Battle: The House War: Book Five (52 page)

“I don’t understand why you’re here. I don’t understand why you serve the Order of Knowledge.”

“Such understanding is not a necessity.”

“No.” She looked away, letting her sleeve fall.

“Where did you acquire your . . . bracelet?”

“In the Tor Leonne,” she replied, gazing at empty streets, at stone buildings, at trees that were in every way junior to the trees that now girded the Terafin manse.

“You were foolish enough to ask?”

“Me?” She looked down at hands that were brown with sun and pale with winter dryness. “I wouldn’t have dared.”

“She did not offer.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, Meralonne. She doesn’t give gifts. Not in Winter.” Speaking the words, she felt them as immutable truth.

“You did not steal them.”

She shook her head. “When she turned from me—when she turned to give word to her host—three strands of her hair brushed across my open palm. I didn’t mean to raise a hand—I couldn’t help it. I wanted to—” she shook her head. “I don’t know what I wanted. I don’t trust beauty,” she added. “Not the Winter Queen’s; it seems too much like death to me; it’s too cold and too distant. But even without trust, I wanted to hold it in place for just a moment longer. I—”

“You feared to lose it.”

It was true. She knew she could never love Winter. She knew she would never love or admire its Queen. But there was a hollowness, an empty space, that existed whenever she thought of Ariane. A yearning for things wild and ancient that she would never,
ever
, want in her home.

“I closed my hand on the strands,” she continued, her voice dropping. “And they remained in my palm. I braided them.” She inhaled, and turned to face him again, expecting disappointment, possibly condemnation.

She found neither. Meralonne lifted the stem of the pipe to his lips, losing some of his sharp rigidity in the process. “She is death, for you.”

“I know.”

“But mortals have oft walked willingly to that death. Inasmuch as she gifts any mortal, she gifted you; she will not acknowledge that gift in any way, but the lack frees you from obligation.” He blew rings of amorphous smoke. “Would you be parted from them?”

“No.”

“Wise, indeed. It is never safe to be cavalier with such gifts.” His eyes narrowed. “What do you seek to offer me, Terafin?”

“Summer,” she replied.

* * *

He was rigid for a long moment after the word had died into silence. He smoked in that silence, and she took comfort from it, although he appeared not to notice the pipe itself. “You cannot offer that; it is not within your power.”

“It is not yet within my power.”

“And will it be, Terafin?” He leaned forward; Avandar stiffened.

“It will.” As she spoke the words, she knew them for truth. They had taken root in the winter in the Tor Leonne, and they had grown.

“You will not serve as Summer King,” was his gentle reply. “She would not take you.”

“No.”

“If you can reach her—and of the mortals here, I think you are the only one who might—you cannot force the roads to accept her; she has not offered what they require. She exists outside of their season.”

Jewel nodded, as if this made sense. “If I can offer you Summer, Meralonne—if that is within my power—what will you offer me in turn?”

“What would you ask of me? I will not insult you by pretending that it is of little interest.”

“You have served Sigurne Mellifas for her entire tenure as guildmaster. You have advised Kings, and trained warriors within the Order’s heart.”

He shrugged, as if each were inconsequential.

“Mordanant felt that our only hope of survival lay with you.”

He laughed, then. It was not, in any way, a happy sound. “The Kings do not command my loyalty,” he said, when he chose to speak again. “No more does Sigurne, although I am fond of the guildmaster. I will not vow to serve you in any way that matters; not even in return for Summer. Given that, what would you have of me? For what you offer, I have little of value to offer in return. You play games so poorly it is hard to discern a game at all.”

“That has always been her failing,” Avandar said. Teller had not spoken a word.

“It has. Terafin, I will tell you now that any hope of survival you have does not rest in my hands; Mordanant is wise, but he has never lived among mortals. Even when man was at the apex of his power, he little understood that the power they held
was
their own; he assumed—as do many of his kin—that it was granted by gods. The fate of this City is your burden, if you can see it in time to shoulder it. You are not what you were; you are not yet what you must be.” He reached through the window and emptied his pipe.

“How? How can I protect the city?”

“Do not ask me the question. It is yours, and only yours, to answer.” He began to fill his pipe again. “And if the condition for your offer is the safety of the City, it is not an offer I am willing to accept.”

Avandar was surprised. She sensed it, although he failed to express it in any other way.

Yes
, he said, his gaze on Meralonne alone.
It is a matter of little significance to promise little in return for much. I would expect—I did expect—such an offer, and I would have counseled against its acceptance. Inasmuch as he can, he understands you, or those like you; he understands your fears and your desires. But Jewel, he has not. He grants the import of what you offer, and he is unwilling to lessen it.

“Can you walk the paths, Meralonne?”

“In safety, Terafin?”

“I don’t think safety matters to you.”

His smile was sharp as a blade. “Indeed. If you mean can I walk those paths to reach that court, the answer is no. Could I, I would not find the way into its heart; it is forbidden to one such as I.” His glance fell again to the wrist around which Ariane’s memento was twined. “But if you mean can I traverse those roads which open into your domain with so little warning, yes. The best defense you could offer those who dwell within your manse was your ignorance, but in waking from the trap laid by the Warden of Dreams, you
are
awake.

“Now, the only defense you can offer is knowledge, and it is a knowledge you fear. Shall I tell you why?”

“Do you know?”

“I cannot perceive the whole of your thought,” he replied, as he lit his pipe, “but I have watched Sigurne Mellifas since she first entered the Order; she was only slightly older than you yourself were when you entered The Terafin’s service. She walks—has always walked—a very delicate edge; it has scarred her, in ways you cannot see.

“Had she desired it, she might have become a mage with few peers; her power is not insignificant. She might have taken the bitter lessons of her captive youth and fashioned a place for herself that not even the Kings could rival. Do not interrupt me,” he added, when Jewel opened her mouth. “When I speak of the possibility, it is just that; it is idle, it is speculation. The Northern mage did not kill her; the first—and the most significant—of her early teachers did not, although he came closer than she will admit to either of us, in my estimation.

“She has, instead, devoted her considerable knowledge to denying any other the benefit of the knowledge she gained, and she has walked the narrow road, always, as sentinel. I see some of her in you now. What she fears, you also fear—but your fear is stronger. And that is wise; the danger is greater.”

“What—what fear?”

“You fear to be more than you are.”

“I don’t—”

“You fear, then, to lose what you are. You are wed to mortality, and you do not wish to leave it.”

She glanced at Avandar. “Could I?” she asked softly.

He did not pretend to misunderstand her. “Mortals have oft chased the dream of immortality; it is a costly gift to grant—but the granting is less costly than the acceptance. I believe you are well aware of the latter cost.”

She turned, once again, to the streets, glancing at the Chosen who kept pace with the carriage. “Immortality just seems like another way of being abandoned. Unless my friends are also immortal, what’s the point?”

“The point for men of power—”

“They don’t
have any
friends. The Winter King had rivals, enemies, and the allies he accepted for the sake of mutual convenience. Was he powerful? Yes. Far more than I’ll ever be. What did it do for him? He faces eternity as a ground mount for a woman he can no longer touch.”

“You attempt to shift the conversation in a direction it was not meant to go. The responsibility—if it can be met at all—will be in your hands. You have not,” he added, lifting pipe to his lips, “been invited to
Avantari
since your predecessor’s death. You will not have seen the changes within the palace itself.”

“I’m aware that changes have been made.”

“Good. The Kings are undecided because the gods are undecided. I ask you again, what would you have of me for what you offer?”

“If you will not stay within the Order’s walls, take up residence within mine. I will open a room for you in the upper floor.”

He lowered the pipe, although tobacco still burned in its bowl, and turned to face her. “I don’t believe your House Council will approve.”

“It’s not up to the House Council,” was her sharp reply. “It’s up to me. If there were obvious expenses associated with your residence, I would have to justify them, yes—but there won’t be.”

“Why is this of import to you? I have already stated that I will offer you no oath and no pledge of service.”

“I want you to walk those roads with me.”

“I have already told you that it is not safe to even open their doors. Will you ignore advice that is meant entirely to bolster your chances for survival?”

“Yes,” was her stark reply. “I sent the Winter King into the wilderness, and with him Snow and Night.”

“To what end?” he asked, in a tone that made clear his astonishment at her utter lack of sense.

“I told you. I didn’t open the door that led to the hidden roads.”

Understanding, then. “Yes,” he said softly.

“Yes you’ll—”

“I will accept your offer, although it is singularly unwise. I will hunt, by your side, for those who have gone missing. They are not, of course, of value to me; no more, in the end, than all but a handful of mortals who have once called this City home. But they are, in my view, as valuable to you as what you have offered me. I will not lay down my life for theirs; I will not offer it in your stead. But what I can divert in this endeavor, I will.” He looked as if he were finished, but he lifted pipe again. “Call back your cats. Have the Winter King return to your side.”

But she shook her head. “I have Shadow. The cats might return, but they were bored, as you might have noticed. The Winter King
will
lay down his life in this quest.”

“He will not.”

“He will; what I have offered him for the chance of success is of far more import—to him. While you are in my domain, Meralonne, close the doors that you see opening if I don’t perceive them. Stop my people—my mortal people—from stepping foot upon those byways.”

He nodded again. “You understand,” he said, as he emptied his pipe out the carriage window, “that if you fail in
Avantari
, the fate of those I save will be no kinder than the fate they will meet in the end?”

“But you’ll save them
now
. What we face in the end, we face.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Tell me, Meralonne.”

“Yes?”

“What happens when the Sleepers wake?”

“It is said—”

“I don’t care what’s said. I want to know what will happen.”

“They will see the ruins of a city,” he replied, “infested with carrion. Their anger at your presumption will know few bounds, and they will scour the earth of you and your kind. They will not serve our enemy,” he added, “but that will be of little consolation to you.”

“Can they?” she asked. “The demons themselves have chosen to approach Averalaan with caution; they do not bring armies to the city.”

“Not yet. But the time for caution is passing. Come, Terafin. We have Kings to meet.”

C
hapter Sixteen

10th of Fabril, 428 A.A.
Avantari, Averalaan Aramarelas

T
HE HALL OF WISE COUNSEL was, in all ways, a remarkable room. Most of the characteristics that made it unusual were not immediately obvious to a casual visitor. It was an audience chamber fit for the Crowns, a huge room the height of which instantly dwarfed any who walked through its doors. At any time of day or night, the room was brightly lit. The windows, stained glass, and almost of a piece with the intimidating architecture, shifted hue in keeping with external light, implying natural elements that did not, in any way, reach the room.

Various protective enchantments had been laid against both windows and walls; the floor was a mosaic of magical color if one knew how to look. Sigurne Mellifas did. She was intimately aware of perhaps three quarters of the enchantments; she would never be given leave to examine them all. Nor had she need.

What the hall lacked in an appreciable sense was silence. The doors and the walls did not permit sound to travel beyond their perimeters—but within the room itself, the acoustics carried spoken word, enlarging it.

When the steward opened the doors to the hall, raised voices escaped. Sigurne exhaled. She did not ask the steward how long the Kings had been resident in the hall; nor did she ask to remain outside while the heated discussion continued. It would not, in the past two months, be the first time voices had been raised in this room.

Today, there were several. The Kings and the Exalted were not seated upon their thrones; they stood in a tight group, made wider by the obvious divergence of opinion. The Queens were present, but they were excluded from the debate. Sigurne had some small hope that she would be likewise spared.

It was a vain hope. Before she had reached the halfway point of the room, the Lord of the Compact turned. Duvari was not a man to raise his voice in anger; he lowered it, in times of duress. He reminded Sigurne of nothing so much as a guard dog; the barking, one could safely ignore; the growling, at one’s peril.

“Guildmaster,” the Lord of the Compact said.

“Lord of the Compact.”

“—And may I remind you again, brother, that we are not beholden to the gods’ every whim; we are mortal, and mortals rule here.” King Reymalyn’s voice echoed in the ceilings above.

“So you have said. Nor have I disagreed; the decision is not in the gods’ hands; it is in ours. But the gods have made clear the danger a single citizen poses to the rest of the Empire. They have a history—”

“It is a history that has been offered us piecemeal, and it is irrelevant. The Terafin has not contravened the laws of
this
land. If we are to execute—or assassinate—every person who poses a possible threat, there would be no city when the Lord of the Hells at last approached the gates!”

“The nonexistent gates, surely?” the Exalted of the Mother said to King Cormalyn. He looked every bit as ill-pleased as the god-born son of Justice. Sigurne did not envy them this argument. On the contrary, as she had little place in it, she would have been grateful to be excluded.

But she knew that variations of this argument had tied the Kings’ hands, extending the life of The Terafin. Rumors implied that it had not likewise bound the hands of the
Astari
.

“If she were the danger feared by the gods, she would not have had to flee the Common when the demon attacked.”

The Lord of the Compact bowed. It was a graceful, economical motion, and it brought the argument to a temporary halt. “I have received a report,” he said, into the ensuing, bitter silence. Duvari was perhaps the only man who would have dared interrupt; the Queens, as Sigurne, were silent.

King Reymalyn nodded brusquely.

“There is some evidence that there are recent—and notable—structural changes within the Terafin manse.” All eyes now fell on Duvari, who weathered the inspection as if it were irrelevant. “The changes involve The Terafin’s personal chambers.”

“Are they as impressive as the architectural changes within the Palace?” the Mother’s Daughter asked.

“They are as complete.”

“That is an evasion,” Sigurne said.

Duvari glanced in her direction. “My sources have not yet accessed The Terafin’s personal rooms. But the access points that were meant for the use of highly placed servants have vanished.”

“Pardon?”

“They no longer exist. There are no back halls and no back stairs that lead into them; they vanished overnight.”

“Which night?” The question was sharper, harsher; King Cormalyn was the speaker.

“The night The Terafin woke. The external building has not significantly changed; the upper floors remain intact. There is only one exception; the glass dome that once overlooked The Terafin’s personal libraries.”

“It is gone?”

“No. But the glass is now opaque.” He hesitated, and then added, “It is not, to our knowledge, glass at all.”

Silence.

The Exalted of Cormaris spoke. “If it is true the gods give us an incomplete history, it is also true that much of it has been irrelevant to our rule. That, I fear is changing. You know what we counsel. If it is to be effective, you are running out of time; it is a commodity of import to the merely mortal.”

“Can we demonstrate,” King Cormalyn said, “that The Terafin is now, in effect, a very real threat to the Empire?” He turned to Sigurne.

She was silent. She knew that the rooms in the upper reach were not the only difference to the manse, and knew further that the
Astari
had not infiltrated the Chosen. “If you mean to take this evidence to The Ten, no.”

“Would The Ten agree to meet with the gods in the Between?”

“That will, in my opinion, depend entirely on the meeting of The Ten. But if you intend her death to have the fewest repercussions, you will have her executed before that meeting. You will not receive dispensation from The Ten; if she is dead, however, they will have little recourse.”

“Very well. Her domicis is reputed to be a mage without parallel.”

“I have not tested him,” Sigurne replied. “But we are aware, and we are watchful. Member APhaniel does not believe he constitutes a threat unless and until any harm is offered his Lord.”

“The cats?”

“Are deadly. I do not think the
Astari
would be sufficient to contain them.” She hesitated. It was noted.

“Speak freely.”

“The gods appeared to recognize the cats; it is of the gods, not of the Guildmaster of the Order of Knowledge, that you must ask that question. The cats do not fear the demons; they do not fear assassins. Nor, in my opinion, should they.”

“Lord of the Compact, is the room ready?”

“It is.”

“Guildmaster, The Terafin brings a member of the First Circle as her attendant.”

“He will not interfere.”

The Exalted of the Mother lifted her head. She glanced at the Queens; Siodonay was stiff and pale, her hands in fists above the fabric of her very practical skirts. “I have one request,” she said, smiling the kindly smile of an aged matriarch—an expression Sigurne knew well in all its significance, she had used it so often herself.

“Ask,” the Kings said, in unison.

“I would like to show The Terafin some evidence of what she unintentionally wrought.”

Sigurne tensed. “I do not consider that wise,” she said.

Duvari added, “I concur.”

“And the request was not, with all due respect, made of either the guildmaster or the Lord of the Compact. The most difficult element of this decision has always been the character of The Terafin. The rooms are unusual. Like the work of Artisans, they do not conform in expected ways to the vision of their visitors.

“But The Terafin will not harm the Kings until it is clear they mean her death—and perhaps not then.”

“What do you hope to gain?”

“Information, as always, Your Majesty. The Terafin is the only seer born in the Empire of which we are aware. What she sees might give us a glimpse of what we face in an increasingly unpredictable future—and if we mean to have her removed, it is the only such glimpse we might receive.”

* * *

Jewel did not arrive in
Avantari
as a penitent; she had considered that approach, but had chosen to discard it. What had been done in
Avantari
, without her conscious consent or intent, was done. She had, through Avandar and Celleriant, two men bound in different ways to her service, preserved the lives of the Princes—men who would one day occupy the thrones of the Twin Kings. She did not intend to apologize or grovel for that.

Nor did she feel either would be advantageous; had she, she would have put aside—with difficulty—the pride required to rule. But her demeanor, from the moment she exited the enclosed confines of the Terafin carriage, was being watched, gauged, and judged. It was judged by the Kings’ Swords and the
Astari
—as well as the servants of the royal palace; it was not these that concerned her as she made her way up the wide and grand stairs of the palace, and had it been only those who labored in service to the Crowns, she might have modulated her bearing, her carriage, the stiff tone of her voice when she spoke at all. No, among the servants here, and no doubt among the Swords, were those who might pass on word of what they witnessed to The Ten.

What the Kings demanded—or perhaps what Duvari demanded—was in direct opposition to what The Ten required. She could not be seen to accept censure with either grace or ease.

Shadow landed on the stairs and inserted himself behind the Chosen to her left, forcing Avandar to fall back. He did not, however, step on Avandar’s feet or on Jewel’s skirts, and he did not speak at all. She in turn accepted his presence by her side as if it were natural, sharply aware of his change in visible stature. She’d grown accustomed to it in such a short period of time it should have been disturbing.

No, it
was
disturbing. But at heart he was the same creature who’d dogged her steps for months.

Perhaps because of his size and the Swords’ inevitable lack of exposure to guards that moved on four paws, had wings, fangs, and looked like walking death, the Kings’ Swords were present in greater number than Jewel remembered them being on any prior occasion. She accepted their presence without comment and without acknowledgment; inasmuch as armored and armed men by the dozen could be beneath notice, these were.

The steward who met her at the head of the Swords offered her a deep bow; it was not exaggerated for effect, but it was not brief.

“Terafin.”

She inclined head, no more.

“Please, follow.”

Jewel was not a frequent visitor to the Hall of Wise Counsel, but she had never entered that room and found the Kings waiting. The Kings remained in a separate chamber until summoned, probably by the
Astari
. The Exalted, however, were less paranoid.

Cautious
, Avandar said.

I didn’t say it out loud. Is it necessary to correct my thoughts?

His answer was clearly yes. She followed the steward from the large, intimidating halls into the first of the public galleries. Prepared for what she saw, she didn’t miss a step—but that took work. It was hard to both gape and pretend that nothing was noteworthy; she managed something in between.

The floors in the hall were adorned with long rugs. The rugs caught the eye, but beneath them, the stone stretched out from one end to the other in a single piece, unbroken by anything as everyday as seams. These, she could have ignored with little effort.

It was the pillars that would have been hard to ignore. No, she thought, impossible. They were, as the floors, of a single piece, and they rose from floor to the height of the beginning of arched vaulting. But they were a darker stone than the floors. They were not polished, although they appeared smoothly ground; flecks of color caught and reflected light. In and of itself, this would not have been remarkable—but the shape of the pillars had changed; they now looked like the trunks of enormous trees, over which the vaulting ceiling served as branches reaching, always, for the sky.

She wanted to ask if they were all like this, all of the pillars, but couldn’t. Here, where there were no other speakers, her voice would carry her ignorance to whoever listened.

The walls, however, did not appear hugely changed. They were still adorned by tapestries and paintings. The statues, however, caught her eye. They were, in theory, carved likenesses of the gods—although having seen them, in the Between, Jewel was aware that only an Artisan might truly capture some part of their essential nature—but they were not the statues with which she was familiar. No; they were so finely chiseled, and so elegantly adorned, they seemed almost alive. They were taller by a good three feet than they had been the last time she’d seen them.

Taller, prouder, and—to Jewel’s eye—crueler in seeming.

She forced herself to keep her eyes on the steward; she asked no questions, and made no comments.

* * *

Duvari was, of course, waiting for Jewel in the Hall of Wise Counsel. Sigurne Mellifas was also present; she looked both weary and alert. Five minutes with Duvari could easily account for that level of weariness, but in this case, that was wishful thinking on Jewel’s part. The steward announced The Terafin; the Swords spread out along the back wall, leaving Avandar, Teller, Meralonne, and Shadow standing at the foot of a long blue runner that led to the dais upon which the Exalted were seated.