Battle: The House War: Book Five (41 page)

“And that?”

“Are there any other members of my House involved with the Shining Court?”

“No, Terafin.”

“Thank you.” She turned to Torvan and Gordon. “Please see the Councillor safely back to the manse.”

Torvan saluted, sharply, and left. His steps were far heavier than Rymark’s as he crossed the stone floor, and they echoed as if the room were hollow. “Member APhaniel, I apologize for necessitating your involvement in what is
clearly
an internal House affair.”

He raised one pale brow.

“It would not be the first time, through the auspices of contract, that you have neglected to inform the Kings of
all
that has happened or is suspected.”

“It would not. May I point out that, in the last instance, I was correct?”

“You may. I will consider everything you say with as much care and deliberation as my predecessor showed.”

“Your predecessor would have considered my intervention at this point—given the incontrovertible confession of treachery—to be a gift. It would rid her of a man she could not and did not trust, and it would leave no blood on her hands.”

“It would only have that effect if Rymark made his confession in front of the House Council. In the absence of that, it would appear that I had surrendered a House difficulty to external authority. Especially given the presence of Haerrad on said Council.”

Meralonne smiled; he was, if chilly, genuinely amused. “I believe, in this case, my inclination is to hear what he has to say, to test it for veracity, and to proceed from there. It is your inclination, Terafin, that will cause trouble.”

“I wasn’t the one who almost killed him.”

“If his defenses were that insignificant, the power he offers is beneath notice,” was the much chillier reply. “It was a lapse. I do not care to hear the Winter Queen dismissed by a mortal such as Rymark ATerafin. I will tell you now that the gods will have severe reservations in this.”

“I know.”

“And the Kings will therefore have—”

“The Kings are
not
gods, Meralonne.”

“They are beholden to their parents in the same fashion so many mortals are.”

“They are, but Rymark’s parent is Gabriel, and two more different men could not be found within the House. I believe the Kings will listen, in the end, to reason.”

“And if they do not?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” she replied firmly.

“Indeed you will. I suggest,” he added, “that you arm your Chosen with some of the weapons to be found in this room.”

“Noted.”

* * *

Torvan and Gordon returned without Rymark. They were grim and silent when they rejoined their Lord. Jewel understood why. She had deliberately failed to ask Rymark about The Terafin’s death, because there was no answer he could give that would not push her into a murderous rage. She had not taken into account the reactions of the Chosen, which was a grave oversight.

They had sworn their lives to Amarais. Jewel had loved and served her, but it wasn’t the same, and she knew it. She had no words of comfort, and no promise, to offer them; if she accepted Rymark’s offer, she could not then plan to have him executed.

Could you not?
Avandar asked softly.

No.

Yet if you make trade treaties with The Ten, you will honor them only until it puts you at grave disadvantage.

It’s different.

Yes, to you, it is. Accept Rymark’s offer inasmuch as it can be accepted, and he will serve you—but the moment a different, or better, opportunity arrives, he will take it. He will swear no oath to you, and even if he does, it will never bind him.

My
oaths have to mean something
, she replied.

You will make no oaths to Rymark
.

She was silent for a long moment. Folding her arms, she turned to Avandar, and said distinctly, “I think I’m well past the age where I offer something while crossing my fingers behind my damn back.”

“That is not what I said.”

“That’s
exactly
what you said.”

Meralonne, for the first time since he’d entered the room, retrieved his pipe from his satchel, and set about stuffing the bowl with dried leaf. He glanced at Angel, who had taken up position by the window; Angel shook his head. “I don’t smoke.”

“And you have been Jewel’s companion for at least half your life? I suggest you try it. It is remarkably calming in situations of this nature.”

Angel almost laughed; he didn’t, but his expression made it clear his silence took some effort. The Chosen were, however, uniformly grim and composed.

“I suppose,” the magi continued, having completed his task, “you approached your negotiations with regards to the merchant routes you supervised in the same manner you now intend to deal with Rymark?”

She couldn’t hold on to her anger, which was probably for the best; her arms relaxed. “No. Usually with the merchants, there was more swearing and more insults. But I didn’t promise them anything I couldn’t deliver, either. In general,” she added, slowing, “I didn’t promise them anything; I implied they should feel honored to be offered a chance to work with Terafin. At all.”

“Indeed.”

“Rymark is, in theory, part of the House already.”

“Yes. As are you. But you are in an unusual position. I suggest—if you will take my advice in these affairs at all—that you consider them in the same light: it is an honor to work with you. If you listen to
my
colleagues,” he added, with a genuine grin, “it is an
expensive
honor.”

She did laugh, then. He was working for free, after all. “What will you tell Sigurne?”

“That is more troublesome. I will rely on your permission—or lack thereof—to discuss anything with her at all.”

Jewel snorted. “You will not.”

“Perhaps not. But we will rely on it to act.”

“What would she counsel?”

“I am not entirely certain.” He inhaled. When he exhaled, he exhaled rings. They eddied up toward the ceiling in the still air, and she watched them as if she were simple audience in the streets of the holdings, although in those streets, she wouldn’t have dared to get this close. “I would, of course, be delighted to remove him from consideration.

“He is not, however, wrong.”

“In what way?”

“You will build a city here. It will encompass the whole of the Isle and the hundred before you are done; anything less, and you will surrender a part of your domain to the Lord of the Hells. That was bold, by the way.”

“His name?”

Meralonne nodded. “I would suggest a more extreme form of caution in this place.”

“I was angry.”

“And anger will serve neither of us.”

“What will the Kings do?”

“I do not know. In their position, I would now be very, very cautious.”

“Cautious enough to have me executed?”

“I am not the Kings. Their Empire is not an Empire that could have existed in ancient times; it is too diverse, too easily lost. They are as concerned as you are with the welfare of their citizens. You are correct; mortals did not survive overlong in the ancient cities.

“Yet in the Cities of Man—should they reach them—they could. They did not often survive as lords, but the citizens of the hundred are no lords now, and if I am not mistaken, they are the prize that the Lord of the Hells seeks. They are also his sustenance. Do not think that even your city will survive without loss; people will die. You cannot prevent it. You will meet the Kings, if I am not mistaken, on the morrow.”

“Will you be there?”

He smiled. “I will, with the guildmaster’s permission. If nothing else, it promises a lack of boredom seldom found in the usual bickering for near invisible improvements in position.”

“My life’s ambition is not to make yours less boring.”

“No; it is a happy consequence.” He lifted the pipe and he gazed out of the window that had never quite lost the whole of his attention. “I believe we may have some difficulty.”

Jewel’s eyes narrowed as she immediately sought whatever had caught his gaze. Shadow. Or rather, what occupied the air in pursuit of the great, winged cat. At a distance, she had mistaken wings for birds. Shadow was not at a distance—and neither were his pursuers. This close to the window—and at the speed of his flight, growing closer with each passing second—such a mistake was impossible.

“Avandar!”

He was already in motion. Meralonne turned to Angel and handed him his pipe. “I am very attached to that pipe,” he said, as he threw his arms wide. “Terafin, your permission?”

“You have it. Are they demons?”

Meralonne laughed. “No, Terafin, they are not; they are the natural denizens of the skies in this place.”

They looked like demons to Jewel; they were, in shape—absent their wings—roughly human, in that they had faces, necks, arms and legs. But the arms and legs seemed covered in fur or feathers, and their faces would look normal only if by normal one meant enraged, insane, and dangerous. That, and they were screeching.

“Avandar?”

They are not demonic, no. They are natural.

But—they have
tails
.

Yes, Terafin. Come away from the window.

She couldn’t. She indicated that the Chosen should stand back—but of course, if she didn’t,
they
couldn’t. It didn’t matter. Wind swept through the window, reaching for Meralonne, who had opened his arms wide to embrace it. He rose—no, he leaped—through what still appeared as glass to Jewel’s eye, and the sky became his terrain.

She knew why Finch thought he was beautiful, then. He was not a mage who had taken to the skies; he was, at that moment,
of
them. His hair swept out behind him, like a pale, perfect cape. He drew no shield, no sword, but watching him, she couldn’t imagine he needed them.

“Terafin,” Torvan said—because the Chosen had drawn swords. “Please. Retreat.”

She shook her head. “If they can breach the windows,” she replied, unable to look away from Meralonne APhaniel, “we need to know. This is where we’ll be living.” She heard the rough crackle of Avandar’s magic, as lightning flew toward the skies beyond the magi. The bolt struck the closest of the three creatures.

“It’s about
time
,” Shadow roared. He did not, however, come through the window, but veered up at the last second. At, in fact, a last second Jewel would have bet half the House against. He rose immediately beyond her view, at such a sharp angle he seemed to be running up the outside of the building.

Meralonne, however, had control of the wind beyond that window; she could hear it, although she couldn’t even feel it as breeze. One of the remaining two pursuers—one that wasn’t smoldering—suddenly froze, dropping back as the air snarled its wings. It turned to face Meralonne, probably because it didn’t have any choice.

Avandar’s magic struck again. The creature turned and headed directly toward them. Its feathers were singed, and its fur, blackened—but the lightning that had slowed it hadn’t slowed it
enough
.

“Terafin,” Avandar barked.

She threw herself toward Angel as the creature breached window and landed, screeching in fury, in the middle of a room that suddenly seemed much smaller. She wheeled as the Chosen turned to face it.

Avandar caught her shoulder as she started to run toward them.
Be still
, he told her.
And watch.

It broke through—

Yes. You allowed it.

I didn’t—

Jewel, you
did.
These men will be part of your first line of defense in this place. If they cannot stand against such a trivial opponent, they will not serve well
.
They have seen much in the past decade—but they require experience, and there is
no other way
they will gain it. I am here,
he added.
And Adam is within your reach. They will not die if they fall—trust them.

She drew a deep breath, and tried not to hold it as the Captain of her Chosen closed with the creature.

* * *

The Chosen weren’t stupid. They had
never
been stupid. They were cautious, they moved slowly, they kept themselves grounded firmly over their feet. The ceilings here were so high, they didn’t impede the creature’s wings; those wings were weapons. The creature had the long claws of an animal, and at this distance, Jewel could see its very generous fangs. If it could speak, it didn’t.

Torvan barked what sounded like orders, although the words failed to register for Jewel. The Chosen, however, moved in concert, fanning out in a semicircle around the creature. It wavered almost immediately as the creature lunged; swords parried the strike that Jewel herself could barely see, the creature moved so damn fast. The act of parrying drove the sword back several steps; Torvan immediately closed the gap by attacking the outstretched arm before the creature could pull it back.