Battle: The House War: Book Five (79 page)

“And the immortal?”

“He is, at the moment, occupied elsewhere—but he serves
me
, and I intend to retain those services. Each of our Houses contains hidden bits of history, and each of our Houses numbers, among its members, dangerous men and women. I have broken no Imperial law in my quest to gain the House Seat; I have broken no laws since I became The Terafin. I have made my pledge of allegiance to the Kings, and vowed to follow their laws in all ways that do not impact the laws of exception by which we
all
govern.”

“We are aware that the alterations made to
Avantari
were not made with the express permission of the Crowns,” The Garisar pointed out.

“It was my thought that they would prefer to have a structurally sound palace from which to govern the Empire. Perhaps that was foolish. I did not feel that I had the time to consult with their wishes.”

The Kalakar offered a smile that was both reluctant and genuine. “The sweeping—and obvious—changes are, of course, the reason we convene, Terafin. It has been noted that the intervention of your immortal servant was almost certainly responsible for the continued existence of the Twin Princes. The Crowns are willing to overlook much for precisely that reason—but power is a sword with two edges, at least in the Empire. And the power to restructure supporting beams, walls, and floors instantly—when you are not resident within the palace itself—is a power with which no one is comfortable.”

Her words dropped like a stone into a still pond. Jewel watched their ripples. Even The Wayelyn’s expression was disappointingly cautious. But he was not the author of her misfortunes; he was the author of a simple song.

“You are all in agreement, then?”

“Surely,” The Morriset said, and this was a blow, “you yourself cannot advance an argument against this position? Were it to be my House, and not your own, that was author of these dubious changes and holder of this unknown power, you would yourself bring measures to counter or contain it.”

Teller lifted a hand in brief, quick sign. She caught it out of the corner of her eye. “Were it not for the power you fear—”

“Fear is a harsh word,” The Darias said.

“Yes. But this is, apparently, to be a harsh Council, and I will not mince words where others will not. Were it not for that power, there would in all likelihood be no Council of The Ten; there would be eight Houses ruled by unprepared regents; the demon would have destroyed all during the victory parade.”

“You are so certain?” The Berrilya asked, with a softness that was sharp and cutting.

Jewel forced her hands to remain on the table’s surface. It was a struggle. “I am.” She exhaled sharply and stood. “So, too, the Kings, or I would not be in this Council meeting.”

“Guildmaster,” The Wayelyn said, turning to Sigurne, who had become so silent it was almost possible to forget that she served as witness. “We would, if you are so inclined, have your assessment of The Terafin’s claim.”

“If there is no objection,” Sigurne said, in the tone of voice she oft used when attempting to imply fragility and age. She looked to The Terafin.

“I object,” The Terafin said. Sigurne nodded.

Meralonne, looking bored, pulled a pipe from the folds of his satchel. He watched Jewel, his silver eyes unblinking as he proved his familiarity with the shape of both the pipe’s bowl and the leaves with which he lined it. He did not once glance at his hands.

“If you wish to play the game of ignorance,” The Terafin continued, her voice sharpening, “play it when it does not waste my time. If you have failed to speak with the Order of Knowledge in the two months preceding this meeting, you will live for a few hours more with your ignorance. I know you all, some better than others; I can’t believe that you haven’t. If you wish to ask the guildmaster’s advice purely for show, find a different spectator.”

The Fennesar, who seldom spoke in full Council meetings, cleared her throat. “My apologies, Terafin,” she said, in a voice as soft and yielding as Sigurne’s had been. “I have been occupied with the concerns of my House, and I have not had the time or the inclination to speak with a member of the Order of Knowledge.”

Had it been any other member who chose to speak the words, Jewel would have been blistered by her own fury. But The Fennesar had always been a modest, quiet woman. A steward, not a captain. “My apologies, Fennesar.”

“Accepted. I feel that eight men and women here owe you far more courtesy than they have yet shown, and perhaps I am vain enough not to want to be included in their number; your accusation is otherwise well-founded.” She rose, turned to Sigurne, and bowed. “Guildmaster?”

Sigurne once again glanced at Jewel, but this time she did not hold her gaze in any way. She nodded to The Fennesar as if certain of Jewel’s response. And, Jewel thought grudgingly, she was. “What The Terafin claims is, in the opinion of the Guildmaster of the Order of Knowledge, fact. It is the truth. What she stopped—with a few very well-placed words—could not have been stopped by any member of the Order, save perhaps one. Even in the case of the exception, it would have been the work of at least an hour, during which time, lives would inevitably have been lost.”

“Thank you, Guildmaster,” The Fennesar said. She resumed her seat.

Jewel did not wonder, as she often did in such a gathering of the elite and the powerful, what Amarais would do. Amarais would never have been in this position. What Jewel had promised the woman she almost revered was that she would
become
Terafin, and she would hold the House. Not more, not less. She did not, therefore, resume her seat as The Fennesar had done; she had not finished speaking. She had barely started.

Be cautious, Jewel
.

Jewel did not reply.

Anger is not your friend here.

“It has been suggested, at least once, that I abdicate. It will
not
be suggested again, and if the idea is entertained by any of my peers, it will be entertained entirely in my absence. If it is a motion that is being considered, I will absent myself from the rest of this meeting because the meeting will be irrelevant to Terafin. I
am
The Terafin. I will remain The Terafin until my death.”

It was The Berrilya who nodded, an odd gleam in his eyes. No one else spoke, although The Tamalyn was listening carefully to the woman who was whispering in his ear.

“I am willing to listen to your advice and your counsel; I am aware that I face the Twin Kings in a position that not one of our ancestors have ever occupied. I understand the reluctance of the Kings to merely overlook what is an obvious danger in different hands. I understand that I will be the personal magnet for the
Astari
and the Lord of the Compact while I still draw breath anywhere in this Empire. In your position I would consider that advantageous.”

The Kalakar chuckled. “That is the silver lining to the storm clouds?”

“In your position, I would accept it,” Jewel replied, with a slight smile. “But, in your position, I would not be concerned about Terafin.”

“If you wish us to speak bluntly,” The Berrilya said, “I feel that you are being disingenuous.”

“I understand that the god we do not name is waiting outside the borders of the Empire. I infer, from the brief exchanges between the Exalted and the Order, that a god’s power is a matter of legend—and in this case, of nightmare. None of us understands what a god can—or cannot—do. Most of us believe there is very little of the latter. Our enemy is a
god
.

“I am a mortal. I’m human. I’ve lived in the humblest streets of this city and in its most exalted. Everything I currently have, and every commitment I have undertaken, involves people. Mortals. It does not, oddly enough, involve magic or sorcery. I cannot explain the whole of what I can do.”

Jewel.

She ignored Avandar. “But I would not give it up now, even if that were a possibility. Not to cozen the fears of the god-born nor the fears of The Ten. We face an enemy that is almost beyond our comprehension. We cannot afford to casually discard any weapons we might have, even if we do not understand the whole of their import. I am not being disingenuous, Berrilya. I have the seer’s vision, and in my early life—before I joined House Terafin—I saw the god we do not name. I have lived in his shadow for all of my adult life.

“And I would never willingly throw away a weapon unless I thought he could turn it against me. He can’t.”

“You are so certain of this?” The Garisar said sharply.

“I am.”

“Guildmaster?”

Sigurne did not speak. Meralonne, pipe emitting tendrils of smoke, did. “She is certain,” he said, sounding bored. “If your concern is that she is capable of turning that power against you, it is not unfounded; she will be. If you kill her, she will be no threat to you.”

“No one,” The Berrilya said, “is considering such a death.”

“Yet you play petty games, Berrilya. All of you. You play games, and you waste time that should not be wasted.”

“The governance of—”

“The governance of ten Houses—even
The Ten
—is of little consequence if the city falls. The city is the heart of the Empire; without the city, the Empire is lost.”

“The city will not be—”

Meralonne lifted one hand—the hand that did not hold the pipe. His fingers danced in the air with practiced grace, and an image began to coalesce above the center of the table.

“APhaniel,” Sigurne said, rising. “That is enough. Our opinion has been offered; more is not desirable at this time.”

“Guildmaster,” The Kalakar said, also rising. “In your considered opinion, is The Terafin critical to the city’s survival?”

“It is the opinion of the Order of Knowledge,” the guildmaster replied, “that The Terafin poses a graver threat to the city than any we have encountered—as an Empire—in the past.”

Silence.

“But it is also the opinion of the Order that because of that threat, she is critical to our survival. She poses a risk. Some of the members of the greater Council dislike the nebulous and unknown nature of that threat; some consider the god we do not name enough of a danger that the risk is necessary.”

“But not all,” The Garisar said.

“No. Not all.”

“And the guildmaster?”

“I speak as the representative of the Order,” she replied, as if her personal opinion counted for little. “The Terafin has made clear that she has no intention of abdicating—and in this, I must agree. The heart of her power
is
the Terafin manse. To separate her from her seat at this time would be impossible.”

“If she chose—”

“She
will not
choose. The matter is not under consideration.”

The Berrilya cleared his throat. “You consider such a choice unwise.”

“Yes, Berrilya; you are perceptive. But it is entirely outside of my hands, for which I am grateful. She will face the Twin Kings as The Terafin. It is possible that the Twin Kings will demand her abdication.”

“That is not their right,” The Kalakar said stiffly.

Sigurne fell silent.

Jewel assessed the uneasy silence. Teller gestured again; this time, she nodded and drew breath. “That is the question that we face. I am Terafin. I will be summoned by the Kings. I do not know what they intend—but if they intend to demand my abdication, I will refuse. I owe loyalty to the Twin Kings and the Empire—but I owe a more binding loyalty to my House, and I will not betray it.

“If the Kings feel they have the power to force an abdication, will they not then have the power to choose who rules?”

“We are aware of the difficulty such a demand presents,” The Garisar said curtly.

“And aware, as well,” The Darias added, “of the exceptional circumstances in which such a demand might be made.” He watched Sigurne.

The Wayelyn rose. “We have been in discussion since the crack of dawn, and we have not notably moved in anything but circles. The nature of The Ten cannot be changed; The Ten cannot vote to have one House stricken from the Council. Nine of The Ten can, should they so choose, approach the Kings to offer support should the Kings choose that option—but it would have to
be
nine.

“Wayelyn will not be among that nine.” He smiled broadly as he met Jewel’s stony gaze and winked.

What she signed, in a brief flick of fingers, could not be said in this Council hall, not even by a servant.

His smile faded. “You understand the import of the song. Will you find it in yourself to forgive me?”

“For singing it in my garden, yes.”

“For writing it, Terafin?”

“. . . I am talent-born, as you know; I understand the ways in which our talent inexplicably drives us. If I find no favor with your song, I find no deliberate malice in the writing of it. Its spread, however, is more problematic.”

“You do not believe, as the bardmaster does, that it is necessary.”

“No, Wayelyn, I don’t. I am not, however, certain; certainty will only be reached in the future, one way or the other. If, in the end, the spread of the song works as the bardmaster intended, I will bless you for it.

“In the present, however, the song has increased the censure with which I am personally viewed by the Crowns. I am aware that there is no assurance, no treaty, no contract I can offer the Lord of the Compact that would ease his suspicion. In like fashion, I can offer little to assuage the concerns of the Council. Nor will I try.”