Skirmish: A House War Novel (61 page)

“Fun?”

“Well, someone tried to
kill
you. Did
you
eat him?”

“No.”

Snow, from the chair, muttered something about waste.

Haval cleared his throat; this had the effect of quieting the cats. Devon was watching Night with the mixture of caution and fascination usually reserved for large fires.

“Gabriel must have been targeted,” Jewel finally said. “The doors to his
office were magically sealed. Avandar had to force them. By force, I mean break them into a million small pieces, some of which are still in my hair.” She hesitated, and then added, “there was also a visitor. Gabriel has House Guards in the office as a matter of course at the moment—just as The Terafin did.”

“And that visitor?”

“You’d have to ask either Teller or Barston.” She grimaced. “Ask Teller.”

“He recognized the name?”

Avandar, however, said, “There was no man in the room.”

“Pardon?”

“Gabriel had no visitor.”

“That’s impossible,” was her flat reply. “Gabriel’s office is the most magically defended office in the manse; I think he’s more cautious than The Terafin was. If you’re suggesting the guest was entirely an illusion—” she stopped for a moment. “…it’s possible.”

“It’s probable,” Avandar replied. “Duvari will no doubt question Gabriel about the spells that function within his office.”

“There’s got to be something to detect that kind of magic.”

“There is. It is not frequently used; it is considered expensive. If there was, as you imply, a mage present, that might account for much; the illusion would have to be continuously maintained and controlled. Regardless, ATerafin, there was no visitor.”

“There was a name in the book.”

“Indeed; I have no doubt of that.” He turned to Haval and nodded. “My apologies.”

“They are not necessary. I am willing to allow the possibility that the attempt on Gabriel’s life was genuine. I am not, however, willing to allow the possibility that the attempt on Jewel’s was merely a small part of that attempt.”

“The demon?” Jewel asked, after a long silence.

Haval nodded. He glanced at Devon, who had remained silent throughout. “You have reservations.”

“I believe, although I was not privy to the entire conversation, that all of the possibilities have been at least touched on.”

Haval folded his arms across his chest and waited.

“Jewel is, however, correct. The timing would appear to favor no one. There is no chance whatsoever that the funeral rites will be postponed.”

“If Gabriel had perished?”

“The House Council would be convened almost instantly.”

“And a new regent chosen?”

Devon nodded. “A new regent would be chosen by either vote or consensus. Consensus is, of course, to be desired, but if consensus cannot be reached—and I fail to see how, in the short time the funeral rites dictate, it could be—it is likely to be decided by vote of the Council members in question.”

“What if one of the contenders then installed their regent of choice?” It was to Jewel that he directed the question.

“It wouldn’t do them any good. If one of the contenders made himself—or herself—regent, that’s all they’d ever be, unless the governing rules were rewritten. The regent is not The Terafin. If Rymark proposed himself as regent, everyone on the Council would jump for joy, because he’d be saying by that action that he was withdrawing from the race.” She hesitated. “If he did that, he’d almost certainly be given the appointment.”

“If there were no contenders during the regency?”

“What, if they all died?”

“If that is the only circumstance in which you can see the lack, yes.”

“If there were no contenders, the regent would still be regent; he would, in all but name, be The Terafin; he would take the Terafin Seat in
Avantari
, and he would rule the House.” She shook her head. “Rymark is far too proud to settle for the title of regent when he wants the House.”

“Is it?”

“Pardon?”

“Is it what he wants?”

Jewel blinked.

Haval once again took a seat in front of his beads. “You have said,” he continued, picking up his glass and fitting it over his right eye, “that you believe Rymark to be, if not involved with the Terafin’s assassination, then at least cognizant of its timing and method.”

Jewel said nothing.

“What you have not considered, given your own focus, is Rymark’s. You’ve made the assumption that his focus is the House Seat. I will admit that it is the safe assumption, and it is certainly the assumption from which the other contenders will proceed.”

“Rymark was in Gabriel’s outer office. He actually attempted to immolate the demon after Sigurne caught it.”

“I believe that is significant.”

“That he tried to help?”

Haval’s whole face creased in an unpleasant frown. He surprised her by answering anyway. “That he raised a hand only after the demon was secured.”

Jewel desperately wished that Devon were somewhere else. She was accustomed to Haval’s moods; she wasn’t accustomed to witnesses whose good opinion she needed in future.

She began to scratch Night’s ears again, and Snow got down from the chair and stepped on Night’s tail. There was some scuffling, hissing, and recrimination before Snow got what he wanted, which was to take Night’s place. While this occurred, Jewel did the thinking that Haval demanded.

“Rymark is a member of the Order of Knowledge. I think he’s Second Circle.”

“He is,” Haval said.

“Finch and Teller are certain that he expected the demon assassin. There are only two ways he could have known.”

“The first?”

“In the first case, he could have been approached—somehow—by either demons or those who work alongside demons.”

“They would approach him how?”

“He’s a member of the Order of Knowledge, which, among other things, appears to breed the idiots. They think they’ll rule small parts of the world if they can only learn the art of summoning creatures that are older, smarter, and more powerful than they are.

“It would make sense to contact Rymark through the Order, since we assume that some of its members are at least peripherally involved in schemes to amass knowledge about ancient power. But if he were approached by those mages, or even by the demons, wouldn’t they approach him with the offer of the House Seat?”

“It is one possibility, yes. The other?”

She hesitated.

“You have already made a clear statement about the predilections of some of the Order’s members—a statement you will, of course, fail to repeat to Sigurne Mellifas in its entirety. You are focused, as I said, on the
House, and given Rymarks’ actions to date, it seems reasonable on the surface to assume that he is likewise so focused. Not every mage so approached, not every mage so enraptured, will have any hope of gaining a House Seat—but clearly some of the magi have labored side by side with the demons throughout our long history. If Rymark is not interested in the House Seat, what then?”

“Haval—
I don’t know
. He’s in contention for the House Seat; he must be interested in it.”

“This is not a matter of knowledge; demonstrate some ability to examine the facts—or to
find
the facts—that are within your grasp. You will, as leader, frequently be forced to make choices absent all necessary facts; the ability to identify the things you
don’t
know, but could with effort learn, is critical.”

Night rolled over on the floor; Snow lifted his head from Jewel’s lap. “Eat him?” he asked.

“No. Not yet.”

“Why not? He’s
annoying
you.”

“He’s annoying me because he’s right. Now hush.”

Haval continued to work as he waited. Which was fine. Jewel was silent; Snow’s head was warm in her lap. Neither Devon nor Avandar made a sound, although Avandar looked amused. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, and pushed Snow’s head off her lap so she could rise and pace, because thought often came with movement, as if her feet were treading on words she couldn’t see.

“Allasakar is here, in the world. He’s a god; we’re not. We’re probably considered significant only when we wield power; Rymark does.” She drew breath, widening the oval in which she now walked because it was the only safe trajectory; everything else had cats or dress bits on it.

“We can safely assume that Allasakar wants to rule the world. To rule it, he has to conquer it. To conquer it, he has to destroy his natural enemies—or the enemies of his servants. Some of the talent-born—demonstrably—will work with or for him. But the god-born never will; they’re too entwined with their parents.” She hesitated. “This isn’t the first time the demons have tried to assassinate The Terafin.” Bitterly, she added, “But this time they succeeded.”

“The previous time?”

“The god wasn’t here yet. I think they wanted to take the House years ago in order to sow chaos, destabilize the Kings—possibly even kill
them.” Frowning, she added, “If they controlled House Terafin, they could achieve those goals even now.”

“Would those goals serve their purpose?”

“I can’t see how it wouldn’t.”

“And the purpose of the man who claims to be The Terafin’s legitimate heir?”

“Every god has his Court,” she said, frowning. Her eyes widened. “The demon mentioned the Shining Court.”

Haval lifted his head and glanced at the domicis. His face, however, was free of expression.

“If Rymark serves the Shining Court, if he serves Allasakar—and I’m not by any means certain he does—he probably does it because he figures the god will win. Ruling Terafin under the eyes of the Kings doesn’t give him as much freedom as ruling under the eyes of a god might, because this god won’t care about Justice or Wisdom.”

“Indeed. There is always an unfortunate tendency to assume barbarism or savagery on the part of the gods we generally don’t name; we assume an absence of
all
beauty,
all
art, all majesty. It is a narrow view, in my opinion. But I have interrupted you, and I apologize. Please continue.”

Jewel frowned now. Snow had stepped onto the carpet directly in front of her feet, and he was gazing at her with golden, unblinking eyes. She knelt and buried her face in the fur at the top of his head; his ears twitched. “It’s me,” she said softly.

“Your reasoning?” Haval asked; he had not disagreed with her.

“The timing.” She lifted her face from Snow’s fur and turned to Haval, seeing his age and his wisdom as if they were the two edges of a blade. “The cats,” she continued, when he failed to react at all. “The trees. The trees that only grow in the Common—but are now growing in my backyard. The hidden path.”

“And the regent?”

“I think they meant to kill the regent,” she replied, her voice hardening. “In the confusion, my death would mean less than his. But—I don’t understand.”

“You have demonstrated that you do, in fact, understand much.”

“Duvari’s here. The manse is crawling with
Astari
.” She deliberately failed to look at Devon as she spoke. “Sigurne is here. The god-born. Why wouldn’t they wait until after the funeral rites were done? I’d wait.”

“Yes, you would. On the face of the facts that you do know, waiting is
by far the more intelligent choice; acting now invites the attention of both the Kings and the god-born; it will certainly invite the attention of the Order of Knowledge, although I believe that unavoidable in any case.”

She knew that tone of voice. Knew it, took a deep breath, and acknowledged it. “They know more about the hidden path than I do,” she said. This time, Haval met and held her gaze. “If they have access to the knowledge of a living, walking god, they know way more.”

He didn’t even prompt her when she paused.

“If they wait, there’s some chance that I’ll learn how to do more, and they don’t want that.”

“No,” he agreed. His voice was quiet now, in a way that suggested sympathy. Or pity. “But what you have already done cannot be ignored. It will not be ignored by the god-born, if I am any judge of the disruption you caused; it will certainly not be ignored by the magi.” He glanced at Night, and Night rose and padded across the room, stepping carefully over the pins and the shears that were scattered beside bolts of uncut cloth. White cloth, black cloth: the colors of Imperial mourning. The colors, Jewel thought, of Night and Snow, meant to mark the end of an era. “You are afraid, Jewel.” It wasn’t a question.

She couldn’t answer, because she was, and fear wasn’t something a girl from the twenty-fifth holding—a woman who wanted to be The Terafin—could admit. Not
this
one, at any rate.

“And that is wise. They attack now. You know that the demons move within the Annagarian pretender’s armies in the South. You have seen some hint of the ancient in your brief sojourn with the Imperial armies. Were I the Lord of the Shining Court, my attention would necessarily be with my armies and their battle; I would spare only the scantest of resources on any other difficulty.

“But I fear that they have failed to predict your actions, ATerafin. They have failed, perhaps, to predict your existence, and they must move as they can against you, with far less power than they otherwise might.” Haval set his cloth on the table just before Night dropped his head into his lap. “What do you think, Night?”

“I think I’m
bored
.”

“Well, yes. Listening to an old man talk is often a very boring but exacting enterprise.”

“It
is
,” the cat replied as Haval scratched his head.

“What will you do, ATerafin?”

“Pay my respects to the woman who adopted me,” Jewel replied firmly.

Haval nodded. He turned to Devon. “The regent will require more…careful guards. It has not escaped my notice, ATerafin, that the regent’s personal guards are, at the moment, drawn from the Chosen.”

Devon said nothing.

Jewel felt part of the world drop out from beneath her feet.

“Jewel will, as well, require the Chosen.”

“I have Avandar.”

“You have. But you will require guards.”

“Us!
Us
! Choose
us
!”