Battle: The House War: Book Five (76 page)

Finch preceded Haval into the room, and set the tea tray on Jarven’s desk. He glanced at the side table; she ignored it.

“Please,” Jarven said, his voice smooth as fine glass. “Be seated.” He spoke, of course, to Haval. Haval inclined his head, his face shuttered and expressionless. He did, however, take one of the chairs Jarven indicated. Finch poured three cups of tea. Haval had not arrived with a servant, as Hectore had on the previous day. He did not refuse the tea she offered; he did refuse cream, sugar, or honey. Jarven did not.

Finch had brought biscuits. She’d chosen the same biscuits as she’d chosen on the day Hectore had come to visit. She felt no hunger at all, but as she carried the decorative plate to Haval, and then to Jarven, she smiled. She took one biscuit, as she had done the day before. Jarven took two. Haval glanced at the tray and politely declined.

And there they sat, two silent old men. Jarven did not effect his usual avuncular dotage; Haval did not affect his usual servant’s invisibility. Although neither man spoke, they met and held the other’s gaze; they were fencing in silence.

Finch considered dropping a cup to see if it caught either man’s attention. She understood that they shared a past, and from this posturing, inferred that they had been equals. But Haval made clothing for a living; Jarven ruled the Terafin concerns in the Merchant Authority.

“Haval,” she said pleasantly, when it became clear he would not be the first to speak, “Are you acquainted with Patris Araven?”

The clothier raised a brow. “I am.”

“Have your dealings in the past been pleasant?”

“They have been few. Is this question relevant?”

“Only if you wish to avoid him. While you and Jarven attempt to outstare each other, he is no doubt making his way to the Terafin Authority offices. The room is clearly large enough to accommodate him; I am not certain the discussion the two of you wish to have will be.”

Jarven chuckled.

Haval, notably, did not.

“If you would prefer it, I will withdraw.”

Haval was silent. Jarven, however, frowned. “You are at the heart of this discussion, Finch.”

“There has been no discussion,” Finch replied sweetly. “And on occasion the person who is at the heart of the discussion inhibits discussion by her presence.”

“You are in the lair of two decided dragons, Finch,” he replied, his smile broadening. “Where we choose to speak, believe that we will not be inhibited.”

“That, of course,” Haval said, almost grudgingly, “is her fear. No, Finch. Jarven is correct. You are not your leader. You will inhibit us only if you choose to do so, and I believe you will do so tactically, if at all. You understand why we are here.”

Finch took a chair. Jarven and Haval had confidence in her—and it was, of course, a confidence she did not share. She wanted to have this discussion in her own Wing, with Teller at the table. But she could not, without also having Jay. Teller would not speak if Jay was present—and it was likely that Finch, to spare them both, would also be reticent.

“Yes,” she said quietly, lifting the cup to her lips. “I do.”

“Very well.” Haval exhaled and looked directly at Jarven. “Why have you chosen Finch?”

“Why not?” Jarven was enjoying himself, and took no pains to hide it. “Answer carefully, Haval. She has been under my wing for the whole of her tenure as ATerafin. She understands the Merchant Authority—and the merchants who plague it—better than anyone here, save perhaps myself.”

“Lucille knows—”

“No, Finch, she does not. She knows this office. No one—not even I—understand its workings so completely. But she looks no farther than this office, and she never has. She has depended upon me to see the enemies at the gate; she has assumed that I will head them off before they trouble her domain.”

“She is not a fool,” Haval said.

“No. But she has come to depend on me.”

“And Finch has not?”

Jarven glanced at her. “Your manners, Haval, are lacking. Finch is here; you may ask her the question yourself.”

Haval nodded, but did not repeat the question.

“I depend, to a certain extent, on Jarven,” Finch replied, as if he had. “But what Jarven sees is not always what I see. In the early years, the differences denoted a lack of experience on my part. I have had sixteen years in this office since then.”

“And the differences now?”

“Are more subtle. There are merchants who are willing to negotiate with me, where they would not negotiate with Jarven.” She lifted a hand. “I do not mean they will not speak with him; they will, of course. But they will not move, at all.”

“And you have coaxed them into a flexibility Jarven cannot?”

“I rarely threaten them,” she replied. “Jarven, for his own reasons, does. Perhaps he plays the foil, and they come to me because I offer respect instead. But he will not always be here, and I will. What Jarven does, I cannot do. I have never considered it wise to make the attempt. I depend on Jarven,” she continued, “but I do not fully trust him.”

Haval was still for a long beat. He offered her his first smile since entering this office. “Jewel does not.”

“No. But if she worked at his side as I have done, she would.” Finch paused, considering her words with care. “She trusts you.”

Jarven laughed.

“She has reason to trust me.” Haval said.

“I have reason to trust Jarven,” Finch replied pleasantly, her tone implying agreement without actually ceding any. “And, Haval, I have reason to trust you. If you feel that I am suspicious, accept it as your due: with the single exception of my den, I trust no one of any power completely.”

“Not even the former Terafin?” He did not, as he so often did, decry any possibility of power by pointing out that he was a simple maker of dresses.

“The dead have no need of trust.”

“The living require some, Finch. It must be clear to you now—”

“That you don’t trust me? Yes. It is. I’m uncertain as to whether the greater part of your suspicion is due to Jarven’s interest.”

He nodded, but felt no need to enlighten her. He was, however, watching her with care; Jarven, still chuckling, failed to hold his attention. She had seen Haval concentrate upon beadwork with exactly the same expression. It told her nothing. But she understood that this interview, such as it was, was to be a test; it was a test that Jarven welcomed.

Finch almost resented it. Almost. But she understood that only by passing it would she be able to help Jay, if help was required. And by passing it, she would then open herself up to all manner of testing. Assassination was, after all, a test of intent.

Haval did not speak. Jarven fell silent; she expected the latter.

“You don’t understand what I want,” Finch said, the statement flat and uninflected. She didn’t speak defensively. Haval was Jay’s. He was here to protect
her
interests, or so Finch guessed. She could not hate him for that. She couldn’t even cling to the insult of his suspicion for much longer. “But you suspect, Haval. I didn’t think, this morning. I reacted, and I reacted poorly; I was angered by your implication.”

“By your inference,” he replied. It was a start.

“Perhaps. But if, as Jarven suspects, someone intends my death, I do myself no favor by allowing anger to govern my reactions.”

He inclined his head.

“There are things of which I cannot speak.”

Jarven cleared his throat.

“You have not yet been confirmed as a Councillor,” Finch said serenely.

Haval raised a brow. “I do not consider that wise.”

“I know. Neither, if truth be told, do I—but the risks are greater if we refuse, and I will require Jarven’s support in future.”

“Why?”

Finch swallowed. “She will leave us again.”

* * *

“Pardon?”

“She will leave us. With luck it won’t involve the destruction of parts of the Common, this time.” She lifted a hand as Jarven cleared his throat. “She will not desert us. If she survives—as she did in the South—she will return.”

Haval said, “Is she aware of this, Finch?”

Finch said nothing.

“She has not discussed this with you, then.”

“She has discussed it with no one.”

“And yet you seem to know her plans.”

“I’ve known her for most of my life,” Finch replied. “Understand, Haval, that we are all apprehensive. The changes in the gardens were intimidating. The changes in—” she glanced at Jarven. “The other changes, more so. We have lost one domicis and one den member, and no one understands how.

“We know of all of the structural changes in
Avantari
; the most impressive and disturbing of which are not on public display. We’re not seer-born. We don’t possess an ounce of talent between us. But we understand that something bigger than we are is happening. Beneath our feet. Outside of our walls. Within them.”

She exhaled. “Teller believes we will lose the city—and with it, the Empire—if Jay doesn’t leave.”

“The right-kin has said this?”

“Not to her.” She hesitated. “She walked from the Houses of Healing to the Terafin manse without once touching the streets of the city—and the bridges—on her way.”

“I am aware of that.”

“She gave The Terafin her word that she would take, and hold, the House.”

“Will she appoint a regent?”

Finch shook her head. “No. She has no intention of leaving.”

“You feel, intention or no, she will.”

“It is not my belief, in the end, that is significant. My belief—or its lack—did not inspire an assassination attempt.”

“True. You mean to hold the House in her absence.”

“As de facto regent, yes.”

“It would be a position that would normally fall to the right-kin.”

Jarven cleared his throat again, and this time both Finch and Haval turned toward him. “The boy is worthy of respect,” he told them both. “But I do not believe he can manage the current Council as constituted.”

“He is hardly a boy, Jarven.”

“He is deliberate, straightforward, and either honest or silent. He can handle Haerrad, Rymark, and Elonne with grace because he defers, in all ways, to The Terafin and they are aware of this. Absent The Terafin, I do not believe he will have the advantage.”

“Finch will, in your opinion.”

“Yes. I will be there to offer support. She understands the Merchant Authority, and she understands the various financial concerns that intersect it. She knows where the other House Council members stand in terms of their finances, and she knows which are the least defensible. It is true she is the most junior member of the Council—but so is the right-kin.”

“You feel that someone else shares your opinion of her.”

Finch spoke. “I don’t. I think I am merely meant to carve support away from The Terafin while she learns to master the changes in her environment. I don’t think they’ve given much thought to me as a difficulty in my own right.”

“And the rest of your den?”

“We’ve already lost Carver. And Ellerson. The Terafin has not notably collapsed in the wake of their absence.”

Haval met, and held, her gaze.

“They cannot safely assassinate anyone but me. If I succumbed to poison, it would be assumed that the intended victim was Jarven. I would have assumed it; Jay will. She’ll be angry, yes. But if they assassinate the den, she’ll understand that it’s
personal
. I don’t think they wish to engage a woman who can—who can make the changes she’s made in her sleep, in an out-and-out fight.”

“Not yet.”

“Not ever. I don’t think, unless she’s demonstrably dead, that there will be a war for the seat. It’s hers. It’s been hers since The Terafin’s funeral, and nothing that’s happened since has changed that. But if she—if she becomes more embroiled in the—” Finch exhaled. “Not all of her concerns are now political. If the concerns that are greater than the House absorb her time and attention, someone else will rule in all but name.”

“And if she appoints a regent and the regent dies?”

“If there is no obvious assassin, she will be forced to appoint another. We’ve assumed, for some time, that Haerrad and Rymark are the two Councillors most likely to kill. I would count Elonne among them; Elonne, however, will not destroy the House.”

“They are not the only Councillors.”

“No. They are the interior Council.”

Haval rose. “I have heard enough.” He bowed to Jarven. “I will make your dresses, Finch. In spite of Jarven’s rather cavalier handling of the cloth required, the crafting of such dresses is not a trivial task. I will require the cooperation of the House Mage.”

She said nothing for a long moment. “Haval, before you leave, I must ask one question.”

“And that?”

“Will you serve The Terafin if Hannerle is the only sleeper who fails to wake?”

“Jarven,” he replied, “I believe I have underestimated your protégée.”

Jarven, however, rose. “It is a question best answered, Haval.”