Skirmish: A House War Novel

by West, Michelle

  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 a
ware 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?

  “I want access to him. I wish to be able to interview him when he’s not under Levec’s watchful eye.”

  Andrei gave Hectore a very pointed look.

  “Yes?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh, never fear, Andrei. It’s not like I have any intention of adopting the boy, or taking him under my wing; I am concerned about my grandchild. That’s all.”

  “Of course, Hectore.”

  Levec was not in a good mood by the time the magi were done; Adam suspected he was hungry; Levec seldom ate while working. Adam woke two of the sleepers; a woman in her forties and a man of about the same age. Levec chose them. The magi conducted their interviews—Adam was impressed at just how long each of the magi could talk; he was certain they would still be there had Levec not insisted they leave. They obeyed his bald order with both surprise and annoyance, but at that point, Levec didn’t care.

  When they were ensconced in the carriage, Levec said, “It was harder, this time.”

  It wasn’t a question; Adam nodded, and then asked one of his own. “Did you sense anything different?”

  “Beyond the continuing atrophy of muscle tissue, no. You did?”

  Adam nodded again. Levec didn’t ask him what; he simply waited while Adam struggled with Weston—and, in this case, Torra—in an attempt to come up with meaningful words. “When I wake them,” he finally said, in his halting Weston, “when I have woken them before, it is—” he shook his head. “They aren’t quite in their bodies.”

  Levec frowned; he’d heard this before. “Let me come in with you,” he finally said. “I’ve two hours before I’m to meet with Duvari. I want to hear what your Jewel has to say.”

  “I am not supposed to discuss this with her,” Adam began. He could feel a flush rising in his cheeks, which was made worse when Levec lifted a skeptical brow.

  “You’re not,” he agreed curtly. “Nor, in theory, am I. But I am not about to expose your ability to the magi, and I need a better translator than either you or I. She understands what you can do.” It wasn’t a question.

  When the carriage pulled up the wide drive to the steps of the manse, Terafin footmen were there to greet it. They attempted to offer Levec aid in disembarking, and didn’t lose their hands; Adam thought it was close. He accepted the offer of aid, and came to stand beside a glowering Levec.

  Levec wasn’t glowering at the footmen, however; he was glowering at the man on the top of the steps, just outside of the range of the doors.

  “Healer Levec.” Duvari bowed.

  Levec didn’t. “Lord of the Compact. I see preparations for the funeral are keeping you busy.”

  “Indeed. I’ve been waiting for you, Healer. Please, walk with me.”

  Adam was surprised when Duvari began to lead the way to the public galleries, Levec by his side. Servants moved through the wide halls, cleaning and arranging both flowers and candles as they did; guards stood watch as visitors—and inhabitants—passed by. Adam, who had rarely spent much time within the homes of the clansmen, still found halls like these both foreign and astonishing. There were no hangings between rooms; there were doors. There were more windows, more glass, and high, high ceilings, but there were no spaces of elegant silence, no fonts of contemplation, no platforms that faced moon or sun or sheltered behind the artful construction of trees or hedges. He followed behind the two older men as they talked in low voices, apparently oblivious to the constant, moving throngs.

  Adam had become accustomed to the perpetual presence of people. It wasn’t as if he had enjoyed a great deal of privacy in the caravans. But there the people spoke Torra, and to one degree or another, they were all his kin; one large, moving family, with the responsibilities, rivalries, and affections that implied. The city of Averalaan seemed to him a loose congregation of strangers.

  Even this manse, in theory the home of the Terafin line, was in practice the city writ small: strangers, whose duties seldom crossed lines, living side-by-side.

  But as he followed Duvari, he realized where the Lord of the Compact was taking them, and he felt himself relax. Each step brought him closer to the doors beyond which Jewel ATerafin and her den lived. They claimed no blood ties, but they understood kinship; he felt welcome there, although he knew Jewel and her friends were often in councils of war. He liked Ellerson, who served, and Finch, who was never harsh, and he worried about Ariel, the child who had come with Jewel from the South. It had fallen to him to care for her, although she was willing to stand beside—or behind—Ellerson when he worked; she didn’t speak very much and she hid her hand whenever she noticed its missing fingers.

  The doors opened when Duvari knocked. Ellerson stood between them. He acknowledged Adam with a single, silent glance, and then invited the visitors into the wing; Adam stepped through the doors and exhaled.

  This was not his wagon; nor could he lie aground and watch the open skies. But here, at least, people spoke his native tongue and here, as well, they followed Jewel, just as the Arkosans followed Margret. They weren’t silent and obedient—but none of Adam’s cousins had ever been that. They could shout, sulk, or pound tables, but he knew they would follow her no matter where she led, and knew, as well, that they would fight and die for her.

  If they knew how.

  “Adam,” Ellerson said quietly, “Ariel was asking after you.”

  “Is she—”

  “She is well.”

  “Has there been trouble?”

  “There has been some—she is uninjured, but there’s been some small argument as a result.”

  Levec cleared his throat. “We require Adam for a few minutes more. I wish to have Jewel ATerafin’s aid in a tricky translational matter.”

  “Jewel is at the moment occupied, Healer Levec. Might I suggest that Finch would serve your purposes just as well?”

  Levec frowned and shook his head.

  “Very well. Let me ask Jewel when she can free herself from her duties.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Levec—” Adam began.

  “Yes, yes. Go. Just be sure to return when I call for you; we’re not likely to have more than a few moments of her time, and those moments will probably be grudged.”

  Adam headed down the hall, leaving a silent Duvari and an annoyed Levec at his back. It pained him to see the healer so worried—because he knew Levec was.

  He stopped outside of Ariel’s room. Ariel had spent the previous evening with Adam; her Weston was almost nonexistent, and everyone else had been so busy, or noisy, or both.

  “Adam,” Ellerson called, from the other end of the hall.

  Adam looked up, his hand on the door’s knob. “Yes?”

  “I am not certain how aware you are of the nature of some of Jewel’s guests.”

  Adam froze. “I have seen the Hunter,” he said. “And the great stag. Why?”

  “They are not her only guests. Ariel, at the moment, is entertaining one of them.” He hesitated and then said, “there was some minor difficulty, but she was not hurt, and the situation was addressed—quickly—by Jewel.”

  Adam opened the door, and froze in its frame. Ariel was seated on the carpet, and curled around her was a very large, very gray, giant cat. It looked up, and as it did, it flexed and raised its wings. While Adam stared at it in shocked silence, it said, “Who are you?”

  Ariel rose instantly, but so did the cat. Although it was large and bulky, it leaped in front of the child, standing between her and Adam.

  Ellerson cleared his throat. The cat, tail and ears twitching, looked up. “Yessss?”

  “Adam is a member of Jewel’s den. He lives in the wing. Jewel is very attached to him, and considers
him very important. Adam,” he added, turning to the stunned Voyani youth, “this is Shadow.”

  The cat hissed; he clearly wasn’t fond of his name.

  “This—this is one of the guests who caused the—the difficulty?”

  “Ah, no. The two that caused the difficulty have been sent to their room. They broke one of the bed’s posts while arguing, which upset Ariel.”