Battle: The House War: Book Five (78 page)

Jarven smiled broadly. “If you will give me a week to look over this pernicious agreement—and honestly, Hectore, could you not find a scribe who could work at a decent letter size?—I will join you. The Placid Sea?”

“That is agreeable to me.” Hectore rose as well. He bowed to Finch. “I have a few small questions to ask about your route through the Menorans, ATerafin. Perhaps I will be forced to return in the next few days.”

Finch rose as well. “I look forward to it.” She watched Andrei. He had once again donned the expression and demeanor of the flawless servant. She had not asked Andrei the one question that was now uppermost in her mind. Had Hectore any need to hire an assassin, or did the servant perform that duty should Patris Araven deem it necessary? She thought she knew the answer, and did not care for it.

C
hapter Twenty-four

13th of Fabril, 428 A.A.
Terafin Manse, Averalaan Aramarelas

J
EWEL DISLIKED THE WAY dresses served as armor among the loftiest of the patriciate. It was, of course, a subtle armor, and it had taken her two years to accept it for what it was: a necessary act of camouflage. Every item she wore formed part of that pretense, even her hair, and the nets that bound it—decoratively, as her hair was so stiff—into place. The maid assigned to her by the Master of the Household Staff was waiting in the morning.

Shadow did not, apparently, care for her. She ignored his presence.

She ignored everyone’s presence. She was stiff in all possible ways; her extreme sense of propriety and service was a wall that was either too thick to breach or too high to climb over. Jewel accepted it; Shadow grumbled. He had come to her bed when she had at last left the West Wing, and he had accompanied her into sleep and dream.

She could not remember her dreams. This morning, that was one of the few blessings she was to be allowed. When she was appropriately attired, she glanced at Avandar and he inclined his head. “The carriage will be waiting.”

It was. So were Teller and the two Captains of the Chosen. Shadow lived up to his name; he would not leave her side until she reached the carriage itself. He disliked carriages—or so he declared—and chose to circle it as it made its way down the path.

“Do
not
land on the roof again,” she told him, just before she climbed in.

He hissed.

Teller chuckled, because the hiss was loud enough to be heard while the doors were closed. Shadow didn’t confine himself to hissing; he made clear what he thought of his
stupid
master until they’d cleared the drive. He did not, however, continue beyond that point, for which small mercy Jewel was grateful.

It was not, otherwise, a day in which gratitude was to be her chief emotion.

* * *

The Council of The Ten had, at The Wayelyn’s request, agreed to convene on the thirteenth of Fabril. Jewel had lost an entire day to the Houses of Healing—which, given the results, was more than acceptable. But her realization, as she stood on the edge of Terafin’s more mundane grounds—that Hannerle had not been among the sleepers—had become an almost nameless dread. Hannerle had
not
been awakened. She slept in the West Wing, tended by Haval.

Haval had not said a word. It made Jewel far more uneasy than any words he could have spoken. He had not asked
why
. Had he, what could she have said?

I don’t
know
why Hannerle didn’t wake. She wasn’t with the rest of the sleepers
.

It was the truth, of course. She didn’t. But a suspicion had formed in the long hours of a restless night, and she would not be able to hide it from Haval; she could only barely hide it from herself.

“Jay?”

She offered Teller a wan smile. It would be safe to do so only until the carriage reached
Avantari
. The Kings had not commanded her presence in the Hall of Wise Counsel. Nor had she requested an audience—which was well within her rights. She needed the backing of the Council of The Ten before she felt it safe to do so.

Teller carried the various documents of possible relevance to a regular Council meeting in an innocuous folio; he did not mention them because he knew—perhaps better than she—that “possible” and “probable” were worlds apart this morning. Jewel did not believe that she could grasp—and control—the shape of the meeting. She could weather it. She fully intended to tie her fate, and by extension, the fate of Terafin, to the future fates of the other nine; she was no longer certain that The Ten would believe it to be true. There were
no
prior instances of such obvious—and far-reaching—magic within either Terafin or the other Houses. Not in the hands of their rulers.

Not even during the wars of the Blood Barons had Jewel been able to find a similar magic. Demons, yes. There had been a lot of demons during the reign of the Barons. But nothing like the forest. Nothing like the library. She was tempted to say that the histories were silent on any number of concrete facts, but
knew
that had every account about every activity been preserved, she would find no similar events.

The Seneschal, along with a half dozen of the Kings’ Swords, was waiting to escort the Terafin party to the chamber in
Avantari
reserved for The Ten. He tendered her a deep bow; she returned a slight nod. She dropped a hand to the back of Shadow’s neck, and kept a grip on his fur. He hissed with amusement; the Kings’ Swords tensed slightly. It was the only way in which they acknowledged the presence of a petty, giant cat.

Teller walked to Jewel’s right; Shadow occupied the left. There had, as usual, been a jostle for position initiated entirely by the cat; it had been, on the other hand, subtle in the context of that cat. They made their way, without mishap or interruption, to the closed Council doors.

Before those doors rolled open, Jewel stiffened. Without looking at Teller, she raised her hands in brief den-sign:
Ambush
.

He understood her meaning seconds before the familiar Council table came into view: Terafin was the last of The Ten to arrive, and from the sound of the room—which stilled as she stepped into the chamber—the other nine had been in session for some time.

* * *

Jewel was not happy. She had been surprised, and she shouldn’t have been. She caught the tone of voices as they faded into a silence that acknowledged the open door and the arrival of the Terafin party. It had not been an entirely cordial or civil discussion, then. She had allies on this Council, but not one of them had chosen to give her any advance warning.

Given the subject, it should not have come as a surprise; they could not discuss her without ramifications in her presence. Which is, of course, why she disliked being absent, especially today. Shadow glanced around the table but did not wander off to dump his head in the nearest friendly lap; he stood by her side, as if waiting—respectfully—for her command.

“Terafin,” The Korisamis said, rising—which surprised Jewel—to offer her the shallow bow that indicated genuine respect between equals.

“My apologies for the hour of my arrival,” she replied. “I was clearly misinformed of the time the meeting was to commence.” She kept her expression stiff; the words had edge, but at least they were polite. She walked to her seat; Teller took his.

The Berrilya raised an iron brow. “Apologies, Terafin. It was felt that some portion of the discussion might lack the gravitas one would otherwise expect from one’s peers.” He glanced, pointedly, at The Wayelyn—who had not chosen to second Solran Marten as his adjutant for this meeting. The Ten had, in fact, chosen to pare down their entourages to the bare minimum of guards and a single counselor; it was what she herself had chosen to do.

“The Guildmaster of the Order of Knowledge has petitioned the Council,” he continued, when The Wayelyn failed to interrupt. “She asks your permission, Terafin, to sit as observer for this discussion.”

“Is she within
Avantari
?”

“She is. She can be found in Queen Marieyan’s Court, and if her presence is acceptable, she will attend us without delay.”

“The rest of The Ten will accept this?” Jewel asked softly.

The Garisar said, “I fail to see why we should, and I have made my objections known prior to your arrival. I would like to repeat them now.”

Jewel inclined her head. “Your objection is noted. The reason?”

“The business of The Ten is not the business of the Order of Knowledge.”

“Indeed, it is not,” she replied. She had not herself decided how to handle Sigurne’s unusual request, and wondered if that request had been prompted by another House. If it had, no one was willing to own it. She glanced over her shoulder to her domicis, who waited by the wall as if he were, in truth, just another servant.

You take a risk, if you accede.

I take a risk if I don’t,
she replied.
We are to discuss The Wayelyn’s song, and its growing effect. We deal now in magics that no one of us understands.

You cannot afford to own that ignorance.
He was, of course, correct.

Tell the page to summon Sigurne
.

He nodded stiffly.

She turned back toward the large table. “When we agreed to a recess, the topic of discussion was a song, written without my knowledge and without my consent by The Wayelyn. I could not speak of it then, as I had not heard it. I have, now. Does it remain—personal dignity aside—a matter of import to this Council?”

“It does.”

“Very well. Let us speak of this when the guildmaster arrives.”

* * *

Sigurne arrived at the side of Member APhaniel. Jewel was surprised; Matteos Corvel did not seem to be in attendance. She entered the Council chambers on Meralonne’s arm. As she headed toward the stairs that led to the gallery, Jewel rose.

“Guildmaster,” she said. “If you would remain on the floor?” Avandar, at her silent command, had retrieved a chair from its standing place against the far wall.

“It is not my intent to guide or participate in the meeting, Terafin,” she replied.

“Of course not,” Jewel said, noting that Sigurne had ceased to move. “But if you are called upon to speak, it will be more dignified for all concerned if you choose to speak from the floor.”

“Does the Council concur?” the older woman asked.

If they did not, no one spoke against the courtesy Jewel had offered, not even The Garisar. Sigurne seated herself. Once she was settled, Meralonne chose to withdraw, retreating to the wall against which Avandar was standing, as if he were in truth a simple escort or attendant.

Before The Berrilya could once again speak, Jewel lifted a staying hand, her attention still given to the Guildmaster of the Order. “We will be discussing a song that is of some concern,” she said. “Have you heard it?”

Sigurne inclined her head. “I have. In some circles, it is much discussed.”

The Korisamis now rose. “It is not the contents of the song that we will now discuss,” he said, “with apologies to The Terafin and the guildmaster. Terafin, you have now heard The Wayelyn’s questionable composition.”

Jewel nodded.

“At our previous meeting, the Bardmaster of Senniel College made clear that she thought the dissemination of this song was a crucial endeavor—when the Kings themselves did not concur.”

She nodded again.

“We are all interested in your opinions on the matter at this point. Do you believe that the bardmaster made the correct choice?”

It was not the question Jewel had been expecting. “Given that The Wayelyn’s fulsome praise is better suited to a god, it is hard to see either myself or my House in its lyrics. I consider it an impolite fiction, and feel no need to acknowledge it publicly one way or the other.”

“You do not feel the contents are in any way accurate,” The Korisamis said. It felt as if he was pressing a point that had already been made before her arrival.

She raised her brows slightly. “Korisamis, forgive any lack of due respect, but he describes me ‘
as fair, as fair as winter’s heart, as pale as sun’s light
.’ If we ignore the details of the walls upon which I inevitably stand, and assume that by heralds he refers to the cats—”

“He does not,” Shadow interjected.

Jewel turned, slowly, to stare at the gray, winged difficulty. After a few seconds, the cat dropped his gaze and gave a soft hiss. She returned her gaze to her peers. “The contents of the song itself are ridiculous. I understand that the bardmaster saw fit to speed its progress through the holdings; I understand that she—and The Wayelyn—are concerned about nebulous, future events.

“But those events are, if I understand the genesis of the song correctly, based entirely upon the visions of one who is seer-born.”

The Wayelyn cleared his throat. Jewel considered speaking over him, but held her peace. “They are predicated on the visions of one who can, for all intents and purposes, travel through time. She has seen both your gardens and your personal chambers, Terafin, and she has seen what the Empire must face. It is not vision alone that guides her, but also experience.”

Jewel wanted to argue further; to diminish the weight Evayne’s words carried. But she accepted The Wayelyn’s correction because it was true. She understood that truth and political expedience were often diametrically opposed; it was a fact she used to navigate other people’s lies. Navigating her own, she had not yet mastered.

She exhaled. “Let me posit that The Wayelyn’s song contained some kernel of truth, then. It is not, in any way, factual; nor, I think, was it meant to be. It does not speak to truth as I perceive it—and I live behind my grounds and the great trees that now grow there. I am guarded by large winged cats. I number, among my servants, one immortal.

“This does not make me any less Terafin; were it not for these facts, Terafin might still be ruled by a regent. It is not. I will not banish the cats; nor will I uproot the trees—if that is even possible.”