Skirmish: A House War Novel (54 page)

“They are not politically important in the same way The Terafin was,” Dantallon replied, knowing how little Adam knew of the City’s political structures. “But the older man is a very successful merchant, in one of the oldest of the Imperial Houses.”

“I’ve had word,” the man was saying to Levec, “that my granddaughter woke. Twice.”

Levec’s brows were compressed across the ridge of his prominent nose. “She’s not awake now,” he replied.

The expression that crossed the stranger’s face made Adam wince; it was familiar in a way his spoken language was not. Before Dantallon could stop him, Adam said, “But she ate, while she was awake.”

The man turned to Adam, ignoring the royal healer who stood just slightly in front of him. “Did she?”

Adam nodded, although he hadn’t seen it himself.

“What caused her to wake?”

“We don’t know yet. If you ask the magi—”

“Oh, gods take the magi,” was the acerbic reply. “If I ask the magi, I’ll be standing here for hours and at the end I’ll be none the wiser for their response.” He removed his very fine, very Northern outer jacket and handed it to the other stranger, who took it without comment and handled it with care.

“Patris,” Levec began.

“And gods take you as well,” was the acid reply. “I have in my possession a writ which
clearly states
that I will be immediately informed of
any change
in my granddaughter’s status. Clearly we define those words differently, and I mean you to understand how
I
define them.” He turned to the man who held his coat. “Andrei.”

The man bowed.

“Patris Hectore—”

“I will see my granddaughter, Levec.” He paused, looked down his nose at Adam, and added, “You may supervise me.”

Adam bowed, just as his servant had; the gesture came naturally. This was a man concerned about a child—his granddaughter—and to Adam, such concern was worthy of respect. To Levec as well, because Levec gave a curt nod in Adam’s direction—one that wasn’t joined by words.

The infirmary was large; the man’s granddaughter was slightly separated from most of the adult sleepers; so were the other children who lay abed, breathing deeply and evenly, their lids closed, their hands by their sides.

“She ate?” the older man asked as they walked.

“Yes.”

“She ate well?”

He hesitated; the man marked it. “None of the sleepers ate well,” he finally said. “They have little appetite.”

“Bring me water, boy. And a goblet. Bring me a towel as well.”

Adam nodded and bowed.

When he returned, the man was seated beside his granddaughter, his chair wedged in the narrow gap between her bed and the next one. His granddaughter slept by his side, undisturbed by—unaware of—his presence. He was not a small man; his hands were large, and they cupped one of hers, engulfing it.

Adam offered him the goblet; he set the dry towel on the bed within his reach, and put the pail on the floor beside him before he began to withdraw.

“Don’t go, boy,” the man said. “Stay a moment. Talk me out of my rage.”

For a raging man, he spoke quietly, although his voice was strong and certain. When Adam made no reply, he turned. “My cousin thinks me insane. I’ve many children and many grandchildren, and so far, only two
have predeceased me. Sharann is young,” he added, his hand still covering hers. “And she is not, that we know, in pain.”

“Your cousin thinks you insane? Because you are worried about your grandchild?”

The man smiled. “He’s not a doctor, and he’s certainly not a healer.”

“He has no children of his own?”

“He has three.”

Adam shook his head. He was aware that this man must be both powerful and important, and kept any other words of disdain for the man’s cousin from leaving his mouth.

“You don’t approve?” He frowned. “What is your name, boy? I am Hectore.”

“Adam. I am Adam.”

“You’re not originally from our fair city, are you?”

“No.”

“Where is home, for you?”

“In the South. In Annagar.”

Hectore’s brows rose. “But you managed to make your way to Levec.”

“Levec saved my life.”

“He’s a good man. Remind me that I said that,” Hectore added. “I left my grandchild in his care because he is ferocious in defense of those in his care; nothing short of royal edict will move that stubborn—that man, and sometimes, not even royal edict.”

“But—”

“She
woke
. She woke, and he did not immediately summon me; he sent me neither word nor notice. She was
awake
, Adam. Do you know what that would have meant to her mother? And instead of family, she wakes to
this
. This is not where she went to sleep; she was probably confused and frightened. And where was I? In my ignorance, I was in the Merchant’s Authority, arguing with idiots.”

“This is why you wish to strangle Levec.”

“Indeed.” He now released his granddaughter’s hand and slid one arm under her neck, lifting her from the bed. Adam scurried around to the other side to rearrange her pillows as Hectore began to gently dribble water into her mouth. “This must seem strange to you.”

“Strange?”

“In the South, men are reputed to care far less for their offspring.”

“The Voyani are not like the clansmen,” Adam replied, showing this
stranger a glimpse of ferocious pride. “We know the value of the children; they are the only future we have.”

“So. You are Voyani. I should have guessed. The Voyani are free to travel, although I confess I have met few.”

“Have you met any?”

Hectore chuckled. “No.”

“We do not come to the North.”

“Yet you are here.”

Adam fell silent for a long moment. “Yes,” he said at last. “I am here. Is there anything else you need?”

“No. I will sue the magi into penury if they come anywhere near my granddaughter, and you may tell them I said so.”

Adam frowned, attempting to make sense of the sentence. “You wish me to tell Levec to keep the magi away from her?”

Hectore pursed his lips and then said, in Torra, “I will beggar their precious Order if they so much as touch one hair on her head.”

Adam’s eyes rounded. “Go on,” Hectore said, making shooing motions. “Tell him. He’s unlikely to bite you.”

Levec was at Dantallon’s side, hovering above the map. Adam joined them, sliding between the two healers with the practiced ease of an indulged younger child.

“Is he any calmer?” Levec asked, still glaring at the pins he’d poked through parchment.

“He is not happy that he did not see his granddaughter while she was awake.”

“No, he wouldn’t be. He hasn’t—”

“And he threatened to beggar the Order of Knowledge if the magi go anywhere near her.”

Sivari, standing beside the Princess, chuckled. “He just might try. I’ve seldom seen a man so devoted to his grandchildren.”

“You mean you’ve seldom seen a man with so much wealth or power so devoted?” Mirialyn asked more pointedly.

Sivari nodded. The magi looked vastly less amused, as they were also present.

Adam now looked carefully at the map; he tugged Levec’s sleeve and nodded in the direction of the Isle. “The Terafin,” he whispered, when Levec bent toward him.

Levec merely shook his head. “Not here, Adam. Go back to Patris Araven and keep him out of trouble. If you can, kick him out of the infirmary—without his granddaughter.”

Adam hesitated.

“What?”

“If you are going to wake one of the sleepers—”

“He’s already demanded that the magi be kept away from his granddaughter, and the sleepers woken today will have to endure the magi and their endless questions. They may have to endure more.”

When Adam failed to reply, Levec said, “The children all woke, and they were all fed; they ate twice. They are not in danger of starvation for another several days.”

“Yes, Levec.”

When Adam returned to Hectore, he wasn’t terribly surprised to see that Hectore had lifted his granddaughter out of her sickbed, and was cradling her in his arms as if she were a much younger child. Glancing at her arms and legs, Adam winced; she, like the rest of the children here, had lost so much weight they looked like victims of famine or drought. Levec always let Adam wake one or two of the children. They were not large, and the lack of food was more telling; if they were awakened, they could be fed enough to guarantee that death wouldn’t be due to starvation.

“Do many other parents visit?” Hectore asked, making no attempt to once again set his grandchild in her bed.

“I don’t know,” Adam replied—in Torra. “If any of these children were Arkosan, there would
always
be one of my aunts or uncles in this room. Always.” He hesitated, and then added, “I don’t know if they would leave an Arkosan child with strangers, though.”

“Even if they had no hope of healing the child themselves?”

Thinking of himself, Adam shook his head. “No; if it was a choice between death and strangers, they would risk the strangers. But…they would not trust them.”

“No.” Hectore, speaking Torra as calmly and easily as if it were his own tongue, added, “and it appears with some cause.” He glared across to the huddle in the back of the room. “Do you know all of the people present?”

Adam nodded.

“Does the Princess Royale visit often?”

“Yes. She comes with Commander Sivari, and sometimes with Duvari.”

Hectore looked like he wanted to spit at the mention of the last name.

Misinterpreting, Adam said, “Duvari never goes near the children. Ever. Levec barely lets him inside the infirmary.”

“Yes. And Levec—unlike the rest of us—can get away with it. What do you think of Duvari?”

“I don’t. Levec doesn’t like him.”

“No one likes him.”

“But Levec doesn’t distrust him.”

“I see. Do you live here?”

“In Averalaan?”

“In the House of Healing. In one of them.”

Adam shook his head.

“Ah. I’m surprised. Usually Levec keeps his healers very, very close—especially at your age.”

Adam froze.

“Ah. You are not to talk about your talent, are you? Especially not with the rich or the powerful. My apologies, Adam. I ask too many questions. Usually it is Levec’s hostile face I see when I walk through those doors; it is pleasant to have company that doesn’t measure or judge.”

“Is he wrong?” Adam asked.

“No, sadly, he is not wrong. And you are a boy among strangers; you have no kin and no family in the city. You would be particularly vulnerable if your ability were openly discussed.”

“I have friends here,” Adam replied.

“Levec?”

“No. Well, yes, but he is more like an uncle.”

“The others?”

“I live with them in House Terafin.”

Hectore of Araven left the infirmary half an hour later. Andrei was waiting for him in the hall, in easy view of the guards Hectore had all but humiliated. The guards had, however, recovered their composure enough that they looked right through him when he made his exit.

Andrei handed him his coat, and he donned it in silence; nor did he break that silence until they were alone in the Araven carriage.

“You are certain the boy is always present?”

“He is not, as I stated in my report, always present.”

“But he is always present before the sleepers wake?”

Andrei nodded. “He is never far from Levec, and it should be noted for the sake of completeness that Levec is also always present. But the wakings occur only when the two are together.”

“Except for yesterday.”

“Indeed; that is the exception. I do not believe Levec or his healers were expecting it, judging from the presence of Duvari and the magi.”

“Were you aware that the boy is living in the Terafin manse?”

Andrei raised a brow. “You are certain?”

“He said exactly that. He is living with ‘friends’ in the Terafin manse. I wish to know exactly how long this has been the case, and
exactly
who those friends are.”

“At this time, Hectore, that will be exceptionally difficult. The security at the Terafin manse is—”

“How much worse can it be, given the preparations for the funeral, than the Houses of Healing?”

“Much. Duvari only barely keeps informed of the events that occur under Levec’s purview. Levec is only concerned with the bodily safety of his healers. He has never lost one while they were within the Houses, so his tendency is to watch outward, not in. After The Terafin’s funeral rites are over, it will be less complicated. Can you wait that long?”

Hectore said nothing, but the silence was not permanent. He glanced out at the passing streetscape. “The last healer who lived in the Terafin manse met an unpleasant—and swift—end.”

“As did The Terafin herself.”

“I am not willing to risk the boy in such a fashion. It appears that my granddaughter’s life depends on his, and House Terafin is a totally inappropriate venue for survival.”

“At the moment, it is not.”

“No; it will become so rapidly, however. Find out who his friends are, Andrei.”

Andrei’s hesitance was rare, and marked. “Should he have friends with ambitions, Hectore, what will you do?”

“As I have done. You are aware that three of the four Terafin contenders have spoken with me. They have not, of course, demanded my support, but they have asked. If he is indeed housed with one of the three, I will make my own demands in return for some political concessions.”

“And if he is not?”

Hectore pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do not understand why Levec chooses to allow him to stay within the manse. Levec is not a fool.”

“No, indeed.”

“Which makes it imperative that you determine exactly what the situation is; I am unclear on how to proceed, but not unclear on the necessity of that boy’s survival.”

“Hectore—”

“If he is not known to be a healer, I will not expose him, if that is your fear. I am fully aware of the part Alowan Rowanson played in the last House War.” And such a bitter reward, in the end, for those decades of peace and prosperity. But Alowan had at least lived a full life, retaining choice and freedom until the end. What hope did a fourteen-year-old boy—possibly sixteen at the outside—have to negotiate his way into doing the same?