House War 03 - House Name

by Michelle West

  “Mage,” the son of Cormaris said sharply.

  “If I could, I would not wake them,” was the soft reply. “I understand what you vowed, Exalted, and I would not force you to defend that oath while there is a greater enemy—a mutual one—to face.” He bowed; it was stiff, and slight, but in this room it had weight. The Exalted nodded grimly but did not relax, for the mage now skirted the edge of the circle around the bier, until he approached the Sleeper’s face.

  “What—what are they?” a younger man asked.

  “They are the Princes of the Firstborn,” was his soft reply.

  “And what was their crime?” the Exalted of Cormaris asked, his voice just as soft.

  “Did your Lord not tell you?”

  The Exalted did not play the word games that often delighted fractious magi; he frowned, as if the question were impertinent. “Only that they were guilty of betrayal.”

  “But not what that betrayal was?” The mage smiled; it was a very bitter expression. “It was manifold, Exalted. And for it, they have lost their swords and their names—see, you cannot glance upon the device that was once the pride of their kin.” He lifted a slender hand and pointed to the blank shield that now lay beneath the unworn helm across the Sleeper’s armored chest.

  “You know much, Meralonne.”

  “Legend Lord is one of my specialties. Come. The darkness is waiting, and it will wait neither peacefully nor long.”

  Evayne did not lead them through the building that Jewel had so accurately described. In silence, she led them through a crack or a fissure that lay beyond the Sleepers, and into the darkness.

  “Why this way, Evayne?” Meralonne asked.

  “The Sleepers are not our friends, but they are no more friend to our enemies; that way will be watched, and is watched now; it will be guarded by the most powerful of the servants that are available. This? It leads into the city as well, but it is narrow here, before it opens.”

  “Jewel—”

  “Could not have reached the Sleepers were it not for her size; we would need to move rock and risk the collapse of more should we attempt to retrace the route she took. It is here,” Evayne added, pointing.

  The Kings nodded in silence; they were unsettled by the sight of the Sleepers, and momentarily humbled by it.

  Chapter Twenty

  28th of Scaral, 410 A.A.

  Terafin Manse, Averalaan Aramarelas

  THEY MADE THEIR WAY BACK to the manse in the silence past midnight, and Jewel noted that it was silent. But it was a cold silence; neither she—nor anyone else on the walk—could be certain that it would last. Sometimes it would stretch out like the promise of peace—or worse, far worse, the hope of it—and then it would break, and the pain would start again.

  Only when she reached the bridge did Jewel frown. She turned back to look at the ranks of the Terafin Chosen, bumping into Morretz who, uncharacteristically, had continued to walk.

  “Jewel?” The Terafin asked, as she too paused.

  “Where’s Devon?”

  “Devon will not be returning to the manse with us.”

  “But—” Jewel’s mouth caught up with her words and closed before they could escape. The Terafin hadn’t answered the question, but the answer she did offer meant there’d be no further discussion. She nodded and jogged quickly—and without any grace—back to The Terafin’s side.

  “They will be waiting for us,” The Terafin told her.

  Jewel could have pretended to misunderstand; she didn’t. It was the last day of Henden—the last night. In history, it was the darkest of the nights, for the five previous had seen the slaughter of tens of thousands, and their corpses lay where they had fallen in the open streets.

  No, she thought. That’s story. That’s legend.

  It didn’t matter. This Henden and that Henden were, for a moment, the same. There were no Blood Barons; there was no war for succession. Instead, there were demons, and the dead lay not on the open streets but beneath them, their dying cries as sharp and painful as any mercenary’s sword.

  Then?

  Veralaan, the heir to the throne, had returned with two young men at her side: King Reymalyn the First, and King Cormayln the First. Their eyes were golden, and they had been raised by their fathers in the lands that lay between the mortal realm and the lands the gods called home. They had come to rule.

  They had come to show the people of this Empire that ruling, in and of itself, did not require a lack of wisdom or justice. They asked for followers, and people followed. People died as well, but in the stories those deaths were ennobling. Jewel had never been suspicious of that last part until now.

  Dead was dead, wasn’t it?

  Her dead were dead. Noble death, ignoble death—it didn’t matter. She’d seen Lord Gilliam’s face, and she knew—knew—he felt the same. But . . . she wasn’t Lord Gilliam. It wasn’t for the dead that she burned, now; it wasn’t for the dead that she lived. She had the living, and they were waiting, someplace in House Terafin, for her return.

  She swallowed air; it was cold and biting. The night was still silent when she turned to The Terafin. “You’ll speak to them?” she asked softly.

  The Terafin’s brow rose, and then she smiled. “You understand,” she said quietly. “Yes. Where they wait, I will speak. And if you will it, you will speak as well. Tell them of what you witnessed here. Let that word spread: Moorelas of Aston spoke to the Kings and granted them passage into the darkness beyond. It is the Kings’ ride, not Moorelas’, but they ride, in the end, with the same purpose.”

  But if the people who lived within the manse did gather, they didn’t gather in the foyer; they didn’t gather in the galleries or the long halls. Jewel thought they might be huddling in the rooms behind the walls; Carver had mentioned that it was “more crowded than usual.”

  The Terafin didn’t seem all that surprised when she entered the doors and the manse itself was empty. It was also darker than normal; the magelights had been whispered to darkness, and only candles flickered in their brass holders against the wall. She nodded; the windows were also shrouded; here, the moon’s light was so heavily veiled it might not have existed at all.

  Jewel started to head toward the West Wing, but The Terafin called her back. “Come,” she said quietly. “Join me. Morretz will summon the household in my absence.”

  “But—”

  “They will not sleep, Jewel. Not even Alowan will do that—perhaps especially not Alowan.”

  “He’s not—”

  “ATerafin? No. Not in name.” The Terafin offered a rueful smile, and it stripped years off her face. “I have lost track of the number of times I have offered him the House Name. Each and every time he has politely refused. It’s become a tradition between the two of us. But he will never accept it, and I will always desire his acceptance. It is a reminder to me that I cannot have all that I desire.”

  And what, Jewel thought, as she followed The Terafin up the winding stairs, do you want now? She didn’t ask. She couldn’t ask.

  “There is a place I go,” The Terafin told her quietly, “when I am troubled or when I seek privacy.”

  Given her huge and well-guarded chambers, which seemed to Jewel’s admittedly inexperienced eye to be empty most of the time, this almost made no sense. But The Terafin entered those chambers, passing between two of the Chosen Jewel didn’t recognize, and she shed the finery of her official outer clothing for a much more practical coat—and a long, large cape that had clearly been made for broader—and older—shoulders.

  This, she wrapped about herself. Then she nodded to the Chosen. Torvan and Gordon returned the nod with a sharp salute and followed; the other four remained behind.

  What must it be like to have men like Torvan live—and die—at your command? How hard was it to never disappoint them?

  Jewel shook her head. She couldn’t imagine The Terafin being capable of causing that disappointment. She seemed so controlled, so perfectly poised, so graceful in her power.
Certainly, as she tripped over the skirts of the dress that Ellerson had chosen and cursed, compared to Jewel she was all of those things.

  But what else was she?

  A small ladder led, of all things, to the ceiling, and The Terafin climbed it with care. She unhinged something in the ceiling, and it fell slowly and heavily toward the ground. It was a staircase—a narrow, wooden staircase. It led into the darkness of the sky.

  “We are not to be disturbed,” The Terafin told Torvan, “by any save Morretz; he will come when it is time.”

  Torvan nodded.

  Jewel followed her Lord into the night sky.

  “This,” The Terafin said, raising her face to the moons, “is my refuge.” It was a small balcony on the roof of the manse itself; it was not large, and it was not—at least in this light—heavily decorated.

  “The kitchen,” Jewel said, because words seem to be expected, “was mine. But there were people in it.”

  The Terafin nodded and fell silent for several minutes. But she broke the silence. “They killed my brother,” she said quietly. She glanced at Jewel, and then added, with a shadowed smile that was clear in the moonlight, “my baby brother.” She now occupied her hands with folds of cloth, drawing the edges of the cape toward her cheeks as she inhaled.

  Jewel wondered whose cape it had once been; she didn’t ask. But she said, “They killed mine as well.” Thinking of Lefty, in particular, although the faces of all those they’d lost in the undercity were clear to her. She drew a breath. Held it. Exhaled. “Terafin—”

  “You wish to speak to me about your den.”

  As often happened when people were so damn right so unexpectedly, the rest of the words deserted Jewel. But she swallowed and nodded.

  “You have not informed them of the change in your station.” It wasn’t a question.

  “No.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “If I can ask how you know. That I didn’t tell them, I mean.”

  “They are no different. In Gabriel’s office, Teller labors in relative silence, and in Lucille ATerafin’s office, Finch does likewise. Believe,” The Terafin added with a grimace, “that if Finch had mentioned your sudden elevation to Lucille half of Terafin would know. They don’t, and therefore, you’ve said nothing. Why?”

  Jewel hesitated and then folded her elbows and forearms so she could rest against them and stare out into the grounds below. “I want to be happy,” she finally said. “It’s something to be proud of. But . . . it seems wrong right now. To have good luck.”

  “You think it a matter of luck?”

  “Isn’t it?” She turned her head to look up at The Terafin. “If you’re going to tell me I’ve earned it . . .” She shrugged. “I’ve earned it because I was born cursed, and that curse is useful to the House.”

  “It is more than useful and not only to the House. Some are born with the mage talent; some are born with the voice. Some are born with the hands of healers. Those are gifts, and they are as much a gift as those born with the talent for making music or creating works of beauty.”

  “But my den isn’t any of those things. They’re just mine. I trust them. I need them. I keep an eye out for them—and they watch my back. Always have, since I first found them. And I don’t want to leave them behind. I don’t want them to feel like I’m leaving them behind. We would never be here at all if we hadn’t stuck it out together.”

  “You wish them to take the House Name.”

  “I want—” Jewel closed her eyes and rested her chin against her arms again. At last, she said, “Yes. But it’s not mine to offer them.”

  “No.”

  “It’s yours.”

  “Yes. And there is a procedure in place for applicants to the House.”

  “And what is this procedure?”

  “It involves an interview, among other things. It involves a variety of tests, few of them written. It is hard to test character,” The Terafin added.

  “I’ve met some of the ATerafin. Hard to imagine they could take a test of character, let alone pass it.”

  “The House needs many things,” The Terafin replied, after a long pause. “And not all of those things are simple. It needs men and women with ambition and the arrogance to achieve their goals. It needs, among other things, money, because money can be brokered into the power the patriciate best understands. It requires people canny enough, and experienced enough, to treat with wolves without freezing or fleeing.

  “And yes, I can well imagine that many, many ATerafin who fill that role would not be to your liking. They are not to be trusted in the easy way you trust your den or the way I trust my Chosen.”

  “And if I tell them to apply, what are their chances?”

  “What would you have said yours were, when you first arrived?”

  Jewel nodded. It was a fair question. “Can I take the same test?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are already ATerafin. You cannot pretend to be otherwise, although you can fail to mention it to your den.” The Terafin’s smile was weary. “You lack subtlety,” she said. “And the skills with which to negotiate. You are a seer, Jewel ATerafin. There has not, to our knowledge, been one in the Empire for centuries.”

  “There’s Evayne.”

  “Evayne is not . . . the same.”

  “What do you know about her?”

  But The Terafin shook her head. “That she is not ATerafin. Let me return to the point. You are a seer. The fact that you were raised in the lower holdings does not change that. The fact that you come without money and with a very tattered education doesn’t change that. You would, could you prove your claim—”

  “I’ve never claimed—”

  “—to the satisfaction of any House Leader, be entertained as a suitable candidate for House Membership. But you came to Terafin first, and it is in Terafin that you will live. You are—you were—Ararath’s last gift.” She turned, exposing the patrician length of her profile. “If you understood how valuable you are, you might demand that the den be offered what was offered you.”

  “And you’d grant it?”

  The Terafin smiled. “I would agree to consider it,” she said gravely. “Because I understand what your presence in my House might mean in future and because I see, clearly, what it might mean come dawn. But I would hide it, Jewel. Inasmuch as it is possible, I will hide it. I cannot, therefore, with ease go to my Council and invoke the specter of a seer’s power and glory.

  “But I expected no less from you than this; and I expected, in the end, that you would undervalue yourself enough that you would hesitate to make your acceptance of the House Name contingent upon theirs. It is . . . unusual to be offered the Name so quickly, when you have no proven track record in one area of expertise or another. Understand that.”

  “You can’t do it?”

  The Terafin surprised her, then. She laughed. “I am The Terafin, Jewel. I can, of course, as you say ‘do it.’ But understand that they will be mine, and they will be part of my House. What they are to you will become mixed with what they must be, to me. They will learn that loyalties bind them in unexpected ways. Are you sure this is what you wish, not for them, but for yourself? Think carefully.”

  In the darkness of the Sixth Day, Jewel did. She remembered, clearly, what she’d felt when Arann had told her he wanted to join the House Guard. He wasn’t ATerafin, but she’d known what it had meant. He was going somewhere she couldn’t follow, and he was going somewhere that might make it hard, in the end, to follow her.

  “They’re mine,” she said quietly. “But they’re not mine. I’m not the girl I was when Rath first found me; they’re not the people they were when I first found them. It’s hard to see it, sometimes, but it’s there. What I want—for me—is to be big enough to accept that.”

  Silence. Moonlight.

  “Are you?”

  Jewel shrugged. “Not always. But right now, I could be, and I think that has to count for
something. I don’t want to lose them,” she added. “But there are a lot of ways to lose people. I think they could be happy here.”

  “You want them to be happy.”

  “Yeah. But . . . I don’t want them to be happy without me.” She looked at the coal-dark shape of trees in the garden beneath the roof. “Is that bad?”

  “It’s human,” The Terafin replied. “What do you want from them?”

  “What they give me now. They listen. They think. They tell me. They’re there for me when I need them.”

  “Very well.”

  “Are those the right answers?”

  “I don’t know. They are not, in my opinion, the wrong answers, but they are not, in the end, my den.”

  “And what do you want? From your people?”

  “It amounts, in the end, to the same thing,” The Terafin replied. “But it covers many more people; some of the people who bear my House Name I have met only a handful of times. They earned their name before I took power, and they work at a great remove from Averalaan.”

  “Jewel?”

  Jewel rose at the sound of the familiar voice, and she saw that the trap had been lifted. Morretz glanced up. “Terafin.”

  The Terafin did not turn. “Is it time?”

  “It is. The servants have gathered, and the family. They are many this year.”

  The Terafin nodded, and Jewel realized, not for the first time, that the whole of Terafin, all the people in this manse, and all the people beyond it, were in some ways The Terafin’s den. To Jewel, she said, “Are you ready?”

  But Jewel was frozen, on the rooftop terrace. The hair on the back of her neck had risen so suddenly she felt as if she’d been struck by some invisible lightning, some paralyzing force of nature. She spun on the roof and crossed the narrow terrace; she looked out, toward the old city across the bay. There, rising above the dark of moon-touched night, a shadow was rising, like a dark void. She opened her mouth, but no words escaped.