Battle: The House War: Book Five (34 page)

She walked past them, through the wide gaps between shelves, and paused to retrieve a fallen leaf. When she rose, she continued to walk. Angel was once again on her right; Avandar on her left. The cats were snarling at each other in the rear, which meant the Chosen were, for the moment, free of harassment. When they cleared the shelving, there was no wall—but a standing arch, made of delicate filigreed black iron, waited some yards ahead. It was not a doorframe; it didn’t contain doors. Vines were wrapped around its posts, and small, white blossoms adorned them.

“This is the exit,” she said. She walked toward it, lifted a hand to touch the flowers, as if uncertain they were real; they were. Through the arch itself, she could see the familiar halls of the manse proper. The lighting there was dimmer; it seemed unnatural in comparison.

Letting her shoulders slide down her back as she readjusted her posture, she took a step through the arch.

* * *

“I hope Levec and Adam found their way out,” Angel said, as he appeared, once again, to her right.

Jewel’s eyes widened.

“I believe that the transformation had not yet occurred,” Avandar replied, from her left. “Had it, I am certain Levec would have returned—in angry haste—to your room.”

From this side of the hall, the doors looked like normal doors. The Chosen joined them a few seconds later, the cats almost literally on their feet. The Chosen stationed on the normal side of the doors saluted Torvan.

“As you were,” Torvan replied. “They’re the same winged cats—just larger.”

As if to drive this point home, Night stepped heavily on Snow’s tail. Jewel did not tell either of the two to shut up or play nicely, because the reaction of the Chosen had been—for the Chosen—extreme. The residents of the House had had a few months to get used to the cats in their previous incarnation—and they’d done it because the cats never shut up and always insulted each other where at all possible. These cats had lower voices, longer, more prominent fangs, and longer claws; they were taller by at least a head, and probably weighed significantly more.

But they
sounded
the same if you listened to their words, and frankly, when they were being pissy with each other, the only way to avoid hearing them was to plug your ears and run.

* * *

Lord Celleriant and the Winter King chose to remain in the library when Jewel was forced—by her awareness of the demands of a House that had probably held its collective breath for at least two days—to leave it.

The halls of the manse were exactly as she remembered them; given the mess that was the bedroom, this wasn’t as comforting as it should have been. Nothing in the halls, and nothing in the public gallery seemed unnatural, though, and the window into the Courtyard showed an exterior world that felt stolid and real. The hangings and paintings had not magically been made over, and the servants all looked familiar—or better.

Word of her presence had obviously been carried from the doors that led to her personal chambers to the rest of the manse at large; she could almost
touch
the relief she saw in the various servants, it was so palpable. Even the altered size and the shape of the cats did nothing to dampen it.

* * *

The right-kin’s office was not, as she’d half-hoped it would be, empty. There were guests in the various chairs in the external room, and Barston, as always, behind his desk. He rose when the doors opened and he saw who stood in their frame. He also bowed. It wasn’t necessary, although given her current station, it couldn’t be considered simpering or obsequious.

“Terafin.”

“My apologies, Barston. I imagine the right-kin has much of import to discuss.”

“Indeed. If you will follow, I am certain he will see you now.” The last three words were louder; they had to be. Snow and Night had reached the point of shouting. It drew the attention of everyone else in the room; Barston had had decades with which to perfect the art of ignoring the unworthy and failed, in any other way, to notice them.

He led the way past the seated visitors, knocked on the very closed doors, and opened them without waiting for a reply. There were two House Guards bracketing the door.

Jewel entered the room, which was not unoccupied. Teller, she’d expected. She had not expected Sigurne Mellifas or Meralonne APhaniel, although the latter, at least, should have come as no surprise; she’d practically given him permission to live on the grounds without interference.

Sigurne offered Jewel a bow.

Meralonne bowed as well. The fact that no pipe graced the mage’s hand was a clear indication that the guildmaster was not in the best of tempers. Jewel signed, quickly and briefly.

Teller’s response was a nod. None of his frustration reached his expression. Neither did the profound relief his gesture had conveyed. Sleeping for three days—and bleeding profusely on the edge of death while doing so—might happen all the time in the Terafin manse, given the neutral cast of his face.

He did not bow. He inclined his head, and even that was a gesture offered familiar equals. It made a point—but Jewel wasn’t certain to whom. She turned to the cats and said, each syllable clearly annunciated, “Now is
not
the time.”

They fell silent.

Winged cats, over the past two months, had become rather commonplace in the manse. Winged cats that were now half again as heavy, and more obviously fanged and clawed, were not. Sigurne lifted one brow.

Jewel entered the room and moved quickly toward Teller, passing between the visitors to do so. Avandar followed her; Angel took up position by the door, a position that became crowded as the Chosen entered.

Gabriel’s office had always been a large one. Today, she understood why.

“Terafin,” Teller said.

“I need to reschedule the meeting of The Ten,” she told him, without apology or preamble.

He nodded. “The Kalakar and The Morriset have made themselves available for a Council of The Ten at your earliest convenience; they require only notification of the time.”

Two of nine. Jewel kept her grimace to herself and nodded.

Exhaling, she turned to Sigurne. “Matteos is not in attendance?”

“Matteos is in attendance in my Tower.” Sigurne smiled. It was a small, wintry smile of a type that didn’t generally adorn her face. “Meralonne, however, is to be in attendance while I am on the Terafin grounds, unless an emergency of a magical nature demands his presence.” A nod to his position as the Terafin House Mage. “Rumors of your demise were greatly exaggerated.”

“Not greatly,” Jewel replied. She felt Avandar’s disapproval.

I was absent from a full Council of The Ten; I was absent from a command performance with the Exalted. I understand that you feel acknowledgment of any danger or threat weakens me—but not even Amarais could have missed either of those meetings without cause.

“You were asleep.” It was not a question.

“I was. I am awake now. The waking was of my volition; I will not sleep again in a like fashion.”

“The Houses of Healing will be interested in this.”

“They will, indeed. I have already had some contact with Levec.”

Sigurne winced. “You have my profound sympathies. A man less likely to be a healer could not be found if one searched for decades.” She glanced at the cats, who had been almost preternaturally still
and
silent. “They are much changed.”

“They are. It wasn’t my choice,” she added, in a softer voice.

“Do you have control of their appearance?”

She wanted to say no, but did not. Nor did Sigurne repeat the question when an answer failed to materialize. “How bad is it?” Jewel asked, instead.

Sigurne lifted a white brow, and then glanced at Meralonne. “Yes,” she told him, in a more irritable—and therefore more familiar—tone of voice. “You may smoke, if that is acceptable to the right-kin and The Terafin.

“The Exalted
are
extremely concerned. Because they are concerned, the Kings are likewise concerned.”

“What has happened to increase their concern?” she asked. She wasn’t certain she would receive an answer now; she was certain one would be forthcoming when she traveled to
Avantari
to meet with the Exalted.

“You will no doubt be informed soon. Am I permitted to ask what occurred?”

Shadow growled. Jewel turned and said, “If you cannot be civil, you will wait outside. Outside,” she added quickly, “in the hall. You are not to terrorize any guest who is not currently—and obviously—attempting to kill me. Is that clear?”

The growling abated; the lecture she’d half-expected failed to follow. Shadow was watching Sigurne as if she were a truly inimitable foe; it was unsettling. Snow and Night had remained silent, but she noted, as she glanced at them, that they were watching Sigurne as well.

“You are permitted to ask,” Jewel replied, as if the correction of the cats hadn’t actually happened. “But given the circumstances—and the confusion that surrounds them—I would ask for more time to prepare a comprehensive reply. It will no doubt be required by the Exalted and the Kings, and you will no doubt be in attendance at that meeting.”

Sigurne inclined her head; it was the answer she expected. She turned to Teller and offered him the nod that passed between polite equals. “ATerafin. Our apologies for taking up so much of your time.”

Teller returned the grave nod, but added a smile. “Given the list of visitors to the office, Guildmaster Mellifas, your presence was a blessing.”

“Meralonne?”

“If it pleases you, Guildmaster, I will remain. I have a few questions to ask The Terafin.”

Jewel nodded assent.

“Very well. I believe Matteos will forgive you if you fail to escort me to the Order.”

One platinum brow rose in obvious dismissal of Matteos Corvel. Jewel had never entirely understood the relationship between the two guild members. Sigurne passed between the cats without apparent concern. She paused before she opened the door. “Terafin.”

“Sigurne.” It was painful to Jewel to keep her distance from the Guildmaster of the Order of Knowledge; she was an older woman with a spine of steel, a pragmatism born of harsh experience and an utter lack of desire to accumulate power for its own sake—and she reminded Jewel of her Oma, a woman given to much harsher phrasing.

Sigurne Mellifas said, “While it is not likely that the subject will arise when you venture into
Avantari
, I feel it is germane. There have been odd reports that have emerged from the Western Kingdoms and the trade routes into Arrend.”

“Odd reports?”

“Unusual sightings.”

Jewel waited.

“And at least two unexplained disappearances.”

“When?”

“The exact dates are not yet known. The Order of Knowledge has sent out its investigators from the Western Kingdoms; they are less easily sent into Arrend.”

“Sigurne—what was reported? Demons?”

“Ah, no. Demons, of course, would be taken seriously—but as we are aware that we face the demonic, they would cause vastly less unease in some quarters. We are not entirely certain that we do
not
face the demonic; demons are not entirely confined in the shape they take when they materialize upon the plane. It is our hope that they will prove to be demonic.”

“But it’s not your expectation.”

“You are, as expected, perceptive. No, Terafin, it is not my expectation—nor is it the expectation of Member APhaniel. I would be obliged to you if you would cede him to this investigation for—”

“I am not interested, Sigurne.” Meralonne accompanied his flat statement with smoke rings and a look of implacable boredom.

“Meralonne,” Jewel began.

“I am not interested, Terafin. The source of the request matters little.”

“If there are demons working on the roads to—and from—the Western Kingdoms, you have the best chance of discerning their location and nature.”

He nodded. “I do not believe they are demons.”

“What
exactly
was described?”

Sigurne pursed her lips. “Unicorns.”

Jewel would have laughed, but the guildmaster’s expression robbed the single word of the humor it should have contained: there was an unutterable weariness in the older woman’s eyes, as if this—this impossibility was the final straw, a weight that she could not lift, could not carry, toward her journey’s inevitable conclusion.

“Unicorns,” Meralonne repeated, “and a single great, golden stag.”

“You both believe that what was reported has some bearing on the truth.” The last word was meant to rise in tone, to make the words a question; it didn’t. The sentence came out as flat and unadorned as Sigurne’s single word.

“Yes, Terafin.” Meralonne examined the bowl of his pipe. “We do.”

Sigurne left the office.

When she was gone, Teller rearranged the books on the shelf closest to the window. His movements were economical and deliberate; Jewel studied those volumes and their order and saw the subtle nimbus of magic: orange and violet. He caught her watching and lifted a brow.

“I don’t
like
her,” Shadow announced.