Skirmish: A House War Novel (72 page)

Snow’s growl banked.

“But they are not nearly as notable at the moment as your dress, Jewel. It is very, very fine—I do not recall ever seeing its like in any Court before.”

Snow now purred. “You
like
it?” he asked.

Marrick’s brows rose. This didn’t stop his mouth from moving, on the other hand. “I do, indeed,” he said—to the cat. “It is exquisite. I am almost afraid to speak to the woman who’s wearing it, and I’ve known her since she was a child.”

“That’s not
very
long,” Snow said, smug now. “We think she’s
very
young.”

“Snow,” Jewel said.

Snow glanced at her out of the corner of a well-turned eye, and then fell silent. For a minute. “He
likes
it.”

Jewel pasted a smile onto her face. When she had first arrived at the House, it was a skill she’d lacked—but at that time, it hadn’t mattered. Now, she knew it did.

“I feel I fall far short of your sartorial elegance, Jewel,” Marrick continued. “But as it is, all eyes—
all
—will be on you; I should not be surprised if the Kings themselves take note of little else. It certainly takes the pressure off the rest of us.” He laughed.

He laughed, and Jewel almost joined him; he had that kind of laughter. She did allow herself a genuine smile. Marrick, even Finch had a hard time disliking. But not as hard a time mistrusting. He bowed to Jewel, and then took her hand and kissed it. His eyes lingered a moment on the ring that she wore on her thumb, but he chose not to comment.

“Come, Rymark, there’s no need to look so sour,” Marrick added, grinning broadly. “Today, and for the next three days, there will be no woman as grand as the young woman from our House; it is a minor victory for Terafin.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Rymark conceded, looking very dour. “I should like the name of your dressmaker.”

Jewel didn’t even hesitate. “Snow, this is Rymark ATerafin, a prominent member of the House Council. Rymark, this is Snow, the dressmaker.”

His brows rose in astonishment, and fell almost instantly. She saw suspicion harden into certainty. “If, of course, it’s a secret, ATerafin, there is no need for this style of low humor.”

Snow hissed.

Marrick glanced at Rymark and then, as was his wont, he moved on. “ATerafin, have you anything to say about the miraculous change in the grounds and the gardens?”

She studied his expression and was rewarded by a glimpse of something far less friendly in the lines of a face that had been etched and defined by laughter. He knew, or had heard. “Very little,” she replied, gazing up at the heights of the tree in bloom. She reached out to touch its bark. “But I am very, very fond of these trees; they remind me of my childhood.”

“I see. You realize were it not for your dress and your unusual companions,
it would be the trees that would be envy of every other House in the Empire?”

“I think the trees will still be that,” she replied. “Ah, Elonne.”

Elonne ATerafin offered Jewel a graceful nod. More wasn’t necessary, and there was nothing perfunctory in the gesture of respect. Jewel returned it. She could not—and did not—feel at ease with Elonne. Elonne had always been cool, correct, graceful; she had never once—in Jewel’s hearing—raised voice. Nor did she descend into cursing or obvious signs of anger, even during the most heated of Council meetings. Hers was the voice of deliberation and reason. Of the four, she most reminded Jewel of Amarais. Of course, of the four, she was the only woman, and maybe that explained something.

She had chosen to wear a dress that could be considered the height of current fashion, with its elaborate collar and its high bodice done in white and gold. Like Jewel’s dress, it was predominantly white; the sleeves, however, were black, and they trailed across the grass as she walked. The skirts were wider than current fashion dictated; it was the one touch that was old-fashioned. Jewel almost grimaced; she’d clearly spent far too many hours cooped up with Haval and Finch; Haval made no bones about what was, and was not, acceptable fashion for ladies of the patriciate in this season. He was less exacting when it came to Teller, although he did explain the cut of sleeve and collar in both jacket and shirt; he’d also said something about the pants, but that, Jewel honestly couldn’t remember. She didn’t try very hard.

Elonne was older than Jewel; as old, Jewel thought, as Amarais herself had been when Jewel had first arrived at the front gates. She offered the stonelike Captains of the Chosen a brief dip of chin, both recognizing them and accepting their lack of greeting as if it were the natural order. They failed to acknowledge it, but not in the same way they’d failed to acknowledge Rymark.

“Jewel,” Elonne now said. She passed by Torvan, and Torvan didn’t move to block her in any way. “The trees are, indeed, very fine. Very impressive. Will they grow in any other House grounds upon the Isle?”

“I honestly don’t know. The Master Gardener was shocked that they grew here.”

“Ah. I believe he can be forgiven.” She glanced at Snow, who was now following her with his eyes. He did not, thank the gods, ask if he could eat her—or any of the other House Councillors; Jewel was grateful, because
she wasn’t entirely certain she wouldn’t allow him to make an attempt at Rymark. “Why these trees, ATerafin?”

Jewel frowned. While it was formal and correct to be called ATerafin, it could also be tiring and confusing, especially in a gathering of this type. Asking Elonne to be less formal, however, had no effect. “I don’t know,” she replied. “But if any tree could be said to define Averalaan, it’s these trees.”

“Ah, yes. They do. But Averalaan is not Terafin, and Terafin is not Averalaan. Did you plan this?” she added, her voice as calm and reasonable as if she’d been asking about a merchanting report of some import. She meant for the question to be taken seriously; she was not intimidated by the subject.

“No, Elonne. I would never have planned something so visible and so elaborate without recourse to the Council.”

“Yet you had a hand in this.”

Jewel nodded.

“May I ask how?”

“Yes, but I fear now is not the time. The Council has been called for the day after the funeral rites are done, and I will report what I know at that time; I’ve thought of little but the funeral—and The Terafin—since my return to the House.”

Elonne bowed her head. When she lifted it, she said, “Of course. My apologies, ATerafin. The Terafin’s murder was not what any one of us expected, and it has opened the door to magics that are almost entirely foreign—to me. This tree,” she added, gazing up as Jewel had done moments before, “is likewise foreign, and I feel it almost as a danger to the natural order. Do you not?”

“No.”

“Ah. Because they are Veralaan’s trees?”

“Because what stood here before, in wait, was so much worse.”

Elonne once again inclined her head. “Rymark,” she said. “Marrick.”

Haerrad was the only one who kept his distance. Jewel was grateful for small mercies, because in the foreseeable future, they were the only ones she was likely to receive. It was, on the other hand, a very small mercy because he was watching her as if she were the only person on the green. He loathed Rymark—in the Council sessions, if there was any unpleasantness, it was almost always due to their conflicts—but for the moment Rymark was less significant than she was.

If she wondered why, she was answered—Duvari came to join them.
Duvari, who silenced all conversation by simple presence. If Jewel’s dress and her entourage were instantly threatening to the House Councillors who desired to rule the House, they were still less of a danger than the Lord of the Compact. Jewel wondered if Duvari enjoyed their loathing and fear, but not for long; Duvari appeared not to know the meaning of the word “enjoy”—and if he did, he wouldn’t condescend to actually engage in any.

“Your dress, ATerafin,” he said, with a slight nod, “is remarkable.”

Jewel felt her jaw unhinge and caught it before it fell open. She couldn’t stop her brows from reaching for her hairline.

“After the funeral rites have been completed,” he continued, voice smooth and hard, “we will have to discuss its origin.”

Snow hissed.

“Among other things.” He nodded to Rymark, Elonne, and Marrick, but did not move away.

They were standing in a loose and silent circle near the tree’s base when Gabriel ATerafin at last made his way down the terrace. Night was his immediate escort, although Barston—and a half dozen of the House Guard—were not far away. He didn’t immediately join them; instead, Teller broke away from the main group—in which he was all but invisible—and made his way to Gabriel’s side. Or to Barston’s; it was hard to tell at this distance.

“There has been no further trouble?” Duvari asked. He asked it of the air and the grounds, apparently; he didn’t look at anyone as he spoke. He watched Gabriel, Teller, and Barston, his hands loosely clasped behind his back.

No one answered. Jewel glanced at Finch; Finch smiled, but her hand flicked a few words in den-sign.

“My own men will be here, of course,” he continued, when no answer was forthcoming. “If the House will play its games of assassination and forbidden magic in the presence of the Kings, it will perish.”

Rymark bristled openly. Marrick merely nodded. Elonne, however, failed to hear the words. Jewel should have joined them in their silence, adopting one style or another; she knew it.

“And if it’s not the House that’s playing these games?” she demanded instead. She kept her voice even, and she kept all Torra out of it, although the latter was harder. Duvari could enrage her on most days simply by breathing.

“Then perhaps the House will fall, for the moment, under the protection of the magi. Writs have been issued,” he added, without a ripple of expression. “The current guildmaster of the Order is well known for her pursuit of those who would practice forbidden arts; she is without mercy.”

“She is,” Jewel replied. “And with cause.”

“The House does not require the guardianship of the Order,” Rymark interjected. “We are not without magi of our own.”

“May I remind you, ATerafin, of the reason for this funeral?” Duvari asked. “The Kings were present,” he added. “At the request of the guildmaster. If the demons seek entrance to the city through House Terafin, we are not content to let the matter remain at the discretion of a headless House.”

“It will not remain long without ruler,” Rymark countered.

“No, indeed. Perhaps the urgency of the situation will encourage the House Council to expedite their vote and their decision.” Before Rymark could reply, Duvari left them, walking straight for Gabriel.

“That’s as clear a warning as he’s ever given,” Marrick said, recovering words and humor first. He was to be the only member of the House Council who managed the latter; Jewel couldn’t dredge up even the most brittle of smiles. When no one spoke, he added, “It is not costly for us to indulge him in this fashion; it’s important that he feels he is discharging his duties, as he will do so regardless.”

Haerrad chose this moment to approach. It was safest; it was one of the few in which the House Council was likely to unite in common cause. If Haerrad was known for nothing else, his disdain for the Lord of the Compact was almost legendary. He was not, strictly speaking, rude to Duvari—but he stopped just short of issuing a bald challenge.

Amarais had used this, in the past. If Haerrad could be considered to have a strength, it was this, and any words that fell, bristling, from Haerrad would not be entirely attributed to The Terafin herself, although on occasion she was required to deflect some of the ire they drew. Since it was a role that suited him, he donned it now, and in such a fashion, the House Council united. It was uneasy, but it would be; only for someone as powerful and openly hostile as Duvari would it occur at all.

Duvari joined Gabriel; no doubt the words he uttered there would be similar, although he was marginally more circumspect in his discussions with the regent, in Jewel’s experience. The grounds slowly filled as the
House presented its best; Finch left her side when Jarven arrived. Lucille was not yet present.

Jarven, however, strolled in Jewel’s direction. He walked slowly, but in a stately manner, and the walking stick he carried lent him an unnecessary elegance; he had extended an arm to Finch, and Finch took it without hesitation. It was clear, from where Jewel stood, that Finch both liked—and trusted—Jarven ATerafin. Jewel, however, had never forgotten Haval’s very unusual reaction to the man. It made her cautious.

But he obviously cared for Finch, which was a huge point in his favor.

He stopped ten feet short of where Jewel stood; the Chosen faced not Jarven, but the House Council. He nevertheless failed to breach their invisible radius; instead he bowed. “ATerafin,” he said, rising. His expression was calm, untroubled; his eyes were clear. He made no comment about either her dress or the winged part of her honor guard; he made no comment about her pendant or Lord Celleriant. She tendered him a very correct bow.

“Ah, so formal, so formal,” he replied. “And without the excuse of outsiders.”

“The Lord of the Compact is here.”

“Oh, tush. The Lord of the Compact is merely like a little rain at a picnic. Which, given the number of magi on the grounds, won’t be a problem for the funeral.” He glanced up. “The tops of the trees, however, might get wet.”

“Is Lucille not coming?”

“She is, of course, planning to be in attendance—but she’s likely to arrive when the guests do; she has work in the office that will not, apparently, wait, and as the office will be closed for three full days, she is attempting to minimize our losses. I really like the look of the grounds,” he added. “And when the weather is warmer, they will be an excellent incentive to entertain.”

She stared at him. She wasn’t the only one.

Jarven, however, responded to her. “Come, ATerafin. You must be well aware by now that the most jaded of men—and women—regularly cross the threshold of the Merchant Authority. They make decisions based on years of experience, but those decisions can be hastened if they are slightly off their guard—or if we, as a House, present something, some new experience, that no other House among The Ten, no other merchant family of significance, can likewise present.