Michelle West - Sun Sword 01 - The Broken Crown (92 page)

"We thought the risk was worth taking. We'll live with the
consequences.
Open
the damned thing."

The scroll came an inch off the desk, and then another,
casting a thin shadow; neither Duarte nor Alexis had moved to touch it.
"Fancy." she said coolly. "But I think we have better things to do than
watch you practice a trick that couldn't kill a flea. The orders."

It was the women who were always the problem. The Kalakar.
Kiriel. Alexis. Give him Cook, or Sanderson, or Auralis—well, maybe not
Auralis, but Auralis wouldn't get into so much trouble if he could keep
away from the women.

"Duarte, I'm waiting."

Never ever
, he thought sourly,
get
emotionally involved with a member of your unit. Never
. He
grabbed the scroll as it lolled in the air and cracked the seal.

"What? What does it say?"

"We're to report to Verrus Andromar at
Avantari
.
Tomorrow." He looked up at the sharp-faced woman he considered
the most attractive person in the Empire. "In the Arannan Halls."

"Jewel."

The younger woman looked up from the scrolls that she labored
over; ink stained the corner of her mouth, as it often did when she let
her mind wonder. She relaxed when she saw Torvan ATerafin in the
doorway, and then tensed when he drew close enough that she could see
his expression.

"Does The Terafin want me?"

"Yes." He paused. "By the Shrine." He winced, and added, "I
don't think she wants to wait for as long as it's going to take you to
clean up. I'd avoid Avandar if at all possible, if I were you."

The woman who ruled the House and the woman who served it met
in the late afternoon light. It seemed strange to Jewel ATerafin; the
Shrine of Terafin was a nighttime relic; a place where ghosts and
restless dreams could be either invoked or laid to rest. Shadows and
darkness gave mystery; light took it away, shining too harshly across
unadorned marble and bronze.

Shining just as harshly across the rather stark features of
the woman whose rule over House Terafin was unquestioned. "Jewel," The
Terafin said, her voice quite cool.

Jewel bowed at once, and held that bow, gathering her thoughts
and her expression before she rose. Bows, she had discovered over the
years, were good for that; you could use them to hide shock, anger,
contempt, or fear while feigning respect. Anything that bought time
acceptably was to be valued.

"I've spoken with Devon," The Terafin said.

"Oh."

"Join me." It was an order. Jewel joined her lord on the steps
of the Shrine, and together, in a careful and graceful
lockstep—although it had to be said that The Terafin's grace was
natural, and Jewel's learned—they climbed to the altar that rested
beneath the domed roof. "Now. We have peace, and we have privacy."

The breeze flew past, picking at strands of Jewel's unruly
hair. Time, lessons, and a dozen different attendants had not taken the
wildness out of those dark curls; she'd been told with a sniff that the
color would go first.

"I did not," The Terafin said, when Jewel did not immediately
speak, "grant you permission to travel with the army. You are a member
of House Terafin, and you owe fealty to Terafin. You, of all people,
know this." As if to make her point, she glanced around the Shrine and
its confines, alluding, with that single gesture, to all of their
mutual history.

"I did not," The Terafin continued, as a crimson stain spread
itself across cheeks that were—or that should have been at thirty-two
years of age—too old to take well to blushing, "give you leave to
insult The Berriliya or The Kalakar, and while we are not perhaps the
friends that we could be, our Houses owe each other the respect of
rank. If anyone from Terafin is to push past them as if they don't
exist, it will not be you."

"Terafin."

"The House needs you here."

Jewel bowed, the motion a bobbing of head, no more.

"And now I would appreciate it if you would tell me why the
House
needs you
there
."

There were days when she hated the sight.

"Terafin," she said quietly, "what would you give—of your
House—to win this war?"

"This is not a discussion, Jewel."

And there were days when she
loathed
it.
"Terafin." She swallowed, because she knew that she didn't have an
answer.

"I would not give the life of my House," a third voice said,
and they both turned, and neither woman was surprised. Standing before
them, hands behind his back and face lined with thought, the spirit of
Terafin wore a face that Jewel had never seen, and that The Terafin
knew well.

Jewel had never seen the guardian of Terafin during the hours
of the day before. But if she did not recognize the face that he wore,
she recognized what lay beneath it: concern for Terafin, the Great
House of his founding. One could not summon the spirit of Terafin; not
even if one were
The
Terafin. The spirit chose
his time—and his companions. And in this generation of those chosen
worthy to be ATerafin, he had only two: The Terafin, and Jewel. Neither
woman had ever given voice to what this meant.

Because Terafin was a big House, the most powerful of The Ten,
and if The Terafin was its undisputed leader, the House Council was not
without its power. The Terafin had
wisely chosen to announce no heir to the title.

"I would not give the life of my House," the guardian of
Terafin said. "But I risked my House for the Kings."

"And the House became stronger for the choice," The Terafin
said quietly.

"Yes," he said softly. "But we did not know that that would be
the outcome. Terafin, the House is, and has been, many things; it will
be many things in the future. Some of them, you envision; some you
cannot.

"Many of the patriciate turned their backs upon the cause of
the Kings when they came seeking support for their war against the
Barons. They did it in the name of their families, of their Houses.

"Terafin did not. And if the Kings came today, Terafin
would
not."

"You do not," The Terafin said wryly, "rule Terafin. I do."

He bowed and his smile was almost rueful. Almost. "As you say,
Terafin." His bow carried the respect that his tone did not. "But if I
do not rule, I advise. If I might beg your indulgence?"

She laughed, and the laughter took the last of the edge out of
her voice, although it was a quiet laugh, appropriate to a woman of
great station.

"Jewel Markess ATerafin, go South if South calls, and do what
must be done. But I will have your word, before you leave, that
regardless of the state of the war, if you are summoned to Terafin, you
will
return."

"Of course!"

The guardian's smile was almost sad. "Take those who you feel
are worth risking. And also take your domicis."

The hostages were freed, but in a limited fashion; they were
allowed to return to their quarters, allowed to have their cerdan as
escorts, allowed even to resume the style of title and dress and
entertainment that had been their wont. They were not, by royal decree,
allowed to leave
Averalaan Aramarelas
, and any
need that required a journey beyond the confines of the Holy Isle was
to be facilitated by the Kings' Swords.

Which was better than any of them, save perhaps Serra Marlena
en'Leonne, had hoped for when news of the slaughter had first reached
them. But they did not yet feel safe; had they, the restrictions would
have already begun to chafe and annoy.

Ser Fillipo par di'Callesta was quiet as he contemplated their
fortune, and their fate. He, of course, would be free to travel the
moment the Kings decided to announce their decision—if, he thought
grimly, they chose to
make
one—and he very much
wished to do so. It had been years since he had fought by his brother's
side, and his brother had proved himself, if anyone born to Callesta
ever doubted it, to be worthy of the title the Wolf of Callesta.

But he also dearly wished to leave his wife and his younger
son in the safety of the Imperial court. For in the Imperial court,
Valedan di'Leonne had found safety against the servants of the Lord of
Night—and if such a boy could find safety against such an enemy, his
own family, far more important to him, and far less important to anyone
else, would surely be protected.

Michaele, his oldest, was fourteen—and fourteen was not too
young to blood a blade in the service of Callesta. Besides, if he
elected to leave Michaele behind, he thought it would go ill; the boy
was not unlike his father, and had every intention of going to war.
Whether or not the Imperials declared themselves allies—and if they
did, it was a very mixed blessing—Averda would see battle.

"Fillipo."

He knew the voice at once; it was a dusky voice, a sleepy one,
full-throated and heavy and feminine. Andrea en'Callesta. Smiling, he
turned to greet her; the smile stiffened. "What has passed?"

"Nothing yet. But Tara bid me come to find you. She is with
Valedan."

He started to walk, and she touched his shoulder, catching the
silk of his shirt and holding him a moment. She had always been bold,
and although at times he found it annoying, he had never quite mastered
the appreciation he felt for that hint of wildness—and its strength.
"What?"

"Men have come. Soldiers. They bear a standard I recognize
only half of."

She was sharp; she missed little, if she missed anything at
all. "The half?"

"Kalakar. I believe they have come for Valedan."

He grew still at once. "Where is the Tyr'agnate?"

"I do not know. He did not leave word."

"And the General Baredan di'Navarre?"

"With the kai Leonne. He does not—he does not appear to be
pleased." She paused, as if weighing the moment and necessity to speak
her mind. It did not take long. "These men and women—they are old
enough to have served, I think, in the wars."

Kalakar.

He cursed, a single sharp word, and pulled himself free from
the grip of his wife. And then he left her, and his musings, behind,
thinking that if they took the boy, and made of him some Imperial
puppet, Averda had already lost.

Valedan knew Kiriel the moment he saw her, although she stood
in the middle of the ranks of what appeared, for a moment of chill
uncertainty, to be a small army. He did not think that he would ever
forget her, and in this at least, he was right; he was to be proved
wrong about many things in his life.

General Baredan swore, unmindful of the presence of the women;
the women chose, with a certain pale grace, not to hear him. He
understood, immediately, that it had been choice and tact on their
part, and had the good sense to fall silent. But he drew his sword and
held it out, at chest height, for Valedan to see. Valedan knew what he
offered.