Skirmish: A House War Novel

by West, Michelle

  “See?”

  “They’re what I think of as cats, yes. But bigger, meaner, and winged. Maybe not meaner. They can do more damage, though.”

  “Where did you find them?”

  “In the backyard. They followed me home.” Since this was more or less what he said whenever he brought a cat home, she felt it was fair.

  “Why are they here?”

  She started to answer, stopped, and said, “They can talk; ask them. I’m going to try to get some sleep. The Exalted are likely to be back tomorrow.”

  He went still. Snow didn’t approve. “The Exalted?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “They weren’t entirely happy about the trees in the grounds. You’ll see them. The trees, I mean.”

  “I’ll probably see the Exalted as well, if they come through the right-kin’s office. You’re all right?” he added, with just a hint of anxiety.

  “I’ve got a lot to think about, and I don’t want to think about any of it. Have you seen Avandar?”

  Teller shook his head.

  “Figures. I’m going to bed,” she added. “You three—if anything bad happens to Teller, anything at all, I will turn you into Winter coats and pillows.”

  Snow hissed. “We like him.”

  She left the cats with Teller.

  She woke screaming.

  Bolting upright as she usually did, she hit something that was both hard and soft. Two eyes—two golden eyes—stared at her in the imperfect darkness of moonlight and shadow. There was no magelight in the room, and no lamp. No Avandar either, although she could sense him somewhere on the periphery of the grounds.

  “What are you doing?” Shadow demanded. It was Shadow; she wasn’t certain how she knew.

  “Being crushed to death by a cat.”

  He hissed. “You are taking up all of the bed.”

  “It’s my bed.”

  He hissed again, but accompanied it by lying down. Half on top of her. She grunted as she pulled herself out from beneath his weight. Nightmare melted into his voice and the irritation of his presence, fading before she could catch it and hold it tight.

  “It’s not that kind of dream,” he told her, stretching out and laying both of his paws across one of the pillows.

  He was warm; the room itself was chilly, as it always was at this time of year. She grunted again as she tried to pull blankets free of his weight and only half succeeded; he wasn’t cooperating.

  “What do you mean?”

  He opened one eye; it was faintly luminescent and should have been disturbing. But light, in the dark of night, was never as disturbing for Jewel as its lack.

  “What I said.” The eye closed.

  “How do you know it’s not that kind of dream?”

  Both eyes opened. “Well, is it?”

  “I don’t know—thanks to you, I don’t remember it.”

  Shadow snorted. “You’re very noisy,” he said. “You won’t get any sleep that way.”

  “Shadow—”

  “Oh, very well. It’s not that kind of dream because it doesn’t feel like that kind of dream. But you have to be careful of dreams now.” He settled his head back down on his paws.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your dreams aren’t always safe dreams,” the cat replied, losing the edge of winsome whine that characterized most of his speech. “What comes from your dreams can hurt you if you do not wake.”

  “I woke.”

  “No,” he said, shuffling a few inches toward the center of the bed, and brushing her face with his wings as he settled them tightly against his back. “I woke you. It’s not the same thing anymore. The ugly one isn’t here. He should be.”

  “I know.”

  “But he is speaking with someone important. I will stay.”

  “I don’t want you to stay.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “I really don’t.”

  “You do.”

  Jewel had had more productive conversations with walls. “Tell me why,” she said, sinking back into her pillow and staring up at the ceiling, eyes wide.

  “I will know when to wake you. I will know where your dreams take you. I will bring you back. If,” he added, “I want to.”

  She rolled over onto her side. He tilted his head; his eyes looked like small, contained magestones. “Why?” she asked again.

  “Do you always ask that question? It’s very boring.” His wings rose and spread, one of them hovering across her upper chest and shoulders. “Why do you think the Winter King made us?”

  “I don’t know.” A few hours ago, she’d’ve said it was because his isolation had driven him insane.

  “We watch, little human. We don’t need sleep. We eat bad dreams.”

  “You—”

  “You cannot always watch; nor could he. We can watch, while you sleep.” Shadow sniffed. “He let us play when he was awake.”

  “I can’t afford to have anyone die because of you. They’ll blame me.”

  “Only,” Shadow sniffed, “if you let them.”

  “I don’t have much choice.”

  Shadow snorted. “The Winter King was Snow and Ice; we are not sure what you will be yet. But your dreams are no longer safe dreams. The door is open and you have not closed it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because,” he said, slowly curving the wing around her as if it were a living blanket, “we are still here. Sleep. I will watch.”

  “But—”

  “No more. Sleep.” He leaned over and licked her forehead. He didn’t even have cat breath.

  “Can I?”

  “Sleep?”

  “Trust you.”

  “Of course you can trust us. You called us. We came. We will be wherever you are until—”

  “I die?”

  “Mmmm.” He lowered his head again, but this time he kept his eyes open. She was aware of his warmth and the soft, strange texture of his fur; she was aware of his wing because nothing about it was human or normal or threatening. She was aware of the darkness, but his presence held it back, kept it at bay.

  She thought she could sleep, and the thought surprised her. Her own lids fell slowly because she was, in the end, very tired. “Shadow?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why did the Winter King turn you to stone?”

  “Oh, that.”

  Chapter Twelve

  2nd of Henden, 427 A.A.

  Terafin Manse, Averalaan Aramarelas

  AVANDAR WOKE JEWEL in the morning. In the very, very early morning. “What,” he said, in his clipped, short, and very familiar tone of annoyance, “is that creature doing here?”

  Jewel pried her eyes open, glanced at the windows, and closed them again. “He came to keep watch over me while I was sleeping,” she replied.

  “Implying that I did not.”

  “No, nothing that subtle.” She rolled over on her side, facing the window, which was not coincidentally in the opposite direction. “Where were you?”

  “Out. I apologize,” he added, in a tone that implied annoyance. “If you could tear yourself from your bed?”

  “It’s too dark to be morning.”

  “It would be, but you are required to dress appropriately on this particular morning.”

  Appropriate was always so dire. “Have the Exalted come for me?”

  “They are expected within the hour.”

  She sat up. Or tried. “Shadow,” she whispered, pushing his wing.

  Shadow retracted the offending appendage. He sat up, stretched, and exposed whole rows of very unpleasant fangs when he yawned.

  “Where,” Avandar said, in the same pinched voice, “are the other two?”

  “With Teller,” Jewel replied, hoping it was still true.

  “You left them with Teller.”

  Before she could answer, he lifted a hand. “Your clothes are here. It is not, however, your clothing that will cause difficulty.”

  No, of course
it wasn’t. It was her hair. She often longed to be bald at times like this.

  “Ellerson has offered to take care of your hair, and if that is acceptable to you, I will agree.”

  “He has Finch and Teller.”

  “Finch’s hair is not a permanent disaster, and Finch will not be meeting with the Exalted unless they require a character witness.”

  Jewel wondered, as she shrugged herself out of covers and cat hair, what she’d done in a previous life that was so bad she deserved mornings with Avandar. “Please tell Ellerson I’d be grateful,” she said, meaning it.

  He bowed.

  “Avandar.”

  His eyes were a shade of dark that suited the desert and the howling winds of unnatural storm. “ATerafin?”

  “Are you bleeding?”

  “It is not your concern.” He left the room before she could argue.

  Ellerson never complained about her hair. She did, frequently, as combs and oils were applied with fervor. Shadow sat on her feet, and Ellerson pretended not to notice him. “Haval and his wife arrived some hours ago,” he told her as he worked. “As per Teller’s instructions, I have made two rooms available for their use. I have informed the Master of the Household staff that one of those rooms is not to be cleaned or entered at all until it is permanently vacated.”

  “Will that work?”

  Ellerson failed to hear the question.

  “Did you see Avandar?”

  “I did, as you are well aware.”

  “Was he injured?”

  Again, the older domicis failed to hear the question. Jewel grimaced as he fought with her hair. “I don’t suppose Celleriant came back?”

  “No, ATerafin. Member Mellifas, however, returned, some half hour before Haval did. She and Member Corvel are in their rooms, but they have asked to be wakened when the Exalted arrive. They will be joining you, I believe.”

  “Is anyone else going to be, as you put it, joining us?”

  “It is my hope that your three winged visitors will not.”

  Shadow lifted his head and glared balefully at Ellerson. He then dropped that head back on his front paws and heaved a loud sigh of boredom.

  An hour later, Jewel was more or less ready to meet important guests. She was also served breakfast in the breakfast room. She was often starving at this time in the morning; at the moment, the sight of food was almost unpleasant. Shadow, who sat by her, ate what she wouldn’t touch, although admittedly he ate disdainfully.

  Sigurne Mellifas and her aide, Matteos Corvel, joined Jewel in the breakfast room; Matteos stared at the cat as if the last faint hope he’d been dreaming had been shattered. Sigurne, however, nodded at Shadow as she took her seat. She was not under the auspices of the domicis—either—and it showed; she wore what she almost always wore, although admittedly the robes had been pressed and cleaned. Matteos was likewise simply dressed, but both of the magi wore the pendant of the Order over their robes, and on heavier than normal chains.

  They also looked very underslept.

  Shadow began to roll around on the floor, his claws clicking against wooden slats in a particularly annoying way. Jewel would have thought the wings would at least prevent the rolling part, but apparently she would have been wrong.

  The three ate as if they were suffering from hangovers; they didn’t speak, although Matteos did grunt, once, in part because Shadow had landed on his foot.

  Avandar joined them before breakfast had been abandoned; it certainly hadn’t been finished. He was dressed in clean robes, which were in all ways superior to the robes the magi wore. Of the four, he easily looked the most awake, although Jewel suspected this was the opposite of true. “ATerafin.”

  She nodded and rose.

  “The regent has sent word; you are to attend the Exalted in The Terafin’s audience chamber.”

  “Alone?”

  “I am, of course, given leave to accompany you.”

  Shadow hissed.

  “The guildmaster and her aide are also invited to attend; the regent implied that your attendance,” he added, turning to Sigurne, “was not mandatory.”

  Torvan and Arrendas were waiting outside of the wing’s doors when Jewel emerged. Sigurne and Matteos had elected to accompany her; so had Shadow, but he’d allowed himself to be turned away on the right side of the doors. Jewel looked askance at Torvan, who saluted. Loudly. He was wearing armor that might have looked overdone on parade.

  “Torvan—”

  “ATerafin.” His face was completely blank; his voice, however, was loud. Jewel forced her lips up into what she hoped resembled a smile; it was going to be a long morning.

  “It could be worse, dear,” Sigurne told her, with what sounded like genuine sympathy. “There are only two guards.”

  This was entirely accurate until the small, moving party reached the large, public gallery. In the gallery’s wide halls, the House Guards outnumbered them. They were all dressed in their best armor, and they were on perfect, proud display; light from the expanse of windows was beginning to seep in, although it wouldn’t be bright enough to illuminate the gallery for a few hours. This hall, and the one on its opposite side and around a corner, led to the two entrances of the audience chambers; admittedly the one farther away was small and informal in comparison.

  But the doors that admitted guests into the presence of The Terafin—or, today, the regent—were very, very fine. They were dark and girded on either side by sculptures on pedestals, and because they occupied part of the wall, and not the end of a hallway, they were wider than any of the other doors in the Terafin manse. At their height, engraved in stone, were words in Old Weston. They were, of course, gilded, as if the addition of a layer of gold could make the words of this almost forgotten language more true; it certainly made them more brilliant.

  The doors were open.

  Jewel, approaching them by Sigurne’s side, felt a twinge of sympathy for Gabriel as she entered the very deep room, because he was seated—in full House colors—on the single throne at the room’s far end. Two of the House Guard stood behind the throne, and six stood beneath it, fanning out in threes to either side of the wide, flat stairs that approached the throne.

  Gabriel, however, was alone; the Exalted had not yet arrived. He gestured, and Jewel approached the throne. She’d seen it used only a handful of times, and its use now made her feel distinctly uncomfortable. For the first time this morning, she was grateful for Ellerson’s ministrations, and the stiff and complicated dress Avandar had chosen. She glanced at the magi; if they felt underdressed, it didn’t show.

  “ATerafin,” Gabriel said. The vaulted ceilings of the room boasted very unforgiving acoustics. Jewel approached the throne, and the House Guards let her pass. Sigurne and Matteos, however, now stood back. Avandar did not.

  Jewel bowed to Gabriel, who nodded as she rose. On closer inspection, the regent looked like he’d aged ten years in the past ten hours; the lines around both mouth and eyes were deeply etched. It made him look very severe.

  “Jewel,” he said, speaking softly, “I must offer you some warning. The Lord of the Compact has both demanded—and received—permission to attend this meeting.”

  “I guessed as much,” she replied. He raised a brow, and she added, “He visited the wing late last night. Do you have any idea what the Exalted are going to say?”

  “None.”

  “Any suspicion?”

  “No. And before you ask, if insight before the fact is to be gained, I am not the person who will offer it. Come,” he added. “Stand to the left of my chair. Speak if you are spoken to; if it is Duvari who asks, answer minimally and with care. Your domicis may join you; have him stand near the guards.”

  Torvan and Arrendas joined the guards at the base of the stairs, standing to the far right and the far left; nestled there, they didn’t make Jewel feel quite so out of place as they had in the halls. She glanced down at her hand; there, a heavy, gold ring girded the second smallest finger. Ivory, ebony, and
ruby adorned it, coalescing into the geometric representation of a sword. It was meant to be the House Sword, but on the eve of a House War it merely looked martial.