Oracle: The House War: Book Six (44 page)

But she understood that he was suspicious; it was natural. She accepted the suspicion because she was not here on Duvari’s orders; she was here for almost purely personal reasons. But she had been in Duvari’s service for most of her life—and one did not simply discard the habits of a lifetime, no matter what else one might be doing.

She glanced at the leaf in her hand. The habit, she thought, with some rue, of a lifetime. She had come halfway across the continent—at speed—because of the
Ellariannatte.
She had come to study this miracle—and in so doing, had discovered others: the silver, the gold, and the diamond. She had discovered the tree of fire. She had discovered three delicate wildflowers that she had never encountered before, in any of her many treks. She had been given permission to take samples, and she had potted several.

None survived an hour outside of this forest. She could not test her theory by taking them to the Common—where they would eventually be trampled by small children, if not malice—because they had not survived that journey. There was much, indeed, that was magical in this forest.

She had walked into story.

As a child, she had daydreamed beneath the boughs of old trees; as an adult, she studied them. She was a pragmatist. How, then, to explain the hush of the awe invoked by places such as this? She had often walked in that hush like a hopeful child; she worked, but when her eyes were caught by unexpected shadows, she turned, caught in the moment by echoes of her childhood. Life had been grim; forests had been her only escape.

She had not come to this one seeking escape. She had come, she said, seeking knowledge. She knew that she could sell her field notes to fully two dozen of the magi in the Order of Knowledge—for she had been given permission they had been denied. She wouldn’t even have to endure their condescension, they would be so eager.

What they wanted was not so different, in the end. They wanted to walk into story. She closed her eyes. “What do you want?”

“I want there to be no reprisals,” he replied.

She frowned. She did not dislike Jester, and knew that she should pay this conversation more attention; had she been standing anywhere else, she would have. “Do you not feel,” she said, ignoring the words he had forced himself to speak, “that you walk in story?”

When he failed to answer, she turned; he was staring at her, arrested.

“Have I surprised you?”

“I’ve spent three
weeks
digging whatever dirt you point at. You’ve never struck me as the fanciful type.”

“No. I have never struck myself that way. But—here, I feel it. I feel almost disarmingly young again—but not in the ugly, helpless way of childhood.”

“I didn’t live in a forest.”

“No. I didn’t, either, more’s the pity. But it was my retreat. It was the only place it was safe to dream. I do not know why I speak of this now—and to you, of all people.” She shook her head, turning her back on the tree of fire. She could not see how flames framed her, but was aware of the effect her positioning would have. “Duvari does not, except in the most extreme of circumstances, engage in pointless reprisals.”

“That is not what is said.”

“No, of course not. And you perhaps do not have a window into the ranks of the
Astari
to observe the facts, and no reason to trust my evaluation. I am concerned, Jester.”

“Oh?”

“You are disconcertingly serious; I feel that I may have misjudged you.”

He shrugged. “I take no offense.”

“No. You don’t care enough to take offense. And yet, you care enough to be here. How does this affect the right-kin and the director of the Terafin concerns in the Merchant Authority?”

“Did I mention that I’m not fond of intelligent women?”

“Frequently.”

“It has never been more true.” His face was the color of fire, reflected fire. His hair was that color regardless. She had thought him young and feckless, but in the firelight realized she had underestimated his age. “Is it true that Vareena knows little of value?”

“She would know the manner of her own placement. She would know how any information that requires or merits attention would be conveyed. Beyond that, no—and the circumstance of each would—as you can imagine—be individual.”

“And were this information to be shared or discovered, Duvari would not consider it too much of a threat?”

“He would consider her discovery a threat—but once discovered, he would assume the compromise was complete.” She was silent for several beats as she digested the conversation—and her own almost inexplicable part in it. “Tell me, ATerafin, you said Vareena was attacked?”

“I may have let that slip.”

“How severe were her injuries?”

He looked above her head to burning flame, his expression momentarily unreadable. “You understand my difficulty.”

And she did.

“I understand that Duvari considers The Terafin a threat.”

Birgide lifted a hand. “Do not do this, Jester. I am not here as
Astari
. I will not carry any threat you make, and it is clear to me you mean to threaten.”

“Is it a threat to give warning? There are people within Terafin that Duvari might dispose of—for his own reasons. The Terafin might be angered; she might be relieved. But there are people it is best to leave
well
alone unless you have disposed of The Terafin first. Duvari has never struck me as the type of man who takes things personally.

“Has The Terafin struck you, ever, as someone who doesn’t?”

 • • • 

Jester watched Birgide. She had turned her back upon the tree of fire, but even in the midst of their conversation, her eyes were drawn to it. And away. To, and away. What must it be like to serve two masters? Jester wondered. He could not with certainty say he had ever served so much as one. But he had a rare moment of clarity, watching her. He understood why he had found her so quickly. He even understood why he had found her here.

“I am the only man associated with the House Council—however tenuously—who will speak with you. I am perhaps the only member of The Ten who will do so. For reasons which are so glaringly obvious they require no explanation, The Ten do not exchange information with Duvari.”

“And yet, you seek to do so?”

“No. I’d sooner die than be stuck in a room with Duvari. I have a personal dislike of people who never smile. Have you ever seen him smile?”

She laughed. “No. Never.”

“Were it not for his line of work, he would be the very definition of uninteresting.”

“But his line of work absolves him of that status?”

“It does. People loathe him. People resent him. People fear him. All of the social fortifications they might otherwise employ against minor dignitaries like me, they turn toward him instead.”

“And they are, therefore, more careless than they would otherwise be.”

“Around me, yes—but I am, and will remain, insignificant.”

She was once again glancing at the tree.

“It is seldom that I am less interesting than a plant.”

“There is no one—not even Duvari on most days—who would interest me more, if that is any consolation.”

It wasn’t, but he didn’t come to people expecting consolation. Or kindness. Jester saw the world clearly. “We don’t believe that Vareena was discovered through any competence on the part of either our House Mage or our surveillance.”

She didn’t even blink. But this time, when she turned toward the tree of fire, she turned fully. Her back was stiff, straight; her hands fell to her sides and remained there. He knew that she could kill him; she could not kill him easily. “What makes you say that?”

“We’ll know within the next few days whether or not Vareena was an isolated incident. I imagine Duvari will know first—but not by much.” He wanted a drink. He wanted a drink, his bed, and some idiot waking him to tell him that he’d overslept. At this point, even if that idiot was Haval, he’d take it.

On the other hand, if this pleasant fantasy did somehow become the new reality, Haval would no doubt inform him—in that pinched, humorless voice of his—that the day’s events had been even more of a nightmare than the current reality’s. And he’d probably still be talking to a woman who seemed to prefer the company of plants and dirt to the company of people.

Jester—at this particular moment—had some sympathy for that preference; hours of dirt would no doubt whittle it away.

“It will be difficult for me to carry word to Duvari.”

“I would speak with Devon,” Jester replied, taking the first of the no doubt hundreds of risks the day before him demanded. “But he is currently seen almost exclusively in the company of Patris Larkasir—at the behest of the Crowns. You are the only alternative available. Trust is not required; you may do nothing with the information and wait to see how events unfold. I must, however, ask that you refrain from denuding the House of necessary members.”

“I will refrain—but it is not, of course, to me that you wish to make this request.”

Jester, watching her, said, “I think you underestimate your own importance.”

“Hardly. I am aware of my standing within the ranks of Duvari’s many agents. He is not best pleased with my presence here. He could not—unless my services were urgently required elsewhere—forbid it. Not unless he felt that my presence would compromise the safety of the Kings. He wished The Terafin to forbid it, and made clear to her that I served him. She did not hold this against me.”

“Do you think the forest—the forest as it is, now—would survive The Terafin’s death?” he asked, looking at the height the tree’s flames reached. The question sounded idle; it was not.

That he’d asked it surprised her enough that she turned, once again, from branches of fire. “Do you?”

“I am not the expert. You are. You’ve spent time studying within the august halls of the Order of Knowledge—but you wear no medallion, and you are not among the rolls of its mage-born.”

“You
have
been busy.”

“The information, as you suspect, was given to me without so much as finger lifted on my part.” This was, of course, a lie. Jester would have dearly loved for it to be the truth, however, and he had learned to gild his words with whatever truth he could find. “It is not possible to study within the Order without gaining some knowledge of—some appreciation for—the talents of the mage-born. Not for a woman of your character. I’m almost certain that part of your education was, in fact, the clear and careful gathering of that information. You might ascertain who was promising, and who powerful; you might learn which of the mage-born have accepted—or at least applied for—the right to accept a patron.

“And this is conjecture on my part; it is idle.”

“Yet you are here.”

He shrugged. “You have as much working knowledge of magic as one who isn’t mage-born could be expected to have.” He kept his voice level and even, which was difficult. The branches of the tree were shifting in place. He thought at first this was due to the haze caused by rising heat—but he was never going to be that lucky.

And he was curious. Birgide had found this tree; without Jay’s active consent, locating it should have been almost impossible.

“The magics involved in the creation of this forest are not magics that any of the mage-born—any—could facilitate. Given that fact, even my conjectural replies hold no weight. The god-born sons of Teos have offered speculation, no more; their god is strangely reluctant to engage them in matters that concern The Terafin.”

Jester frowned.

“But if you insist, I will offer my opinion. The forest in its present form will not survive without The Terafin. Such a forest would not have been considered a remote possibility by most of the mage-born without objective proof of its existence. Indeed, they argue about it in frustrated ignorance, even now. But you have, as House Mage—exclusively, and rumor has it, free—Meralonne APhaniel himself. He believes that the forest is real; he believes that it came into existence exactly as The Terafin claims.

“How much do you know about Member APhaniel?”

Jester shrugged. “He smokes a pipe which irritates any number of patricians; I have long suspected that it’s almost the only reason he does. He is as fractious as the rest of the magi—but far more arrogant. He doesn’t give a damn about anyone’s opinion but his own, and means it, unlike a majority of people who make that claim. He fights like a demon.”

“An interesting choice of words.”

“Is it? I stay out of his way.”

“His area of speciality is ancient—and legal—magics. If he feels a claim is credible, it lends that claim both weight and authority. It may also bring a certain amount of resentment; the magi are famously political.”

“Everyone with power is.”

“Meralonne APhaniel believes this forest is real. And Meralonne APhaniel treats The Terafin with unheard of respect. The power of First Circle mages has never moved him to offer either respect or consideration. The power of your Terafin does. Do you know where she has gone?”

“Not exactly, no. I wouldn’t tell you if I did—but I don’t.”

Birgide nodded, as if both the question and the answer were pro forma. “It is believed that she is to be instrumental in the survival of Averalaan. In the survival,” she added softly, “of the Kings.”

“You don’t want to share who it’s believed by.”

“It might come as a surprise to you, but any answer I give you would be pure conjecture. I am told—as are we all—what Duvari feels is necessary for my duties. No more and no less.”

“And you are not here as a member of the
Astari
.”

“No. But of course, as I am here, and as I am considered an expert in botany and its many branches, I will be asked to offer my opinions about the composition of this forest, its soil, and its various impossible trees.”

“Will Duvari listen to you?”

“Yes. He will not listen happily, but he will listen. It is for that reason that it is necessary for my replies to be definitive and objective.” She exhaled. “And there is very little objective fact to be found in this forest. It is a wonder of a place. And the heart of it must be this tree. I cannot guarantee that Duvari will listen to reason when it comes to the safety of the
Astari
, and there are costs in even the attempt to have such a discussion. He has survived these decades because he is, at base, suspicious of everyone and everything.