Battle: The House War: Book Five (63 page)

Jewel said, “The paths are opening.” It was a whisper.

“Yes, Terafin. I believe we have discussed this,” Meralonne added. He was watching The Wayelyn in open appraisal. “You came here deliberately.”

“Yes. Here. I stood here on the day of The Terafin’s funeral. I stood here while the storm came—and, Terafin, I heard you command it to leave. No one speaks openly of what happened on that day. If it is mentioned at all, it is mentioned in whispers, and it is never mentioned among the very powerful.

“I chose to speak of it in the only acceptable way I could.”

“Why?”

“Because of what I witnessed. If they come here, Terafin—if the wild, lost, deadly creatures come
here
, you have some chance of stopping them.”

She stared at him as if one of them were mad.

“Do not pretend,” he said, as if her stare was of no consequence, “that I am wrong.” Before she could answer, he turned to Meralonne APhaniel. “Do you know the lay of the Sleepers?”

“I know many, Wayelyn.” The answer was cool and neutral, although given the manners of the magi in general, it wasn’t rude. “And I will tell you now, if you ask, that singing any one of them in this place, at this time, would be dangerously unwise.”

“Two words that have oft been used to describe me,” was The Wayelyn’s unrepentant reply. “But seldom by the magi. I will therefore refrain.”

“Where did you come upon those lays?” The question sounded casual. The accompanying expression made it less so.

“They were taught to me long after I retired from Senniel’s active lists.”

“Kallandras.”

“Indeed. You’ve met, I take it?”

Meralonne nodded. “I shall have words with him upon his return.” To the bardmaster, he added, “I assume he is expected shortly.”

“If you consider two weeks ‘shortly,’ yes. He remained in the Dominion for the coronation of the Kai Leonne, but is on the road as we speak.”

“You have sent him no word, then.”

“I have sent word, APhaniel, but if he is nigh invulnerable, he is mortal; he cannot travel as the most powerful of the magi do; he must therefore contend with terrain and weather.”

Meralonne nodded; his gaze had not left The Wayelyn’s pale face. “You have taken a risk at Terafin’s expense.”

The Wayelyn nodded. “Do you fear it?”

Meralonne
laughed
. It was a wild, cold sound that reminded Jewel of wind in winter. His hair flew around his shoulders. “Fear it? Wayelyn, I anticipate it. There have been battles of significance waged in this city within the past two decades—but they will be almost as nothing compared to what must come.

“You are not wrong. They will hear your song; it will travel from land to land, and it will grow in the telling. But it will grow deep. I cannot say whether or not what you hope will come to pass, but the lands are waking to the sound of your song.”

Shadow hissed. Meralonne spared him an unfriendly glance. “She is Lord here,” he said. “And if she is willing to take the risk, she will take it.”

“She is
stupid
,” the cat hissed in reply.

Solran chuckled. “I have always wondered what cats would say, could they but speak.”

“You own cats?”

“Two,” she replied. “And I must say my guesses were not far off.” She frowned. “Terafin—there is fire in the distance.”

Jewel exhaled. “Yes. But it doesn’t burn. I have not explored the whole of this forest, but I know what lies at its heart. Come, if you would see it.” To The Wayelyn she added, “Don’t feel compelled to add another verse to your song.”

He laughed. “As you say, Terafin. The song itself was exacting and it is not easily revised.”

* * *

Jewel led them to the tree of fire, stepping off a path that both defined the garden and no longer served as its boundary. Shadow once again inserted himself to her right, leaving no room for her guests. She started to argue, but stopped; her dignity was no doubt at historic levels of low for House Terafin, and arguing with a cat would not materially improve it. “He is,” she told the bardmaster, “an exceptional guard in all ways.”

“So I have heard.”

The fire that she had seen at too vast a distance grew in brilliance and heat as they at last approached the lone tree of fire within her forest; the light changed the color of Solran’s skin; it lent a blush to The Wayelyn’s, but didn’t touch Meralonne’s appearance at all.

Solran approached the tree with caution; The Wayelyn did not choose to approach it. “Will it burn?” she asked, as she slowly held out one hand, reaching for the lowest of its many-leaved branches.

“No. Unless I will it, it burns nothing.”

The bardmaster touched a ruby leaf with edges—and a heart—of flame. Her eyes widened. “It does not feel like fire.”

“Fire generally causes pain at that distance.”

“It does—but this feels almost like . . .” Solran shook her head. “It feels too solid for flame, and although it is warm, it is not hot. What does this tree signify?”

“I don’t know. It is some part of the elemental fire, and some part of an enemy’s power; it is some part
Ellariannatte
, and some part dream. There is no safer place for me to stand than beneath these boughs.” Shadow was hissing. “The cats are not greatly enamored of it, although they frequently play with the logs in the
actual
fireplaces in the West Wing.”

The Wayelyn was staring. He turned to face her as Solran retreated from the tree of fire. “Do you not understand the choice we have made, Terafin? Is it truly incomprehensible?”

“I fear you have far too much confidence in my abilities,” she replied softly.

“Yes. You do fear it. I fear it as well, for different reasons.”

“And those?”

“You are capable of doing what must be done; I have been told as much, and I believe it, given the source.”

“But?”

“Power is never freely given; it is taken, and it is paid for. If those below us do not or cannot see the cost, it changes little. The power you must have—the power you must summon—is beyond the reach of The Ten. It is beyond the reach of the Kings, and of the magi. Perhaps, in the long history of the Artisans, there are one or two who might have been your peers—but they are long dead.”

“And while they lived were considered completely insane.”

“Even so.”

* * *

“What will you do, Wayelyn?” Jewel asked, as she led them toward the House shrine, and the safety of the Terafin grounds—if they could now be said to be safe.

He did not pretend to misunderstand her. “I will offer you unconditional support,” he replied. “Against any decision the Kings make, in regard to House Terafin, or to your office. I am not afraid of your power, although I understand the assessment of the
Astari
.”

“If the decision were now in the hands of the Lord of the Compact, I would be dead before I woke.”

Shadow growled; Jewel dropped her hand to his head. “I did not say he would find it easy to kill me; I merely said that would be his decision.”

“Why won’t you let
us
kill
him
?”

“Because he keeps the Kings alive.”

“Who
needs
Kings?”

Solran coughed politely.

“We do,” Jewel replied.

“
You
don’t.”

“I do. I cannot rule an Empire. I can only barely rule a House. If I am—as The Wayelyn suggests—to somehow build walls and fortify a port city, I cannot attend to its thousands of citizens at the same time.”

Solran glanced at The Wayelyn.

“You are not supposed to
attend
them; they are supposed to serve
you.
”

Thinking of the Master of the Household Staff, Jewel winced. “The Kings exist to serve all of their people in aggregate. I don’t care if you think it’s stupid. You think we’re
all
stupid.”

“Some of you are more stupid than others.”

The Wayelyn chuckled. “The cats have the duty of keeping you humble, I see.”

“Yes, and they are very, very good at it. Next time, I’ll be less exacting in my demands. You will support my House?”

“Yes, Terafin. And I will urge The Ten over whom I have any influence to do likewise. Regardless of their stated fear, you have broken no laws. The possibility of danger exists—but the possibility that any given person will commit murder, theft, or treason
also
exists. We are The Ten; the Kings our ancestors risked their lives and their lineages to serve are forces of Justice and Wisdom—and choosing to act before a crime has been committed is an act of fear.”

“Of caution, surely?” Jewel asked.

“Of fear. It is not the Kings of Fear we serve; not the Kings of Fear for whom we reaffirm our loyalty yearly in the Ten days that commemorate the Gathering of The Ten.

“The Exalted fear what you presage; the gods fear it as well. There are things buried beneath this city that they do not wish to see rise anew.”

“That has oft been their concern,” Meralonne said. “And it is both a grave concern, and a wise one.”

“What will the Order of Knowledge do, APhaniel?”

“They will do what their guildmaster orders,” he replied. “She is aware, as the Kings and the Exalted are aware, of the possible dangers. She understands the ways in which the current Terafin is a graver danger than any we have faced excepting only the Henden of 410. Power is always a risk when it is not your own.”

“It’s a risk even when it is,” Jewel said. “Bardmaster?”

“I understood what I heard on the day of Amarais Handernesse ATerafin’s funeral. If the city and its defense were to be given into any hands that are not the Kings, I can think of few whose hands I would fear less; perhaps Sigurne’s.”

“She would not accept that responsibility,” Meralonne said quietly.

“No one who is counted wise would,” the bardmaster replied, her smile deepening. “I certainly would not. I would abandon the city I have loved for most of my life first—and bards are famously adept at disappearing when a situation turns unexpectedly grim.” She hesitated.

The Terafin marked it. “Speak plainly, Solran; I have.”

“It would perhaps be best for the House you have sworn to serve—and lead—were you to retire your claim to the seat.”

Jewel stiffened. But she had demanded plain speech; she could not now take umbrage at obedience. Instead, she turned to gaze at the trees—her trees. The shadows of the forest beyond the distortion of the air that flames caused were far darker than she remembered. Darker, denser; the forest, she sensed, had grown.

Was she angry? Yes. She forced the clench of fists from her hands. Anger would not help her, here—if it ever would again. “Is it true that you have never felt less than respect for a foundling from the hundred?”

“It is.”

“You were not bardmaster when the honor—and responsibility—of the House Name was first conferred upon me.”

Solran Marten did not reply.

“I was raised by my Oma—and a more ferocious woman, I have never met.” She hesitated. “Perhaps one, but you will not know of her.”

“Not The Terafin?”

“No. I speak of Yollana of the Havalla Voyani.”

Silence. “I have heard of Yollana,” Solran said. The words were entirely neutral. “And if you compare your grandmother to that woman, she must have been ferocious indeed.”

“She was. And she was as far from the patriciate as it is possible to be while occupying the same Empire. I struggled, upon adoption into the House, to learn to live among people she would have despised.”

“Despised?”

“They disavow their blood relations; they desert their families. They take a name to which they were not born. Had any of my family lived—had she—she would have hated to see me here. But they did not. If she watches—if she waits by the bridge until I am forced to cross it—she will nonetheless understand why I cannot do what you consider wise. My predecessor knew what awaited her. She
knew
.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.” A hundred words rushed to leave her mouth—but they were excuses, rationalizations, a way to make her departure seem acceptable to a woman who had no right to judge her. They were not words
any
Terafin before her would ever have used; nor could Jewel. “I owed—and owe—her my life. She sheltered and protected everything that I had ever—or will ever—value. In return, before my departure, I offered her the only comfort I could: I promised to shelter, to protect and to uphold the thing she valued above all else. I promised I would
be
The Terafin.

“I
am
The Terafin. Until my death, I will remain The Terafin.” She turned. “And if what you believe—if what APhaniel believes—is true, I can’t turn from it. My life in the twenty-fifth holding, my life before that with my parents, and my life as ATerafin are what bind me to this city. They’re what binds this city to
me
.

“I cannot turn my back on any part of it.”

“Terafin—”

Meralonne lifted a hand. Wind lifted strands of his hair. “Jewel.”