Skirmish: A House War Novel

by West, Michelle

“It would make sense to contact Rymark through the Order, since we assume that some of its members are at least peripherally involved in schemes to amass knowledge about ancient power. But if he were approached by those mages, or even by the demons, wouldn’t they approach him with the offer of the House Seat?”

  “It is one possibility, yes. The other?”

  She hesitated.

  “You have already made a clear statement about the predilections of some of the Order’s members—a statement you will, of course, fail to repeat to Sigurne Mellifas in its entirety. You are focused, as I said, on the House, and given Rymarks’ actions to date, it seems reasonable on the surface to assume that he is likewise so focused. Not every mage so approached, not every mage so enraptured, will have any hope of gaining a House Seat—but clearly some of the magi have labored side by side with the demons throughout our long history. If Rymark is not interested in the House Seat, what then?”

  “Haval—I don’t know. He’s in contention for the House Seat; he must be interested in it.”

  “This is not a matter of knowledge; demonstrate some ability to examine the facts—or to find the facts—that are within your grasp. You will, as leader, frequently be forced to make choices absent all necessary facts; the ability to identify the things you don’t know, but could with effort learn, is critical.”

  Night rolled over on the floor; Snow lifted his head from Jewel’s lap. “Eat him?” he asked.

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Why not? He’s annoying you.”

  “He’s annoying me because he’s right. Now hush.”

  Haval continued to work as he waited. Which was fine. Jewel was silent; Snow’s head was warm in her lap. Neither Devon nor Avandar made a sound, although Avandar looked amused. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, and pushed Snow’s head off her lap so she could rise and pace, because thought often came with movement, as if her feet were treading on words she couldn’t see.

  “Allasakar is here, in the world. He’s a god; we’re not. We’re probably considered significant only when we wield power; Rymark does.” She drew breath, widening the oval in which she now walked because it was the only safe trajectory; everything else had cats or dress bits on it.

  “We can safely assume that Allasakar wants to rule the world. To rule it, he has to conquer it. To conquer it, he has to destroy his natural enemies—or the enemies of his servants. Some of the talent-born—demonstrably—will work with or for him. But the god-born never will; they’re too entwined with their parents.” She hesitated. “This isn’t the first time the demons have tried to assassinate The Terafin.” Bitterly, she added, “But this time they succeeded.”

  “The previous time?”

  “The god wasn’t here yet. I think they wanted to take the House years ago in order to sow chaos, destabilize the Kings—possibly even kill them.” Frowning, she added, “If they controlled House Terafin, they could achieve those goals even now.”

  “Would those goals serve their purpose?”

  “I can’t see how it wouldn’t.”

  “And the purpose of the man who claims to be The Terafin’s legitimate heir?”

  “Every god has his Court,” she said, frowning. Her eyes widened. “The demon mentioned the Shining Court.”

  Haval lifted his head and glanced at the domicis. His face, however, was free of expression.

  “If Rymark serves the Shining Court, if he serves Allasakar—and I’m not by any means certain he does—he probably does it because he figures the god will win. Ruling Terafin under the eyes of the Kings doesn’t give him as much freedom as ruling under the eyes of a god might, because this god won’t care about Justice or Wisdom.”

  “Indeed. There is always an unfortunate tendency to assume barbarism or savagery on the part of the gods we generally don’t name; we assume an absence of all beauty, all art, all majesty. It is a narrow view, in my opinion. But I have interrupted you, and I apologize. Please continue.”

  Jewel frowned now. Snow had stepped onto the carpet directly in front of her feet, and he was gazing at her with golden, unblinking eyes. She knelt and buried her face in the fur at the top of his head; his ears twitched. “It’s me,” she said softly.

  “Your reasoning?” Haval asked; he had not disagreed with her.

  “The timing.” She lifted her face from Snow’s fur and turned to Haval, seeing his age and his wisdom as if they were the two edges of a blade. “The cats,” she continued, when he failed to react at all. “The trees. The trees that only grow in the Common—but are now growing in my backyard. The hidden path.”

  “And the regent?”

  “I think they meant to kill the regent,” she replied, her voice hardening. “In the confusion, my death would mean less than his. But—I don’t understand.”

  “You have demonstrated that you do, in fact, understand much.”

  “Duvari’s here. The manse is crawling with Astari.” She deliberately failed to look at Devon as she spoke. “Sigurne is here. The god-born. Why wouldn’t they wait until after the funeral rites were done? I’d wait.”

  “Yes, you would. On the face of the facts that you do know, waiting is by far the more intelligent choice; acting now invites the attention of both the Kings and the god-born; it will certainly invite the attention of the Order of Knowledge, although I believe that unavoidable in any case.”

  She knew that tone of voice. Knew it, took a deep breath, and acknowledged it. “They know more about the hidden path than I do,” she said. This time, Haval met and held her gaze. “If they have access to the knowledge of a living, walking god, they know way more.”

  He didn’t even prompt her when she paused.

  “If they wait, there’s some chance that I’ll learn how to do more, and they don’t want that.”

  “No,” he agreed. His voice was quiet now, in a way that suggested sympathy. Or pity. “But what you have already done cannot be ignored. It will not be ignored by the god-born, if I am any judge of the disruption you caused; it will certainly not be ignored by the magi.” He glanced at Night, and Night rose and padded across the room, stepping carefully over the pins and the shears that were scattered beside bolts of uncut cloth. White cloth, black cloth: the colors of Imperial mourning. The colors, Jewel thought, of Night and Snow, meant to mark the end of an era. “You are afraid, Jewel.” It wasn’t a question.

  She couldn’t answer, because she was, and fear wasn’t something a girl from the twenty-fifth holding—a woman who wanted to be The Terafin—could admit. Not this one, at any rate.

  “And that is wise. They attack now. You know that the demons move within the Annagarian pretender’s armies in the South. You have seen some hint of the ancient in your brief sojourn with the Imperial armies. Were I the Lord of the Shining Court, my attention would necessarily be with my armies and their battle; I would spare only the scantest of resources on any other difficulty.

  “But I fear that they have failed to predict your actions, ATerafin. They have failed, perhaps, to predict your existence, and they must move as they can against you, with far less power than they otherwise might.” Haval set his cloth on the table just before Night dropped his head into his lap. “What do you think, Night?”

  “I think I’m bored.”

  “Well, yes. Listening to an old man talk is often a very boring but exacting enterprise.”

  “It is,” the cat replied as Haval scratched his head.

  “What will you do, ATerafin?”

  “Pay my respects to the woman who adopted me,” Jewel replied firmly.

  Haval nodded. He turned to Devon. “The regent will require more…careful guards. It has not escaped my notice, ATerafin, that the regent’s personal guards are, at the moment, drawn from the Chosen.”

  Devon said nothing.

  Jewel felt part of the world drop out from beneath her feet.

  “Jewel will, as well, require the Chosen.”

  “I have Avandar.”

  “You have. But y
ou will require guards.”

  “Us! Us! Choose us!”

  Jewel almost laughed. “Not yet, Snow, Night. Not yet. Unless...” She glanced at Devon.

  Devon’s brows rose. “You cannot be serious.”

  “Can’t I? I can’t have the cats as guards. Not in public, not yet. I can have Avandar, because I’ve always had Avandar. I’ll take Arann. I’ll take Angel. I’ll even take Torvan and Arrendas if I have to. But if I want to gain acceptance, I can’t be surrounded by immortal, magical creatures. Not yet.” And maybe not ever.

  “And you expect the regent to be able to do so?”

  “More easily than I can. Inasmuch as the Council members are willing to trust any man, woman, or child, they trust Gabriel. If he dies—if he dies before we can even convene—anyone whose concern is the House will suffer.”

  Devon rose. “Haval,” he said, and offered him a very deep, very formal bow. “My apologies for delaying your necessary work. If you have no objections, I will take Jewel with me now, where we might continue our discussion of logistics.”

  “Please be my guest. If you would, however, return, I believe you and I have much to discuss”

  Jewel did not, as it turned out, have much time to speak with Devon, because Torvan, Arrendas, and a dozen of the Chosen appeared at the door of the wing. Ellerson, accustomed to Torvan’s presence, bid them enter, which was not an entirely orderly affair.

  He then fetched Jewel, who met them, Avandar in tow, at the door. Both of the captains tendered her exact—and perfect—salutes.

  “You’re just the people I wanted to see,” she told them. “Wait here.”

  * * *

  “What are you doing?” Avandar asked, when they were mostly out of earshot.

  “Making an executive decision,” was her crisp reply. She headed to Haval’s room, opened the door, and called the cats out. Night and Snow ambled into the hall, looking slightly bouncy. She hesitated a moment, and then decided against fetching Shadow; Shadow was with Adam and Ariel.

  Ariel, whom she’d barely had the time to visit in the long, long couple of days since she’d arrived home, was comfortable with Shadow. She’d seen the cats take down one of the Arianni in the Dominion of Annagar; she was well aware of the fact they could be both vicious and deadly when bored—but Jewel wasn’t all that attached to the Arianni. Which was beside the point; she knew that the child was safe with Shadow. Ariel was still hiding from her own reflection. It was best for all concerned to leave them together.

  She hoped Shadow saw it the same way.

  Cats in procession, she headed back into the halls where the Chosen were now waiting.

  “Ellerson, has Gabriel been moved?”

  “No, ATerafin.”

  “Good.” Turning to Torvan, she said, “The regent is in the great room.”

  “Alone?”

  “Teller and the healer are with him.”

  Torvan was pale and grim. “The healer?”

  “Levec. Probably presenting the House with the bill for his services.” She nodded to Ellerson again, and he opened the door. As she walked into the room, she glanced at the lines of his familiar face, and realized with a pang that no matter how deserted she’d felt, no matter how angry she’d been, she was home when Ellerson was in the wing.

  “If you can find Angel and Carver—”

  “They have not yet returned.”

  Where in the hells were they anyway? If they’d gone drinking, Jewel was going to have both of their heads as kitchen table decorations.

  “Torvan, where’s Arann?”

  “He is in the regent’s office.”

  “Alone?”

  “No. He is with Lord Celleriant.”

  She started to say she wanted him here, but thought better of it; she wanted him there, because that’s where Gabriel would be, and she trusted Arann. “Night, do not scratch the door. I don’t care if you’re bored.”

  Snow hissed laughter, and Jewel glared at him. She could almost feel Avandar’s faint smugness.

  The Chosen fanned out in the room as Gabriel rose from the lounge chair. His clothing still sported a new, red slash, and he was pale, but he was otherwise whole. She walked straight to Gabriel, Night to her left and Snow to her right.

  “Gabriel, you’ve seen Night and Snow.”

  Gabriel nodded; he looked dubious, but not surprised. “I have, ATerafin. Admittedly not at this distance.”

  “They are almost impossible to kill; I’ve seen it tried by people who can give the demons a run for their money—and enjoy it, too.”

  Gabriel was not a fool. He was, inasmuch as the right-kin could be, an honest man. “ATerafin, I am whole and uninjured, thanks to the intervention of your domicis and Levec.”

  “Yes, and I’d like you to remain that way. I want the cats to be your guards.”

  Torvan coughed, and she turned to face him. “Did you look at the bodies?” she asked, her voice breaking only slightly.

  “We did.”

  “Tell me that they weren’t Chosen. Tell me, and I’ll believe you.”

  “ATerafin—”

  “Or don’t. We can’t afford to have Gabriel die; not before the funeral, and not before a new leader is chosen for the House. I trust you. I trust Arrendas. I can name the other Chosen that I would also trust with my life—or with his. But I clearly can’t trust all of them.”

  “ATerafin,” Gabriel began again.

  “The cats don’t need sleep,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. “They don’t need food—”

  “We like to eat,” Night broke in.

  “They don’t shut up, it’s true. But they’re capable of dignity and silence when it’s necessary.”

  Torvan coughed again. This time, however, Gabriel offered Jewel a tired smile. “What the Captain of the Chosen is not saying is that the choice is not yours.”

  She had the grace to fall silent, and to redden. He was, of course, correct; she was tired and running on instinct, which never played well with etiquette in dire situations.

  “The assassination attempt was disturbing. It is catastrophic at the moment for the Chosen—something their captains are also not saying. But, ATerafin, there is perhaps a third thing that is not yet stated, and I will ask the Captain of the Chosen to speak his mind plainly.”

  Torvan then turned to Jewel. “There are protocols with which your cats are almost certainly unfamiliar.”

  “They don’t have to be his only guards,” she shot back. “I don’t care who else you have on his detail. But the cats are fast, and as far as I know, much harder to kill. If something similar happens, Gabriel won’t be defenseless.”

  “He will not be defenseless, as you put it, again,” was the grim, cool reply.

  Avandar watched Jewel carefully—and in silence. Gabriel was now at her back; she wasn’t certain whether or not he’d have her back, but at this point, she didn’t care.

  “Are you mine or not?” she asked, voice flat and hard.

  Torvan’s brows rose.

  “Answer me: Are you mine? The Chosen were not disbanded.” Without turning to the former right-kin, she said, “Amarais asked that you preserve the Chosen?”

  “Yes.”

  “For me?”

  “Yes.”

  To Torvan she said, “And you knew and agreed?”

  This time he nodded; it was a controlled nod.

  “You are not the only Captain of the Chosen.” She turned a few inches toward Arrendas. “Captain Arrendas.”

  He saluted; it was sharp and loud. But his expression was shuttered, as if he now wore a mask or a visor. “ATerafin.”

  “Did you accede to Amarais Handernesse ATerafin’s final request of her Chosen?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let me repeat my question to both of you. Are you mine, or not?”

  * * *

  Torvan met and held her gaze, and then he smiled. It was a scant smile, harder and harsher in form than most of the smiles she saw on his face. He
dropped to one knee and bowed head to her, and Arrendas followed suit in silence.

  “Your answer, ATerafin,” Gabriel said quietly.

  Jewel nodded grimly. “You’ll take the cats,” she told him, still watching the Captains of the Chosen. “If you’re not comfortable with two of them, take Night. I can’t,” she added. “You know why.”

  “And you have no care for my reputation.”

  “I have, as you put it, a great deal of care for it; I just happen to value your life more.”