Skirmish: A House War Novel (9 page)

“I support Marrick in his claim,” Iain said quietly. Of the support offered, Iain’s was the most significant, and judging by the expression on Haerrad’s face, Jewel was not the only person to be surprised.

“Thank you, Councillor,” Gabriel said. He gazed across the table.

Rymark, his son, rose. “I am Rymark Garriston ATerafin. I claim the right of rule by designation.”

“By designation,” Haerrad said, pushing himself up from the table in obvious anger. “Now that the Kings do not crowd our shoulders, let us see your document.”

“It is in the keeping of Gabriel ATerafin.”

All eyes turned to Gabriel. Gabriel met his son’s angry gaze, and it seemed to Jewel that it was Gabriel who blinked first. But if he did, he did not then produce the offensive document Haerrad had demanded. He said, instead, “Who stands as Rymark Garriston ATerafin’s second?”

Verdian ATerafin stood. She was very much a younger version of Elonne, although her hair was paler, and her eyes gray; she was, and had
always been, striking. She served as liaison with the Port Authority. “I support Rymark ATerafin’s claim.”

“Very well. It must now be asked: will three of you cede your claim to any other?”

Silence.

Gabriel nodded; the answer—or lack—was not a surprise to anyone who crowded this room. “Put forth your nominations for regent.”

Teller rose. “I nominate Gabriel Garriston ATerafin as regent. He has served as right-kin for decades, and he knows the political affiliates of the House, and its internal structure, well. If the office of right-kin becomes the office of Regent, there will be very little disruption in House Business, as seen from the outside.”

Haerrad drew breath, which usually served as a warning. But Haerrad’s supporter, Sabienne, rose. “I will second that nomination. Gabriel ATerafin has chosen to support no claim to the House Seat; he has made no claim himself. Both of these facts are necessary in any Regent the Council now chooses—and only those who are otherwise very Junior could claim to do neither. The strongest members of this Council cannot take the Regency cleanly—if at all. Gabriel has the experience necessary to guide the House while the Council considers all claimants, and their worth.”

She sat.

Haerrad did not speak further, although Jewel imagined there would be many words said after the meeting was at last over.

Gabriel said, “I will accept the nomination with a clear understanding that when The Terafin is chosen, I will retire.”

“And if you do not serve as Regent?” Teller asked.

“I will retire now. A man cannot be right-kin to more than one Lord in his life.”

It was Teller who now turned to the table, in much the same way. “Gabriel ATerafin as regent,” he said clearly and in a voice Jewel hardly recognized. “Vote.”

28th of Corvil, 427 A.A.
The Common, Averalaan

T
HE SIGN ON THE SHOP’S closed door didn’t look promising:
Closed for business due to family emergency.
Jewel hesitated, and glanced briefly at the length of the shadows that now pooled at their feet. Four sets of feet: Avandar’s, hers, Finch’s, and Teller’s. To say she’d had a sleepless night wouldn’t have been entirely accurate, but it was close, and at the moment, she wanted nothing so much as to crawl back into the carriage, out of the carriage, and into her room in the West Wing of the Terafin manse. It was cool in the city, even in the sun, although early morning sun was seldom warm in any season but summer.

Teller and Finch exchanged a glance; Jewel caught it because she was watching them. They’d clearly learned to rely on each other a lot in her absence; she wondered if either of them was aware of how much.

“What should we do?” Finch finally asked—this time of Jewel.

Jewel winced. The idea that the shop would be closed on the sixth day of the week hadn’t even occurred to her.

“There are other shops,” Teller offered. It was tentative. “We could choose one of them.”

Not choosing one was not an option. As House Council members, no matter how junior—and although Jewel was young, she was not so junior as all that—they had no choice but to dress “appropriately” for singular and important occasions. Jewel often minded the fuss and the expense,
which she considered a colossal waste, given how
many
starving people that money could be used to feed, but not this time.

This time, she needed funereal clothing for The Terafin, and it was the
last
such display of respect she could give the woman who had saved, and changed, all of their lives.

For years now, Haval had made—had insisted on making—all of the significant clothing in Jewel’s life. He traded gossip as it pleased him for the custom of House Terafin, as he liked to call it, and she traded the same, probably more recklessly. Haval was slippery, canny, and shrewd. He also disliked emergency work, and as all three of them needed suitable attire before the fourth day of Henden, this was an emergency. It was a costly one, or would be, by the time he was done.

If he accepted the commission at all.

Jewel stared at the sign for a long moment, and then she reached up for the bell pull and began to yank at it as if it were a lifeline and she were drowning. She pulled for five minutes and the store failed to come to life.

“Jay,” Teller began. He stopped. Through the window with its precisely lettered sign, he saw movement from the back of the store. The shadow resolved itself into a familiar figure, his face completely free of any expression at all.

Jewel stepped away from the door as he approached it. She glanced once at the sign, and once at her nerveless hand, still wrapped around the bell pull. The hand, she removed. Haval opened the door.

In the morning light, she thought he looked pale, his skin stretched and delicate with wrinkles. Certainly his eyes were ringed with dark circles. But he was Haval; the momentary expression of age or fragility cracked and shattered as he smiled. He even bowed, standing in the doorway. “Jewel,” he said.

It was bad. She knew it was bad. He usually remembered to call her Jay except when he was offering subtle—or not so subtle—advice. But Haval was one of nature’s natural liars. After five minutes in his presence—even if he was circumspect and near-silent—anyone would believe anything he chose. Anything at all.

She’d never learned enough about Haval to know, clearly, when he was lying; the only time she could catch him was when her own gift, her own “natural” talent, emerged. Avandar was better at reading the inscrutable dressmaker. But Avandar was silent and near-invisible, as he always was in Haval’s presence.

“Are you—are you really closed for business?” Jewel managed to ask, when Haval rose from his deep and embarrassingly perfect bow.

“I am, at the moment, very busy—but I am not entirely adverse to commissions from valuable customers.” He stepped away from the door. “Please, come in.” He didn’t remove the sign, however. “I would like to speak in the back room. If we are seen in the front, people will question the veracity of my carefully scribed sign.”

“You…heard that I was back,” Jewel said, following where he led.

“Yes. If knowledge of your return concerns you, take comfort in the fact that it is buried beneath much larger news.” He paused, turned, and said, “Ah, forgive my lack of tact, ATerafin. I’ve slept very little these past two days, and I am not at my best.”

She nodded, and took the opening he’d offered. “Actually, we’re here because of the larger news.”

“We?” He glanced at Teller and Finch. His gaze—as always—slid past Avandar.

“Finch, Teller, and I. The funeral begins on the fourth, and we need clothing appropriate to our station within the House—for however long we actually manage to
keep
said station.” She could now feel Avandar’s chilly glare boring a hole through the back of her head, and ignored it.

She expected some sign of outrage, because while Haval was perfectly willing to work on tight deadlines, he detested them, and made it known—usually by charging vastly more than he otherwise would. He said nothing; instead he turned and continued his slower than usual march into the back room.

Jewel stopped in the doorframe. Teller walked into her back. The room was almost spotless. There were a total of five chairs, two tables, and a solid, respectable desk. Bolts of cloth rested against the wall opposite the door, admittedly in several high piles; boxes and jars held beads of various colors. There were even small tables of the type that were easily moved, and upon which tea was usually set in a pinch.

“Ah, you’ve noticed,” Haval said, as she snapped her jaw shut.

Of all the things she’d heard or witnessed since her return, this—small, trivial, politically unimportant—shocked her the most. In all of her years of coming to Haval’s shop, she had never, ever seen the back room so tidy. It was almost as if…Haval didn’t live here anymore.

But Haval was standing there, breathing and speaking, his hands by his
sides. She raised her eyes to meet his gaze, and her own hands tightened into fists. “Haval,” she said quietly, “where’s Hannerle?”

“She is currently indisposed. Please, take a seat.”

“No.”

“ATerafin?”

“No. Where is she? How is she indisposed?”

“That is more personal than I wish to be at the moment, and frankly, if I accept your commission, we will have no time for trivial details.” He walked to his desk, opened a drawer, and fished out a measure.

“How long has she been indisposed?”

“Jewel,” Avandar said, before Haval could sidestep the question for a second time. “The question is inappropriate; Master Haval has given the whole of the reply he wishes to give at the present time.”

Jewel nodded and took a seat. Avandar, however, wasn’t fooled. He came to stand by her side, and he placed one hand on her shoulder. Haval gestured Teller into the center of the room, and Teller, in a silence tinged with compassion, lifted his arms and turned obligingly in whichever direction Haval indicated. Finch did likewise, first shedding one layer of clothing at Haval’s request.

But when it was Jewel’s turn, although she stood as requested, she failed to keep silent. “Is she sleeping, Haval?”

He heard the question, she’d said it so close to his ear. But there was no change at all in his breathing, no shift of muscles to alter his expression. He took the measurements, writing each down with fastidious care. He didn’t even fail to meet her eyes—he did, several times. But there was nothing to acknowledge the question, no indication that she’d either hit or missed.

His hand was steady as he wrote down the numbers that reduced her to a size with which he could work.

“Haval.”

“I have what I need at the moment; if you wish to choose appropriate cloth, please do.”

“We’ll leave it up to you. You’re still better at it.” She turned toward the door as he set aside all of his measurements. “Haval—”

He lifted a hand. “I think it advisable to refuse your commission, but against my better judgment, I will accept it. Do not make me regret my generosity.”

“How much will your generosity cost?”

A shadow of a smile touched his lips. “Not more than three times what the work would have cost had you the time to plan ahead. I will have to visit House Terafin when I have something to actually fit.”

“We can come here,” she began.

“I think, in this case, it would be less difficult for me to attend you there.”

“There’ll be more people listening there.”

“Yes. But I will say nothing that will not bore the listeners, and you will be forced to do the same.”

“But I need—”

He raised a hand. “Jewel. Jay. I am not what I was. We each have our responsibilities in our respective homes for at least a little while longer.”

She knew that had never stopped him before. She even opened her mouth to say as much, but it was pointless; Haval could be impenetrable when it suited him. She glanced once at her silent, stiff domicis, and once at Teller and Finch, both of whom had let her do what little talking there was.

“If we could wake Hannerle, what would it be worth to you?”

His silence was profound because it encompassed everything about him for just a few seconds: all motion, all breath, all expression. He didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t, she continued. “We can’t
keep
her awake. Whatever this sickness is, we don’t have that in us.”

“How can you wake her at all?”

“Answer the first question first.” Her voice was colder and harder than it should have been; that much, she’d learned from Avandar in her time.

“There is very little in my possession with which I would not part. If I thought it would satisfy, I would offer the robes in exchange. I will not insult you by doing so,” he added. “But I will not, in turn, be insulted; I will not take on faith that you have the power to do so.”

“Fair enough. Pretend that we can, for the moment.”

“If you cannot keep her awake, there is less value in the waking.”

Jewel nodded. Avandar drew breath, and she raised her hand in curt den-sign before he could use it. “I believe that we can continue to wake her, if she falls asleep and can’t wake on her own. It’s not a cure. It’s as close as anyone can come, at the moment.”