Battle: The House War: Book Five (84 page)

“Which would imply a benefit to the Crowns for such public deaths.”

“Indeed.”

“May I give you a tour of the manse, Patris Araven?”

“I would appreciate it. Terafin has, I am told, very fine public galleries, but I have been so pressed for time on my previous visits that I have failed to see them.”

“And would you care to dine in the dining hall?”

Patris Araven grimaced.

Andrei, however, said, “He would.”

“Then let me notify Barston that we will have such an illustrious guest.”

* * *

Teller’s tour of the manse was thorough. Hectore lingered at some sign from his servant—but it was not a sign Teller could easily intercept. Outside of the confines of the right-kin’s office, Andrei once again adopted the mute and perfect silence expected of a man of his station. Teller had some difficulty with this sudden shift. Hectore, however, did not; when Teller’s gaze rested for too long upon Andrei, Hectore would ask a question.

“Do you have any desire to view the grounds?” Teller asked.

“Not today; I believe the grounds are impressive enough we would miss dinner entirely were we to venture there.”

Teller nodded. He suspected that the grounds—like the library—were beyond Andrei’s ken. Andrei offered no observations. If he found anything unusual, he gave no sign at all.

But they followed a course set by Teller, and it led, eventually, to the West Wing. As the doors were opened, he said, “Our rooms are currently here. There are twelve occupants, although the West Wing is capable of housing more.”

“The twelve?” Andrei asked—after the doors were shut at their backs.

“The original occupants of the West Wing, one domicis, and one child.”

“The child is whose?”

“An orphan,” he replied. “She arrived on the day The Terafin returned from the South, and has been with us ever since.”

“Are visitors entertained in this Wing?”

“Yes. Generally in the great room.”

“Servants?”

“None currently resident within the Wing; the servants who care for the Wing have been working here for years.”

“None are new?”

Teller shook his head.

“We will want their names,” Hectore said, unexpectedly.

“They are all ATerafin,” Teller replied, the tone of his voice his only offered warning. He turned toward the great room, entering it as the doors were opened. “If you wish to have a seat, we may take drinks before dinner here.”

“Andrei.”

Andrei turned and bowed, briefly, to Teller. “With your permission, right-kin, I would like entry to your personal rooms here.”

“And Finch’s?”

He nodded. “Patris Araven?”

“I have had enough exercise, I think. If you feel it necessary to accompany Andrei, please do; I will avail myself of your fireplace and your very comfortable chairs.”

* * *

Jewel might have remained uncertain about Haval’s mood, but Shadow was not. The large, gray cat never bothered Haval the way he did Angel, Arann, or select members of her Chosen; he was not hugely disrespectful the way he was with Celleriant, Avandar, or Meralonne. Nor did he start this afternoon—but he did attempt to step on the feet of the Chosen and he did mutter “ugly” and “stupid” under his breath while glaring at Avandar from the corner of his eyes.

He was no longer on full alert.

Haval, for his part, now looked like he was overdressed and slightly uncomfortable to be so. For Jewel, there was no slightly; she longed to return to her rooms and change into something that did not feel so confining. She didn’t even ask. She understood that the lunch with Haval had been a test. She was accustomed to Haval’s tests, and frequently failed them. She knew that this was not a test she could afford to fail.

It was not Haval’s way to offer comfort. He offered opinion—some of it caustic, much of it frustrating—and fact. Comfort was not something that the reigning Terafin should require. Ever. He therefore said nothing as he walked by her side toward the West Wing. He frowned once at her grip on his arm, and she forced her hands to relax. More than that, he did not say; they were in public.

He trusts your intent,
Avandar told her, his voice tinged with mild frustration.
But feels you are wise enough and mature enough to understand that intent counts for little. He is also aware that his wife would be beyond upset if he were to kill you; if he chooses to act against you, he will not do it while there is any chance she will survive.

Avandar had a sense of comfort very similar to Haval’s.

She approached the West Wing, wondering if anyone, besides Adam and Ariel, would be present.

The answer was not quite what she expected; as she opened the doors and entered the hall, she saw a familiar man slide between the doors of the great room. She felt Haval stiffen and glanced at his profile.

“Andrei?” she asked, as she released the clothier’s arm.

His brows rose slightly. “Terafin.” He bowed.

* * *

Teller entered the hall a moment later. His brows rose as he met Jewel’s gaze; his hands moved briefly in den-sign.

No
, she replied, in the same language.
No danger
.

He glanced to her right, where Haval stood. She grimaced.
No immediate danger
.

You’re all right?

She didn’t answer. She wanted an hour and real words for that. Haval did not immediately move. Neither did Andrei. Jewel cleared her throat. “Is Patris Araven here?”

Teller nodded. “He is. He’s in the great room, at the moment. I took the liberty of offering him a tour of the manse.”

“We don’t mean to interrupt, of course. Haval is currently measuring me for two dresses—hopefully less confining than the monstrosity I’m currently wearing.”

Teller almost laughed; the sound lurked in the corner of his eyes and lips.

“Haval?” Jewel said, when the tailor failed to move. He was watching Andrei. Andrei returned his regard; they might have been the only two men in the room. “. . . Or I could entertain Patris Araven if you have other pressing concerns at the moment.”

“A man of Patris Araven’s import,” Haval surprised her by saying, “should not be left unattended. Please, Terafin, do not let the minor matter of fittings cause neglect. I will wait.”

She did not stare at the side of his face, but it took effort. She knew that the resolution to this difficulty would occur only after she made an attempt to wake his wife, to return her to the waking world. She was not certain what Haval would do if she failed. “Are you certain?”

He raised one brow in a stiff arch.

“Very well. I would be delighted to entertain Patris Araven. Avandar?”

He bowed. If Andrei was a concern, he was content to leave him in Haval’s hands.

“Shadow, go to Ariel.”

The cat sniffed loudly. And complained. But his complaints were second class, for a cat. He considered Ariel boring. But he didn’t consider her annoying; he certainly didn’t consider her dangerous. That was no surprise. What was a constant surprise was that Ariel did not consider Shadow threatening. She frequently fell asleep draped across his side. She occasionally tried to stretch his wings—a crime for which other men would lose their hands. Or arms.

“Will you join us?” Jewel asked Teller.

Teller hesitated. Before he could reply, Haval said, “As right-kin, Terafin, and as host, he will of course join you.”

Teller evinced no surprise. He offered The Terafin his arm; Jewel took it. Her hand was shaking. Together, they entered the great room. Hectore was seated; he glanced at the door and rose instantly.

“Terafin! I am surprised.” He offered her a very correct, very formal bow.

“As am I,” she replied. “I am here for a fitting. I hope you will not consider the manners of my House to be insufficient; I did not know you were here.”

The smile froze, for an instant, on his face. “A fitting?”

“Indeed. At the moment, given the victory celebrations and the various functions within
Avantari
, I have a clothier in residence to see to the needs of my wardrobe.”

“In . . . residence.” Hectore glanced at the closed door. It opened, but Andrei did not appear in the frame; Avandar did. He carried two bottles to the sideboard as the door closed at his back.

“Please, Patris Araven, be seated.”

Hectore continued to stare at the closed door. “May I ask, Terafin, if your clothier is a man named Haval Arwood?”

“He is. Is this a concern?”

“. . . No. No,” he added, with a smile that was not entirely forced. “It is not, of course. You ventured into the den of The Ten this morning?”

“I did.” Jewel took a chair near Hectore; she clasped her hands in her lap as if she were once again at her lessons.

* * *

“I did not expect to see you here,” Haval told Andrei.

“Nor I you,” the Araven servant replied. They were alone in the hall, save for the presence of two of the Chosen, who now stood guard at the doors of the great room.

“Why are you here?”

“I might ask the same question.”

“Yes. And if there are no answers forthcoming, we will stand in the hall like two overly cautious men. I am here as a clothier. I have the distinction of being one of the few The Terafin hires.”

“I see. I am here because Patris Araven made an appointment with the right-kin.”

“I was not aware that the Araven fortunes were so congenially tied to House Terafin’s.”

“No, indeed. You were not. It is not information that is considered vital to most clothiers.”

They remained at an impasse. Haval had no intention of allowing Hannerle’s condition to be spoken of in Hectore’s hearing; if Hectore was unaware of Adam, he did not intend to bring Adam to the merchant’s attention. It was a simple precaution; Hectore of Araven was not a particularly mendacious or cruel man. But he was a man, and like all men, had his weaknesses.

“You are inspecting the manse?” he finally said, dispensing with the pretense of affability and ignorance.

Andrei inclined his head. “Terafin security, I am told, is adequate.”

“Your informant must be ATerafin. It is not, to my mind, adequate at all.”

“Indeed. Might we hold this conversation in a different room?”

“As you wish. I have a workroom in the Wing; it is inconvenient to task The Terafin with travel to—and from—my shop. It is not perhaps the tidiest of spaces, and I will ask you to touch nothing.”

Andrei nodded.

* * *

They entered Haval’s workroom in silence, aware of the Chosen at the doors of the great room.

Andrei’s frown was no doubt genuine as his gaze swept the floor of Haval’s workroom. “I had not realized,” he said, “that the attempt to touch nothing was to be so onerous. Will I be forgiven if I accidentally step on anything?”

“No.”

The Araven servant chuckled. “You have not changed at all, Haval. You have aged, but you have not markedly changed. I did not think that decades of life as a tailor would have so little impact.”

“They have not had none,” he replied. “Does the manse meet your approval?”

“It does not. There are areas I feel are of significant concern.”

“How thorough was your inspection?”

“It was not, given we had a spare few hours, as thorough as I would like.”

“And you are done?”

“No. Hectore will dine in the dining hall with The Terafin this eve. He is not amused,” Andrei added.

Haval chuckled. “No, he wouldn’t be. I am surprised he agreed.”

“He has taken a liking to your Terafin; he considers her, in many ways, the child of his godson.”

“Which godson? He has a dozen.”

“He has seven,” Andrei replied firmly. “But I am not in the mood to answer questions which are superfluous. You are aware of whom I speak.”

Haval nodded. If he did not trust Hectore—and he did not, but in the general misanthropic way he regarded most of humanity—it was Andrei who was his chief concern. “The Terafin has a domicis of whom even you would approve.”

“My approval is also superfluous.”

“Ah, I have grown clumsy. She has no need of any service you offer.”

“That was my conclusion, yes. Hectore feels that The Terafin is as sentimental as he was in his youth. He has taken her acceptance of his offer to heart, and he looks, now, to the two members of the House Council who are her closest friends.”

“Finch.”

“And the right-kin, yes. He is willing to work with Jarven.”

“I’m surprised you are.”

“I am servant; Hectore is master. My preferences in this regard are inconsequential.”

“Do you feel that Finch is in danger?”

Andrei did not answer.

“And the right-kin?”

“I am here, am I not?”

“If Hectore decided to arrive to celebrate the birthday of a servant’s child, you would be here regardless.” Haval frowned. “You have concerns about the right-kin’s safety?”