Skirmish: A House War Novel

by West, Michelle

  “It was true of Amarais.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  He held up a hand. “It was, Jewel. Understand that her goal was not to take the House Seat; the seat was her means of achieving her goals. She saw a future she felt she could build; inherent in that future were some of the principles you value so highly. She valued them as well; they were, in large part, what she hoped to achieve. Yes, there were some things she would not do—but she would not do them precisely because they were anathema to what she actually wanted.

  “Outside of those things, there was nothing she would not surrender. Are you so different?”

  Jewel swallowed anger, reaching instead for the words that he’d actually spoken. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because, Jewel, I heard your voice at the height of the storm. There is not a man, woman, or child upon the grounds—or in the manse—who did not. I heard what you said, and if I did not hear a reply, the effects were writ large in sky and on ground. All those years of planning, of carefully building my own base of power were suddenly made so small and insignificant. Tomorrow, or perhaps next month if I am being honest, reality will reassert itself. But the House Council will not meet in a month; it will meet on the morrow.

  “On the morrow, if you will have it, I will offer you my full support.”

  Jewel was utterly silent. When she could move at all, it wasn’t to speak; it was to shove her hair out of her eyes.

  Marrick chuckled. “It is not what you expected? You will learn to hide that, in time. I suggest in eight hours’ time.” His brief chuckle evaporated, his face losing the familiar lines of merriment, his expression so serious Jewel felt momentarily at sea. “I have spoken with Member Mellifas at short length, as she did not have much time for me. It is clear, however, that she feels that what you did should have been impossible. We are alive. I do not think she expected it.

  “But, ATerafin, what I heard in your rough, angry speech was what I heard on the day—decades past—that three members of the House Council died at the hands of a man we seldom name; it was the bloody start of a House War that would see dozens dead within the week. On that day, Amarais declared herself. She was always a cautious, careful woman—but not so cautious that she did not know when to gamble; not too proud that she did not know when to concede with grace.

  “On that day? She was neither. The House was her family. It was her heart’s blood. If she came to Terafin thinking it a tool, she was transformed by the experience of guiding it, even as Council member. She had respect for The Terafin of the time, and if they argued—and they did—that respect remained largely undiminished with the passage of time. She knew that there would be conflict when he died; she did not expect it to be so ugly, so swift, and so near complete. She herself survived because of the intervention of a healer.” He closed his eyes.

  “Alowan.” Jewel said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Indeed. Alowan. He was never ours; he was always hers. She did not rest the week he demanded; she came to the House Council through halls made silent by fear. The sound of the doors opening—and closing—could be heard throughout the manse. I bribed a servant,” he added, without a trace of regret, “so that I might hear what she had to say.”

  “You could have asked.”

  “Indeed, but that was hardly the point. She was the woman to whom I would owe my future, and she had almost died. I was callow, Jewel; I was not certain with whom to throw in my lot in the event of her passing. She took The Terafin’s chair,” he added. “There was no regent; the regent was among the three who had died. She did not take her own Council chair; on that day, she took the House Seat, and she waited while the Council Hall filled. She had two guards with her: Alayra was one. You will not have met the other; he perished during the weeks that followed. She had one adjutant—Gabriel, who did survive.

  “She was challenged,” he added, his voice sliding into a softer register. “For her presumption. She did not even blink; she expected it, and she shunted the objection aside.”

  “How?”

  “She said, if I recall correctly, that there was no one else who was worthy to take the seat, and short of her instant and immediate death, she would not surrender it.” He smiled. “She had done one thing in preparation for this singular meeting: she had retrieved the House Sword from its cradle. I don’t know how; I asked her only once, and she refused to answer.”

  Jewel thought she knew, but said nothing.

  “She drew the sword, Jewel. She was not an expert swordsman; she couldn’t be. But it was clear from her handling of the blade that she had endured some training at the hands of one who was. She said, ‘This is the sword of Terafin the Founder. This is the sword that he offered to the first Twin Kings, and the sword he wielded in their war to create the Empire of Essalieyan—an Empire governed by the god-born sons of the Lords of Justice and Wisdom. The blade’s name is Justice. The House is not a prize for butchers with the hearts of the most mendacious and unscrupulous of merchants. First among The Ten, it has always stood for more, much more, than that.

  “ ‘No one who cannot understand what the House must mean can take this seat while I live.’“ He shook his head. “She had almost died; we all knew it. It galvanized her. It did not force her to reconsider or withdraw; she had faced death; it made her stronger. The butcher sat across the Council table; it was clear to whom she made her challenge. But she made it in defense of the House, of what the House must mean.” He shook his head. “Heady words, to a younger man. Heady, impulsive, idealistic—even noble words. She spoke with a passionate conviction that the politic never use. And we heard her. I remember the sound of her voice,” he added softly. “Tonight, of all nights. Time has—had—tarnished it somewhat; experience had belittled it from a safe distance.”

  Jewel could imagine Amarais Handernesse ATerafin in that chair, in that hall, the sword in her hands. She could see Alayra—unscarred, determined—by her side. She could imagine Gabriel there as well, steady, silent in his determination. What she could not imagine is what he said next.

  “I heard her voice in yours, Jewel. I heard it, from a remove of decades, and I understood what it presaged. I am not seer-born; I have no particular talent that lifts me above other men in any regard. I am on the House Council by dint of my ability to see, and understand, the people around me. And to like, respect, or admire them—as necessary. But what you have, she had; what you have is not in me. She could not have done what you did,” he added. “But what she did, in the end, was similar: she risked all, to save what the House meant to her. I would have taken the House if I could. I understand both Haerrad and Rymark; I understand where much of their danger lies. I consider Elonne competent, sharp—and almost appallingly elegant,” he added, laughing, “although I will trouble you not to repeat that.

  “I am not guaranteed to survive them,” he added. “Or, I was not; I felt I was finally being bold, in accepting that risk. But in truth, I also felt Rymark and Haerrad were likely to devour each other, pitting resource against resource, so that they might both be weakened. They are not subtle; neither considers me much of a threat. They assume—with some cause—that I will fall in beside whoever wins the struggle. I will not destroy the House, or risk its destruction, for the title.” He waited, and when she failed to comment, he laughed. “I have slipped by a large amount of the unpleasantness by being easily overlooked.”

  “You’re not.”

  “Oh, indeed. If you mean the organization I’ve built over the past several years, yes. I am not without influence. The advantage to that influence is its immutability. I am a senior member of the Terafin House Council. Unless I die during this struggle, I will continue to be a senior member of the House Council.”

  “And your offer of support is contingent on that?”

  He raised both brows, and then he laughed. His laugh was low, loud; it pulled at her lips and the corners of her eyes.

  “It is contingent, Jewel, on very little. I see the inevitab
le in the events of this day.” His expression shifted; the avuncular warmth drained from his features as he turned, at last, toward the stairs and the path that would lead back to his chambers in the manse. For a moment, he had the lines of a very patrician, very noble man. “I was in the council chambers when The Terafin died. I was on the grounds on the morning of the first day in which she was to be honored. What we face—as a House, and possibly as an Empire—is beyond my ken. If Kalliaris smiles, Jewel, it will not be entirely beyond yours.

  “I will leave you with this: I have offered you my support. It is contingent on nothing; what you make of it, if you value it at all, is entirely in your hands. My own advisers will be waiting my return, and I am certain that my movements will have been followed.”

  “Do you want an—”

  “Escort?” He laughed again, his easy, large laugh. “I will consider it very seriously after the Council meeting on the morrow, depending on how things play out.”

  She watched him go. He didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate, and didn’t glance back at her. She stood, shrouded in lamplight, the coffin by her side.

  “He could not lead my House,” the Terafin Spirit said. “But I do not disdain him. I admire Elonne, but she is too careful, too calculating. She will not attempt to kill you; I do not know what she will otherwise do on the morrow.”

  “And the other two?”

  The Terafin Spirit smiled; it was pained. “I believe you already understand the danger Haerrad and Rymark pose. It is to prevent their rule that you would have declared yourself.”

  She nodded, swallowed, and said, “It’s more than that now.”

  His smile deepened, although it was a weary, tired smile. “ATerafin, Jewel—it was always more than that. I would keep you with me; I would give you the hours to stand or kneel while you struggle with words—or with your lack of them. But I have the patience, now, of the dead—and the living wait.” He closed his eyes.

  “Angel waits at the periphery of the path; he is pacing in a tight circle. Your Chosen—and they are yours, and Jewel, their numbers will grow after this day—wait in perfect, rigid silence; Angel is not one of them, nor will he ever be. Your Finch and Teller are even now abandoning their efforts at sleep; they are searching for lights—and robes—in the dark; Finch has just stubbed her toe. They will go to your kitchen, now that it is no longer off-limits at the command of the Master of the Household Staff. Jester is sitting against the wall in his room, and when he hears them, he’ll join them. Carver is, I believe, with Merry.”

  She stared at him.

  “Ellerson has a lamp in hand; he is waiting for your den-kin; he expected that sleep would not—in their words—take. He has food, and warm milk. He also has Night and Snow, and there has been some minor damage to the tables in the long hall. Adam is sleeping; Ariel is curled up beside Shadow, and sleeps as well, but fitfully. Daine has woken; he is restless and afraid, and he is being led to the kitchen by those fears.”

  “But Daine’s—Daine’s been sleeping in Alowan’s rooms, in the healerie—he can’t—”

  Without pause, as if she hadn’t voiced her sudden fear, he continued. “Haval is with Hannerle. She is sleeping—and Jewel, in the morning, she will not wake. But when she does sleep, Haval will join your den in the kitchen. They will wait in silence—for you. Tomorrow, the world changes.”

  The world had changed three days ago. She swallowed.

  “Yes—for you it did. But you are still mortal, and what mortals need, you also need. You will age, and if you are not cautious, ATerafin, you will die.”

  “Even if I am cautious—”

  “Yes. But the deaths are not the same. Go; they are waiting. Perhaps when this is done, and your experiences have changed you, you will find the words that will satisfy you, and you will go to her grave in the crypts, and you will speak them and know peace. That will not happen tonight.”

  She swallowed. Nodded. Even managed to turn from the shrine. But she turned back. “Where is the Winter King? Where is Celleriant?”

  “Ah. The Winter King, Jewel, I cannot see. But I have seldom been able to discern his presence; I see him clearly when he is with you, and only then.”

  “And Celleriant?”

  “He is at rest beneath the bowers of one of the great trees—but he does not stand sentinel; his sword is sheathed.”

  “He doesn’t have a sheath.”

  “He is the sheath, Jewel. The sword is nascent, now; he carries no weapon, no shield; he wears no armor. The tree’s great trunk is at his back; he is seated, his legs against the new earth. His eyes are closed; I believe he is smiling.”

  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and smiled. It was shaky, but heartfelt. Without another word, she turned from the shrine, from its ghost, from the body of her Lord, and she walked down the path, hoping to catch Angel in his circular pacing. She knew the moment that Avandar began to move—but he kept his distance.

  She stopped. Avandar.

  The leaves rustled as he approached. He could approach in utter silence; he was like Celleriant in that. “ATerafin.”

  “Take me home.”

  He watched her go. He felt no pang of loss as her domicis joined her and led her away from the Terafin shrine; nor did he feel uneasy or uncertain. He felt pain, yes, but even ghost wounds ached in the cold, and the wind that ran across the hidden path was chill, always chill. Yet now a fire burned near its heart, and it was a fire—at last—that could warm even one such as he.

  He had not expected that; it was a singular gift, although he was certain she was unaware of what it might one day signify. In a moment, he would leave the shrine that had been home, throne, and cage for so long. He would climb down the stairs and drift across the path that wound around the shrines of the Triumvirate. Tonight, he would even pause at each of the three, not to pray, and not to make an offering; there was little of value he could leave in the bowls set aside for the gods; little that men—living men—could gather and offer, in turn, to the Churches.

  No, he would offer his gratitude.

  Jewel Markess ATerafin.

  The Terafin.

  Would she stumble? Yes. Again and again, as she sought her footing over ground that was constantly shifting beneath her. But so, too, had he. She would rail, she would cry, she would sit in silence, swallowing all tears and all signs of pain. She would learn.

  He smiled. The manse would change, would have to change, under her guidance. But he would not linger long to watch. He felt a pang of regret at that, for he thought her reign would be glorious in a way that no other Terafin’s had yet been. It was a loss. He smiled; if he would not be here to see her grow, he would at least be spared her inevitable fall; all things that knew youth, knew age; all things that knew life, knew death.

  All mortal things. Amarais, if you could see her now. If you could only see her now.

  She could not hear him, of course, but had she, she would have heard the voice of a cook named Jonas who had graced his manse with the fire of both his passion for food, and his disdain for “wasteful frippery.” It was the only way in which the Terafin Spirit could honor the woman who had given so much, fought so hard, for his House. For a time, she had made it her own.

  Jewel will return to the Terafin altar in two days. She will return to you, because she will not allow the coffin to be moved until she does. She will find the words that she failed to find tonight. His smile deepened. She does not understand why she could find no words at all, but I do.

  She could not offer you the only words you need to hear. But after the House Council meeting, she’ll know what they are. She will come to you and she will tell you that she is The Terafin.

 

 

 
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