House War 03 - House Name

by Michelle West

  But they were here as representatives of the Exalted, and if they spoke to each other about trivial things, their demeanor was grave. Teller wondered how he must appear to them; he didn’t ask. Barston would have had him ejected—through a closed door.

  But when the god-born son of Cormaris paused to look at Teller, when he paused to ask Teller a harmless question, Barston froze, and Teller said, “I’m not ATerafin.” He spoke gravely. “But one day, I hope to earn the right to the House Name.”

  The man’s gaze sharpened, and for a moment, he seemed to look not at Teller but into him. It was a long damn moment. But when he smiled, the moment broke cleanly, and Teller was through the other side. “You will, I think, be a significant addition to Terafin in the years to come.”

  A compliment, and it made Teller smile, both at the time and later, when he had space and time to dwell on it. Better to dwell, his mother had once said, on the happy things, if you must look back at all. But best to keep moving while moving’s called for.

  Dinner in the den’s wing was quiet only in the context of the den; there was some talk, some chatter, some whining, and a bit of shouting; there was a tussle for the last roll, which Ellerson always hated; there was the usual skirmish for chairs, although there were at least half a dozen chairs too many.

  Jay snapped and snarled, but she did it in a quiet way. Ever since she’d gone to speak with The Terafin, she’d been uneasy, as if waiting. Teller told her softly that she wouldn’t have to wait for long, and when she asked why, he told her about his day. Which, if anything, made her more quiet, not less.

  But before dinner was over—which is to say, the food was gone—Ellerson appeared and walked directly to Jay, bending over her right ear from behind her chair. She jumped when he started talking, but she eased herself into her chair and let him finish. Then she grimaced and pushed herself up from the table.

  “I’m wanted,” she told the den, “by The Terafin.”

  “Now?”

  “She took late dinner tonight. I don’t expect it’ll be long.”

  Ellerson said something else, and her grimace deepened. “Strike that,” she told them, looking queasy.

  “What is it?” Angel asked, rising. She waved him down again.

  “Morretz is waiting for me outside the doors.”

  “Morretz?”

  Jay shrugged. “I think it’s code for I want you right now, and you’re to come alone.”

  It was Ellerson’s turn to frown, but his frown was less theatric. “If you will take a word of advice,” he said, as he began to usher her out through the doors, “you will refrain from second-guessing The Terafin.”

  Morretz didn’t look particuarly happy to be sent off as a messenger, but Jewel wasn’t quite certain how he was making that clear; his expression was neutral, and he was polite and almost deferential. He always was. Still, speed was required; Morretz was seldom far from The Terafin’s side. He lead Jewel straight through the Chosen, who didn’t even raise arms in formal salute or greeting; they simply stared through him, and through Jewel, until she passed between them.

  The Terafin was waiting in her library. She was surrounded by piles of paper and teetering stacks of books—or what was left of books, they were often so old—and she appeared to be entirely absorbed in her studies.

  But when Morretz approached, she looked up instantly, and she set aside the paper she’d been poring over. “Jewel,” she said. She didn’t rise. Jewel didn’t bow. But she did take the chair The Terafin indicated.

  “You will, perhaps, have heard about the visitors I received today.” There was a question there, and Jewel hesitated before she nodded. “Good. Your Teller did good work there; I think Barston was perhaps overly flustered; it is seldom that the god-born pay social visits, even upon the Isle.

  “I have not called you to speak of Teller, however. The meetings with the various priests came about more quickly than I had expected.”

  You expected them to come to you, though. What kind of a woman expected the god-born to dance at her whim? Jewel shook her head, knowing the answer: this one. But the woman seated a corner of a table away didn’t look terrifying or impressive; she looked damn tired.

  “As a result, there is a final meeting tomorrow, and that meeting will decide many things.”

  Jewel waited until she realized The Terafin meant her to ask. “What meeting?”

  “We have been granted an audience,” The Terafin replied, “with the Twin Kings on the morrow. We will travel to Avantari just after breakfast; breakfast will be early. I have requested suitable attire for you; Ellerson will see to the details.”

  The words, when they sunk in, made the chair entirely necessary. “We?”

  “You are to accompany me.”

  “But—”

  “Yes?”

  “They’re the Kings.”

  “Ah.” The Terafin’s smile was genuine, and pained. “Yes. And you are not yet fully prepared to meet them.”

  Jewel nodded, grateful for the understatement.

  “I would like to tell you that you will not be required to speak. I cannot. If what you have said is true—and I believe it true, Jewel Markess—they will have questions.”

  “But what should I say?”

  “Duvari will be there.” When Jewel failed to react to the name, The Terafin shook her head. “Forgive me, I am also weary, and I forget that you are not a part of my Council. Duvari is the Lord of the Compact, the Leader of the Astari; he is to the Kings what the Chosen are to Terafin. But there are differences, and the most significant of these is this: He seeks threat to the Kings and guards against it; where there is no obvious threat, he seeks the subtle, and where there is no threat, he often imagines it anyway. It is the latter that is cause for some grief, and he spreads that grief in equal measure among The Ten, the Order of Knowledge, and the richest of the Merchant Houses.

  “He is not the law, and the laws bind him to some degree. Do not lie to him. Do not attempt to lie to him. If you must speak at all, speak clearly and cleanly; any lack of polish in your words will be forgiven at this juncture.

  “If you are not directly addressed, do not speak at all.” She paused, then, and said, “Forgive me again. Understand that the cares you have for your den are not in the end substantially different than the cares I have for my House or the cares the Kings have for their Empire.

  “If we are to save any of the three, it is this way: by speaking, by trusting, by working together as we can. And I believe that we can. Because of you, Jewel. Whether or not the Kings will believe it, I cannot say.”

  “Well?” Amarais asked Morretz, when he’d seen Jewel to the door and closed it behind her. Morretz faced the door for a few seconds longer than necessary; it was almost answer enough.

  The relationship between the Lord of the House and her domicis was complicated, complex; an answer was not, at this point, what she really desired. And he knew it, of course he knew it; he turned. But he didn’t speak.

  She rose, closing the books she’d been studying. She had scribes and scholars at her beck and call, but she had taken a personal interest in this matter, rediscovering as she did the fascination in poring over the words of dead men and women. This was, in its entirety, what they had left behind over the passage of centuries. It was not the immortality that she desired, if she desired it at all.

  “Duvari will be present,” Morretz said at last, when she let the silence stretch.

  Amarais nodded. “Will she pass his inspection?”

  “He is Duvari. Sense and reason are always subordinate to suspicion, and at this time, suspicion will naturally hold sway. I do not know.”

  Amarais nodded again. “I will speak with Gabriel now,” she told him. “No, do not summon him; I will go in person. Tell my Chosen. Papers will have to be drawn and dated; they will be signed after the fact.” A common practice.

  Morretz nodded.

  “Morretz.”

  “Terafin.”

  “Had
I not been so cautious, had I not been so political, things might have played out differently. Had I chosen to take the counsel of Sigurne Mellifas, we might not now be at this pass, all roads to the undercity closed to us but—possibly—one.

  “But I am what I am. This girl, this Jewel, will bear the weight of my mistakes. Will she bear it well?”

  “Terafin.” Morretz hesitated. It was unusual. “I do not know,” he finally said. “But I would say that she is both fragile and strong. She will give what she can; she understands, perhaps better than most, what we stand to lose if the Kings cannot be swayed. She has also made her mistakes, and to her, they are no less costly than yours are to you.

  “I feel, however, that she will be exposed in her entirety, if not during the meeting, then after; Duvari will understand what she is, and he will—without doubt—attempt to secure her services for either the Kings or the Astari.”

  “She could never work as Astari,” was The Terafin’s flat reply.

  “No.”

  “Very well.” She headed to the doors, which were now open, and paused in them. “Thank you.”

  24th of Corvil, 410 A. A.

  Avantari, Averalaan Aramarelas

  The den was awake when Jewel woke; they were silent for all of five minutes. Jewel was going to see the Twin Kings. They had questions, and for the den, they did a masterful job of keeping those questions to themselves. Unfortunately, they didn’t do as good a job at keeping their open shock to themselves when they first caught sight of her.

  Ellerson’s work in the morning had taken two hours; it had started before the glimmer of sunlight had crested either horizon or window. As a result, her hair now looked starched. “It will not fall into your eyes; if you possibly can, avoid your habit of reaching up to push it away.”

  As if. Right now, she’d probably only cut her hands on it.

  She wore a dress. It was the most expensive dress she’d ever been poured into, and she resented it; its skirts were wide enough to run in, but the waist was high and tight, and if she was cornered, it would hinder movement. The fabric itself was soft and shiny, and the colors were deep blues and purples, with a trace of yellow that caught the eye.

  It didn’t fit perfectly; Ellerson was slightly frustrated by this fact, enough that he let it show.

  “What?” she snapped, irritable. “I’ve been eating. I’ve gained weight.”

  The domicis did not answer. If, that is, not answering meant not lecturing her on other aspects of her behavior. He should have been a drillmaster.

  “Ellerson,” she finally said, when she’d had enough fussing to last a long damn lifetime, “I’m not going to speak unless someone speaks to me first. The Terafin told me I was to answer any questions as honestly as I could, period. There’s not a lot of room to screw up in that, is there?”

  “There is,” he replied stiffly. “Duvari will be there.”

  “So will most of the important parts of the Court. What is he going to do? Clap me in chains and drag me off? I haven’t done anything wrong. The Justice-born King will be standing right there—or sitting, or whatever it is Kings do—he can’t exactly fabricate a crime and offer a judgment on the spot.” She spoke with some heat, because she needed to; he let her for the same reason.

  Likewise, he let the den speak, and fuss, and worry. He let Jewel tell Angel he was absolutely not coming with her, and he let Angel stew in silence at the answer. He let the den offer her advice, even when he cringed at the advice offered, and when the bells sounded in the outer hall, he silenced them with one hand and practically dragged Jewel from the room by her elbow.

  But at the door, he paused. “You will do well,” he told her firmly. “Because we cannot afford less. No one understands why some are born talented and some are not; no one understands why, in the talent-born, some are mage-born, some maker, some bard, and some healer.

  “But we have not seen a seer for a very long time, Jewel Markess, and if it comes to that, I believe you are the right person to claim—and use—that talent wisely.”

  She gaped at him. After a moment, and to avoid the embarrassment that was sure to follow silence, she said, “I haven’t done all that well up to now.”

  He smiled. It made his face look older, but it also made his face look kinder. “You have done as well as you can. You’ve failed, yes—but we all fail; it is how we continue after failure that defines us. Remember that.

  “Now, go. Torvan should be with the Chosen.”

  “How do you know?”

  He raised a white brow and then said, with the same smile, “Morretz was one of my students. One of the best,” he added, “but he retains some habits developed in the Domicis Hall.” When she frowned, he added, “I asked.”

  24th of Corvil, 410 A.A.

  Avantari, Averalaan Aramarelas

  Avantari. The Palace of Kings.

  Jewel said nothing as she walked, sandwiched neatly between the Chosen and beside The Terafin. Morretz accompanied The Terafin, of course, but to Jewel’s surprise, Devon ATerafin had also been given leave to accompany the Lord of his House. He walked behind that Lord, and therefore behind Jewel, and he didn’t speak a word.

  She looked at everything: the height of the ceilings, the tapestries, the glow of lamp-bound magestones; she looked at the colored glass that stood where windows in the manor houses might stand, she looked at gardens protected by more glass than existed in the entire twenty-fifth holding, in various states of blossom. Here and there, men and women worked, bristling with that aura of efficiency that made even the servants of the patriciate seem so intimidating. That, and their ability to gaze right through you as if you did not exist in their world. That was fine; she wasn’t trying to catch their eyes.

  On the other hand, they also failed to notice The Terafin and the rest of her guards, which took more effort.

  Carver had said the servants gossiped and chattered about the goings-on in the manse; Jewel couldn’t imagine that the royal servants did the same. She felt someone nudge her elbow gently and flushed, falling back into step.

  They were met at last at the doors of a large and imposing hall. The architecture in no way differed from the halls they’d taken to reach this one—but something about it was chillier and more distant than even the servants had been.

  The man who met them was dressed in blues that shaded from pale to a deep, deep indigo and grays; he wore the emblem of the crossed rod and sword, but it was emblazoned in gold upon his left shoulder rather than on a tabard. He was neither young nor comfortably old, and there was no indulgence at all in his expression.

  “Terafin,” he said. He tendered her a perfect bow.

  She nodded in silence.

  “They are waiting for you,” the man replied, as if he expected her silence. There was an edge of implied criticism in the words; The Terafin failed to hear it. Jewel struggled to do the same; it wasn’t that hard. She already knew she was entirely inadequate. Nothing he could say or do would make it any worse. She hoped.

  But as he led them down a hall that was even more tightly packed with guards than the previous ones, she wrinkled her nose; she could smell, in the distance, the faint, sweet smell of something too pleasant to be pipe smoke.

  “Something’s burning,” she said, without thinking.

  The man in the lead paused and glanced over Jewel’s head before turning to speak, briefly, with the Lord who had dragged her here. Jewel missed The Terafin’s reply; it was brief and quiet.

  “Incense,” the man told Jewel.

  The answer was not entirely satisfactory, but the questions that followed she managed to keep on the right side of her mouth; she nodded but said nothing. But his answer became significant almost immediately, for when he signaled the Swords who stood on either side of peaked, arched doors, those doors began to roll inward, gliding above carpet and the exposed stone that lay to either side of it to reveal a series of thrones.

  None of the thrones were vacant; two were occupied by men and
a woman was seated in the middle. The most easily noted characteristic they all shared was the color of their eyes: golden.

  The Exalted.

  The Terafin had already folded into a deep and reverent bow, as did her Chosen, although they made more noise while doing so. Jewel wasn’t far behind; she might have been first had she not been on the edge of fascination. Or panic.

  “Rise,” the woman said. Jewel knew her as the Mother’s Daughter—her literal daughter.

  The Terafin rose first. The Terafin rose alone. Jewel, glancing from side to side, chose to utterly abase herself and remain as close to the floor as she could. The carpet was like a walkway; it was narrow, and it ended at the Mother’s seat. Jewel found the stone of these floors very cold. But cold was a comfort because gold was burning, and if she stood in its path for long, she thought there would be nothing left of her.

  It was daunting, this meeting with the Exalted. As The Terafin—as ATerafin—she had had cause to meet the Exalted only a handful of times. Meeting them one at a time in the privacy of the manse was difficult enough; they, like the Kings, had a gaze that pierced all armor and all defense. They seldom offered judgment, but one was always certain that they could—and that it would be both as unflattering as one feared and as deserved.

  But unworthy of their attention or no, Amarais was here for a reason; it was that that she focused on now.

  “Accept my gratitude,” she told the daughter of the Mother, “for this meeting.”

  The woman nodded, as august and distant as any Emperor of a bygone age. “There has been some discussion, Terafin, about your request, both for information and for action.”