House War 03 - House Name

by Michelle West

  His smile was almost weary; she didn’t understand it.

  “What will you give to my House, Jewel Markess?”

  “What more can I give?” She spoke without anger, but she also spoke without desperation. Unfolding her legs, she rose and then walked to the House altar by which the Spirit—who still appeared as Torvan—was standing. “I’ve given The Terafin everything I can. Everything about myself I was supposed to keep hidden. The most loyal of my den, to her House Guard. My two smartest to her right-kin and her official in the Merchant Authority. I’ve done everything she’s asked—”

  “Because she asked it?”

  “Yes.” After a pause, she looked away. “No.” Her answer was almost inaudible, but she had a suspicion that wouldn’t trouble the dead. “I would do it anyway. If I knew what to do—I’d do it.” Looking beyond the shrine and the Spirit, she gazed toward the mainland, which was completely invisible in the night garden. “There are some things that are more important than just us.” She hesitated, and then said, “Any of those people in the holdings could have been us. Some of them may be.” She stopped speaking.

  He nodded. “I know. You fear that your lost kin didn’t die when they disappeared—but that they might be dying now, in unimaginable pain, out of your reach or the reach of anyone who might be able to bring them peace. Do you think it is not a fear I myself faced, when I ruled?”

  She said nothing.

  “Do you think it is not a fear The Terafin faces, now?”

  “I don’t know. She’s so composed, she’s so in control of almost everything—I don’t understand why she can’t make the god-born listen. People are dying, and their agreement is the only damn hope we have! But she says we have to wait. And every day—every day—more people are being tortured to death. Every day.” The last words were once again almost inaudible, as if she’d spent what little energy she had left on the brief burst of emotional fury. “I sit beside her. We talk. She tells me to wait. Every day. We wait. We hardly plan. We don’t know what the gods know—” She lifted her face to look at his, but it was unreadable. “I feel helpless here. I don’t feel safe. I don’t feel that there’s any such thing as safety, anymore.

  “And I can’t tell them that. Not now.”

  “There is no such thing as safety,” the Terafin Spirit replied softly. “And if it is for reassurance that you have come here, you will not find it.”

  She shook her head.

  “Why did you come, Jewel?”

  “I’m not sure I can be what you want me to be,” Jewel replied. As she did, she felt something loosen in her chest; she wasn’t sure what. She’d carried the words inside for days. Maybe for months, really—since she’d set foot on the grounds, Arann dying in Torvan’s arms. “I can’t do anything. The world could end tomorrow, and I’d be like the mice and strays, for all the good I’d do.”

  “And you believe that?”

  “Shouldn’t I?”

  To her surprise, he smiled. It was a weary smile, but it was also open; it was not Torvan’s easy smile, and it transformed the familiar features in a subtle way. “You are young,” he said quietly. “And you measure yourself, always, by your failures. By your current failures. You do not see your successes. Tell me, Jewel Markess, do you count the lives of your den worth nothing?”

  She bit back her first answer. Waited.

  “Not everything you value will outlast you. Some of the things you build will be destroyed—by your oversight, the malice of others, or the simple passing of time.”

  “Unless I stick around after I’m dead to watch over it?” she asked.

  He raised a brow, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. But he said, “Not even then. But time gives perspective. With time, you come to understand that not everything is lost. When a fire scours the forest and destroys the lives within, new growth occurs in the open spaces left behind, and life returns. It is not the same life, but it offers some hope for the future.

  “You take responsibility for your den; in their fashion, and as they can, they take responsibility for you. It is a characteristic that I seek. But many people who possess a sense of duty possess, as well, a crippling sense of guilt when they feel they have failed. The guilt, the inability to continue in the face of guilt, consumes them.

  “Understand, Jewel Markess, that no one, man or woman, can be all things to all people; no single man or woman can be all things to House Terafin. Not even the Lord who rules it. What the Lord who rules it sees, is how best to leverage those men and women who can do what he or she cannot. She is not perfect. She will make mistakes. She will fail in some of her responsibilities because one does not always see them clearly, or in time.”

  “Has she?”

  His smile was slight. “You may ask her. Perhaps she will even reply. What she does not say, I will not.”

  “Why are you telling me all of this?”

  “Because if you allow guilt to paralyze or devour you, you will be able to shoulder no other burdens, and the House will demand that you shoulder a great many with both dignity and grace.”

  Jewel snorted. “Dignity and grace? Me?”

  “Yes,” was his grave reply.

  She wondered if the dead had a sense of humor. Then again, she didn’t have much of one, these days. It was hard. “How?”

  “How?”

  “How do I avoid the guilt?”

  “Accept that there are things you cannot do.”

  “But if I don’t try, how do I know what those things are?”

  “You will know. Or you will learn. Sometimes it is hardest to wait and to trust. You must learn both.”

  “And what about knowing when to act?”

  “I think,” he said, in an entirely different tone, “that that will not be one of the problems you will have to face. Sometimes action is necessary, Jewel; it does not have to be your action.”

  She was silent, then. “My Oma taught me,” she finally said, “that if a job needs doing, it’s best to do it yourself; if you wait, you’ll wait a long damn time, and you’ll get mediocre work if it happens at all.”

  “That is only true when the work that needs doing is work you can do on your own. But in the larger world, that is almost never the case.”

  She hesitated before she spoke again. “So, The Terafin waiting for the god-born—”

  “She cannot force the god-born to her will; not even the Kings could do that. Nor can she do what the god-born can do; could she, she would be at Moorelas’ shrine now, surrounded by her Chosen and quite probably most of the magi. She waits with as much grace as she can, but she also applies as much pressure as she dares, and that pressure is exerted not only by House Terafin but also by the Council of The Ten.

  “The god-born will come to understand that they must choose between their fear of the future and the threat they face now.”

  “But the people—”

  He lifted a hand. “You are not killing them. It is not your will, your desire, or your hand that is torturing the helpless beneath Averalaan. What you can do, you have done, and without your words and your past experience, the city would not now have any hope at all. Do you understand?”

  She waited for a long moment. At last, she nodded. “Do I have to like it?” she asked, with a bitter smile.

  “No. In this, liking or not liking is not necessary.” He glanced at the altar. “Will you place your hands upon the Altar of Terafin?”

  She drew breath and walked to the altar’s side. There she hesitated, her hands an inch above the stone. She finally withdrew it. “Not yet,” she told him softly.

  “Not yet?”

  “I want them here with me.”

  “Your den?”

  She nodded.

  “I will wait for you, Jewel Markess. But be aware: I will not wait forever.” His voice was soft and cool as he stepped back from the altar and became just another part of the cold night air.

  When she returned to the wing, she was surprised to find Ellerson in c
onversation with Morretz.

  “My apologies,” he said, “for the hour of this visit, although I see I did not wake you.”

  She grimaced. “Sleep’s been in short supply, anyway. I went for a walk.” The grimace fell away. “Does The Terafin want me now?”

  “She sent me with word. The Sons of Cartanis will come at dawn; they wish to speak with both The Terafin and her seer.”

  “Her . . . seer.”

  “They were explicit.” He paused, and then added, “The Sons of Teos sent word; they will accede to the Kings’ request.”

  Jewel was silent for a moment. “Then it’s only Cartanis.”

  He nodded. “The waiting is almost over, Jewel. Ellerson will make certain you are prepared for your meeting in the morning. If it is at all possible, sleep.”

  She hesitated and then asked, “Is The Terafin sleeping?”

  The slightest of smiles touched his face in the shadows. “She sent me here,” he told Jewel. “And I believe she will sleep at least as well as you will.”

  26th of Henden, 410 A.A.

  Terafin Manse, Averalaan Aramarelas

  Sleep was ugly, fitful, and broken. It was also the type of sleep that felt like it had been all of five wretched minutes long, although more time than that had passed. Ellerson had laid out clothing for her, and she saw, as she pushed back curtains that let in a hue of blue that was not quite morning light, that it was a dress of white and black. The fabric was muted; it had no obvious sheen; it was simple enough she could put it on without help. But she hesitated as she lifted it by the shoulders and glanced at her domicis.

  “Why these colors?” she asked. “Why now?”

  “Are they not the colors of the season, Jewel?”

  She shook her head. “Maybe among the rich,” she finally said.

  “And among the poor, if you must make that demarcation?”

  “Mourning.” She almost didn’t answer the question; she knew he knew the answer just as well as she did.

  “You feel this is inappropriate.”

  “No . . . but . . .” She shook herself.

  “There are things that you cannot say to the god-born,” Ellerson told her. “Not in so many words. This will make a statement, yes. But it is not a statement with which he can argue, and it is not a statement at which he might take offense.

  “It is, however, a full explanation of your position, here, in the relative safety of the Terafin manse. Should you wish it, I will acquire other clothing that would also be considered suitable for a meeting of this significance.”

  But his words had pierced the fog of early morning, searing it away. “No,” she said grimly. “I’ll wear it.”

  He nodded, as if this had never been in doubt. “Remember, Jewel, he is not your enemy. He is a man whose concerns are not the same as yours, but not everyone who fails to do as you wish can be counted a foe.”

  She snorted. “Carver doesn’t do half of what I tell him to do, and he’s still one of mine. I think I already know that one.”

  Ellerson looked as if he would like to say more; he didn’t. Instead, he helped her dress—which wasn’t necessary—and led her to the breakfast nook. She went through the motions of eating while he waited by the wall; nothing she had ever said had convinced him that joining her at the table would make eating easier. Today she didn’t try. She was careful not to spill anything on the wide, simple skirts, and when she was done, she found Torvan waiting at the doors to escort her to The Terafin’s official meeting rooms.

  Only when they were far enough away from the doors that she was certain Ellerson wouldn’t hear her did she turn to Torvan. “How bad is it?”

  “Bad?”

  “I can’t help but noticing the halls are full of guards.”

  “Cartanis is the Lord of Just War. It is a gesture of respect, not a response to threat,” Torvan replied. “If it weren’t for the time of year, there would be more; tapestries, and ancient weapons would now gird half the gallery walls, and the whole of the public face of this courtyard would appear martial in nature.

  “Given the significance of the Dark Days this year, The Terafin did not feel such a display was appropriate or necessary. The captain, however, felt that a show of the House Guards’ numbers would not be out of line with either the season or the visitor.”

  “So he’s not here yet?”

  Torvan grimaced. “Oh, he’s here. He is now touring the reconstruction site, as he called it, inspecting the remnants of the damage done in the foyer. He was most insistent on it.”

  “The damage in the—oh. Is The Terafin with him?”

  “Yes. Captain Alayra is also present.”

  “Is that where we’re going now?”

  “Yes.”

  The priests she had seen, and the god-born she had met had dressed in robes that were both stately and quietly authoritative; the colors they had worn in some way suggested their parentage.

  The son of Cartanis did not wear robes. Nor was he surrounded by robed priests, their braziers hanging from carried poles. He wore armor. It wasn’t even particularly shiny, although it had no obvious dents or wear to Jewel’s admittedly untrained eye. He also carried a huge sword, strapped across his back; he wore no cape. His boots made a lot of noise as he strode across the new marble that had been laid across sections of the foyer. His silver-gray hair was long, and he wore it in a braid in the Northern Imperial style of the Queen Siodonay’s people.

  He wasn’t a tall man. It didn’t matter. Where he walked, everyone seemed to fall unconsciously into step either beside or behind him. Everyone except The Terafin.

  But he turned first as Jewel approached, and she saw the color of his eyes and almost stopped walking. She couldn’t even say why—it’s not like she expected his eyes to be any other color; they were golden, of course, because he was god-born. But she missed a step, stumbled, and cursed the hem of the skirts that trailed just above the ground.

  Torvan caught her, righted her, and said a very loud nothing before releasing her arm and offering his lord a perfect salute. He offered the god-born son of Cartanis a perfect bow immediately after, and he held that bow for much longer than people normally did. He rose only when the son of Cartanis bid him rise; The Terafin said nothing until Torvan was once again standing.

  “Jewel,” she said quietly.

  Jewel separated herself from Torvan and came to stand beside The Terafin.

  “This is Caras, son of Cartanis. Caras, this is Jewel ATerafin.”

  The gold of his eyes was bright and hard as Jewel extended a hand and froze. “This is your seer? She’s a child.”

  Jewel said nothing. Having already let loose a very audible curse, she wasn’t about to add to her social disgrace. She met his gaze and held it in silence. To her surprise, he laughed and took her hand; his was larger, and it was surprisingly warm. The same couldn’t be said about the foyer.

  “Not as young as you look, then,” he said, when he let her hand go. “Come. Walk with us. The Terafin has been kind enough to relay events that occurred here on the eighth of Corvil. I would like to know what you saw.”

  “More or less what she saw,” Jewel replied. She glanced at The Terafin.

  “In the noise and confusion of any battle, no two people will see or hear the same thing; I do not accuse your Lord of attempting to hide any truth.”

  But Jewel frowned, and after a moment, she said, “You know what she saw. You believe it. You don’t expect me to tell you anything you don’t already know. You did come here to speak to me, though. What do you want from me, exactly?”

  His eyes rounded, and he laughed again, but there was an edge to his smile, and his eyes were narrower, as if he were reassessing her, this time with care.

  The Terafin, however, said, “If it would please you, Caras, I would be interested in your answer as well. I had assumed that your agreement to aid the others in the opening of the Sanctum was contingent upon—”

  “Your assumption is not incorrect,” C
aras replied. The warmth and humor left his face. “You do not understand what you ask or what it presages, Terafin.”

  Before The Terafin could speak, Jewel did. “Is it worse than what we already understand? Will opening the Sanctum summon the Lord of the Hells to the city? Oh, wait—that’s already happening. And we’re feeding him our own damn people!”

  The Terafin stiffened.

  Caras, on the other hand, merely raised a brow. “You are young,” he said at last. “But youth does not make you timid. These people who are dying, how many of them are yours, girl?”

  “They’re all mine,” she said, voice low. “Because any one of them could have been me. Any one of them could have been my friends.”

  “A fair answer.”

  She should have stopped speaking. She knew it. But short of turning and storming out of the foyer, she couldn’t stop her mouth; it was as if all the words she hadn’t said for months were now fighting their way out. “It should be your damn answer! All of you! Some of these people worship at your churches and your altars. What can you possibly fear from the future that’s worse?”

  His brow rose again. One of the men at his side stepped forward, and Caras lifted a hand without otherwise turning to look at or acknowledge him. He stilled.

  “Do you understand what sleeps in the Sanctum, Jewel ATerafin?”

  She was silent for a moment. It didn’t last. “Does it matter?” Her voice was quieter now. “I understand what’s waking in the undercity. I understand what it’s doing there, what it means to do everywhere. How much more of a danger can the Sleepers be?”

  “Sleeping? They are no danger at all. But waking, they will be.”

  “How much more of a danger than a god?”

  He was silent.

  But in his silence, she heard his answer, the way she sometimes saw glimpses of the future. She went white, and her hands balled in tight fists at her sides because if they didn’t, she would have slapped him. Or tried. She managed to turn to the The Terafin. “Terafin,” she said, her voice a stretched whisper.

  “Dismissed,” was the whole of The Terafin’s reply. “Torvan, see her to her quarters. We will speak later.”