Battle: The House War: Book Five (3 page)

Cloth brushed cloth as she nodded.

“It is hard to believe that the gods would allow it, if they were aware of it at all; there are ancient things the city protects, and we cannot afford to have them waken. I will speak with Sigurne.”

“Meralonne—”

“The worst of the battle here is at an end, tonight. We have had one victory and one defeat—and the defeat is subtle, Evayne; the Annagarians will barely countenance it as a loss.” He glanced at what remained of the last of the trees. “Indeed, for them it might be simple boon; they have never seen the Summer Queen, and their brief experience of the Winter was not to their liking.”

“Return to the North,” she told him. To the bard’s surprise, he nodded gravely.

She turned to Kallandras. He waited; he did not speak.

After an awkward pause, she did. “How old will I become, while I walk this path?” She could not quite guard her voice; he heard the fear and the weariness that informed her words.

“I do not know,” was his grave reply. He spoke softly and without anger because he now could; in his youth, he had not been capable of that much kindness. No one had injured him as gravely as Evayne a’Nolan in her youth. But he was farther from that youth than she herself, this eve; he could afford this small act of generosity.

She lifted her hands and finally pulled her hood from its peak, exposing her face and the entirety of her expression. He studied her face, as she intended.

“Twenty years.”

“. . . Twenty more years.” The words were an echo of his, but they had a different texture, a different meaning. She closed her violet eyes, lifted one hand to briefly touch the pendant that hung around her neck.

“It will not hurt you as much in two decades.”

Her eyes opened, rounding. “Will I forget?” she asked. She made no attempt to hide what she felt; even the two silent witnesses could easily grasp her apprehension. “Will I forget what drove me to walk this path at the beginning?”

“I do not know; you have not—yet—spoken to me of your motivations.” He lifted one hand. “I can only guess, Evayne, and it is a guess based in part on the woman you will become; she has seen much, perhaps more than even I.”

“And that guess?”

“No. You will not forget. But you will come to understand the broader imperative, and perhaps that imperative will weigh as much as your personal reasons in the end.”

She lifted hood to face again. “I must leave,” she told them.

Kallandras nodded, accustomed by now to the unpredictable nature of both her arrivals and her departures. She took one step forward and vanished.

* * *

Only when she was gone—and he was certain of her absence—did Anduvin turn to Meralonne. “Illaraphaniel, will you seek her?” He did not speak of Evayne.

“Not yet,” was the mage’s quiet reply. Smoke, like small ghosts, wreathed his face. “If I find her Court, what have I to offer? She will not be moved by anything now. Your Lord planned well, when he planned this.”

“If he is to have purchase upon this plain, she numbers among the most dangerous of his foes.” The
Kialli
lifted his head, turning away. “You will be in want of a shield.”

“I will.”

“Take me with you.”

“Your Lord will not be pleased if—”

“You refer to my Queen?”

“Your Queen, then. I do not think she will countenance such a journey.”

“Oh? She is mortal yet, Illaraphaniel; I do not think she will care. She lives with the mortals, on the edges of their Court and not in its center; power is not her concern.” His tone made clear that he thought it should be. “The mortals are not so enamored of our kind that they seek us out; she does not—she has not—summoned me since the eve of battle.”

“And you think she will not?”

Anduvin nodded. “Take me with you,” he said again, and then added, “and if you can lead me to the Queen in the dawn of her Summer, I will make you a shield that even the gods themselves could not break.”

“You might not survive the finding of that Court.”

“I am aware of the risk.”

“Even in Summer, the wrath of Ariane is unpredictable; it is wild, Anduvin. It knows no bounds. She will feel the death of each of the trees we could not save—”

“And she will be grateful, Illaraphaniel.”

“You are so certain?”

“I play no games this eve; I am certain.”

Meralonne smiled; it was a slender lift of lips, and it was cold. “Very well. I will consider your offer, Swordsmith.”

Anduvin bowed. “Then I will take my leave.”

“Where will you go?”

“To the North, APhaniel. It is why the stranger appeared; she meant to give warning. I will go North.”

“Then I will tell you one thing, and perhaps it will ease you. Evayne a’Nolan is mortal, as you surmised—but she is god-born.”

“Her eyes—” Anduvin’s brows rose.

“Yes. They are not golden. She was not born to a distant god; she is of this plain, as is her father.”

“She is—”

“She is kin, in that fashion, to the Queen of the Hidden Court. They are half sisters. It is possible that that robed stranger can more easily traverse the paths that will lead to the Summer Court. Remember it; I am certain you will see her again. It is not her way to give advice—to appear at all—without exacting a price.”

“The advice was not given to me; I am therefore little concerned at its price.”

“Remember that,” was the grave reply. “For it may be, in the end, that her words were meant for you. If you go to the heart of your enemy’s stronghold, you will undoubtedly see her again; she may—or may not—recognize you. Have a care, Swordsmith.”

“Save your concern for those who require it.”

“If you do not live, you will craft no shield for me.”

“Do not insult me.”

Meralonne laughed, and after a moment, Anduvin joined him. They looked young, then. Bright and gleaming, like new blades.

24th of Henden 427 A.A. Avantari, Averalaan Aramarelas

It was not unusual for Devon ATerafin, a senior member of the Royal Trade Commission, to work late. It was, however, unusual at this time of year. The offices were all but empty; the lack of discussion, argument, pleading, and the occasional loud spate of cursing made the silence almost disturbing.

It was not disturbing to Devon. Gregori, his aide, had remained in the office, occupied with the filing, which was both necessary and tedious enough none but the junior members of the Commission were required to do it.

Neither man was particularly surprised when the door opened; they were alert, but unalarmed.

Devon, however, was surprised to see the woman who entered the room: Birgide Viranyi. Her expression was shuttered, but that wasn’t surprising; so was Devon’s. He rose. “Apologies,” he said, “but the Royal Trade Commission is closed for the day.”

She entered the office, closing the door at her back. “Yes.”

Silence. Gregori left the stacks of letters and moved to the books; in any given day, ledgers and references were taken from the multiple shelves that held them—and their return to those shelves was, like the rest of the filing, the employ of junior commissioners. He began to shelve books.

Only when a majority of those volumes were in place did he turn; he nodded once to Devon.

“Why are you here?”

“I wish to speak with Duvari,” she replied. She was stiff, but the mention of the Lord of the Compact often had that effect on the men and women who served under him.

Gregori and Devon exchanged a glance.

Birgide was a compact woman of medium height. Her hair was shorter than either Gregori’s or Devon’s, and her scars therefore more visible. Her eyes were sharp, a clear gray that was often disconcerting when she failed to blink, as she did now. “I have only just arrived from the Western Kingdoms, but I could see, as I made my way to
Avantari
, the trees that grow on the Terafin grounds. I heard the rumors as I traveled, but it is seldom that rumor contains so much truth.”

“Did Duvari summon you from your post?”

“No. I do not imagine he will be overjoyed; he is not a man who appreciates initiative.”

“Is that so?”

Birgide grimaced. Duvari’s disembodied voice sounded clipped and unamused. No door—no obvious door—had opened; Devon was almost certain that Duvari arrived at the exact moment Birgide had.

“It is, as you well know,” she replied.

“Initiative and abandonment of duties are not, surely, synonymous?” He stepped into the room from the farthest reach of the office.

Devon tensed. Birgide did not. Gregori continued to work. Gregori very seldom spoke when Duvari was present—and of late, his silences were the norm.

“Report,” the Lord of the Compact said.

Devon considered returning to his chair, and decided against it. He was angry. “Four men wearing the armor of the Terafin House Guard attempted to assassinate the Terafin this morning. This is the second assassination attempt she has survived.”

“They failed.”

“Yes.”

“The manner of their failure?”

“The Terafin moved.”

“Moved.”

“She threw herself forward and somersaulted across the hardwood, narrowly avoiding two swords.”

“There were four men present.”

Devon nodded. The nod was controlled. “None of the four survived. One of her cats was on escort duty. I believe he killed two before they could draw weapons.” He glanced at his cuffs, as if searching for ink stains. His hands were remarkably steady. “I was to be informed before any move was made against the Terafin.”

Duvari said nothing.

“We have lost two tasters in the kitchen,” Devon continued.

“The Terafin is aware of this?”

“They were not poisoned.”

The Lord of the Compact stepped toward Devon; Devon stood his ground. Birgide idly crossed the room and took Devon’s chair. “I would be a better choice if you chose poison,” she said reasonably.

If Devon could have ejected her from the office, he would have. Birgide, however, was not his immediate concern—although that might change in an instant. She, as Devon and Gregori, was
Astari
.

“You are crossing a dangerous line, Duvari,” he said, without preamble.

“As are you,” Duvari replied.

“No. I owe my loyalty to the
Kings
, and the Kings have remained utterly silent on the matter of the Terafin’s disposition.”

“There is no proof that the assassination attempt was connected to the Kings.”

“No. But two of the four were yours.”

Duvari did not deny it. “And the tasters?”

“They are not dead.”

The lift of a dark brow changed the contours of the Lord of the Compact’s face. “You are compromised,” he said softly. “You understand what must be done, and you hesitate.”

“Until the Kings command otherwise, I owe my service to the Terafin. They have
not
commanded, Duvari.”

“That is not what I mean, and you know it. You allowed them to survive.”

“The Terafin would have taken their deaths very personally, and I could not have offered any reason for those deaths that would have eased her.”

“And so you protect her from me.”

“Yes.”

“Do you understand what she has done?”

“Yes.”

“And can you honestly tell me that she does not constitute the biggest threat to the Crowns that the Empire has yet seen?”

“Yes. We survived the Henden of 410. She is not the danger that we faced then.”

“No. No, in my considered opinion, she is far worse. I want her neutralized.”

“And I will kill her myself when the Kings give that command.”

“She has not yet chosen to subject herself to the judgment of the Kings.”

“The Kings have not yet made their decision.”

“Have you informed her of the extent of the architectural changes within
Avantari
?”

“No. She is aware of the obvious changes: the floors and the structural pillars. She is not a threat to the Kings.”

“You are not impartial.”

Nor was Duvari. Which was irrelevant. “Should the Kings decide that she is to be removed, I will kill her.”

Duvari did not acknowledge the words. Instead he said, “The Exalted are highly concerned. It is clear that the gods believe the Terafin is a danger.”

“To the Kings?”

“Their concern is not the Kings. They feel she is a danger to the Empire. I will grant that they feel the danger she poses is unintentional, but the Lord of Wisdom believes she should be removed—if that is indeed possible.”

“And the Lord of Wisdom is
not
the Kings. The gods do not rule here. The previous assassin was demonic in nature.”

“I am aware of that.”