Battle: The House War: Book Five (60 page)

Jewel glanced at her domicis, amused by his obvious frustration. “Less so than The Wayelyn?”

“The Wayelyn is vastly underestimated, in my opinion. The Tamalyn is not.”

“Any attempt to oust him would be met with resistance.”

“Not on his part.”

“No.” She laughed, which deepened his frown. “Were I a member of his House Council, I would do everything in my power to keep him on his seat. He doesn’t handle the Trade Commission, he doesn’t deal with the Port Authority, and he doesn’t personally oversee any of the Tamalyn concerns in the Merchant Authority. He does, however, clearly have capable and competent people who are willing to do all of those things while sitting to the side of the seat. I like him,” she added.

“That is patently obvious. If you do not exercise some caution, you will no doubt have him visit your library, where he will become a permanent fixture.” When he saw her expression, he added, “This is
not
a wise course of action.”

“No,” was her grave reply. “If he wanders too far and we lose him, we will have to answer to Tamalyn, and I, for one, do not intend to enrage his House Council. Leave it, Avandar. If someone can take genuine joy from the events of the past few months—and they aren’t demonic in nature—I’m content to allow it.” She turned to Teller. “How bad does the future look?”

He glanced out the window, as if the passing geography were riveting.

“Teller.” He failed to turn away from that window. “You haven’t spoken a word since the Oracle. I wasn’t certain if you were—”

“I was paying attention to the discussion in the Council chambers,” he replied. “And while I understand what you hoped to achieve, I’m uncertain. The Korisamis was a surprise. He has never been a dependable ally, but in this, he was definitively in our court.”

Jewel nodded. “The Oracle—”

“Let me think about what I saw. I know what your visions are like, and I know they’re open to interpretation.” He exhaled and met her gaze. “They’re mostly open to misinterpretation, if we’re being honest, until after the fact. They point you in the right direction—but that’s the sum total of their use. You understand them only as you’re moving through them.”

“You think the Oracle’s gift to you is the same?”

“I think it’s the same, but in some ways worse. With your visions, I had words, no more. You described what you saw. I transcribed your description. But I’ve never seen what you saw. Looking into her crystal—it must be like dreaming the three dreams. It’s large, it’s raw, everything is sharply defined—but none of it makes any sense from here. I don’t think it’s about the near future.”

“Teller.”

He nodded.

“You haven’t told me what you saw.”

“No.”

She waited. Several minutes passed before she realized he had no intention of telling her. “Teller—”

Four claws pierced the ceiling; they looked like curved, long knives. Shadow growled, to underscore his point.

“Shadow, we can’t afford the destruction of
all
of our carriages; the expense tells against
me
.”

“The vision was
his
, not
yours
. What he saw—or what he didn’t see—is his. I
told
you not to
trust
her.”

“You did.” She exhaled. “But I don’t have to trust her. I only have to trust Teller.” She transferred her gaze to a different window.

It was a quiet ride back to the manse; only Shadow talked, and for the most part, he mumbled about boredom. He did, on the other hand, pull his claws out of the roof.

* * *

Jewel reached her mansion ahead of The Wayelyn and the Bardmaster of Senniel College. Flanked by the Chosen, she entered her manse, to find Meralonne APhaniel leaning against the banister of the elegant stairs in the foyer. He was smoking his pipe. Sigurne was not in attendance as the mage joined her.

“The Wayelyn,” she told him, continuing to walk, “will be arriving shortly.”

“Council business?”

“In a manner of speaking. Have you by any chance heard the song that has purportedly spread throughout the hundred holdings in the past two months?”

A white brow rose. “A minstrel’s song? I have spent little time in the Common or the taverns that surround it; between my duties to the Kings’ armies and the Order of Knowledge, I have been very heavily occupied.”

“Then you will attend me when The Wayelyn arrives.”

“He is coming to . . . sing?” Circles of smoke rose, like a lopsided halo.

“He is. It is not an entirely frivolous visit,” she added. “The song was almost the sole focus of discussion in the Council hall in
Avantari
. Enough so that a recess has been called that I might hear it; I am the only member of The Ten the song appears to have avoided.” As she spoke, she cut across the public gallery. Given the recess, she had half a day ahead of her, which she fully intended to spend catching up with the small emergencies that no doubt littered her desk at Barston’s discretion.

Unwise
, Avandar told her.
If The Wayelyn is to perform, he should perform for the House Council.

Jewel had a strong aversion to what might be public humiliation in front of her gathered Council. In particular, she wished to avoid Haerrad. Haerrad’s sense of the respect necessary to preserve House dignity was an order of magnitude greater than her own, and she did not wish to clash over something as trivial as The Wayelyn’s handling of House Terafin in a
song
.

She made her way to the right-kin’s office, entering it as if it were an oasis. It was, and at the moment, it wasn’t a particularly crowded one. Barston rose as she entered.

“The Wayelyn and the Bardmaster of Senniel College will be arriving shortly,” she told him without delay.

“Terafin.” He waited until Teller separated himself from Jewel’s entourage and approached the desk. “There has been one message from House Tamalyn which is marked urgent. My apologies, but I cannot see how the contents suit the designation. If there is no good political reason to consider it so—”

Teller lifted a hand. “It is urgent to The Tamalyn,” he told his secretary. “And if that is the sum of the urgent communiques received in my absence, I will make offerings at all three shrines before the day is out.”

“It is, as you suspect, the only such missive that might be handled with less care.” He lowered his voice. “The Master of the Household Staff would like a word with you.”

Teller cringed, as she wasn’t standing in the waiting room. “Is she in my office?”

“No. She has asked to be informed of your arrival.” He glanced at The Terafin.

Jewel failed to hear him, but that took effort.

“Where will you entertain your guests? In your personal chambers?”

“No. For the moment, I think that unwise, and it may well lengthen the meeting beyond its time constraints.” She glanced at Torvan. “The large office?”

“Might I suggest the reading room? It is well-insulated, and if the bardmaster chooses to play, it will contain her music,” Barston said.

“It is not, in this case, the bardmaster I fear, and if The Wayelyn desires to be heard, no amount of insulation will prevent him from finding an audience.” She exhaled. “Very well. It might suit; it is meant to be a collegial, casual meeting.”

“Very well, Terafin.”

“I shall repair to my quarters to prepare for my guests. APhaniel, will you wait in the large office? You may accompany me if that is your preference.”

“I will, with your permission, wait in the library.”

Shadow, silent until that moment, hissed. Jewel dropped a hand on his head and he subsided, although his teeth were rather more prominent than they had been for most of the day—or at least the parts that did not include the Oracle.

* * *

When Jewel repaired to her quarters, she found one of the servants waiting ten yards from her closed doors. As she approached, she recognized her, and froze. It was Merry.

Merry folded instantly into the most obeisant of curtsies that didn’t involve hugging the ground with most of her body. Jewel would have taken a knife wound with more grace; she flinched. Merry, trained by the indomitable—and hugely unforgiving—Master of the Household Staff, noticed instantly, and paled.

Jewel hated it. “Merry,” she said, breaking at least two of said Master’s iron rules, “please—don’t. I know I’m not in the West Wing anymore, but it’s been a long day, and I cannot endure—” she stopped. Composed herself. “My apologies. Did the Master of the Household Staff send you?”

Merry shook her head. As if she were mute.

As if she had come all this way, and had waited for gods knew how long, only to find speech had deserted her. She was pale, and her eyes implied that she’d chosen to forgo sleep for at least a day. Jewel nodded at the Chosen, and they opened the doors that had once led to a very conventional library. “Please,” she told the servant, “join me.”

* * *

Merry’s silence shifted when she passed through the doors. Her posture didn’t. She was not here as a visitor or a guest, and knew it. But it was hard to observe the strict etiquette demanded of servants who had been granted the House Name when faced with so much beyond the ken of the House which had offered it. She lifted her chin and her eyes touched the deep amethyst of the endless skies above; they drifted to trees that had taken the shape of bookcases, and paused at freestanding iron arches. The floors were pale plank, but they were silent beneath passing feet, no matter how heavily the steps might fall.

“Does the Master of the Household Staff know you’re here?” Jewel asked, as she led the way past the forest of books. It wasn’t a question she should have asked, and she regretted it the minute the words left her mouth.

But she
had
asked.

“It’s my half-day off,” Merry replied.

Jewel wanted to apologize for prying, but it would only make things worse. It was frustrating; Merry
knew
where the den had come from. But knowing it changed nothing. Jewel was The Terafin.

She led, and Merry followed. Jewel didn’t trust the library, with its open table and its equally open sky. To underscore this point, Shadow leaped up, wings unfolding as he gained sky. He roared. There was nothing in the sound that reminded anyone listening of the smaller variety of silent feline.

Merry’s attention was drawn to the sky, her gaze following Shadow; Jewel’s eyes were drawn, instead, to the servant. She knew why Merry was here. Should have known the instant she saw her in the hall, waiting in the strained and terrible silence of her isolated fear. It was a fear that Jewel shared, but such fears made the poorest of bridges; Merry was not here to offer comfort, but to receive it.

And Jewel was not comforting by nature.

“APhaniel,” she said, surprising the mage. “Please. Attend us.”

One pale brow rose, but he offered no resistance. He looked at home in the library, now. Jewel thought she had never seen him suit an environment so perfectly; it framed him, it brought out the silver edge of gray eyes, the perfect winter of platinum hair. Even cloaked as he was in the robes of the Order of Knowledge, he seemed taller, prouder, a scion of ancient lineage.

Yes, he was at home in her library; he was at home as the Terafin Mage. And she? She accepted his presence as if it were natural. She turned and held out a hand to Merry, who, plump and pale and red-haired, cleaved to the duty of cleaning and tidying as if it were a vocation. Merry swallowed and took the offered hand, aware that the Master of the Household Staff was not here, and would never see it.

Both hands shook.

Jewel forced her own to be steady as she led Merry across the wilderness toward the familiar doors of her rooms, as if her rooms were an oasis in this place. They might have been, once—but it was not to the wild of open, amethyst sky and unnatural trees, nor the savagery of winged predators, that she had lost Carver and Ellerson.

It was something as simple, as inconsequential, as a closet. An open door that led to
dresses
. Because it was important that she dress
appropriately
. She swallowed, realizing that her grip had tightened; she forced it to relax, but did not let go of Merry’s hand. She would have to. She knew she would have to, or it would alarm Merry, and gods only knew what tales she would then take to the back halls.

And that, she thought, was unfair. “It’s a bit intimidating,” she said. “The open skies. I keep expecting thunderclouds to destroy the books in the library—but so far, there’s been no rain.”

“Not yet,” Meralonne said, watching Shadow, who was now a moving fleck of darkness in the sky.

The doors rolled open before Jewel could touch them. She thought about speaking with Merry in the small conference room, but decided against it. She had come to her room to change into less uncomfortably formal attire. If The Wayelyn and the Senniel bardmaster were significant guests, they did not require the stiff, almost architectural formality that the Kings required.

“I’m sorry,” she told the servant, meaning it. “The Wayelyn and the bardmaster will be arriving at the manse shortly, and I do not wish to greet them in attire fit only for the Kings’. Will you—will you help me?”