Battle: The House War: Book Five (33 page)

Jewel nodded, but felt compelled to add, “It’s hard to remember, when they’re talking. Shadow almost killed me—there’s no way to salvage what I was wearing, there’s so much damn blood—”

“You are remarkably whole for someone who came close to death in that fashion.”

“I had a healer.”

“Adam.”

Jewel nodded, stiffening.

“He will not be with you for very long, unless there is a disaster.” Evayne closed her eyes. “And I have wandered. I did not speak of your manse and your city when I asked if you understood the significance. The path is breaking; what moored it in the hidden wilderness is, as the Oracle predicted, finally crumbling.

“You have met the Warden, and you have met the cats—the cats, at least, I fear you could not avoid, given the nature of your forest—but they are the least of the difficulty that now comes.”

Shadow hissed. No, they all hissed, but Shadow was faster off the mark.

“And I become more limited in my travels as we approach the end of the time I have seen.” She closed her eyes for a long moment; the orb in her hand began to glow. At its center, clouds folded in on each other, looking a little like milk dropped into golden oil before it reaches the bottom of the glass. “You have gazed into this orb before—although both you and I have changed since then. Will you dare its depths again?”

Jewel shook her head. “I know what I’ll see.”

Evayne raised a brow. “What do you fear?”

The younger seer laughed. It was a quiet sound, broken in parts by both bitterness and genuine amusement as she met the violet eyes of the elder. “I think I fear your life.”

This caused the seer’s other brow to join the first one before both descended. She was not insulted, not offended. “There is perhaps much to fear in it, although by the time I had reached your age, I had fully accepted the choice I made as a youth.”

“As how old a youth?”

“I was, I think, a year older than you were when you first arrived at the gates of the Terafin manse.”

“I was sixteen.”

“Ah. Then perhaps I was your age. Exactly sixteen. I am not that girl now, but some part of her remains in me.”

Jewel nodded. She placed a palm against the surface of the table; it was cool to the touch, the way shade was cool at the height of midday. “You want me to talk to the Oracle.”

“I . . . have my disagreements with the Oracle, and no path that leads to the Oracle is pleasant; no path that leads to the Oracle is painless—if it can be survived at all. But I do not see how you will build what must be built and survive what must be survived unless you make that journey.”

“You can’t see that future?”

“Not easily, now. It is too close.”

“But you . . .”

“Yes.” Evayne smiled again. It was odd; Jewel found each smile surprising, as if the face it rested on seldom wore one. “Yes, I am sent from one century to another; I walk between your past, your present and your future as if time is a path on which I am trapped and forced to wander.

“I see death—almost always—and I remember it, and I work to prevent what
can
be prevented. That’s simple. It’s clean. It’s the deaths that can’t be prevented, the deaths that
must
occur, that are harder. I confess that I do not understand why I am here today. You are not yet ready to walk the Oracle’s path; if I am not mistaken, you will not even be able to find it, yet.

“You are not in danger, and were you, you have all of your escort.” She glanced at the table again, and this time, she paused. “Terafin.”

“Call me Jewel.”

“That is not what you have said in my past and your future.”

Jewel folded her hands together to prevent them from trembling. “No, probably not. You don’t tend to appear when things are either peaceful or happy. The previous Terafin wasn’t easily angered. I am. What I say in anger—”

“Or sorrow, or loss,” the seer said softly.

Thinking of Arann and what Lefty’s loss had done to him, she said, “Or sorrow, or loss.” Her fingers tightened in their loose clasp, as if she were praying. She suddenly knew that she could not be—or do—what Evayne a’Nolan had been and done. No flash of visceral insight followed; she didn’t know if Evayne’s choices were the right ones or the wrong ones. She only knew they were acts of desperation.

Evayne once again turned her attention to the table—or rather, to the books stacked in a careful pile in front of The Terafin’s chair. “Jewel,” she said, although it was clear the name did not come easily, “these books—do you recognize them?”

Jewel frowned. “I haven’t had a chance to inspect the library; both I and the library only just arrived here. But at least a shelf’s worth of books are the same.” A creeping anxiety made her turn to look over her shoulder at the shelves she had passed. “. . . I won’t know until I’m brave enough to summon the archivists. Why?”

“At least three of these texts are forbidden works.”

Jewel frowned. “Forbidden?” The frown opened into something rounder. “You mean, as in forbidden by the Order of Knowledge?”

“Yes. I thought them all destroyed,” she added.

“You’ve seen these books before.”

“Yes—but not in the current incarnation of this city.” She reached out and touched one page of the open book. Violet light, sharp and sudden, struck both book and reader, encircling them. “I see.”

“Evayne, are you—”

“I am unharmed. The book is unharmed.”

Jewel quickly approached Evayne’s side. This time, all three of the cats stayed put. They didn’t exactly move out of the way, but for the cats, they were positively well-behaved. Evayne withdrew her hand and the light faded—but it was slow to fade, and it left an afterimage, the way sun did if you looked at it for too long.

“What is this book?” Jewel asked, without touching it. She felt—of all things—resentful. No part of her believed that these books had been any part of the Terafin collection. The library had already been so transformed, the sight of a familiar
table
had brought her to the brink of tears.

Evayne didn’t reply; Jewel wasn’t certain that she had even heard the question. She was staring at a page that seemed to have been written by a man—or woman—in a hurry. The ink was faded but remained dark enough to read; the hand was a strong scrawl in places, but cramped, precise and tiny in others.

“Evayne?” Jewel reached out to touch the older woman’s arm to catch her attention; her palm froze an inch from a swath of midnight blue. Evayne’s eyes widened as folds of cloth began to rustle at her feet. Jewel quickly withdrew her hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“It is . . . not safe . . . to touch me if I am not prepared.”

“The robes?”

Evayne nodded.

“I could have used those, once.”

“In the streets of a different city,” was the quiet reply.

“In the streets of this one.” It was a declaration they both understood. “Is it safe?”

Evayne nodded and Jewel brushed past her, but only as far as the table’s edge. There, the book lay, two pages exposed, as if it were any other personal journal. There were dates, but she recognized neither the month nor the year; she knew them as dates because of the numbers and the placement—and the numbers, she
did
recognize.

“This looks like Torra.”

“Not to my eyes, although perhaps it is a variant of that tongue.”

Jewel reached for the book, stopped, and took the chair that she had avoided when she’d first approached the table. There, she sat, and there, she lifted her chin to gaze at the books and the length of the otherwise pristine and unoccupied stretch of gleaming, dark wood. When she reached for the tome, Shadow growled. It was a thing more felt than heard—and everyone heard it.

Remembering the flare of violet, she hesitated. Evayne, however, offered no warning.

“It won’t hurt
me
,” she finally told the large gray cat.

“Maybe it’s not
you
he’s worried about,” Snow suggested.

She ignored the comment—not always wise when it came to the cats—and reached for the book again. Nothing happened. Her hands were on either side of the book, beneath its oddly textured front and back covers, and there was no resultant light, no flash of magic, nothing. “Maybe it’s the chair?”

“Was the chair significant to you?”

“To me? No. But it’s where The Terafin sat when she worked at this table. This is where she did most of the work that didn’t require constant interruption and visitors.”

“That sounds like a yes, in this place.”

Jewel set the book down and stood. She then picked it up again; it was, in her hands, a book, no more. “Not the chair.”

“No. Can you read the book?”

Jewel closed the book first. The odd texture of the covers against her two palms didn’t change in any way, but a cursory examination of the cover made her eyes water. “Do you see it?” She asked Evayne.

“The book? Certainly.”

“The light. The magic.”

“Yes.”

“What
is
it?” She looked to Avandar for the first time since she’d laid eyes on the table in the center of this clearing.

“I do not see as you see, Terafin. I consider it unwise in the extreme to examine that book with magic, but if you wish an attempt made—”

“No,” Evayne said, before he could finish. “It is, as you say, unwise in the extreme.” But she looked at the cover of the book in silence for a long moment. “If you wish, Terafin, I can hold that book for you against future need.”

“You can’t touch it without—”

“I would not have to touch it again,” she replied. “My robes were made in the far, far past by an Artisan who . . . liked to travel, and was often forced to do so in less than ideal circumstances.”

“Is the book dangerous to me?”

“I cannot fully say. Will it harm you directly? No. I am almost certain it will not. But knowledge has oft been considered dangerous when it is unbalanced, and ancient knowledge is
never
balanced. The world that existed when you were born, and the world that existed thousands of years before it, are not the same.”

“Birth and death are.”

Evayne nodded. “And to those who lived thousands of years ago, their world
was
normal, and a room such as this might exist in manors and caves across the Isle.” She glanced at the amethyst sky. “Your permission, Terafin, to travel as I must through your lands?”

Shadow hissed before Jewel could answer. “Tell her
no
.”

Chapter Te
n

‘‘H
USH, YOU.”

He is not wrong, Jewel
, the Winter King said. As he spoke, he appeared, walking in a measured, graceful way between two rows of distant shelving, as if emerging from a forest.
Such permission should be granted only in emergency, and only at the direst of need even then.

Notably, none of her currently human attendants said a word. Jewel’s hands fell to hips, which they did when she was getting frustrated; it was her Oma’s most frequently adopted posture. “And you don’t consider the Lord of the Hells to
be
a dire emergency?”

I would consider him such were he to stand outside of your lands at the head of an army of
Kialli.

“We’d like to stop him from ever
reaching
that stage.”

Yes, understood.

“People are walking all over my lands as we speak; they’d certainly better be working in the manse in my absence.”

Those people you cannot compel. They exist outside of your realm; you may draw them in and trap them there should you desire it; you might contain them permanently. But they are mortal, and the mortals do not bend easily to the subtle magics and rules that bind these lands. The rules are written in a tongue that they cannot read, cannot hear, and could never, therefore, bring themselves to speak.

“Evayne is mortal.”

The Winter King turned his gaze upon Evayne; his eyes were round, large, dark—and for a moment, entirely unblinking. To her great surprise, she realized that the Winter King was angry. She glanced at Avandar, and found that he was staring at Evayne in a similar fashion.

“Viandaran,” Evayne said softly.

He said nothing.

“Tor Amanion.”

It was Jewel’s turn to stare, gaze riveted, at the Winter King. He raised his head, reminding everyone present of the tines that were now his only crown.

“I did not lie to you, when we met,” Evayne told him softly. “But at least in your case, I do not have to wonder what atrocity I will commit in future to earn your present hatred. You will serve a Lord who will stand, in the end, against the Lord of the Hells, as promised.”

“You knew him?” Jewel asked.

“No; that is far too broad a statement. But we have spoken, in the past, and we speak, briefly, now.” She left the table’s side and walked toward the Winter King, pausing less than two feet from his lifted face. What she said to him, Jewel couldn’t hear, and if she received a reply at all, that, too, was lost. But she turned her back upon the Winter King. Given the Winter King’s anger, Jewel wouldn’t have.

“Your permission, Terafin.”

Shadow stepped on Jewel’s foot. Jewel ground her teeth.

“She is
dangerous
,” the gray cat growled.

“So are
you
and you come and go as you bloody well please.”

“You could force them to leave,” Evayne said.

“How? They’re cats.”

“Yes, but they are your cats, at the moment—inasmuch as they are anyone’s. If you so chose, you could limit their movement in your lands; you could deny the Winter King; you could order Lord Celleriant into the heart of the wilderness. Without your permission, none could return.”

“The god-born?”

“No. And yes. You could force me from your roads if you so chose.”

“Because you’re a seer?”

“No. Because
my
father is on the plane, and was at my birth. They are not wrong in their advice; I am a danger, and a threat. Our goals, in a broad sense, overlap, as do our gifts and some of our skills. But there are choices I will make—and have made in the past—that you would never countenance in pursuit of those goals. There are battles and wars that I have seen—and participated in—that you have yet to witness, and if we are very, very lucky, might never occur at all. I have your gift, and you mine, but that is not all that separates us. There is no one, nothing, that I have not considered sacrificing in order to ensure the survival of Man.

“And that will not change, Terafin. Grant your permission, or no, I will do what I must.”

“You already know that I’ve granted you that permission.”

Evayne said nothing.

“You have to know, if you’ve seen my lands in the future, unless you haven’t been able to walk them. Why are you even here to ask at all?”

“Because permission, now, must be granted.”

“And you couldn’t have asked as a younger Evayne? You faced a
god
when you were ten years younger than I am now.”

“I do not choose the age at which I appear, Jewel. But had I been younger, had I dared to touch that book as I did today, it would have taken months to recover—if I could recover at all. The robes are not proof against injury, and my power at that age was so new I might have lit a fire in my own defense, no more.”

Is this how we change the future
? Jewel thought, watching Evayne in silence.
Is this a game that I want to play, given what’s at stake
?

“Terafin,” Avandar said. “You must come to a decision. If time does not pass in a recognizable way in the hidden realm, it passes—quickly—in this one; the Kings will need to know that you have once again resumed your duties; The Ten will likewise need to be informed.”

“Understood.” She hadn’t taken her eyes off Evayne’s shuttered expression. “I want you to explain something to me before I grant what you ask.”

“There are matters of which I am forbidden speech,” Evayne replied, “although perhaps that will matter less in the scant years remaining.”

“You’ve seen this book before.”

The seer nodded.

“Where?”

Evayne turned toward the Winter King. “With your permission, Tor Amanion?”

The Winter King inclined his head as he turned to face Jewel. Jewel, who rode him, who listened to his advice even when it was frequently unwelcome.

“In the Tor Amanion,” Evayne said, after a pause. “In the Sanctum of the Sen.”

* * *

“Give her the book,” Avandar said. No one else had yet spoken a word, not even the cats. “Give the book into her keeping, Terafin.”

Jewel’s grip on the heavy volume tightened.

“I will guarantee that that book was no part of the library of the former Terafin—any one of them. No more are the other books now placed with such haphazard care upon this table, and should Sigurne Mellifas happen upon them, you will place the whole of your House in grave danger.”

Jewel shook her head instinctively in denial. “I think we may need them.”

“And the book you now hold?”

“I don’t know, Avandar.”

“She’ll keep it,” Angel said, braving words beneath these unnatural, open skies. “I know that tone of voice. Tor Amanion is an Annagarian city?”

“I think,” Jewel replied, “that Tor Amanion must have been one of the cities that once existed where the desert now stands. It doesn’t exist now. I don’t know what the Sanctum of the Sen is—or was.” She couldn’t, at this point, guess. But she could guess that the Winter King had once ruled that city. He had never offered her the name he had used when he had been a ruler of men, and even having heard it, she could not bring herself to use it—because in order to
be
the Winter King, he would have had to walk away from everything he had managed to build.

I did not build that city
, he told her, his voice soft.
I did not found it. But I ruled it, in my time, and yes, Terafin, I left it for the Winter Queen. For the Wild Hunt. For the Winter.

What she heard in his voice then, she had never heard before, and she almost took a step back at the force of it, although the words were so soft. “Do you recognize the book?”

No. Caution plays little part in my history
, he added, with just a glimmer of humor.
If it is safe with anyone, it is safe with Evayne—but safety has never been her concern. She is, in her fashion, worthy of admiration.

I know what you consider worthy of admiration.

Yes.

“Yes,” she said, gazing at Evayne. “You have my permission. While you work to prevent the Lord of the Hells from transforming the world into the hells, you can come and go at need.”

Shadow hissed; Jewel placed one palm between his eyes.

Before Evayne moved, Celleriant raised voice. Jewel had almost forgotten he was present, and given his stature, that was hard to do. “Seer.”

Evayne nodded, as if she’d expected the interruption, or had been waiting for it.

“What of the Summer Court?”

Evayne bowed her head. “There is no Summer Court.”

Celleriant drew one sharp breath; his hands were fists, his knuckles paler than his fair skin. “I am . . . aware of that. But—”

“Ariane cannot convene that Court now. There is no path that leads to it, and there will be none until—unless—she is given the last of the Summer trees.”

“There is one?”

“There is,” Evayne replied.

Celleriant closed his Winter eyes.

“But Lord Celleriant, there is only one. Against need, against all hope, it has been gathered; it sleeps at the behest of the bard-born until the appointed moment.”

“And who appoints that moment,” he said sharply, opening those eyes again, “If not the Summer Queen?”

Evayne made no reply. “My gratitude, Terafin, for permission to traverse your lands. May I give you no cause to regret it.”

Jewel said nothing; she knew that there were events in life which caused sorrow and regret for all concerned—friend or foe. And she knew, watching Evayne’s completely composed expression, knew it in a way that she knew breath or sleep or hunger, that had the salvation of the world rested on the shoulders of Jewel Markess ATerafin, The Terafin, it would crumble into tortured ruin.

She could not ever be or do what this woman had.

I will hate her for it
, Jewel thought. But she thought it without vehemence.

“Evayne.”

Evayne said, “You do not understand the significance of the ring you wear.”

Jewel glanced at the Terafin signet. And then, drawn by something in Evayne’s voice, she lifted the other hand; on it, she wore the signet of House Handernesse.

“Yes, that ring. It is not that it is on your hand, or even that it reached the hand of Amarais before you; it was the ring Ararath wore on the final night of his life—but even that signifies little. You found it,” she continued, when Jewel failed to speak.

“He was wearing this ring when he died?” she finally managed.

“As I said, it signifies little.”

She felt her hands take the shape of fists, which was inconvenient because she almost dropped the book she was holding. She set it on the table. When she looked up again, Evayne a’Nolan was gone.

* * *

Getting out of the library should have been difficult, because there was no obvious far wall in which the regular doors were embedded. There was, at the moment, a stretch of open floor, with a table, four chairs and a fountain in the distance. As it was, it took ten minutes, five of those occupied by Jewel’s attempt not to say any of what she was now thinking. Her hands were shaking in exactly the wrong way; it had been half a life since she’d last seen Rath, but at this moment, he was the only thing on her mind.

And he couldn’t be. He couldn’t remain that way. But—Evayne knew how, and where, he had died. Jewel was as certain of it as she’d been certain of anything in her life.
Does it matter
? She told herself, jaws clenching around pointless words.
He’s dead. How he died, where he died—does it really matter
?

The answer was no. Of course not.

But it was also
yes
, and the yes was more visceral. She was aware on most days that people made little sense, and today, she was going to be one of them, although she struggled to be fair. How much did she care about the death of a stranger?

“Jewel,” Avandar said quietly. She raised her head; Avandar never called her by her name in front of other people—and the Chosen were here.

He attempted to gain your attention by referring to your correct title,
the Winter King told her.
And Viandaran is only willing to pursue correct form so often before he chooses the practical, instead
.

“Apologies, Avandar,” she said, stiffly, because that was how she could speak at the moment. “I was distracted.”

“It is past time to return to the manse and the right-kin’s office.”

She nodded, although her hands were still clenched. She almost asked him how—how to leave the new library, how to return to the manse—but the Chosen
were
here. Instead, she began to walk, casting one glance at the table as she moved around it. She heard birdsong. In the library. She wondered if these deep, purple skies shed rain—that would be a disaster, given the lack of a roof.

But . . . she liked the light, and after the initial shock of seeing the trees growing out of wooden slat flooring, she liked the shelving. She liked the sound of the fountain; it reminded her of the healerie, in the old days, when she had had the time to visit Alowan.