Battle: The House War: Book Five (53 page)

Jewel, mindful of Amarais’ prior behavior, tendered the Exalted a perfect obeisance. She held it until the Mother’s Daughter bid her rise. The Mother’s Daughter was not old, but at this moment, looked it. Her golden eyes were ringed with dark circles, and her lips, creased deeply at the corners.

“We were both alarmed and concerned when we received word of your cancellation of our last audience. What caused your absence, Terafin?” she asked, coming directly to the point. The new point. The pillars, the floors, and the unmentioned statues now seemed to be of lesser concern.

Jewel had intended to dismiss her absence as a House affair—an emergency; given that it was semi-public knowledge that she had been targeted by assassins five times in the last few months, it was almost plausible. Instead, she found herself saying, “If we might wait upon the Kings and the Queens? The Ten meet in
Avantari
today, and the explanation required might take some time.”

This was not to the liking of the Exalted of Reymaris. “The Kings are also extremely busy.”

“Understood, Exalted.” She did not, however, answer the question; she chose to wait.

Duvari walked to Sigurne’s side; they conversed briefly. In the silent room, none of their words reached Jewel. This surprised her; if silence was used as a defensive precaution—and it was—it was seldom used in such an obvious way; not in this room.

“APhaniel,” the guildmaster finally said.

“I consider it safe,” the mage replied. He looked bored. He was not, however, holding his pipe.

Duvari spoke to Sigurne again; Sigurne looked as pleased at the exchange as any notable man or woman of power in the Empire might. But if Duvari was not satisfied—and in this room, he seldom was—he nodded.

The carved reliefs along the back of the room began their slow fade, announcing in silence the arrival of the Kings and Queens. They entered the room flanked by two men and two women who were dressed as minor aides, wearing the gray that characterized the Swords, but absent the tabard and obvious armor. They were, in Jewel’s opinion,
Astari
.

The Queens offered Jewel a shallow bow, which surprised her; the Kings confined themselves to a stiff, minimal nod, which did not. They took their thrones.

Jewel turned to the Exalted of the Mother. “My thanks, Exalted,” she said, meaning it. “And my deep apologies for absenting myself from our last meeting. I was indisposed in such a way that I was not aware of the passage of time, and were I, I was nonetheless not in a position to attend.” She drew breath as they waited, watching her.

She placed a hand on Shadow’s head when she caught the twitch of his ears from the corner of her eye; she did not take her eyes away from the god-born and the Queens. “In the estimation of Levec, I was felled by the sleeping sickness.” She couldn’t tell if this was news to them or not; she assumed that word had reached Duvari through Devon.

“He woke you?”

“No. It was not necessary.”

“It was not
possible
,” Shadow hissed.

She felt Avandar’s anger. The god-born, however, did not seem annoyed by the interruption.

“Without the intervention of healers, the sleepers do not waken.”

“One has,” Jewel replied calmly. “She woke shortly before I woke.”

The Kings glanced at Duvari, who nodded. “Are we to understand from this that you had some hand not only in your own waking, but in theirs as well?”

“Yes.”

“We await your explanation.”

“The sleeping sickness has, on occasion, been called the dreaming plague. Given that the sleepers, when wakened by healers, have no memory of their dreams, I’m not certain why. But reason aside, the second name is the more appropriate. I’m not certain how the victims were chosen—I know only that they all dwell within
Averalaan
.”

“It is the only distinguishing feature; there is no uniformity of location, age, or gender.”

Jewel nodded again. “They were found in their sleep. They were found,” she continued, “in their dreams, and while dreaming, they were caught and trapped.”

“Terafin.”

“Exalted.”

“You speak with certainty.”

“With as much certainty as I can; I am certain the information is not complete. I, too, was caught while dreaming.”

“But you were aware.”

“I am seer-born,” she replied, without a trace of the bitterness that often accompanied the word. “And often the strongest or most complete warnings come to me in my dreams. I seldom forget dreams for that reason, and even when I am caught in them, I can . . . observe.”

“That is unusual, but the explanation seems reasonable,” the Exalted of Cormaris said, speaking for the first time. “Continue.”

“While sleeping the night before my previous audience with the Exalted, I dreamed. In that dream I met a . . . man . . . who called himself the Warden of Dreams. He was within the confines of my dream—but he exists beyond it.”

“And not as a figment or a creation of your dreams?”

“No. He identified himself as one of the firstborn.”

Silence.

* * *

After a long pause, the Exalted of the Mother said, “Please continue.”

“The Warden of Dreams is not, as he appears, one person; he is not, however, two distinct entities. Both of those entities occupy the same physical form, even in the dreaming; both appear to have their own plans and their own goals—which in this case did not entirely coincide. I think of them as Dream and Nightmare, but for purposes of this discussion, I will use Warden of Dreams, if that is acceptable.” When no objections were raised, she continued.

“If the dreamers are killed in the dreaming, they die. During my sleep,” she added, forcing her voice to retain both volume and steadiness, “he demonstrated this.”

“How many?” King Reymalyn asked. “How many did he kill?”

“I don’t know, I’m sorry. At the time, the dreamers had taken the form of butterflies; they flew to him, and he crushed a handful. I wasn’t close enough to interfere.”

“Five died,” Duvari said.

She accepted the information without acknowledging it.

“But no others have awakened without intervention.”

“No. Leading them out of their dreams is not a trivial undertaking. The healer who attempted to wake me was dragged into the dreaming with me.”

King Cormalyn glanced at Duvari. At a Duvari who was clearly not
pleased
to be offered information he didn’t already possess. Audiences like this were a test, for the Lord of the Compact; he wished to know all pertinent facts before they occurred, so he could gauge not only the lies offered, but the shades of truth. He did not, however, accuse her of lying.

“How, then, did you wake?”

“I was within the heart of my own domain,” she replied. “The Warden of Dreams might kill me in my sleep, but he could not hold me there.”

“And the healer?”

“He was with me,” she said. “He was, in the waking world, in constant contact with me; when I woke, he woke as well. There will be no new sleepers,” she continued. “And I am in discussion with the Houses of Healing—although Healer Levec is extraordinarily busy—to arrange a schedule whereby the others might be released. It is, as I said, not a trivial undertaking, and some internal House difficulties require a vigilance that does not lend itself to ad hoc intervention.”

King Cormalyn offered a slight, pained smile. “If the assassins sent against you are similar to the demon in the Common, I imagine Levec has all but forbidden you access to the Houses of Healing.”

“He was not markedly enthusiastic, no.”

“And we come to one of the gravest of difficulties in untangling the question of your fate.”

“My fate?” Jewel asked, voice cool.

The King did not reply. Not directly. “In the opinion of the Guildmaster of the Order of Knowledge, no demonic attack has been so much of a threat to the Empire. Were the demon who appeared during the victory parade not so focused on your destruction, many of The Ten would now be without their leaders, and the most trusted members of their governing Council.” Of the threat to the Kings, he did not speak.

Nor did Jewel.

“But he was focused upon your demise, and when you retreated, he chose to pursue. What you did to drive him off—unless you claim his destruction—you could not have done in the Common.”

Shadow growled.

“If you cannot behave,” Jewel whispered, “you will wait outside in the hall.”

He compromised; he lay down, curling his body around her skirts.

Sigurne lifted hand; King Cormalyn nodded. “I believe that supposition to be in error,” she said.

“Guildmaster?”

“I believe that it is possible for her to do exactly that—in the Common, certainly. There is some evidence that she could do the same within
Avantari
, and given the protections laid against the very stones of the palace, it implies that she could stand her ground anywhere upon the Isle. I am less certain that her influence would extend to the entirety of the hundred holdings.”

Shadow said, “It will.”

The King fixed the cat with a golden stare. “Why are you so certain?” he asked, speaking to the cat as if he was at least as worthy of respect as the Guildmaster of the entire Order of Knowledge.

“These are
her
lands,” Shadow replied.

Jewel opened her mouth to disagree, vehemently, with his assertion. She closed it, in silence. She could not bring herself to speak the words of denial. They would not comfort Duvari—at this point, nothing short of her death would. Instead, after a pause in which to gather words she had not expected to speak, she said, “The lands that the demon walks are not the lands that you govern. They overlap,” she added quickly, “but they are not the same.

“The lands that I walked in my dream
are
the lands that the demons have used to enter our city. To enter the palace, the manse, and even the Common. I have claimed them as mine. They are mine. It is not a claim that is understood by lawyers, merchants, or the patriciate.”

“I believe almost all notable members of the patriciate were present at The Terafin’s funeral,” King Reymalyn pointed out. “What you said during the . . . unusual . . . first day rites, they heard. What you said,” he continued, when she failed to reply, “was heard across the Isle. It was, our investigations imply, heard across the hundred holdings. If you feel that your claim does not coexist with the realm of the citizens of Averalaan, you took no care to diminish it.”

She hadn’t. She’d no idea at the time that the words would carry so damn far. Nor could she now safely own that ignorance.

“You are aware that alterations were made within
Avantari
itself, without the permission of the Crowns.” It was not a question.

She nodded.

“Are you aware of the extent of those alterations?”

“I have not had the opportunity to view them all.”

“We will now provide you with that opportunity.” King Cormalyn rose. King Reymalyn joined him; the Queens, utterly silent, rose as well. King Cormalyn turned to the Exalted. As one, they rose. “Lord of the Compact.”

Duvari bowed stiffly.

School your expression with more care
, Avandar warned her.

She didn’t argue. She understood what was at stake. The doors at the end of the hall rolled open as the Kings approached; waiting in the hall were Swords in perfect formation. The Kings exited the room, followed by Duvari, the Exalted, and the Queens, in that order. Sigurne Mellifas waited as Jewel, Teller to her right and Avandar to her left, also joined the procession. They left little room for Shadow, but he corrected this oversight by inserting himself between Jewel and her domicis. As he told her often, he
liked
Teller.

Her Chosen fell in behind, and with them, Sigurne and Meralonne.

* * *

The floors and the columns Jewel had seen, she passed above and between without comment. The Kings did not speak; nor did they pause to watch her reaction. They led, and she followed, matching their stately pace. Funeral marches were more cheerful. The wide halls allowed for easy passage of both guards and guarded, but when they left the public galleries, they entered a part of the palace that was unfamiliar to Jewel.

We have not entered this wing before
, Avandar confirmed.

She looked for signs, and found none; there were, above one arch, engraved letters. They were Old Weston, by look; she couldn’t read them beyond that. Nor did she ask Avandar if he could.

Teller was silent; he appeared to be entirely at ease. She knew it as a front, but it wasn’t one she herself could manage.

The halls here were narrower; the formation of the procession changed, the flow of progress slowing to accommodate the shifting of the Swords. The Chosen were likewise forced to walk no more than two abreast; Teller fell back, and as he did, he tapped Shadow’s shoulder. Shadow sighed; it was, with the exception of the heavy sounds of booted feet, the only audible expression.

She did not recognize the halls; they were sparer in all ways than the halls that had preceded them. The ceilings were vaulted, the walls stone; no wood adorned them. They were gray, tall, and broken only at the heights and at the pillars—unaltered, to her relief—that served to support those heights. Here, the decor was decidedly martial; there were gleaming weapons across the walls where tapestries and paintings might otherwise be displayed. The weapons, however, were ornate; they did not seem like they were meant for use.