House War 03 - House Name

by Michelle West

  “We’ll take it to the Sanctum,” he said.

  But Teller shook his head. “We won’t be able to get anywhere near the Sanctum. They’ll have the streets closed at every possible approach.”

  Teller, who worked in the office of the right-kin, had information sources that were now considered by the den to be beyond reproach. So they had walked the streets of the Isle, and in the clothing of Terafin, they were not stopped or treated with suspicion. But even the High Market was not the right place, and the cathedrals of the Triumvirate were so finely accoutred the wreath seemed almost too humble for their steps or their gates.

  So at last they decided to return to the holdings, crossing the bridge that—whether it was intended or not—separated the moneyed from the moneyless, because the people who had died in this undeclared war had come from the poorest of streets and had gone to their deaths without comfort or any hope of rescue.

  White was for loss.

  Those losses, faceless and nameless, would haunt Finch for the rest of her life. Day in and day out, she had come to the holdings to work—in the gray and silent Terafin offices in the Merchant Authority—because to work, as the Queen had said, was to defy the insanity and frenzied fear the demons hoped to cause.

  She rose and lifted the wreath with care. And then she gazed up at the stone faces of Kings. She had never claimed to understand Justice and had long since given up asking for it; she made her peace with Reymaris by attempting to cause no injustices. She looked toward Veralaan; the determined and isolated Baroness-in-waiting she did understand.

  But if she had prayed for one thing during these bitter, bitter days, it had been the strength Cormaris provided: Wisdom. She looked at the statue and then turned back to Jester and Teller. Jester raised one brow and then nodded and shrugged. Teller raised a brow in an entirely different way, but she didn’t want to leave the wreath at the foot of the statue; she wanted to make more of a statement with this wreath on this First Day. Jester lent her hand, boosting her up so she could gain the wobbly advantage of height—the statues were larger than man-size, even a large man.

  Men of power would have worn gold and jewels and the insignias of their Houses or their Orders. Men of power would have had far too much dignity for such an obvious sign of mourning. But Cormdyn was the son of Wisdom. Cormalyn would understand, if anyone would.

  She used the stone chest of the King to balance herself as she lifted her hands—clutching the wreath—and placed the flowers firmly over the head of the statue.

  She clambered down, brushed petals from her palms, and then turned to Jester and Teller. “Home?” she asked, looking out toward the holdings. Neither of them misunderstood her. Home meant, and had meant for years now, that-place-where-Jay-is. “Not yet,” Jester said. “Let’s go see if Farmer Hanson made it to the Common.”

  1st of Veral, 411 A.A.

  Terafin Manse, Averalaan Aramarelas

  Dawn broke in the Terafin gardens. Dawn touched the heads and the shoulders of the men and women who had gathered here. They weren’t on their feet; they had found patches of grass to sit on, and they often held children in their laps or over their shoulders. Their voices drew back, as if they were curtains, when the sky began its shift from the darkness of night—a night that had seemed, for hours, endless—to the purple and blues of early morn. People raised heads, squinting or shading their eyes as they watched the slow change.

  Jewel knew why; she almost pinched herself. Almost. But if this was a dream or an illusion, it was a good dream; she’d had nothing but nightmares in the last few months, and she didn’t want to wake up.

  Carver exhaled slowly; Angel, who’d been sitting one step above her, guarding her back, lowered his face into his hands in silence. When he raised it again, he let them drop, exposing silent tears; they were framed by a smile that was both weary and so deeply felt Jewel had to smile in response; it was that or cry herself.

  He rose. He hadn’t quite finished. He looked at the gathered crowd; they obscured the footpath to the shrine entirely. Then he turned back to her. “Duster should have seen this,” he said. It wasn’t an accusation; he looked . . . peaceful.

  Carver nodded, although he signed a quick shut up in Angel’s direction. Angel affected not to notice—or perhaps he truly didn’t. Of the den, his sign was still the slowest.

  “She would have hated all these people,” Jewel replied, her words soft and muted so they wouldn’t carry. “She would have hated their fear.”

  “She would have,” Angel agreed. “But if not for her, they wouldn’t be here.”

  Jay reddened. She would have argued with him, but she wanted to give Duster this moment because she deserved it. So she accepted the unspoken reasoning that led from Duster to these people: Duster had died so they could escape the twenty-fifth alive, and because they did, Jewel had been here, where there were enough people with power who could act on what she could sometimes see.

  His smile deepened, and his tears started again. It was a striking combination. “She loved you and she hated that she loved you. But she wanted to save you. If she’d survived, I’m not sure how she’d’ve explained it.”

  Jewel winced. She knew exactly how Duster would have explained it. But wincing, she also laughed.

  Sometimes, her Oma said quietly, it’s the people who are hardest to love who need it the most. Her voice was as contemplative as it ever got, at least in memory, and Jewel turned toward Carver and Angel, who had come to stand shoulder to shoulder.

  Haunt me, Duster. Haunt me. Don’t let me forget you. I’ll take the bad. I’ll live with it. But let me remember the parts that were good.

  “I loved her, too,” she said out loud; Carver looked at his feet; Angel, however, looked at her. He wasn’t embarrassed by a word she seldom spoke out loud. “And if you think her reaction to her birthday present was bad, don’t try to picture what it would’ve been if she’d heard me say that.”

  Neither answered, and she realized, belatedly, that they were on their feet for a reason: The Terafin had moved. Finally, after hours on her feet, gazing out at the back of the manse in which all of her visible House huddled, she had moved. Morretz stood quietly to one side of his lord. He was never the most visible of men, but he was never absent anywhere except for her personal chambers.

  There, and one other time that Jewel could think of, which had led, in the end to this First Day: the meeting with her so-called brother, Ararath of Handernesse. Rath.

  They looked nothing alike, this slender, elegant woman and Rath, aged by life in the streets and in the North or on the ships he seldom spoke about. She didn’t understand what had happened between them. But she thought that in the end Rath would also be, if not happy, then satisfied with the way things had turned out.

  She missed him.

  She missed Duster. And Lefty, and Lander, and Fisher. She’d been so crazy with the fear of losing anyone else that she hadn’t really stopped much to think about the loss and what it meant. She glanced at Angel; Angel was crying, or had been, and he didn’t turn his face away; he didn’t try to hide it. She wanted to ask him why.

  But . . . she didn’t think less of him for the tears that her Oma had always hated.

  And maybe it was time, now. Maybe she could cry, just once. Other people already were, in joy or relief or gratitude. Her tears wouldn’t be noticed if she shed them. She looked up at The Terafin’s face. The Terafin, who had stood at the height of the House shrine, leaving her Chosen behind. She had not cried; she spoke from time to time, but it was speech meant to comfort or succor. She asked nothing for herself.

  Jewel’s throat tightened. It was true; no one else would note the tears for what they were. But . . . The Terafin didn’t cry. She didn’t shout or throw up her arms or turn and hug the person next to her—which, given it was Morretz, would have been really awkward.

  She didn’t, on the other hand, threaten to give those people something to cry about either. It had been one of her Oma’s favorite ph
rases, and Jewel had only once been foolish enough to say, I have something to cry about already or I wouldn’t be crying.

  As if her Oma were standing beside her, she kept her tears to herself.

  Instead of crying, Jewel waited beside her den-kin, feeling her legs begin to shake as the reality of First Day continued to make itself felt. The sun was rising, and it was glorious, and it spread light across manse and shrine and crowd alike.

  Five minutes passed. Ten. Only then did The Terafin lift her chin and step forward. The House altar was at her back; she didn’t touch it, didn’t look at it. Here and now that made sense; she sustained the House.

  Her smile was slight, and it was the first expression that allowed some hint of emotion to color her face. “First Day has come,” she said, pitching her voice so that it carried. It didn’t sound as though she was shouting, either. “And there is now much to be done; we have lived through the Dark Days, as our ancestors once did.

  “When Veralaan returned from the Between with her grown sons, they sought the throne. They were newly come from the homes of their fathers, and they did not arrive with strength of arms; they arrived, the scions of Wisdom and Justice, without armies or subjects. Veralaan was heir to the Empire, but she abdicated her rule in favor of her sons—both of her sons.

  “Terafin was among the first of the Houses to join the cause of the Kings. They approached the Kings at the bridge that even now marks the Isle, and in the name of Wisdom and Justice, The Terafin offered the Kings—the first Kings—his sword. When he offered his sword,” she continued, for this was a story that all knew well, even Jewel, who’d been born and bred in the poor holdings, “he did not offer a single weapon.

  “He offered the whole of House Terafin. In offering the House, he offered the lives of each and every man and woman who bore the Terafin name—his name. He offered their allegiance, their obedience, and their determination. Did they stand at his side? No. Did they stand in his wake? No.

  “But they stood where you have stood for these Dark Days: In the manse. In its halls. I am The Terafin,” she said. “And I, just as the first Terafin to serve the Twin Kings, understand the power of the House: it resides in you. Not singly; no single one of us can carry the burden of a House, just as no single one of us can carry the burden of Empires.

  “But for the dream of Justice, for the hope of Wisdom, and in the name of Mercy, the Mother’s mercy, I, too, have committed you to the Kings and to the Empire.

  “And you have not failed me. Nor has the dream of those three things. We have faced the risk of madness and death for this First Day, and we see it as perhaps only one generation has seen it before.

  “It is time, now, to celebrate. Acknowledge that the risk is never done, the service is never finished—but that there is joy in the service. Take down the shrouds, return the candles and the lamps and the magelights to their former brilliance; return to the kitchens and the halls of Terafin, and as you can, rejoice. Return to the life that the Kings’ rule makes possible.

  “It is for this that we have fought, and even our dead might smile and know a moment’s peace, were they here.

  “Terafin has always been served by men and women of principle and honor. They are not always young, and they are not all masters of arms.”

  There was some laughter at this, but it was in and of the crowd as people poked and prodded one another.

  “But if arms were the only measure of value, there would be no Empire. Even those whose skill is arms may sometimes set them aside; set them aside now. I will join you for the first meal in the dining halls in two hours.”

  That caused a ripple of conversation and possibly some panic—but it was a good panic, really. The Terafin then nodded once, a clear indication that she had finished speaking. The children didn’t really notice—the ones that were still awake—but the adults that minded them did.

  The grounds began to clear, and Jewel started to follow the crowd.

  “Jewel.”

  She turned to The Terafin.

  “I would have you join me at the high table for breakfast.” The Terafin’s smile acknowledged just how much of a reward this was for Jewel; it was almost a grimace.

  Jewel froze. “Terafin—”

  “It is a request, not a command.” She looked beyond Jewel’s shoulders to where Angel and Carver stood waiting. “Gentlemen, if you would return to your quarters, I will send Jewel back with my Chosen.”

  Carver glanced at Jay, signed. Go?

  She signed a very hasty yes in reply. Angel, however, signed no. Jewel wasn’t used to instant obedience; she wasn’t The Terafin, after all. But most of her den wouldn’t argue while The Terafin was standing a few yards away, and Jewel wasn’t of a mind to have an argument in front of the woman who was, technically, her lord.

  “Can I just have a minute?” she asked The Terafin.

  The Terafin nodded. “They are not mine,” she added, “and they are therefore not required to instantly obey me.”

  Jewel approached Carver and Angel; they hadn’t stopped signing, although at this point they were signing—vehemently—at each other.

  “Angel,” she said, without preamble. “The Terafin asked you to leave. I agreed. Why are you still here?”

  “It wasn’t a request,” he said quietly. “And I don’t take orders from her.”

  “We’re living under her roof. She’s one of the most powerful people in the Empire. We’ve scuttled like roaches at the sound of magisterians before—why pick now to start a fight?”

  “I wasn’t starting a fight—”

  “She asked you to go. I told you to listen. You’re not picking a fight with her—you’re picking a fight with me.”

  He shrugged, and his hands stilled. But he wasn’t backing down.

  Angel could be quiet. This one was a loud quiet, totally unlike Teller’s or Finch’s. She understood their quiet; she didn’t understand Angel’s. He was angry; that much was clear. She was heading that way, herself.

  Carver caught his shoulder; Angel shrugged it off in a way that suggested any further attempt to move him or turn him would end in violence—in front of the Terafin shrine, and ten yards away from the woman who ruled the House.

  “She told me to go,” he said, not even glancing at Carver. “And I want her to understand that I don’t serve her. She’s not my lord.”

  Jewel raised her hands to her face. It had been a long night. It had been nothing but long nights—and days—since she’d arrived at the manse. Clearly, she wasn’t the only one who was close to the edge of insanity. She lowered her hands, where they settled on her hips in a way that her Oma would have instantly recognized. “She owns the place we’re living in,” she finally said, in a dead-quiet voice. “And pissing her off is like spitting at the landlord. Remember him? Big guy with the keys?”

  “And the bad breath and the drinking habit and the scary wife.” He glanced over her shoulder at The Terafin and then back, having made his point; he’d lost some of the tension around his jaw, and his fists had relaxed slightly. He hesitated as if he wanted to say more, and then lifted both hands, palm up, in surrender.

  “What the hell was that about?” she heard Carver say as they headed down the now deserted path.

  She didn’t hear Angel’s reply, and she wanted to. Instead, she fixed what she hoped was a neutral expression across her face before turning back to The Terafin. Aside from Morretz and the Chosen, they were alone in the garden. And that was as alone as one could get with The Terafin.

  The Terafin was gazing up at the sky, which was growing paler and clearer as the minutes passed. She began to speak without looking away from this distant glimpse of the heavens.

  “He is young,” she said. It took Jewel a moment to realize who she was speaking about.

  “Angel?” she asked, just to be certain.

  “Yes. Although it is true of all of your den; it is true, as well, of you.” Her hands slid behind her back as she continued to gaze at some point we
ll above the manse. “Honesty is a rare commodity among those who practice politics, but there is an art to it; it is not an art you are yet conversant with, if you will ever be.

  “Your life here will not be easy. It will be easy in some ways compared to the life you once led in the lower holdings—but in some ways, vastly more difficult. You will study here. You will learn. You will be forced to move among the powerful, and you must know enough about them to survive, because once it is clear who and what you are—and we will attempt to hide it, but it is too large a secret—there are Houses that will consider you an . . . unfair advantage. They will sacrifice much to have you removed.

  “I’m not sure if Ararath ever told you what you were, or what you are; I am certain he never told you how valuable you would be—untrained and uneducated—to any House.”

  “He implied that I wouldn’t have the freedom of choice if it was known.”

  “He wasn’t entirely correct, but close enough. He sent you to me,” she added softly. This time she did look down. Jewel wasn’t certain this favored her.

  “No,” she surprised herself by saying. “He sent me to you.”

  Her smile was thin; it held pain. But it held pain; it didn’t release it. “We are a gift to each other, then?”

  “I—I think so.”

  They were silent for a moment. Morretz was well away, although Jewel suspected he was listening anyway.

  “You will keep the House Name.” It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t an order.

  Jewel held breath and then released it. “Yes. You knew I would,” she added. “You knew I wanted it.”

  “I did. But I knew why.”

  “And?” Jewel turned to face The Terafin, struggling to keep her arms loose at her sides. She failed; her hands rose to push hair out of her eyes, repeatedly.

  “Come to breakfast,” was the quiet reply. “I will make the announcement there.”