Skirmish: A House War Novel (8 page)

“There was a demon in the manse,” she added soflty.

“There were at least two; one killed Alowan. It was hiding in his cat.”

Jewel closed her eyes and opened them again, for the same reason. The den watched her, silent now. Avandar and Ellerson stood by the doors against the walls, their faces absent any expression. She barely glanced at Ellerson, and hated herself for it. He had been here for her den when she hadn’t. He didn’t deserve her anger or her pain, and she couldn’t quite stop it. But she could stop herself from
acting
on it, and that would have to do.

She was ready when the knock at the outer doors interrupted her silence; she’d expected it. Ellerson left immediately, and in his absence, she glanced around the well-lit table, its perfect, polished surface nothing at all like the kitchen’s. People’s feet were not on the tabletop either; years of habit and some well-drilled lessons had made that almost unthinkable.

She knew what they wanted. She knew.

But The Terafin was dead. It had been less than a day.

She knew
, Avandar said, as she clenched her teeth against the intrusion of his silent voice. It was another thing she did not want, and he was well aware of it.
She called you home because she knew. She held her post, Jewel; she held it for as long as she was capable of doing so—with the aid of your den. But she held it for a reason.

Ellerson returned. He bowed, briefly, toward the table. “Jewel, Finch, Teller. Your presence has been requested by Gabriel ATerafin. The House Council is meeting within the half hour.”

The Council Hall was packed. Jester and Angel accompanied them, as adjutants; it was allowed, but today, they were likely to be consigned to the galleries above. Avandar, as domicis, was allowed to stand behind Jewel’s chair, and today, she felt his dour presence as a solid comfort; he was normal. Nothing else was.

Sigurne Mellifas stood by the door, her face unusually pale, her eyes ringed in dark circles. She looked older than she had the last time Jewel had seen her, although perhaps that was a kindness of memory. Older, she looked harsher. The almost grandmotherly frailty with which she usually cloaked her power had been discarded; she reminded Jewel of no one so much as Yollana, Matriarch of the Havalla Voyani. It was a strangely comforting thought.

Every member of the House Council who entered those doors was required to stand a moment in front of Sigurne. Only Jewel could see the light that the mage wove in the air between them. Every member of the House Council was also required to accept a very plain, gold band from the hands of the mage. Jewel had seen their like only once before; she knew what purpose they served. They exposed the demonic, if it was hidden safely within human flesh.

Jewel took hers without comment and slid it over her finger. When it failed to melt, she said, “Member Mellifas. Guildmaster.”

“ATerafin.” The reply was cautious and remote.

“The ring is not necessary. I can see.”

“The rings were made fifteen—perhaps sixteen—years ago. They serve a purpose.”

“Yes. But it is not a purpose that this meeting requires. I am here.” When Sigurne failed to move, Jewel said, in a much lower tone of voice, “Ours cannot be the only House thus infiltrated; the rings might serve a better purpose offered to any other House Council.” She liked this woman; she always had. But as she stepped over the threshold into the Council Hall, she accepted that her affection changed nothing. She lifted her voice. The acoustics in the hall were very fine. “The House Council meeting is a matter of both urgency and privacy. There is much to be discussed here that is not the business of those who are not Terafin and not appointed to the House Council.

“We appreciate your concern,” she added, her voice loud enough to fill a hall that was becoming silent as people left off their smaller conversations to listen. “And we value it highly. It is seldom that the Guildmaster of the Order oversees such tasks. But I have returned from the armies in the South, and I can serve the same function as your spells and your rings. I am ATerafin,” she added. “This is my home.”

Sigurne studied Jewel’s face for a long, long moment, and then she nodded. She gathered the rings that Jewel had so pointedly—and publicly—dismissed. “ATerafin.”

“Guildmaster.”

Sigurne left. Jewel hoped that she retreated to a quiet, warm room that had both tea and a bed. Given Sigurne, and given Sigurne’s almost legendary hatred of demons, she highly doubted that was in the guildmaster’s immediate future.

There was no blood on the floor. Jewel crossed it, looked at the marble beneath her feet; there was no sign at all that the woman who had ruled this House for decades had died here less than a day ago. The table had been repaired—in haste, and probably with magic—and the sundered chairs had been replaced; were it not for the chair that sat empty at the table’s head, this might have been a normal day, a normal meeting.

But the chair did sit empty. Jewel glanced at it, hoping against hope that The Terafin would stride through those doors to occupy it once again. She was probably the only member of the House Council who watched the empty chair with that desire. It drew all eyes. Haerrad, injured, was nonetheless seated, and if there was one blessing today, it was the fact that the whole of his ire was focused on Rymark ATerafin. Elonne watched Rymark as well; hells, they all did. Rymark had produced a document—signed by The Terafin, and witnessed by the right-kin—that proclaimed Rymark ATerafin heir. They expected him to produce it again, at this meeting.

But for a man who held such a document in his keeping, he looked as grim and angry as Haerrad. Jewel frowned.

When the House Council had taken their seats, and the adjutants—the full complement—had been, as Jewel suspected they would, removed to the galleries, Gabriel ATerafin rose. He was not, technically, right-kin, because there was no Terafin—but no one sought to silence him as he opened the meeting.

“We are here, today, to discuss two issues.” Save for only his voice, the room was silent. “The first, the matter of The Terafin’s funeral.”

Cautious words returned. He let them. Jewel was silent, but Finch and Teller were not, although half of their muted conversation was in den-sign. She watched. They were not—quite—at home in this hall. Had The Terafin been at the head of the table, Jewel would have been. She had spent half her life as a member of this Council, and if the first four years had been rough—and they had—she had grown accustomed to the smooth, polite talk that served as barbed argument across this large table.

She had no words to offer. The single, public act of defiance that had marked her return to the Hall had momentarily robbed her of voice. She wanted to go to the Terafin shrine now, with The Terafin’s corpse; she wanted to lay it upon the altar and wait. She wanted to pay her final respects in the privacy of that remote shrine—and she was certain it would never happen.

“Three days,” Haerrad said. “If the funeral begins on the second of Henden—”

“It is not enough time,” Elonne countered, voice cool. “She was The Terafin, not the head of a lesser House. The Kings will, no doubt, be in attendance, and with them, the
Astari
. We may inform them that the funeral is three days hence, but we will be invited to reconsider that date.”

“The Kings are not Terafin,” Haerrad snapped.

“No. But if we hold the funeral in three days, they will not be here to pay their respects—and every other member of note in any of The Ten will mark their absence.”

Jewel almost found herself agreeing with Haerrad, and that was never a good sign; she chose silence. Teller, however, did not. He concurred with Elonne. And so it went, until Gabriel raised a hand.

“The Terafin deserves the respect of the Kings.” His voice was quiet. It was also resonant.

Haerrad opened his mouth, thought better of words, and closed it again.

The fourth day of Henden was set as the first day of the funeral rites.

The first
day
. As a concept, this was new to Jewel. Glancing at Teller and Finch, she saw signs of a similar lack of comprehension, but they, like she, kept their ignorance to themselves, alleviating it by inference as they listened. The funeral rites of monarchs and Exalted were, apparently, extended to the ruling head of each of The Ten, from the greatest to the least, and one day did not suffice to allow the correct respect—and presumed grief—of the populace to be shown.

Therefore the first day was given to grief and respect, and it was the first day rites that would almost certainly draw every man, woman, and child of power or notable rank in the City through the Terafin gates. The House Council agreed on a staggering sum of money to be devoted to the grounds and the manse itself in preparation for those three days; had they the luxury of time, the sum would, of course, be less.

Jewel, who hated the extravagance of excessive pomp and display, could find no voice to raise objection. This was for The Terafin, and it would be
seen
. It wouldn’t be seen by Amarais, but it didn’t matter. She wanted the world to know just how valued, how important, how beloved The Terafin had been, and if the world operated on money, she would live with that.

Of course, it wasn’t about Amarais for much of the House Council.
They were jackals, carrion creatures; they wanted the House. It was about the House itself. Respect paid to The Terafin accrued to the House they wanted to rule in the very near future. She
hated
the conflation of respect and grief with bolstering their own future identities—it made her want to scream in fury.

She didn’t. She swallowed the rage, instead—because she knew that half of it was directed at herself. She came home
too late
. She
had known
what The Terafin faced—and she left her to face it alone. There had been demons and death in the South; things ancient and terrifying. But nothing she had seen in the South seemed to justify her absence from the House—and the death of The Terafin only confirmed its pointlessness.

“The second order of business.” Gabriel’s crisp, clear voice broke her train of thought—and she wanted it broken. She dragged her gaze from the surface of the Council Hall table and fastened it onto the man who had been right-kin. But she glanced at Rymark on the way; he was silent, his expression angrier than it had been. He did not rise; he did not raise hand or voice; he did not call upon the House Council to once again witness his presentation of claim.

“In the absence of an acclaimed House Ruler, House Terafin will require a regent. I assume there
is
an absence of such acclaim.”

Silence.

Haerrad, grinning, said, “Clearly.”

“The House Council will now entertain the claims of those who feel they are worthy to rule House Terafin.”

Elonne rose first. She rose slowly, gracefully, deliberately. She gave the entire Council table one steady measured glance. “I am Elonne Derranoste ATerafin. I have been responsible for the merchant routes along the Southern Annagarian coast, and to the Western Kingdoms, and if the Council deems it wise, I will lead Terafin.”

Gabriel did not call for a vote. Gerridon ATerafin rose. He was a junior Council member, although he was no longer
the
Junior Council member; that was reserved for Finch. Or Teller. “I offer support to Elonne’s claim.”

“Thank you, Councillor,” Gabriel said. Gerridon sat.

Haerrad rose next, but he waited until Elonne had fully resumed her seat to do so. “I am Haerrad Jorgan ATerafin. The more difficult landlocked routes in the Dominion have been mine; they have prospered, even during the war. In my hands, Terafin will likewise prosper, regardless of events that occur outside our domain.”

Sabienne ATerafin rose from across the table. “I will support Haerrad’s claim,” she said quietly. “Given the manner of both Alowan and The Terafin’s deaths, a Lord who retains his power during martial difficulties is necessary.”

“Thank you, Councillor.”

Haerrad took longer to sit than Elonne had.

Marrick rose third. He was the only man to smile at the Council table, but it was a restrained smile, for Marrick. “I am Marrick Bennett ATerafin,” he said, bowing slightly. “I am not, it is true, martial—but during my tenure as Councillor, I have made gains within the Queens’ Court, on behalf of the House, and within the Makers’ Guild; Guildmaster ADelios has thrice in the past year accepted invitations to the House—when they have come from me. Such are the alliances I have built, and will continue to build, to strengthen Terafin when I rule.”

To Jewel’s slight surprise, Iain ATerafin rose. Of those who had taken a stand, he was the oldest. His hair was white. His clothing was neat, tidy, and entirely unremarkable; it was neither too fine nor too coarse. He was, according to Teller, very good at his job—which involved the internal financial workings of the manse itself. He rarely raised his voice, but no one doubted that he had a spine; the Master of the Household Staff reported to him when more staff was required, in her opinion. She did not always get that staff, and Iain was demonstrably still alive.