Battle: The House War: Book Five (51 page)

Teller was let into the room after clearly stating his business.

“Is there word from
Avantari
?” she asked, facing the mirror while her hair was tortured, with steam and oil, into an entirely unnatural shape.

He shook his head, and met her gaze across the reflective surface of silvered glass. She raised her hands in careful den-sign. His remained by his sides.

She was The Terafin. He was her chosen right-kin. They were to meet with the Kings as near-equals, and it mattered. But not in the way she imagined it would. Carver was gone. Her only comfort—and it was scant—was that she did not, as she had in the case of Lefty,
know
that he was dead. Her peculiar instinct, the talent for which she was so highly prized that she had been adopted into Terafin and made a member of its House Council at the age of sixteen, told her nothing.

She was afraid that nothing was the best she could hope for.

Teller handed her a small stack of papers, which, given the ministrations of her attendant, she couldn’t actually read. “Beyond the expected, is there an emergency buried in this stack?”

“No. There are some concerns with The Morriset’s recent ventures and the Royal Trade Commission; Darias has filed paperwork with the Port Authority about ‘irregularities’ in the manifestos of two of our shipping partners.”

Jewel nodded. Neither of these difficulties were substantial enough to justify a full Council meeting in the Halls in
Avantari
. Teller knew it as well.

“The last reports,” he said, “do not involve trade concessions, demands, or accusations.”

“So they’re worse.”

“They’re worse.”

“
Avantari
?”

“It was surprisingly difficult to acquire accurate information about the structural changes within the palace; the pillars and the foundations are, however, visible to any visitor.”

“These are—”

“Descriptions of the two rooms, yes. They are verbal; no sketch was done, and no attempt to magically capture the images was made—not by Terafin agents.” He hesitated, and then said, “Meralonne stopped by.”

“This early in the morning?”

“He’s waiting outside the door of your personal chambers; the Chosen did not feel that your grant of unquestioned access to the grounds encompassed unquestioned access to the . . . library.”

“Was he smoking his pipe?”

“No. I’m not sure he cares whether or not he annoys the Chosen.”

Jewel grimaced. She rose with care as the servant stepped back, indicating by clipped movement of chin that she was free to do so. She was, Jewel had to admit, less
painful
than Ellerson could be. She dressed quickly, allowing Avandar to choose appropriate jewelry. She would not, however, remove the strand of gold around which the Handernesse ring hung; nor did he insist.

Shadow then began his litany of the things that bored him. The servant did not appear to notice, but she tensed the first few times he spoke. After about the hundredth, she seemed as relaxed as anyone else in the room except the Chosen.

* * *

Meralonne met them as they entered the standing arch that led to the Terafin manse. If Jewel and Teller were dressed for an audience with Kings, Meralonne was not. His presence, in his opinion, was enough of a boon. He nodded. “Terafin.”

“APhaniel,” she replied.

Shadow stepped between them and flexed his wings. Or rather, flexed one—the one on the mage’s side. Meralonne did not leap out of the way; he
caught
the wing and held it as Shadow hissed. Jewel dropped her hand to his head as Avandar frowned. “Shadow. Now is not the time.”

“It
is
,” the cat replied.

“APhaniel, please.” Meralonne released Shadow’s wing without meeting Jewel’s gaze.

“Today,” he told the cat, “is not the day to play games.”

But Shadow said, again, “It
is
.” His lips had drawn up, exposing his prominent fangs; his fur rose.

“
Shadow
.” At the tone of her voice, he turned away from the mage—but he stayed between them, allowing Avandar his position to her left. This left no room for Teller, but given Shadow’s expression—and the grimmer cast of Meralonne’s—Jewel did not push the point.

Teller, however, did. He slid between Jewel and Shadow—which took flexibility, as he didn’t step on her skirts in the process—and placed a hand on the cat’s head, just behind Jewel’s. “In the presence of the Kings and the Exalted,” he said, speaking both softly and with respect, “she faces her greatest challenge.”

Shadow hissed. He rarely called Teller stupid. “
Stupid
girl,” he said instead.

But Teller, divining his reasoning because he had always liked cats, said, “It is not a challenge for you; it is not a challenge for Meralonne APhaniel. It is a challenge for The Terafin. They will not attack her; they will not attempt to harm her. But if the audience goes poorly, they may decide that she is a danger to the Empire.”

“What Empire?”

“The Empire,” Teller replied, before Jewel could, “in which we now reside. You have seen some of it. The Common, the whole of the manse. The Empire is part of the world in which mortals live. The Terafin—and almost all who serve her—are mortal.”

“But not the
important
ones.”

“No,” was his grave reply.

Jewel wanted to kick Shadow; she refrained. “They’re important to me,” she said, as a compromise.

“And we’re
not
?”

“Of course you are,” the right-kin replied before Jewel could. Teller lifted his free hand, signing. She signed back, but briefly; he was right. She was worried; that worry would sink roots and grow as the day progressed. She was much like her Oma: if worried, she was always on edge, and she dulled the edge by snapping or snarling, something she could not afford today. Today, she had to be perfect.

“Will you accompany us, APhaniel, or will you return to the guildmaster?”

“I will accompany The Terafin as the Terafin House Mage,” he replied, eyes narrowing. “Terafin, did something remiss occur in the evening?”

Damn him, anyway. “I will answer the question, APhaniel, if you will answer the questions that arise from the events.”

He raised a pale brow. “I believe you have already answered in a general sense.”

“I have never met a mage who was satisfied with a general answer. On the contrary it only serves to pique their curiosity and sharpen their interest.”

He chuckled. To Avandar, to her surprise, he said, “She has grown into her role.”

Avandar didn’t even crack a smile.
No, Jewel
, he said, although she hadn’t voiced her surprise in any way.
You are correct; today you must be perfect. But I ask you to consider one possibility.

She waited.

What if the Kings decide that your existence is a threat to their Empire? What, then, will you do? I will not stand by and allow the Kings their execution.

I know. I have no desire to walk to my own death.

Will you countenance theirs?

. . . No.

It was the answer he expected. It was not, however, the answer he wanted.

“Terafin?” Meralonne said.

“Accompany us.”

* * *

The Chosen were horsed; they numbered twelve. Four rode ahead of the Terafin carriage, four behind. Two flanked the carriage on either side. Meralonne joined Jewel in the carriage, taking the seat beside Teller. Shadow flew. Both of the mages were tinted orange in Jewel’s vision; Meralonne also had a subtle sheen of gray that overlapped it. Jewel’s protections were scant in comparison. One, a hairpin, had come from Haval, delivered alongside dire warnings about her future should she misplace it. The other was the House Ring itself. Her peculiar talent provided the immediate protections necessary to survive for long enough that the Chosen could come into play.

Gazing out the window—and noting the emptiness of the early morning streets as they passed—she said, “Member APhaniel?”

“I will accept your formality,” he replied, “if I am permitted to smoke.”

“I have no objections; if you’re hoping to cause minor and politically safe irritation, you’ll need to find another habit.”

“I find it calming,” he replied, in exactly the wrong tone of voice. She gave over the window view to look at his shadowed face; his eyes were glinting. “It is a habit that is entirely of this world.”

“Smoke, then. It reminds me of my grandmother.”

His brows rose, but he lined the bowl of his pipe as the carriage moved; its procession was stately, to Jewel’s mind a more pretentious way of saying slow. “What occurred in the evening, if I may be so bold?”

“I’m not entirely certain,” she replied, her voice soft, the words stiff. “A closet door was opened; it led into the darkness of a long, stone hall.”

His hand stilled in the act of carrying leaf to pipe. “You opened this door?”

“No. Not in any sense of the word. It was a closet. Closets in the Terafin manse contain clothing, no more.”

“Where was this closet situated?”

“In my personal rooms.” She drew breath, held it for a moment too long. “Meralonne, who are the heralds?”

“What an odd question. Whose heralds?”

“No names were given. But if I were to convey the message that the heralds are abroad, what would that mean to you?”

“It would mean little without knowledge of the messenger,” he replied. He glanced at the bowl of the pipe, but did not light it.

“His name is Mordanant. I had the impression that he knew you.”

The mage set the pipe aside. “You ventured into the world into which your closet opened.”

“I wouldn’t,” she replied, “but I had little choice. It was not I who opened the closet, and therefore not I lost to it. But, yes, we met there. It’s not the first time,” she added. “And it was not an accident; he knew where I was.”

“And he came to you.”

“Yes.”

“To deliver a message to me?”

“No. He was sent to hunt the heralds, whoever they are.”

“He was sent?”

She nodded. “And if he was, there’s only one person who could have sent him.” She hesitated. He marked it. “He came for his brother, Lord Celleriant. He was . . . concerned that his placement, here, would be his doom.” Silence; it was cold in the carriage. “But he counseled Lord Celleriant to speak—with you.”

“Those were his words?”

“They were not his exact words; I’ve stripped the patina of desperation from them.”

At that, he smiled. It was not a friendly smile. He glanced at the carriage wall behind her, as if it were a window. “The heralds are not a concern,” he said, “if they cannot reach their Lords. They have searched.”

She didn’t mention the Sleepers. Not directly. Instead, she said, “You know where they lie.”

“I have always known, but I was never herald.”

“Can the heralds wake them?”

“Not yet. Not yet, Terafin, but soon it will not matter.” He glanced at the pipe in his hand, frowning.

Avandar, light the pipe. Light it now
.

What he tolerates from you, he will not likewise tolerate from me.

Please, just do it
.

Avandar glanced at the leaves in the bowl and they began to smolder. Meralonne’s eyes rounded; he looked down at the now orange leaves. To Jewel’s surprise, he laughed. His glance returned to her as he lifted the pipe’s stem to his lips. “Lord Mordanant—and he is Lord in the Queen’s Court, Winter or Summer—may overestimate my abilities. Did he speak of the Winter Queen?”

“Yes.”

Rings of smoke rose in the air between them. “And?”

“Evayne visited her.”

His grip on the pipe tightened; it was subtle, but he had the whole of Jewel’s attention. “And?”

She exhaled. “I won’t play games with you now.”

Jewel. Whatever he has been to you in the past, the time is coming; he will change; he will become something that you cannot touch, reach, or trust.

Why?

If you do not already know the answer, you suspect it.

And you know.

He did not answer, not directly.
Be cautious. Believe that he will step beyond your reach or the reach of either your words or your history. Do not trust him.

You don’t think I should trust anyone.

You understand the difference.

She did. She studied the mage’s shuttered face for a long moment, weighing the benefits and the cost of silence. Lifting her arm, she pulled up the edge of her sleeve; around her wrist sat a bracelet made of three strands of platinum hair.

His eyes widened. He was not Haval; he almost never forced his expression into shuttered neutrality, although he made the occasional attempt. He made no such attempt now. Pipe smoke, like a ragged veil, streamed up around his face; his eyes were silver and unblinking.