Skirmish: A House War Novel (39 page)

Their ears flattened. Well, white ears and black ones, at any rate; the gray seemed impervious.

“But we’re
bored
.”

Jewel swore that if she heard the word “bored” one more time, someone was going to suffer. Someone, she amended, other than her. Teller had always had a fondness for cats that Jewel had never fully understood. She wondered what he’d make of these ones, because they seemed very much like his cats, to her. “I mean it. We’re not going anywhere until you can behave.” She folded her arms across her chest, and the Winter King turned to look down on them.

There was sulking. There were, however, no other outbursts. Not even when her domicis chose to insert himself between the white cat and the Winter King. “They are no longer stone,” he said quietly.

“No. I have no idea why. I have no idea where they came from,” she added, trying not to sound defensive. “I wasn’t even thinking about them. At all.”

“They have left the side of the Winter King; that much makes clear that Ariane found him.”

“Yes, but there’s no
Summer
,” the black cat hissed. “The Hunters were
all
upset about it. So was the Winter Queen. She tried to
kill
us.” It hissed again; this one was laughter. “But the castle fell down, and we didn’t want to play with them anymore, so we came
here
.”

Jewel, astride the Winter King, failed to respond, which was kindest, not that she thought the cats would actually notice. She moved through the garden at night, and as she did, she became aware of the changes in it. Even in the darkness.

“Avandar—” She glanced down at him.

He nodded, the strange smile still curving his lips.

“The Master Gardener is going to string me up!”

“Oh, I doubt that, ATerafin. The changes, after all, are in
his
garden, in his grounds, and they will be celebrated across the Empire. Once,” he added, “it is determined that they are not inimical in nature.”

She was silent as the Winter King walked in his slow, exact way. “What did you see?” she finally asked.

“I? I saw you touch the tree,” he replied. “And I saw you take one step onto the hidden path.”

“But—”

“I was not close enough to follow, and you were not kind enough to leave a trail. Had you been, on the other hand, you would have had the company of every mage on the grounds. You may yet have that, if Sigurne Mellifas cannot contain them.” He hesitated, and then added, “You are likely to have less welcome company, as well.”

She grimaced. “Duvari?”

“As you say.”

“And the tree?”

“The tree?”

“The one I touched. The one that almost killed Celleriant.”

He didn’t answer.

Had Jewel been walking on her own two feet, she would have frozen in shock at the answer to the question she’d asked. As it was, the silence of shock didn’t result in lack of movement because the Winter King kept going, oblivious—probably deliberately—to her reaction.

What had been an almost burnt-out husk hours—had it really been hours?—before was now a tree in its full glory, and it was a very familiar tree. Oh, it wasn’t silver or gold or diamond, and it certainly didn’t burn with leaves of flame, but she knew its shape and form much better.

So did everyone present; who among them hadn’t wandered between the trunks of those great, famed trees that girded the Common? The magi were responsible for the festival of lights that occurred there, and the magi often paused at the heights of those trees, heights untouchable by anything save magic and wind.

When the demons had attacked the Common, it wasn’t the architectural damage they’d done that had raised the most hue and cry; it was the damage they’d done to some of those trees.

Here, now, in the center of the Terafin grounds, one of those trees was in bloom. In the winter. It was as tall, and as sound, as the trees in the Common—trees that existed nowhere else in the Empire, as far as Jewel knew. But now, one was here.

The magi made room for her as she approached, and why wouldn’t they? She heard their whispers—if something that loud could be dignified with the word whisper—as she passed them by, accompanied by Arann, Avandar, and the cats. It was the cats that had grabbed their attention, and she was certain they knew it, but they didn’t stop to preen.

She slid off the Winter King’s back as they reached the trunk of the tree; by silent assent, she was given leave to do that much. She touched its trunk, felt familiar bark beneath her hands—and more. She could swear the trunk was warm, as if it indeed had a heart of fire encased within it.

“It is not the only one,” Avandar said quietly. “If you look, Jewel, you will see that there are several.”

But she looked at this one, and understood. No trees of silver or gold or diamond could grow in this soil; no trees of flame and fire could take root here without destroying everything they touched. Hand against bark, she could see them anyway: the Winter Forest, the Winter trees. They also existed, and she could reach out and touch them if she chose.

She didn’t. Instead, she bent and retrieved one fallen leaf, and thought of her Oma. She was still holding the leaf when she finally turned to face the crowd that had gathered—at a more respectful distance—from the tree. From her.

The third of the Exalted had, as Avandar predicted, arrived. All of the Exalted stood to one side of the magi, watching her. They watched the cats as well, with some unease; they watched the Winter King. She was grateful that Celleriant had not yet decided to return.

Remembering her first meeting with the Exalted so many years ago, Jewel bowed very deeply. She didn’t prostrate herself; she knew it wasn’t required. But she held the bow that form did demand until she was told—by the Exalted of the Mother—to rise. It was always problematic when the Mother’s Daughters spoke, because their voices had some essential warmth that screamed home in a way that made Jewel want to drop to her knees and crouch by their sides. The Exalted was no exception, but at least tonight that warmth was somewhat stymied by a clear sense of unease.

“Exalted,” Jewel said.

The older woman, her golden eyes ringed by lines and lack of sleep, dredged a smile out of somewhere and offered it. Jewel cast a warning look at the cats, who sat at her back in perfect silence. It couldn’t last, but if it lasted just long enough, she promised to remember to be grateful.

“ATerafin. We are happy to see that you have returned safely. The guildmaster felt it prudent to summon us—in haste—when you disappeared. Although it is clear you are safe, we do not feel that she was in error.” The Exalted then indicated, by dip of chin, that Jewel was to move out of the way, and Jewel had been raised by old women; she moved.

The cats moved with her, eyeing the Exalted in a way that made Jewel’s heart skip a beat. She placed one hand on the tops of the heads of the white and the black cats.

“Do you know the history of these trees?” the Mother’s Daughter asked as she approached the girth of the trunk. It was significantly wider than it had been scant hours ago, and a hell of a lot more healthy.

Jewel frowned. Did she? She’d heard stories about the trees, of course—anyone who grew up near the Common had. “No, Exalted.”

“Ah. There is—was—only one place in the whole of the Empire that these trees are said to grow. They were called Moorelas’ trees, in the lays of old.”

That, Jewel hadn’t heard. “Were they his?”

“I think not. They were also called Summer Trees, and Winter, depending on the teller, and I think the heart of that is closer to the truth. It is not all of the truth.” She hesitated, and then glanced at the silent Exalted of the other two churches.

The Exalted of Cormaris nodded, and she raised a white brow. He began to speak.

“Some decades past, ATerafin, you were responsible for drawing our attention—and the attention, indirectly, of our parents—to the crypt in which the Sleepers lie.”

Jewel nodded.

“The crypt lies under the shadow of Moorelas, a reminder of death—a reminder of the cost of waking those who must sleep.”

She nodded again, but this time more hesitantly.

“That crypt is on the mainland. It is within the bounds of the City proper, within the hundred holdings.”

Everyone knew this. She waited.

“It has long been believed, by at least Teos, Lord of Knowledge, that the trees grow in the City because the Sleepers lie here.”

“But—”

“But?”

“They’re just
trees
.”

“Indeed, ATerafin. It is why Teos’ beliefs in this matter have been given little credence; they have also been given little play for other reasons. The location of the Sleepers has long been known to the gods alone. In time, it will once again be a matter of myth and children’s stories, although perhaps that is the work of decades.” He glanced at the tree, but did not approach.

“Now, it appears, there are new trees. We have taken no time to consult with our parents,” he added. “Nor will we until we can more coherently report on this night’s events. From where did these trees come?”

Jewel glanced at Sigurne.

“I cannot answer,” Sigurne said, also drawing the attention of the Exalted. “For my part, I witnessed only the first half of this singular transformation, and I have already told the Exalted what I saw.”

“Indeed, indeed, Guildmaster.” The Son of Cormaris turned back to Jewel. “Sigurne AMellifas saw you vanish. You walked to the tree, you touched it, and you simply ceased to exist in any way that her magics could detect.”

Jewel nodded. “That’s not quite what it looked like to me—but I did walk. I walked down a path into a forest.” She glanced at her hands; they were full of cat, but otherwise empty. The leaves she had received the second time had taken root as well.

“One of your guards went with you.”

“Yes.”

“And that guard?”

She gestured at Arann and he stepped forward. He was no longer a boy; even in the presence of the Exalted, he was as neutral as Torvan in expression and bearing.

“Your name?”

“Arann Cartan.”

“Of the Terafin House Guard?”

“Yes, Exalted.”

“And you saw what your master saw?”

“Yes, Exalted. We walked down a path. I didn’t see forest as clearly as
she did; I was watching her and the edges of the path. It was dark,” he added.

“But it was definitely forest.”

Arann nodded. There was no hesitation in the nod. No description either. Whatever was said, Jewel would say, or no one would.

“Sigurne,” she said, “I took the leaves into the forest. They took root there.” All hesitations were hers here. “There were trees of silver, gold, and diamond on the path by the time they’d finished.”

Sigurne glanced at the silent cats.

“The cats came after the trees grew.”

“And they are yours?”

Jewel winced. “They’re cats,” she said, as if that explained everything. “But bigger, and with wings.”

The Exalted exchanged a glance, and then gathered by the base of the great tree. And it was a great tree, now; it was taller, wider, its branches higher, than any tree that otherwise graced the gardens.

“ATerafin,” the Mother’s Daughter said, “Do you understand the nature of the forest in which you walked?”

Jewel was silent. “No,” she finally said. “It’s not—it’s not completely real, to me. It’s like a conscious dream; I understood it while I stood on the path. I understood what it meant, how to walk it, how to hold it against all enemies. But now?”

“Can you return?”

Jewel took a deep breath. “Yes. I can.”

“Was it night there?”

Jewel nodded.

“Is it night now?”

“Yes. I’m not sure I understand the question,” she added, glancing pointedly at the moon. “It’s night here.”

“Very well. We will be present two and a half days from now; we will ask you that question again at that time.” She turned to the guildmaster. “Sigurne.”

Sigurne approached, and to Jewel’s surprise, the Mother’s Daughter held out both of her hands; the mage took them carefully—and it seemed, to Jewel, gratefully.

“You needn’t worry that you have roused us for no purpose. We judge the trees in the garden safe, for both the funeral rites, and those who might come to view them. It is not these trees, however, that are now in
question, and you have alerted us to a possibility that the wise had not foreseen. Rest easy, if indeed you can; you have expended no political capital, and it is possible we may be in your debt.”

“In a matter of this nature, debt cannot be accrued between those who hold the interests of the Empire at heart.”

“I fear, in the end, the interests that you speak of will encompass far more,” was the Exalted’s quiet reply. She withdrew her hands when Sigurne released them, and this time, she approached Jewel.

“You seem a very ordinary girl,” she said, after a long moment of silent inspection. It wasn’t quite what Jewel had expected, and had anyone else said it, it would have been just this side of rude. The wrong side. “Tell me, ATerafin, why did you step upon that path? I will not ask how. It is not a question I believe you can answer.”

“It seemed necessary, at the time. I’m sorry, Exalted; I don’t have a better explanation. It was instinctive. I’ve learned, with time, to trust my instincts.”

The Exalted of the Mother nodded kindly. “Your instincts, we have been informed, are very…certain. What did you find on the path, ATerafin?”

“The heart of a tree,” Jewel replied, knowing how stupid it would sound. “And more. I think—” she shook her head. “I found House Terafin. I found the hundred holdings. I found some part of the city I’ve known all my life.”

“That is not all.”

“No, it never is—but they
were
there. They
are
there. I don’t know how. But it’s not the first time I’ve walked a path like that.”

“And the last time?”

“I met the Winter Queen.”

Silence.

The silence couldn’t last. Jewel, who rarely valued silence—because it was so synonymous with emptiness—regretted its passing. “It is as we suspected,” the Exalted of Cormaris said. He spoke with his usual quiet authority. “She has traversed the hidden paths.” He turned to Jewel. “The Exalted of the Mother has said she will not ask you how you could step upon that path, but I must. How, ATerafin?”