Battle: The House War: Book Five (48 page)

Celleriant threw back his head as he laughed. It was a wild, mirthless laughter, almost the antithesis of joy; his expression as it left him was fevered, too-bright. “And for this, you wish me to be
released
from my oath?

“Where will I go, brother? Back to a Court that is hampered by lack of Summer? Back to the slumbering lands when the world—at last—begins to wake? Back to a Queen who might never again lead the host?”

Mordanant stepped forward, his anger quick and sudden; Celleriant did not move.

“Walk a moment in my Lord’s gardens, and you will hear the voices of the ancients raised at last in their endless whispers.”

“Celleriant—you are the youngest of our number; I am among the oldest remaining. I tell you now that you cannot stand against them. You will know the briefest of glory and your eternity will end. If you will end thus, return to us; even hampered as she is, she
is
the White Lady, and her anger is ancient and endless. We stand, and will stand, against those who have betrayed her, and if we fall, we fall in glory. We will meet them; do not do so by the orders of—the whim of—a mortal who does not, and can never, understand.” He raised a hand toward his brother, but turned, once again, to Jewel. His expression was almost enough to make her take a step back. “I say again, release him.”

Celleriant shook his head. “She will not give you what you desire unless it is clear that I also desire it. It is not your request she will honor, but mine.”

“Then
ask her
, brother. We have been sent to hunt their heralds; to find and destroy their servants before those servants set foot upon the path that leads to where they slumber.”

“The heralds are abroad?”

“They are.”

“They will not find that path easily,” Avandar said, speaking for the first time. “Not in this place.”

“They will find it,” Mordanant whispered.

“How do you know this?”

“The Winter Queen entertained a guest. Her guest has seen what must follow if they are not apprehended. They will find what they seek.”

Jewel surprised herself; she spoke. “Was her guest Evayne?”

“Evayne a’Neamis,” he replied.

“I don’t understand. Do you speak of the Sleepers?”

The three men turned to face her; she might have uttered the most foul of curses to far less effect.

Celleriant said, “Yes, Lord. But we speak softly, if at all. Do not name them here. Do not name them at all if it is within your power.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No,” Mordanant replied. “You do not. Viandaran?”

Avandar said nothing for a long moment. Into his silence, Jewel continued. “They’re meant to sleep until—until Moorelas rides again.”

“Given that he was mortal, and given that he is long dead, that is unlikely.” Mordanant glanced at Celleriant. “What tales do mortals now tell?”

“They tell few indeed that I have heard.”

Avandar said, “the oldest of their legends—most forgotten—tell the tale of their betrayal of Moorelas in the Shining City. Four princes rode by his side, but only one fulfilled the oaths made to the wielder of the godslayer. For their betrayal, they were entombed, alive but unmoving, until the day Moorelas returns, when they will redeem themselves, at last, in the mortal’s endless quest to bring death to the Lord of the Hells.”

Mordanant’s brows rose as his silver eyes rounded. “That is the story they tell?”

“That is the story that was once told. Fragments of it remain in the sayings and superstitions of the Empire, no more.”

Jewel said, softly, “‘When the Sleepers wake’ heralds the end of time. The end of the world. It means ‘never.’”

“Never is come upon you,” Mordanant replied. “Speak, now, to Illaraphaniel. He is the only hope you have.”

“He is in her service,” Celleriant said.

“Not in the way you are. I would have felt it a hundred leagues away.” He frowned. “Brother, among those who tracked, you were second to none. Our Lady has need of you.”

“Did the Winter Queen ask this of you, Mordanant?”

Mordanant did not reply. Answer enough, Jewel knew. And she knew that if Mordanant had said yes, Celleriant would have asked for his freedom.
Knew
it. But Mordanant did not lie.

In the distance, Jewel heard the long, resonant note of a horn’s call.

“Come with us,” Mordanant said, speaking both softly and without hope.

Celleriant smiled; it was pained. “Survive, brother. Survive and we will meet again in the Summer Court.”

“There is no—”

But Jewel said, “There will be a Summer Court if we survive what is to follow.”

“How can you—”

“She is seer-born,” Celleriant replied, the words strangely hushed. “The White Lady was not the only one to entertain Evayne as guest. Mortality does not guarantee that she speaks truth; she is mortal, and as any, is full capable of choosing words without recourse to fact.”

Mordanant did not reply. His expression had shifted as he regarded Jewel. She couldn’t read it.

Celleriant, however, could. “Do you still counsel me to abandon her, brother?”

“You do not serve her because you view her as our hope.”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to me,” was the soft reply. “Because there is now a thorn in the side of our hope, if you believe her words to be true.”

“She is not full capable of a lie, although she has learned to use silence in its stead. Regardless, she cannot now lie to me.” He turned to her, and fell to one knee. “Lord,” he said. It was a posture she disliked; she suspected he knew it. “When you speak of the Summer Court, what do you envisage?”

“Ariane,” Jewel replied. “In the heart of a forest that is also a city. It’s . . . not strong. It’s certain.”

“Can you not look?” Mordanant almost demanded. There was a desperation in the words that underlay the sudden eagerness.

“No,” she said, understanding the question. “I do not have a seer’s crystal.”

“You have not walked the Oracle’s path. You have not survived her test.” It was not a question. “Celleriant, come away. Hunt with us. There is no guarantee that she will survive the testing; most of the mortals did not.”

Celleriant smiled. “She will survive. Do you forget, brother? She stood upon the hidden path and
held
it, in her ignorance, against the Queen’s host.
Elliaranatte
grow in the lee of her mortal manse, and they speak.”

Mordanant’s eyes widened. Of all the things Celleriant had said, this was the only thing that seemed, to Jewel’s eye, to be significant to him.

“My Lord,” Celleriant continued, “will survive.”

The distant horn sounded again. Mordanant hesitated for a long moment, and then nodded. A smile graced his face as he looked at his brother; it vanished as he looked down, at Jewel.

Before he could speak, she said, “Do not embarrass your brother. He does not require my protection.”

Celleriant laughed, and this laugh was shorn of edge. It was almost—for one of the
Arianni
—rueful. He bowed to his brother. “Go,” he said softly. “But if you can—if it is possible after this long night—return and I will show you the heart of my Lord’s domain.” He turned to Jewel. “With your permission and your leave.”

“I am loath to grant that leave to a Lord who has sworn to kill me,” she replied, voice cool. “But I might be moved to allow much to such a man in return for a favor.”

“What favor, mortal?” Mordanant’s eyes narrowed; his face was all of Winter.

“We came this way seeking
my
kin.”

“Yours?”

She nodded.

“Lady, if you seek mortals on this night, you seek in vain.”

“What is special about this night?”

“Those who can hunt are abroad,” he replied. “The wilds are waking, and they present a challenge we have not seen in some time. How were your kin separated from your party?”

“They walked through a door in my mansion.”

“A door?”

“A closet door.”

He frowned. “No one lives in this place, certainly no mortals. What road did you travel to reach it?”

“The same one. A closet door.”

“Little mortal,” he said softly, “if you do not open the ways, you must become someone who can sense their existence. You have claimed lands, and if my brother chose to offer you his service, he believes them to
be
yours. But if the ways are opening without your permission and without your knowledge, your grasp is tenuous.

“I have not seen stray mortals; only you, yourself.”

“And if you do?”

He smiled. It was exquisitely unpleasant.

Shadow, however, growled. “If
we
are not allowed to
play
with them, we will
kill you all
before you do.”

“You will have to find me. Remember: I came to your Lord; she did not come to me.”

Mordanant turned and leaped. He did not land. The air carried the whole of his weight, tugging at his hair. It spun him around to face Celleriant. He said nothing for a long moment, and into that silence trudged two cats—one black, one gray. It was Night who took a pointless swipe at him on the way past. He looked down at the cat in every possible way, and then he vanished into the darkness and the cold.

“Why didn’t you
eat
him?” Night demanded of Snow.

“She wouldn’t
let
me.”

“Oh?” Shadow looked up at Jewel. “Why
not
?”

“He’s Celleriant’s brother. I wouldn’t let you kill each other, either.”

Shadow hissed. “There are others,” he told her, his voice dropping.

“Yes. But I want you here. You can play with them on your own time.”

“And when is
that
? Go
there
. Stand
here
. Don’t
play.
”

Jewel almost laughed. “Shadow, is it Winter everywhere?”

He tilted his head. “It is Winter almost
nowhere
,” he replied. “They carry it
with
them. But it will not last.”

Celleriant rose. To Shadow, without preamble, he said, “They are waking.”

Shadow hissed. Ignoring Celleriant—which is what he generally did—he shouldered Snow aside. Avandar adroitly sidestepped most of Shadow’s gray bulk. “Terafin?”

Jewel exhaled, staring down the long hall as if, by will alone, she could pierce all of the darknesses that occupied it. “No,” she finally said. “We’re not done yet.”

Jewel
, Avandar said.

She raised a hand in shaky den-sign.

Avandar, of course, hadn’t lifted hand or raised voice.
Jewel
. The voice he did use was softer.
If it is not winter, it is cold, and you are—in all ways—too exposed. Return to the manse. Attire yourself for the weather and allow your Chosen to do the same.

I can’t. I can’t leave without them
.

Will you find them? Will you find them if we remain?

The hall stretched on forever.
Don’t.
“Don’t. Don’t ask that here.” But he had. He had, and as she formed the loose and shaking fists that the cold allowed her, she knew what the answer was. But she was Jewel; she denied it until Shadow stepped—gently, for the cat—on her foot.

“They are not here,” he said, in a soft voice. “It is not through this door that you will find them.”

“Will he?” she whispered. “Will the Winter King?”

Shadow growled. His eyes were gold, their light the only warm light as far as the eye could see.

“You don’t
need
them,” Snow said, tail flicking in the still air. “We’re
better
. You have
us
.”

“She wants
them
,” Night said, shouldering the white cat out of the way. He looked up—or across—to meet her gaze.

“But why? She has
us
.”

“She’s
stupid
. But we
knew
that.”

She couldn’t even tell them to stop. Shadow leaned into her side; she was compressed a moment between his bulk and Snow’s. The Chosen were silent. Avandar was silent. The air was dry and cold. They stood that way for five minutes, until Jewel closed her eyes.

Shadow inhaled. She felt it. He exhaled a roar that was loud enough to shake ground. “Go,” he said. “Go and
find
them.”

“Why
us
?”

He said, in a voice free of whine, “She is shaping her world. All things affect its shape: all. Find them.”

“What if they’re
dead
?”

“Alive would be
better
.” Shadow bumped her again, and Jewel opened her eyes; he was staring at her face. “Alive would be better,” he repeated. “But dead would be better than lost.” He turned to Celleriant. “I will protect her,” he said. “But these roads are not my roads, and I carry no Winter with me.”

Celleriant said nothing for a long moment. “If the roads are closed, I cannot travel at need to her side.”