Oracle: The House War: Book Six (83 page)

“I am me, after all. We want what she wants because she wanted us when no one else would. We trust her to have our interests at heart because she did—even when those interests were a burden. We became useful to her. We didn’t start out that way, and she risked her life anyway. Teller is right-kin. I’m head of the Terafin Merchant Authority offices. Arann is one of the Chosen.

“And Angel is with her. Angel,” she added, her voice softening, “has never believed there’s nothing he can do. The rest of us sometimes feel that we’re still that burden. I’m not sure Angel ever felt that way.”

“That is remarkably perceptive.”

“I try.” She exhaled. “But none of us are Jay. I think Teller, of all of us, is closest at heart.”

“Not Arann?”

Finch shook her head. “What is going to happen, Haval?”

“You are going to declare your regency,” he replied. “And it will be accepted. It will not be accepted quietly.”

“How many people will die?”

“At least one.”

Jay’s attachment to Haval was strong; her trust, strong as well. Finch was the more pragmatic. She accepted, at face value, his attachment to both his shop and his wife. But his interactions with Jarven spoke of a history that had far less to do with clothing and Hannerle, and far more to do with elements of the political landscape that were best occupied by the
Astari
. She had not asked Jarven directly about Haval, of course; she had merely listened to his genuine amusement when the name Haval Arwood caught his attention.

Very, very few people amused Jarven the way Haval did. Hectore was one. Duvari, however, was another.

 • • • 

Jarven arrived in the West Wing a quarter of an hour before Hectore was due to arrive at the manse. Lucille, sadly, was not at his side. She was the dragon of the Merchant Authority, and perhaps because of that, she had an intense dislike for any political involvement outside of her own demesne. And that, Finch thought, was fair. Lucille was pragmatic. She admired and respected Jarven, but understood that, at base, he was a political creature. Much of the good he had achieved in his long and illustrious career required political knowledge and interaction.

“I see I am not the first to arrive,” Jarven said, acknowledging Haval’s presence with a crisp nod.

“You are not,” Haval replied. “And that is troubling.”

“I don’t believe it wise to expend so much energy on suspicion before a meal,” Jarven told him, grinning. “But you have always had a tenuous grasp of wisdom.”

“Had I not, I am certain we would never have been associates.”

Jarven laughed. Finch was more than mildly surprised. “I hear our meal’s location has been shifted on short notice. Was that your doing?”

Haval failed to reply.

Jarven chuckled again. “It won’t do,” he told Haval. “You understand that. There is no reason to treat Finch as the helpless waif. If she requires such treatment, she will not survive.” He then bowed to Finch. “Regent.”

“Jarven, please. Dinner is no doubt going to be a bit of a trial as is.”

“Lucille would be so proud of you, if she could see you now.”

“Only because I have made no attempt to strangle you.”

He laughed, as she intended. But the word hung in the air between them; Jarven had issued it as a challenge. He knew exactly why a fire had destroyed the furniture in the dining room, and given his comment to Haval, exactly how, as well.

Haval’s expression did not change; he looked neither pinched nor exasperated. He met, and held, Jarven’s gaze; Jarven’s smile shifted, but did not desert his face.

“You play a game of kings,” the Terafin merchant said.

Haval nodded.

“With your wife’s permission.”

“I will thank you never to mention my wife again.”

Jarven’s smile slipped further. He glanced, once, at Finch. “I believe that was a threat.”

“It was a request, Jarven,” Finch said, correcting him in a tone that would have made Lucille proud.

“That, too.” Jarven’s smile sharpened. He looked twenty years younger in an instant, and the shifting line of his shoulders made clear that the doddering and meandering old man had been banished for at least one dinner. “It’s clear to me that you have no parents,” he told her.

Finch sighed. “I have Lucille. You are, no doubt, about to warn me that I will be judged by the company I keep.”

“Indeed. And to warn you about what lurks in the hearts of all men.”

“Given at least present company, what lurks in the hearts of all men must be the soul of a very mischievous boy. I am somewhat grateful to you,” she added, as she began to walk toward the doors of the wing. “Hectore is so accustomed to your presence in the Merchant Authority, he has practically been trained to overlook minor offenses. I am certain that nothing I say or do will, therefore, have significant and lasting consequences.”

 • • • 

Hectore arrived on time, as he often did. He felt no particular need to impress, but chose to dress as if visiting royalty. Given the relative rank of Terafin in the Empire, such style would never be considered obsequious. There had been some heated argument about the style of Andrei’s clothing, however; Hectore considered Andrei to be an actual, specified
guest
.

Andrei considered himself to be Hectore’s servant, pointing out that Finch had not, in fact, addressed the invitation to him personally. Andrei therefore arrived at the Terafin manse as he arrived at any other. He was silent, but present.

Hectore was not surprised to find Finch, Jarven, and Haval waiting for him. “Terafin has very exalted pages,” he said, bowing to Finch before he offered her his arm. Haval stepped aside to allow them both to pass; Jarven seemed content to keep Haval’s company. Hectore chuckled at Andrei’s expression, although he couldn’t, with any manners, turn to actually look at it.

Finch inquired after the health of his family; she asked for news of his grandchildren. This also caused Andrei to grimace—or perhaps not. Andrei, in this manor, was on alert. Hectore was happy enough to answer her questions, and they progressed from the foyer to the doors of The Terafin’s personal chambers in a state of pleasant self-indulgence.

The Chosen on duty—there were four—stepped aside to allow their party to pass through the doors that Finch herself opened. This was not generally done—but Hectore understood that the nature of the rooms—and possibly the door itself—demanded a more flexible sense of protocol and etiquette.

On the far side of doors that magically became a single wrought iron arch the moment one passed between them, stood the right-kin, Teller ATerafin. He was flanked by Jester ATerafin and Birgide Viranyi.

“Patris Araven,” the right-kin said. He bowed; the bow was respectful, but not obsequious. In contrast, Jester ATerafin offered Hectore the slight incline of chin; an acknowledgment of his presence, rather than the superiority of his rank. The gesture itself, however, was bright and strangely lively; there was very little ego in it. The pale, red-haired stripling did not feel he had anything to prove to any of the visitors.

Ah, no. The nod he offered Jarven was distinctly stiff. Finch’s request that Jarven treat Jester with respect had been, in Hectore’s estimation, wasted. The young man—and that, perhaps, was an exaggeration—did not, and would not, warm to Jarven.

Jarven did not consider Jester a threat—and why would he? In the end, Jester was a man who devoted his life to passing entertainment, idle gossip, idle drinking. He might have been born to the patriciate, given his general attitude, but even so, his beginnings were not something he scrupled to hide.

He waited, guest rather than host; it was Finch who led, Hectore by her side. Jarven chose to walk to the other side of Finch. Nothing in his expression betrayed his surprise; if he had not seen these chambers before, he had been told, clearly, what they contained. His eyes flickered briefly across the cloudless amethyst of sky; night did not fall in these chambers. Beneath them, trees grew as bookshelves to the right, as far as the eye—or Hectore’s eye—could see; these were worthy of more of Jarven’s attention, but even so, the attention was focused and almost casual.

But he was alert, this Jarven. Hectore had not realized how very bored Jarven had become in his old age until this moment. He glanced at Andrei. Andrei was watching Jarven as well, and probably with the same realization. He did not, on the other hand, find it encouraging or amusing. Hectore found it . . . bracing. Like a cold, clean winter wind.

Finch brought them to plain, wooden gabling. It was not in keeping with the rest of the otherworldly decor; it seemed too simple, too unremarkable. And that, Hectore thought, was of a piece with the master of this vast, endless space: at heart, what she wanted was not large and otherworldly. He opened the gate, and held it.

Finch inhaled.

“You don’t care for these rooms?” he asked.

She smiled. “I am old-fashioned, Patris Araven. These rooms are the pinnacle of power in Terafin—but not even The Terafin wished to occupy them. She was happy in the West Wing.” Her smile dimmed. “We miss her.”

“You see, Andrei?” Hectore said. “Not all people of power disavow sentiment.”

Andrei, predictably, did not respond.

 • • • 

The room was not large. It was certainly well appointed, but the table at which Hectore had last dined could not comfortably seat them all. Accommodations had been made, and the table had been removed, to be replaced by one that was longer and narrower. The sideboard still occupied one wall. Andrei chose to take up position beside it, waiting while the guests seated themselves.

Finch did not call him to the table. She did, however, remind him that the Terafin Household Staff was responsible for serving the meal itself; they would arrive shortly with the first course. Even this was a breach of etiquette, which Andrei, at least, understood.

Apparently, so did Jarven, but he found it amusing. As if he could hear the thoughts Hectore himself was too well-mannered to put into words, Jarven said, “I have chosen to find it amusing. I suggest, for the sake of your appetite and consideration to our kitchens, that you endeavor to do the same.”

Finch reddened, but did not otherwise appear to hear him.

“You find far too much amusing,” Haval Arwood now said. “I consider the amount of effort you expend in this particular case to be negligible.”

Jarven chuckled in response. Haval did not appear to approve of Jarven, and his disapproval seemed in line with Andrei’s. Birgide Viranyi was seated beside Jester; she was careful not to look often in Andrei’s direction. She did, however, seem comfortable with Jester ATerafin. Who, in turn, appeared entirely at home in this strange room, in this gathering of people. If it was true that he did not like Jarven, he was vastly more careful in expression of that dislike than Hectore’s own servant.

Only two of the Chosen remained in the room itself, not surprising given the room’s dimensions. Like Andrei, they were part of the decor, although they were armored and armed. Or perhaps, Hectore thought, they were only part of the decor to those accustomed to the great houses of the city. He knew the Chosen of Terafin only by reputation.

Andrei poured—and offered—both wine and water. It would have amused Hectore immensely had the offerings from the Terafin cellar been poor; he was not entirely certain that Andrei would not have sent the bottles back with a terse demand that they correct the obvious oversight. He did not, however.

“I am pleased that you could accept my invitation on such short notice,” Finch told the table; she seemed to mean it. “Haval, I believe you’ve seen The Terafin’s chambers—as her personal tailor—before; Hectore has likewise been guest here. Jarven is the only man present who is seeing them for the first time in their newly remodeled state.”

“Jarven,” Jarven said, accepting the wine Andrei offered, “feels slightly insulted at being left out for so long. You are telling me that a Terafin gardener is considered—”

“She is Household Staff. If you wish to take umbrage, I am certain the Master of the Household Staff—or in this case the Master Gardener—would be delighted to entertain your complaints.” This was said with an indulgent smile.

“You have, without doubt, met this Master of the Household Staff,” Jarven replied.

Hectore, of course, had not.

“She is unlikely to harm you.” After a pause, Finch’s smile deepened. “My apologies, Patris Araven; we speak of minor household matters. Lucille is generally considered intimidating in the extreme—but everyone in the House feels the reason she has refused quarters within the manse is, in fact, the woman in charge of the Household Staff.”

“I had heard she did not wish to clash with The Terafin.”

“That is possibly what is spoken on the outside. Again, apologies.”

“Don’t waste the breath on them,” Jarven replied in Hectore’s stead. “Yes, I have not seen these chambers before, and yes, as you expect, I find them astonishing. Bracing, even. Does it rain here?”

“Not so far.”

“Will it?”

“The Terafin was uncertain. Given the books, it is to be hoped it will not.”

“And the rooms?”

“Her personal chambers—which we will not, of course, see—and a conference room of much larger dimensions. I had considered holding the dinner in that room.”

“And decided against it?”

“The floor is stone, as are the walls; even the softest whisper echoes. It is . . . very martial in appearance; such a dinner might be held with as much comfort in the older armories in the manse proper.”

“I would love a tour of the less personal rooms,” Hectore said.

Andrei coughed. It was a polite, minimal sound that nonetheless spoke volumes. No one with manners noticed; The Terafin’s inner council—the people she called her den—were not, however, sufficiently polished. Not even Finch.

“These rooms are not considered entirely safe,” Finch said. “Or rather, the space between the rooms. Member APhaniel has taken up temporary residence in it for that reason. What he encounters here, he destroys. It is, however, in part to speak of the significance of these rooms and what they contain that I have invited you here.” She hesitated, and then shook her head. “It was brought to my attention that you entertained the Guildmaster of the Order of Knowledge yesterday.”