, witless man.”

“Ah, Finch—but I
did
.” He drank, studying her through the glass.

In truth, she wasn’t afraid of this man. She had never truly been afraid of him. Was he powerful? Yes. Demonstrably. But it was a subtle power, and he leavened it with a sense of humor and a very real sense of sentiment.

“I kept the Merchant Authority because, for years, Finch, the heart of the House activities passed through my office and beneath my eyes. Accounts tell a tale of power, abuse, and grand plots if you know how to read the numbers; they always have. The world—perhaps especially the parts of it that meet with your disapproval—requires money. But in truth, Amarais’ reign was so stable until the end that there was very little treachery. Not none, of course.”

“You didn’t report it.”

“I did not wish The Terafin to be as bored as I was.”

“The Council seat?”

“Can you not guess?”

She thought Lucille might be tempted to strangle Jarven at this point.

“You have grown so careful, Finch.” He set his glass down, glanced up at her, and watched as she sighed and moved to refill it. “So very careful. You give me so little information; I have to watch you like a hawk. I miss the days when you relied on my advice.”

She was, however, thinking. About Jarven, about what she knew of him, about the Merchant Authority offices behind the Terafin crest. About the House Council. And, yes, about Jay. About the funeral, and everything that had happened since.

“The Merchant Authority is no longer the central hub of treachery and deception,” she finally said.

His brows rose; his smile was almost beatific, it was so content. “Indeed. You see my problem.”

“I see
a
problem.”

“The demon in the Common was there for Jewel. The army assumed it meant to assassinate the Kings and the Exalted—the god-born.”

She didn’t deny it.

“I know that demons interact with us; I know that
we
desire power, and power is often money. But in the case of the magi, it is not. In the case of the demons, stripped of dependence on mortals, money becomes strangely irrelevant. It is not
satisfying
, Finch. Yes, there are movements, within the Authority and at the Port. Haerrad is not yet finished, although he now bides his time. Jewel has proven her ability to survive in the face of enemies that would almost certainly have killed any other member of this House.

“But Elonne and Marrick have pulled in their teeth. It is my feeling that they were both deeply impressed by the events in the Terafin grounds—and by the trees that still tower there, after the fact of it. But they do not yet understand the scope of the difficulty.”

“And you do?”

“No, not yet. But to fully do so, I must have access to the House Council, because it is in the House Council that I will have access to your Jay. I will have access,” he continued, lifting and studying the bottom of a glass that was noticeably emptier, “to the reports of the magi, the demands of the Exalted, and even the annoyance caused by Duvari and his pack of trained dogs. I will see for myself what now moves the House—and what now moves,” he added, his voice dropping, “the Empire.” He lifted the glass in her direction. “So you understand, Finch, why I want the seat.”

She did. She understood it in exactly the way one understands the pit that has opened up beneath one’s feet during an earthquake. Jarven wanted this. Watching him, watching him watch
her
, she understood that she had never truly seen him want anything before. She had worked with him for half her life, albeit more as a page than an equal for the early years—if she was even an equal now—and she had never seen the expression that transformed his aged face.

She wondered what Lucille would think, in her position. She knew Haval didn’t trust Jarven, which didn’t bother her. She knew Jay didn’t either, which did. But she felt that she could trust this man. Maybe it was naive. Maybe she had learned to trust him because there was no conflict in what they desired. Finch wanted the safety of her den, and her den’s leader; she wanted the health of House Terafin; she wanted a home, and as starving children often squirrel away whatever food they can get their hands on, she had made more than one: in the West Wing, in the Merchant Authority, among the Chosen that Torvan trusted.