The Sacred Hunt Duology (109 page)

And if not?

He looked down at the blade in his lap. Looked up at the gates, beyond which lay the city of Averalaan, with all of its possibilities, all of its open futures—none of which included Terafin.

The grass grew darker, and the sky redder; the wind stilled although the air was chill in the dusk. He watched the mosaic of the path, maintaining his
posture, his thoughts slowly calming. Did he pray? No; what was there to pray for? Death? Absolution? He could not be certain which of these two would be the easier thing to bear. But he had not spoken with The Terafin since before the battle for the manse; he knew she had survived because Arrendas was kind enough to tell him so.

Wait. There, beyond the low hedge, a faint glow in the darkening sky; the halo of light around a lamp. Someone was coming toward him; someone dressed in simple robes, who walked the path alone. Breath grew scarce as his chest tightened; he bowed his unhelmed head and sat, legs folded, face pale.

“Torvan.”

He looked up to see The Terafin. She wore a great cloak, and at that, a fine old one that was far too large for her shoulders. The hood must have hung down her back almost to her waist, and the hem of the cloak itself trailed across the grass except where she lifted it. It was odd to see her so, who always looked so perfect; almost, he thought of a child dressed in a parent's clothing.

Almost. But she was The Terafin. And he was the man who, sworn to her service, had almost killed her. He dropped his head again. “Terafin.”

“We have spent the Three Days in our own vigils. Why do you wait here?”

“I wait,” he replied gravely, “upon the will of The Terafin, and the will of Terafin.”

“Look at me,” she said softly, in a tone of voice he had never heard before. It broke something in him, to meet her gaze, but he had never disobeyed a direct order. Her eyes were dark and wide, unblinking, the essence of the coming night. “What am I to do with you?”

He did not offer an answer. It was to receive one that he had waited this day.

“Fully half of my Chosen are dead or dying.” The cloak, she drew tight around her shoulders with both hands, curling the collars inward as she did. “And were it not for the creature that possessed you, they might be standing with me today.”

He did not flinch as she spoke; these were the very words that he had told himself, over and over again, during the Three Days vigil. But they hurt to hear.

“Shall you be held responsible for the Lord of the Hells? Shall you be held responsible for the reavers? Shall you be held responsible for the Allasakari? I have been to the Shrines that quarter my gardens; this is the last one. At the Shrine of Cormaris, I knew that I must lose you—whether in disgrace, or by your own hand in honor. The Chosen
know
what you did. They know what drove your hand, but just as you, they believe that fighting harder might have somehow spared them your fate. To have you in their midst—”

He lowered his head again, and she snapped, “Look at me!” She let go of the cloak; her hands fell to her sides, curling slightly. “What they believe is wrong. It is simply not true. Were
I
to be met in that darkness, that darkness would have consumed me. Meralonne might have had a chance against it. And even he is not so certain.

“Understand what I am saying, Torvan. I know that what you did was not your choice; I find no fault with you.” Her smile was bitter indeed when she saw the look that transformed his face. “But knowing it doesn't necessarily change the wise course of action.” She raised a hand.

“At the Shrine of Reymaris, I knew that I must keep you; that the action of the enemy should not deprive me of a man I
know
to be loyal—a man that I chose, and in choosing, did not fail.

“This is what the Kings face,” she said softly. “This terrible choice—between the wise and the just. If I keep you, it will weaken the Chosen who are the backbone of my House, and if I condemn you—and we both know that it is death I speak of—I weaken myself.”

But he knew, then, what her choice would be, for The Terafin had always chosen to adorn the shrine of Cormaris; of the trinity, it was Cormaris to whom she paid the highest tithe, the greatest respect.

“What would you give for the Chosen?” Her voice was hard. “Would you die to keep them whole?”

In answer, he lifted the sword from his lap, and in a single awkward motion, unsheathed it. He was glad that it was growing dark, because in the dusk he could pretend that her expression never wavered, that her eyes were not reddened. She was The Terafin; the House. In time of war—and such a war as he had never conceived of—she could not be seen so.

The Terafin bowed very low, turning her face away. “You have not failed me,” she said softly. “And I will remember it well when this is over. I will send Arrendas to you for the aid that you require.” She stepped forward slowly and touched his forehead with the tips of her fingers, pulling away as he looked up.

“No!”

They both turned at the sound of the single, forceful word, the man on his knees, and the woman, in her own way, no less abased. At once, The Terafin drew herself in, her features darkening with a glimmer of real anger.

Jewel Markess stood at the foot of the shrine, hands clenched in angry fists. She wore nightclothing, as if she had jumped out of bed and rushed headlong to the shrine. Except, of course, that the garden was closed and guarded against intruders.

“What-are-you-doing-here?” The Terafin's voice had never been so precise and so even. Jewel took a step back, stumbled, and righted herself.

“I'm here to save him.” Her hand shaking, she pointed to Torvan ATerafin.

“He doesn't need saving.” It was Torvan who replied, steadying the flat of the naked blade. “Jewel—Jay—”

“Don't talk to me like that.” She cut him off, her voice intense, almost gravelly. “Don't look at me like that. How can you
do
this?”

“I serve Terafin,” he replied softly. The young woman, unlike the woman in her prime, wore her wildness across her face in a splash of angry color.

“No, Goddess curse you, you serve
The
Terafin.” She turned, her hands curled in shaking fists. “You're his leader,” she said. “He follows you. He would die for you.”

“Jewel, leave. This does not concern you.”

“The Hells it doesn't!”

Torvan was shocked. Never once, in all of his days of service either to Terafin as a guard, or to The Terafin as one of the Chosen, had he ever heard anyone speak in that tone to his Lord. He almost rose and drew his weapon, as automatic outrage followed shock. But he did not.

The Terafin was white.

Jewel had the grace to drop her head a moment, and when she lifted it, her voice was even, the anger now beneath the surface of the words rather than riding it. “I'm not ATerafin, Terafin. I am not under your command.”

“No, you are not.”

Silence. Then Jewel drew a deeper breath, a freer one. “I lost my den-kin to the demons,” she said, and every word was sharp and clear. “But I never
gave
any of them up.”

“Terafin is not a small den in the middle of a poor holding,” was the bitter reply. They both knew that The Terafin had but to walk away to end the conversation—and more. Torvan ATerafin was still of the Chosen.

But this was not the first time the two had come to the Shrine of Terafin in the evening, with much on their minds. This was not the first time that they had discussed the responsibilities of power. The echoes of the past made of the garden a hallowed place within which the truth could not be dismissed.

“No. Terafin is a great House,” was Jewel's equally bitter reply, “in the middle of
Averalaan Aramarelas.
Much too good for the likes of me, of us.”

“Jay.” Torvan again.

Neither woman looked at him. Then Jewel dropped her eyes briefly, and muttered an apology. The Terafin nodded her acceptance—but they both held their anger and their tension, their fear and their guilt, as shields bright and shiny. “You can't let him do this.”

“I can't see the Chosen weakened.”

“It's not her choice,” Torvan said. Again, neither responded.

“You
will
see the Chosen weakened,” Jewel snapped back. “Sure, maybe most of them think that Torvan should've been able to stop the demon somehow—but Arrendas, at least, knows the truth. Maybe Alayra knows it now, too. You think those two won't be hurt by this? You think they won't know that you've just given up on him?”

“I think,” The Terafin said, speaking as softly as she ever did, “that they will not question me.”

“They won't.” Jewel's face was set and grim. “But I will. I understand that you
don't want your den to look weak. I know that you can't afford to let the outsiders know what you've lost. You call it wise. Sure.

“But I also know that this isn't about just a stolen loaf of bread—it's a
life
, and it's
his
life, and he'll throw it away because you don't want to take the risk.” Tossing her wild, dark hair, she walked over to where Torvan sat. Before he could move, she lashed out with her foot and sent his blade skittering into the well-tended grass. “I'm tired to death of being polite and deferential and
political.
You don't want him?
I'll
take him.”

“It seems,” The Terafin said, in a distant, icy voice, “that you have a champion, Torvan.”

Torvan's silence was the muteness of shock.

“Why this one, Jewel? Why Torvan?”

The question surprised him, but it did not surprise the young den leader who, in the end, knew very little about House politics and House power. “Because,” she said, “I owe him.”

“Oh?”

“When we first came here, he could've thrown us out. He didn't. We'd've lost Arann without him—because we'd have had to play games with time that Arann didn't have.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes. No.” She looked up and met The Terafin's eyes unflinchingly. “Because he made me understand, at my very first visit to the Shrine of Terafin, that
I
had something to offer the Houses—and that I did understand power. Your power.

“And it's because I understand it that I can't let Torvan die—even if he wants to, even if you think it's best for the House.”

The Terafin drew the large cloak tight about her shoulders and turned to face her unarmed Chosen. He was not looking at her; instead, he stared quietly at Jewel. “You must be mistaken,” he said at last, although he hesitated in the saying. “My rounds do not bring me to the Shrine of Terafin; The Terafin does not come here with any of her guards except, on rare occasion, Morretz.”

“W-what?”

“I've never spoken with you at the Shrine of Terafin.”

Jewel stared at him, openmouthed, as the darkness grew.

• • •

But The Terafin looked beyond them both, to the Shrine itself, her eyes wide with surprise and sudden understanding. She walked past Torvan, and past Jewel, placing her feet deliberately and slowly upon each flat step as if she walked in a ceremonial procession. Her cloak she lifted gingerly around her. When she reached the altar, she knelt at it, bowing her head into the cool stone.

When at last she stood, she stood taller somehow, as if the prayer had relieved her of a burden.

“Jewel,” she said softly, “you were right to come. It has been a long time since things were as clear for me as they are for you. A long time since risk was the only way of life, for me. I want safety; I want certainty—I had almost forgotten that in ruling there is neither.

“Torvan, I Chose you, and I Chose well; you have never disappointed me. If I have—almost—disappointed you, then you are free to leave; any dishonor or disgrace will be mine alone to bear.”

He was silent at her words.

“But if you would, I would have you remain as one of the Chosen of Terafin. You know well how difficult it will be; you know the distrust that you will suffer, probably better than I.”

She watched him, seeing his answer clearly in the stiffening lines of his face: That he would, as always, bear any difficulty in her name, and for her House. As he stood, he grimaced, unfolding his legs as if they had locked in position; they probably had. It had been a long day, and a cool, damp one.

His sword lay in the grass where it had fallen; he walked over to it, bent, and then looked up at Jewel. His words, The Terafin could not hear, but she could see the embarrassed nod that Jewel gave. It was only a nod; Torvan had already turned to The Terafin. He walked to the foot of the shrine, and she met him there; she opened her hands, and he placed the blade, by the flat, into her palms.

But he stumbled slightly; the edge of the blade cut her hand, and blood welled there.

The Terafin met his horrified stare with a wry smile. She carried the sword as if it were a burden. It was. But as much as he would have liked, he could not take the blade back until she had given him leave, and she did not, but the cut did not deepen or worsen.

“Pride is such a necessary thing in power, and such a dangerous one,” she said softly, although it was almost to herself that she spoke. “What you have offered, I accept.”

“Your hand,” he said softly.

“I know.” Very carefully, she returned the sword to its wielder. “It is . . . Terafin. Reminding me.”

The question was in his eyes, although he would not speak it. Very quietly, she answered anyway. “I bleed. I don't need to be more than I am; I only need to be all that I can.

“Now go back to your post, but attire yourself appropriately first. I would speak with Jewel a moment in privacy; tell the Chosen.”

He bowed very low as he accepted the sword—and what it signified—in silence. This woman, this Terafin, was not one he had seen before; and neither knew if, after this evening had passed, he would see her again.