Battle: The House War: Book Five (95 page)

Hannerle said, tersely, “Enough.”

“I don’t know enough, yet, to use my talent properly. If I can’t use it, if I can’t control what I see and when I see it, the city will eventually be destroyed.”

Hannerle exhaled. “I’ve been dreaming,” she said.

Jewel glanced out the window, and Hannerle grimaced. “Yes, well. Haval is a normal man,” his wife continued, turning once again to gaze out at the trees.

“Yes. But if Haval is here, he can provide by dint of will and observation what I provide by random vision and gut instinct. He can probably do
better
. If he decides to keep them alive, they’ll remain alive. I don’t know what he’ll do. I don’t know
how
he’ll do it. I don’t know where the information will come from—and Hannerle, I
don’t care
. I’m trying to care because I know what the cost might be to you. And if he loses you, I know what the cost will be to me.”

“He
has
been bullying you.”

Jewel smiled wanly. “With cause. If you were Finch, if you were Teller, if you were trapped sleeping while every
other
sleeper had finally awakened—I’d do the same. I’d be angry. I’d be—”

“Oh, hush. Tell him he’s to stop. I don’t want him to become what he was—but I like your Finch and your Teller. I like you—and he knows it. He’s probably gambling that my affection for you is greater, in the end, than my fears and my needs.”

“It shouldn’t have to be.”

“No. Not in a world that had no forests such as this one. I can’t offer you any help. You’re The Terafin; you’re so far above me we shouldn’t be having this conversation. The only help I can offer, in the end, is Haval.”

But will you
? Jewel almost said. She didn’t. She had laid her own need bare, and now she waited. She had left the decision in Hannerle’s hands—and Hannerle knew it.

“I can’t live in your manse,” Hannerle continued. “I understand why you had me moved, but I can’t live there. The West Wing will never be my home. Even if I could chase every servant out of the kitchen, I could never be comfortable. It’s too large, and there are too many people in it.

“I want to go home.”

Jewel nodded.

“I don’t know whether residence in the manse will suit Haval in my absence. I don’t know if it will suit his intent. He worked for a select few men in his time, and he did not dwell in their homes. But those men were not Finch or Teller. They were not you. If you weren’t The Terafin, I would tell him to keep an eye out for your interests—but he’d do that anyway.

“I won’t force him to abandon your den-kin. But I’m not of a mind to make it particularly
easy
for him, either. He knew I’d be angry when he had me moved. He knew I’d hate to be surrounded by people in positions of power. He expects me to be angry now, and I find with Haval it’s often best to give what he expects.”

Jewel frowned. “But he knows people so well, he observes so much. If he’s certain—”

“I’ve been dreaming,” Hannerle replied, voice low. “And I have seen things in my dreams that you might see only in nightmare. I’ve been safe. I’ve been here, in the heart of my home; the scenery on the outside changes. But my windows don’t break, and none of the violence or death crosses my threshold; I witness it, but I’m not threatened by it.

“And I’ve seen enough, Jewel.” She closed her eyes. “I will not speak of it, not even here. I hope, when I wake, it becomes as distant and vague as nightmare. I know—I know what you fear. I know why you must leave. It’s been explained to me in a hundred different ways.

“I don’t feel it’s fair that you’re the only hope the city has. I think it’s appalling. What do we have
Kings
for, if not tasks like this? You don’t deserve to bear the burden of the entire city. But we mostly don’t get what we deserve in this life.”

“That’s what my Oma always told me.”

“Smart woman.”

“And scary.”

“Come, Jewel. Take me to my husband.”

Jewel closed her eyes.

* * *

When she opened them again, she was in the West Wing. Hannerle’s hand was clasped tightly in both of her own; Adam held the other, his eyes still closed.

“Adam,” Jewel said.

He opened them and met her gaze. Hannerle’s eyes opened as he withdrew his hand and set it in his lap. Haval had not moved an inch. His expression shifted only as his wife’s eyes narrowed in recognition.

She said, in a much creakier voice than the voice she’d used in the dreaming, “I’ve a few words to say to you, Haval.”

His brows rose. As a greeting, it wasn’t promising. “Of course. If I may ask for a moment of privacy,” he added, glancing pointedly at Adam and Jewel.

Hannerle’s hand tightened briefly around Jewel’s. “Help me up,” she said, as if The Terafin were the least significant person in the room. Jewel nodded to Adam, and Adam pulled the pillows that lay decoratively at the foot of the bed; together, they propped Hannerle up. She hardly seemed to notice; her lips had set in a thin line, and she was glaring at her husband.

Her husband, in response, seemed to wilt. The patina of self-confident patrician deserted him. Jewel
knew
this was deliberate affectation, but felt a pang of sympathy anyway.

“Don’t you dare,” Hannerle said, proving that if she was not as observant as Haval—and Jewel doubted anyone could be—she was still fully capable of noticing what went on beneath her nose, even if that nose happened to be pointing up beneath narrowed eyes. “I have a few words to say to you,” she said.

“Hannerle—can it wait until the children are gone?”

Hannerle snorted. It was a far weaker sound than it should have been, but it didn’t matter. “What have you been doing while I’ve been ill?”

“Making dresses, love. And two suits.”

“And that’s all?”

“I’ve had a few conversations, most with young Jewel.”

“Conversations, you said?” She turned to look at Jewel. “I think you’d better leave. I know how you feel about lying in general, and I have
some
regard for my husband’s dignity.”

Jewel retrieved her hand and stood far too quickly. She nodded at the Chosen, and they headed toward the door. Adam left first. Through the closed door, Jewel could hear Hannerle’s voice rise in pitch and volume; she couldn’t make out the words, which was probably a mercy.

* * *

Jewel did not join her den for dinner. She chose to remain in the West Wing instead, in the comfort of the great room. The great room was occupied by the Chosen who served as her shadows, her domicis, and one very bored, very whiny cat. Finch came just before the start of the middle dinner hour. They didn’t have the chance to converse; Hectore was waiting, and Finch immediately joined him.

“Jarven will most likely be in the dining hall,” she warned the Araven merchant.

He laughed. “That will most certainly make my evening. I suspect it will somewhat sour his.” He glanced at his servant; Andrei’s expression made clear that the warning meant for Hectore found favor in his eyes; he clearly disliked Jarven. But Finch found neither man off-putting. She was diffident, polite, and appeared to be entirely at ease in their company—something Teller could not feign.

“You will not be joining us, Terafin?” Hectore asked.

“No. I’m afraid the events of the afternoon have thoroughly destroyed my schedule, and there are some matters to which I must attend while I am still on my feet.”

Hectore offered her a perfect bow. Andrei did not; he had retreated into the role of servant, and he looked as if he intended to stay there. The great room was therefore silent—except for whining cat. “Do
not
scratch the furniture, Shadow. The Master of the Household Staff is already angry with me.” Angry was too paltry a word. Enraged? Yes, that was more suitable.

Meralonne’s strict instructions on the doors that could—and could not—be used would fan the flames. Avandar brought wine; Jewel stared at it. She did not generally drink, except where social circumstance mandated it.

And the knock on the door indicated that this might be one of those occasions. “It’s Haval,” she told her domicis. “Please, see him in.”

* * *

Haval chose to present himself as a deflated, older man. Jewel watched him. She felt sympathy for an expression that was, in all likelihood genuine; Haval’s lies almost always were. She indicated that he should sit, and Avandar placed a glass of wine in his hand; he accepted it absently.

“Hannerle was angry,” Jewel said.

“She was.” He glanced at her and frowned.

He knows
, she thought, unsurprised. Haval was one of nature’s liars; Hannerle was not. People believed that any man who was thoroughly encumbered by honesty could not be lied to effectively; Jewel believed the opposite. Lies were a particular type of work, and it was work an honest man might never fully appreciate.

“What did you say to my wife?”

“I believe she will have to answer that,” Jewel replied. She lifted her own glass and held it between them, looking at Haval as if through a facet-less prism. “You’ll stay.”

“Yes.” The look of exhaustion fell away instantly, as if brushed aside. He observed her, his eyes sharp, his gaze steady. “It was cleverly done, Jewel. I will give you that. I do not think I could have achieved the same result, and I am a man of both experience and guile. What did you do?”

Jewel exhaled. She could refuse to answer the question a second time, but knew, from long experience, that he would get the information he desired in one way or another. Acceding with grace was something she could afford at the end of this bitterly long day. “I threw myself entirely upon her mercy,” she replied. “It’s not something you could do.”

One brow rose.

“She knows you too well, Haval. If you dissembled in any fashion, she would be insulted.”

He smiled. “Indeed. And she knows that you are not me. You cannot lie to save your life, Jewel. You hide none of your weaknesses; indeed, where my wife is concerned, you expose them all. You cannot be The Terafin in her presence; you have a weakness where autocratic older women are concerned.

“You will leave?”

She nodded.

“When?”

“I’m not certain, Haval. Soon. It has to be soon.”

“You are waiting for something?”

She nodded.

“But you do not know what.”

“No. I
know
that I’ll know when the moment arrives. Until then I will try to put my House in order and prepare the people I trust for my departure.”

“What will you do about Rymark?”

She shied away from the question.

“Very well. Tell me what you want, Jewel. Be explicit. Offer guidelines, and if it pleases you, strict codes of behavior. I will speak with Devon, if you will allow it.”

She nodded. “Haval—”

“I will require a budget. While you are within your manse, I will report to you. I will answer any question you are adept enough to ask; I will hide nothing.”

“It’s not me who’ll be asking the questions,” she replied, deciding. “It’s Finch.”

“You are aware that she has already been the target of one assassination attempt?”

She froze.

“Ah. I see she failed to report it.”

“How—how do you know?”

“Jarven. Finch believes Jarven found it both entertaining and even amusing.”

“You don’t.”

“I believe Jarven is angry.”

Jewel frowned. “He’s not the type of man to get angry over something like that,” she finally said. “I don’t have the same affection for Jarven that Finch does, but I have a good sense of who he is; Finch has taken no pains to hide it.” She grimaced. “He reminds me of my cats.”

Shadow hissed in astonished outrage.

Haval chuckled. “An apt description. I have a great deal of respect for your cats.”

“I haven’t noticed, Haval, that you offered a great deal of respect to Jarven on the few occasions I’ve seen you together.”

“Ah. Jarven is to me what your cats are to you.”

Jewel laughed. Shadow looked confused. He couldn’t quite tease out the insult he was certain was in the statement.

“Finch is an easy person to underestimate. It will be her chief strength in the coming months. Jarven is angry, Jewel. Understand what his anger means. Jarven could make a game of assassination attempts—but they would be just that. If he is aware of them beforehand, they become a test. He did not see this one coming; he takes it as a personal insult.

“I do not know what he expects of Finch.”

“He expects her to hold the House,” Jewel replied. “In my name. For as long as it must be held.”

“He expects that the first attempt will not be the last,” Haval replied.

The hand in her lap tightened. She drank slowly and deliberately. “I expect her,” she said, forcing her jaw to relax, “to do exactly that. She’ll have Teller.” Her hand tightened again.

“You are afraid.”

“Haval, I’m
always
afraid.” She laid the stark words between them, meeting and holding his gaze.

His smile lost its edge. “Yes,” he said, “you are.”