Skirmish: A House War Novel (49 page)

“You are not—yet—a danger. But you will be, and the
Kialli
Lord whose will and command you frustrated will know just how much of a threat you pose. Do you think that the Shining Court will remain idle? They cannot. Even if we do nothing, turning a blind eye to your untrained and untested power, they will not. We watch. We measure. If you are too great a threat...”

Jewel slid off the back of the Winter King. Avandar stood to her left; Celleriant stood behind him. To the right, the Winter King stayed his ground. The cats, however, had taken to the air, and were circling. “What will you do?” she asked the gods.

The Exalted stood in their shadows, almost forgotten until the son of Cormaris chose to speak. His voice was thin, but it was not quiet. “They will, as they have always done, advise us, ATerafin. No more and no less. But even given their advice, the decisions are in our hands.”

The Lord of Wisdom raised brow; he did not however raise rod against his outspoken son. “In this,” he said softly, “we can offer no advice.”

This surprised the Exalted of Cormaris; it also surprised the Exalted of Reymaris. The Mother’s Daughter, however, merely looked resigned.

“The ATerafin herself has more of an answer for your questions than either of you understand,” the Lord of Wisdom continued. “For she has walked in the far South, and she has seen some of what has lain, protected and silent for centuries, beneath the living earth. There, in part, her answers lie. And yours.”

T
he Exalted were silent.

Jewel was silent as well. But she felt both stunned and slightly sickened as she turned to her domicis. To Avandar, called Viandaran by the gods, as if they recognized him on sight. As if they had spoken to him before, and not in the Halls of Mandaros.

He offered her a slight smile.

“Yes, Viandaran. What you suspect, we also suspect. What, now, will you do?”

“I? I will fulfill my contract with her. While she lives, I will serve.”

The Lord of Wisdom frowned. “Your service has been costly, in the past.”

Jewel lifted a hand as the landscape beneath her feet began to shift in both color and texture. If she was subconsciously reconstituting images of the distant past, she had no desire whatever to conjure any of Avandar’s. In the South, in the desert, she had seen enough. “It will not be costly here. What he did in the past, he will not—
cannot
—do to Averalaan.”

“How, if he so desires, will you prevent him, ATerafin? He cannot die.”

“He can,” she replied.

His eyes widened.

“But not yet, not now. Allasakar is not the only god who can grant him the freedom he desires.”

His brows rose. She’d managed to surprise him over the years, but never like this. “ATerafin—”

She lifted her hand again. “I
don’t know more
, Avandar. I just
know
.”

The three gods spoke among themselves in a thunder of syllables that traveled beyond her comprehension. Judging from Avandar’s expression, it was beyond his as well, although he clearly liked it less.

“Very well,” the Lord of Wisdom finally said. “Leave us, ATerafin. We have much to discuss with our children.”

If she could somehow transform the whole landscape of the Between in which gods and mortals might mingle, it didn’t belong to her; she felt the ground shift beneath her feet as the world shattered and re-formed before her eyes, and the throne in the audience chamber snapped into clear view. Girding it were the House Guards; occupying it was Gabriel.

She glanced around; Duvari still leaned against the far wall, and the cats stood by her side, lolling in a way that implied they were very bored. Luckily, they hadn’t descended into complaint.

As she blinked, the Exalted began to move toward the three braziers that still emitted their faint trails of smoke. They gestured, and the embers from which the smoke rose were guttered.

“Regent,” the Mother’s Daughter said, tendering a bow of respect—and exhaustion. “We must repair to the cathedral again. We will return in two days to convene the first day of the funeral rites.”

Gabriel raised a brow. “The gods—”

“The gods are troubled, but we give leave to return to your duties; we have much work to do on their behalf before we return to your halls.”

Duvari now lifted himself off the wall, his eyes narrowing into unfortunate slits as he strode from the back of the chamber to where the Exalted now gathered. He bowed to them; it was the first time Jewel had ever seen a bow used as both an interruption and a demand for instant attention.

“Lord of the Compact,” the Exalted of Reymaris said, as the priests who attended him gathered—and emptied—the brazier. “We do not have the luxury of time. If you wish to speak, accompany us.”

Duvari rose. It was not to the Exalted that he now turned. “Member Mellifas,” he said, in as severe a tone as he generally reserved for powerful members of the patriciate.

“Lord of the Compact,” Sigurne replied. She glanced at Matteos. Matteos, however, failed to notice; he was staring at the ground as if by so doing he could unlock the answer to the Mysteries.

Jewel frowned.

What troubles you now, Jewel?

I thought the magi came with us, but I...

She felt the Winter King’s smile. It was sharp.
They did. They were witness to the gods and their conversation.

I don’t remember seeing them after the gods arrived.

No. But they were present; they were given no voice and no role. I do not believe it was to the guildmaster’s liking, although it is hard to tell.

She wondered how he knew.

He didn’t answer; not directly. Instead, he said,
They wished the guildmaster to bear witness; I am not certain why. Did you truly not intend to take control of the landscape?

You already know the answer to that.

Again she felt his smile, but this time it was less cutting.
I will leave you here, Jewel. I believe the day will be trying, but the worst of it is now over
.

He was wrong.

The return to the West Wing was only a little less demanding of attention than the procession to the audience chambers had been; the Winter King had departed. This left the cats as obvious, out-of-place markers of strange magic. The magi, who accompanied her in silence, raised no eyebrows, however.

Celleriant did not travel to the wing; he veered off at the doors that led to the garden, or more precisely, to the forest. Jewel was content to let him go, because she had no questions she wanted answered at the moment. She was surprised when Avandar excused himself and followed; it made her feel oddly underdressed. The distinct unease of the past several hours had grown sharp enough to scare her, and she wasn’t ready to face it yet.
Just give me three days
. Three days. Funeral rites. Last respects. It might be too much to ask, but it was not too much, in the end, to demand. When the first flowers were planted and the last prayers spoken, she would be willing to face the shrouded future.

Sigurne was silent as she walked; Matteos, silent as well. The cats, however, were not; they were restless and very, very bored, a fact they made clear enough that servants paused to see who’d been so ill mannered. Jewel very much doubted they knew what to make of the answer. But that was something she’d have to worry about, as well.

The small party made it to the wing, where Ellerson greeted them at the doors, his expression one of mild concern. “The audience was short,” he said quietly, the last syllable trailing slightly upward in tone.

“Was it?”

“Very.” It was Sigurne who replied. “It was almost over before it began; Duvari will no doubt be beating a path to your doors in short order. If you’ve developed an appetite at all, I suggest you eat something; you are likely to miss lunch.”

“And you, Member Mellifas?” Ellerson bowed head as he spoke.

“If Jewel’s discussion with Duvari does not satisfy Duvari, I am certain that we, too, will be entertaining him. In a manner of speaking, and with my prior apologies, in your domain. I would, I think, like something warm.”

“Tea?”

“Indeed. I would not take it amiss if it were, on this single occasion, fortified.”

Jewel seldom felt grateful to the gods, but today, she managed. It was, she knew, going to be a long day, and in any event, had Duvari
been
present, he would probably have attached himself at the hip and followed her back to her home. The gods had saved her time, which was in very short supply.

They might have even saved her some of Haval’s decidedly short mood.

“ATerafin,” Sigurne said, as she turned for the hall. “Will you join us?”

“Yes—but I need to check with Haval first; he’ll be in that room all day making clothing that we need to fit properly in two days.”

The door was closed. Most of the doors in the hall—including her own—were in this state, but only one of them contained an underslept and therefore cranky dressmaker. Jewel stared at the door for a long minute. Avandar reached over her head and knocked. She wasn’t profoundly grateful. A muffled command to enter saved Avandar from being told as much in too many words.

She pushed the door open carefully, aware of what rooms generally looked like when Haval was working in them. He’d only had this one for a handful of hours, which meant she could still see floor—although admittedly not nearly as much of it as she knew existed. At the moment, he was on his knees, rather closer to ground than looked comfortable, fussing with the hem of a dress; he was adding black lace. To her surprise, Finch was still in the room. Teller, however, was not. Jewel lifted her hands and gestured briefly; Finch gestured back, but her movements were muted.

“Oh, do, please, answer her,” Haval told Finch. This didn’t appear to surprise Finch, although it did make her look momentarily guilty.

“He’s in Gabriel’s office. When Haval’s ready, we’re to send for him; Barston is inundated with people he can’t afford to offend.”

“What, all twelve of them?”

Finch chuckled. “From the sounds of it, yes. At once. On top of each other. I did offer to send them to Lucille, but Teller wasn’t certain that would be more merciful.”

“I offered to
eat
them,” Snow said. He was reclining to one side of Finch’s chair, and although he should have been impossible to miss, Jewel had.
Probably wishful thinking.
Finch dropped a hand to the cat’s large head and scratched behind his ears.

“Has Snow been at all helpful?” she asked. She asked it of Finch because she was a coward.

It was Haval who answered. He set aside his pins and rose; his knees cracked. “I think,” he told Jewel quietly, “you should see that for yourself.” He gestured toward a screen that stood in the corner of the room.

“The dress?”

“Behind the screen.” She glanced at the cat, who looked very pleased with himself. Then again, when he wasn’t fighting with Night, he generally did. “ATerafin?”

She made her way—carefully, to avoid stray pins—across the room, and stopped a yard from where the screen stood, staring at it with a frown.

“ATerafin?” Haval said again, his intonation different.

“Where did you get this screen?”

“Very good. Do you recognize it?”

“No. But I recognize that mountain.”

“It was not, before Snow came to assist me, a mountain.”

“What was it?” she asked, as if staving off fate.

“Flowers. Not,” he added, “terribly
good
flowers, on the other hand. This is better; it is simple but exact.”

“It had
bees
,” Snow hissed.

“Haval—what did he do to the dress?” Her voice was too loud to be a whisper, but not by much.

Haval did not respond. Instead, he folded arms across his chest—and across the thick apron he wore—and waited, his face a mask.

“How’s Hannerle?”

“Sleeping.” The word was curt but neutral. “And that was a very sloppy attempt to buy time, ATerafin; I expect better in the future.” As she hesitated, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Expelling it cost him
inches of height. “My apologies, Jewel. If it has been a trying day for me, I imagine that it has not been
entirely
pleasant for you. I am always impatient when I work, and in the end, the impatience will be of little benefit to you.

“You have made at least one significant decision.”

“The House?” she asked softly, aware that he was allowing her to stall in a more graceful way, and grateful for it.

“That is one, yes.” He glanced at Snow. “Your cats are another, and if they are less considered than your decision regarding the House, they are no less significant. But you fail to see their significance clearly. I fail to see it, at the moment, but I see that it is there. You cannot afford to choose ignorance at this juncture in your career. Ignorance may appear as the more comfortable alternative, but it is not, in the end, the act of someone who will—must—be a power.

“What, exactly, frightens you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I will allow that. And I will allow you the fear that knowledge brings. I will allow you the ignorance that comes with a surfeit of fact. But I will not allow you to knowingly choose it from this point on. It is a luxury you cannot afford. Fold the screen, ATerafin, and see what a creature without hands has achieved.”