The Sacred Hunt Duology (62 page)

She looked down at the debris at his feet, and then raised her chin. In a chilly, quiet voice, she asked, “Is this human?”

He raised a pale brow, and then gazed at the scattered flesh and remnants as if seeing them for the first time. He gestured a green light into existence, and it touched them, twisting about them in a lattice of eerie spell-light. The light faded slowly as Meralonne let his arms fall to his sides. He turned to her without expression.

“Yes,” he replied, no inflection marring the distance of the word. “These remains are human.”

She nodded as if the question was as perfunctory as the answer was emotionless. But she turned to the ruined window, the shredded curtains, walking between her guards as if they were columns and not people. “Leave me.”

“Terafin—”

“That was not a request. Leave me, all of you.” The voice of command was so quiet that one had to strain to catch it—but once the words had been heard, they could not be denied.

Torvan and Alayra exchanged wary glances as they backed out of the room. Meralonne APhaniel finished his inspection, and then stood crisply, lifting the hem of his robes as he traversed the carpets. He paused in front of The Terafin.

“Terafin, I will repair to the Order and begin my report. On the morrow, I shall deliver it to you.”

“You may return this eve,” was her remote reply. “After the late dinner hour.”

He bowed his acquiescence in near-silence.

“Jewel?”

Jewel, creeping along the side of the ruined wall, stopped short and fell to one knee. The edge of a stone chip cut into her kneecap; she bit her lip and waited.

“After the middle dinner hour, I would appreciate your company.”

Jewel nodded.

“I will send someone for you in your quarters. Please be there.”

She nodded again, and then scuttled out of the room as quickly as she could. She did not look back at The Terafin because she did not wish to meet her eyes or see her face again. It was too much like an invasion of privacy, an act of voyeurism.

• • •

Early dinner, middle dinner, and late dinner were not, as Jewel half-suspected, the different stages of noble repast. They were quite literally, as Ellerson pointed out, the hours at which civilized people were expected to—or allowed to—begin their dinner. In view of The Terafin's request, he ordered dinner for the early dinner hour.

That was not the only change he insisted upon; the second was a matter of clothing. The third was a matter of weapons, or rather, a lack of weapons. The fourth was a matter of language—but the fourth could not be supervised closely when she was no longer in the wing; Ellerson therefore concentrated on making her presentable. Presentability meant a dress; anything else was unsuitable for the dinner hours. Jewel wasn't even terribly surprised when he just happened to have a deep blue dress that was her size. It was not complicated, not frilly, and not restricting in movement. But it was heavier and finer than anything else she was used to wearing.

The sash, on the other hand, was worth more than the dress, and he helped her into it, tied it tight, and made sure she knew how to sit without destroying the lovely four-point flower he made of its length at her back.

“Nervous?”

“Shut up,” she replied, scowling into Jester's smiling face.

He shrugged. “Hey. I was just going to say you look great.”

She snorted. “I look like someone we'd try to rob, idiot.”

“Given how hungry we've been this year,” Angel added wryly, “that
is
great.” He lifted the skirt and ducked as she whacked him soundly across the top of the head. “I was looking at the shoes! The
shoes
!”

Ellerson allowed them to continue their childish behavior for at least another minute before he pointedly cleared his throat. This subtle sound could probably be heard over the cries of merchants in the farmer's basket during a mild trade war.

“The Terafin has sent Torvan to escort you to her quarters,” he said gravely. He said everything gravely, so it was hard to tell from his tone of voice whether or not he thought it was trouble. “You do not keep her waiting.”

“Ellerson,” she said, shoving Angel over and assuming a more dignified stance, “just because we're poor doesn't mean we're stupid.”

“Of course not, ma'am.”

Teller caught her on the way out. “Kalliaris' smile,” he whispered. He was worried, which meant that it was obvious to him that she was. She didn't even try to hide it.

“She's straight,” she said, taking his shoulder and turning him back toward the dining hall. “She won't do anything to hurt me.”

“Then why can't any of us go with you?”

She didn't have an answer to that, and with Teller it was never smart to come up with an off-the-cuff lie. “Go on,” she said, but he forced her to meet his gaze as he stared over his shoulder. After a minute, he nodded and let her go. Or rather, let himself be pushed away.

• • •

“What does she want?”

“I don't know,” Torvan said, his voice neutral, almost officious.

“Can you guess?”

“Yes. I'd guess it has something to do with the events of the afternoon.”

She rolled her eyes. “That's a big help.”

The sound of his heels filled the arches above before he spoke again. “Jewel, she isn't a monster, and she isn't a magisterian; you don't have reason to fear her.”

“She's one of The Ten!”

“She's the House, yes. But she's no threat to you if you haven't harmed the House.”

“What have you told her?”

At this, he smiled. “The truth.”

“All of it?”

“I'm hardly likely to lie to my Lord.”

“I mean, did you tell her about the—”

“About my suspicions of your talent? Yes. She
is
my Lord, Jewel.”

“Then what am I supposed to say?”

“The truth.”

One of these days
, she thought, as she hid a fist in the gathers of her skirt,
I hope I rule this House so I can hit you.
“Is she—is she upset?”

Torvan glanced at her. “Jewel.” He stopped walking and turned to face her. “You may not know much about the Houses and The Ten. Let me explain, briefly, what I can. None of us—none of The Terafin's Chosen—were born to Terafin. The Terafin herself was not ATerafin at birth.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Sure. If someone's good enough at what they do—and if it's a trade that's useful—then one of the Houses might sponsor them in. They get a home, a place to work, and the protection of the House—and they also get the name.”

“Yes. And if you understand that, then you understand that many of us—most
of us—have other families, and other parents, although we are adopted into this one. We aspire to greatness, to become a part of this House, with its history of nobility and strength in the face of forces that threaten the empire. And when we finally achieve that destiny, if achieve it we do, we owe our loyalty to the House. We have the family of our birth and the title of our House, and between them, were we forced to choose . . .” He shook his head almost sadly. “Coramis is
proud
to have its son be ATerafin.

“Not all of us are urchins, not all of us are bastards. Some of us come from houses of minor nobility, and some from houses of great riches. Some of us are artists, some warriors, some mages; some of us are farmers and merchants and carpenters. And a very few of us are leaders.

“The Terafin is a leader. But she was not adopted to be
The
Terafin; she was adopted to aid the house in its political course. She became the heir because she was our best.

“My name is Torvan Coramis ATerafin. Coramis was the family of my birth, and Terafin, the House of my choice. The family name will be mine until I die; the House name mine unless I commit an act of treason or disgrace myself in the eyes of The Terafin. The first is an accident, if you will, the second, an honor.

“Her name is The Terafin, but fifteen years ago, her name was Amarais Handernesse ATerafin.” He turned sharply and began to march down the long hall in silence.

Jewel could think of nothing else to say.

• • •

The room that she was led to was not the first room that she had seen, and certainly not the wreckage that had been made of the receiving room; it was a small room on the uppermost level of the mansion itself, in a hexagonal area that jutted out almost to the edge of the street below.

Everything about it was clean and simple, but nothing was modest; the carpets were heavy, and the rugs upon them of the highest quality; the curtains were of a material that was not even sold in any of the shops that Jewel loitered in or around. The mirror—the single mirror along the wall of what looked like a sitting or dressing room—was gilded, although it was not ornamented; it was silvered perfectly and did not distort the face.

There were chairs here that seemed be to made of a single piece of wood, and that a heavy, dark one; there was also a table, low and long, that seemed to be grown, rather than carved, into an intricate flatbed with reliefs of wide, flat leaves to lift and carry it. The lamps on the wall seemed to contain the heart of fire itself, and the glass that restrained those flames seemed liquid caught in the motion of pouring.

Jewel recognized the artifacts of the maker-born, and she knew that she was looking at the end effect of more money than she had ever seen in her life, even if
she added up every copper, half-copper, or lunarii that had passed through the hands of her den-kin as well.

“Are these her rooms?” she whispered to Torvan. He nodded, and if he was amused by her uncomfortable awe, he did nothing to show it. Instead, he came to the edge of the archway that opened, doorless, into the outer rooms of The Terafin's chambers.

As if his movement were a signal, a perfectly dressed man stepped into view. Jewel recognized him at once; he was Ellerson, only younger and a little less stuffy looking. His uniform was a study in simplicity; a long, pale cream robe with a gold-strand belt worn over house shoes. His hair was pale, more brass than gold; his eyes were dark. If he knew that he was under heavy scrutiny, it did not bother him at all. He bowed. “I am the domicis of The Terafin. She is waiting for you.”

Jewel looked at Torvan. Torvan shook his head. “There are no guards within the chambers of The Terafin unless they are summoned in emergency. She will have no weapons and no hint of turmoil within her personal quarters.

“I wish you luck, Jewel Markess. I hope—” He stopped speaking abruptly and drew his forearm across his chest in salute. Then he turned and walked away.

“If you will follow me.” There was nothing at all rude in the tone or the words, nothing forceful, nothing threatening. But Jewel knew an order, even if it was phrased remarkably like a question, when she heard it. She nodded, cleared her throat as unobtrusively as possible, unclenched her aching hands, and walked in his wake. He led her to a small library.

Above the room was a large, oval dome in which lead, like a web, held stained and painted glass. The sunlight was passing the horizon; by the end of the late dinner hour, it would be gone. Jewel almost wished it were midday, when she might see the ceiling in its full glory. She shook herself and looked down again.

There was no large desk in the room; there was a table as long and tall as a dining table, but darker and much heavier in build, surrounded by shelves placed along the walls. The Terafin was seated at it, book in hand; her hair was no longer bound, but hung at her back like a straight, dark curtain. She wore a simple shift, but again it was not inexpensive. Like the domicis', it was a cream color, with highlights of gold. She set the book aside as Jewel entered the room.

“Terafin,” the domicis said.

“Thank you, Morretz. That will be all.”

He bowed gracefully and gravely, and then stood, turning suddenly to meet Jewel's inquisitive gaze for the first time. She gasped, because his eyes were a blue that seemed too bright and shiny, and she had seen too much that was unnatural for one day. But the light faded into a trick of the imagination and he smiled, if a touch coldly, before he stepped out of her way.

Implicit in his gaze had been a threat; Jewel wasn't certain what it was, or why
it was offered. She didn't have a chance to ask. He left her alone with The Terafin in the lofty confines of the library.

“Come, Jewel Markess. Join me.” She raised a hand and pointed, palm up, to a chair that had obviously been arranged for the interview. Jewel approached it as if it were a cage.

“Do you read?”

“Yes. Some.” It was hard to keep the defensiveness out of her voice, but she managed. She knew that something important was riding on the outcome of their interview. She didn't know what it was, of course—but she didn't want to blow it.

“Good. Have you done, or do you deal, with numbers?”

“Some.”

“Have you handled a house, or the affairs of a house?”

She hesitated a moment before she answered, deciding on truth. Lies were complicated; Jewel had learned to use them sparingly, and to blend as much of the truth as she could into the mix. Truth had its own sound, its own special feel, and only a good liar could mimic it well. Jewel was not a good liar.

“No. I—I've handled the affairs of my den.”

“Den.”

She nodded.

“How long have you taken responsibility for these children?”

It was not the question that Jewel expected, but then again, The Terafin was so far from what she'd expected that Jewel was only a little surprised, and not taken aback at all. “For almost three years, by my count.”

“Did you have to kill anyone to take your position?”

“Pardon?”

“In some holdings, and in some dens, leadership is decided by the demise of the previous leader.”