House War 03 - House Name

by Michelle West

  The servants always heard rumors. “So?”

  “Do you know what The Terafin wants from Jewel?”

  He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  Her hands tightened into fists, crumpling the unopened letter. “Yes, it matters.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “She wants to put her on the House Council.”

  “Oh. That.”

  Red brows rose as her eyes widened; he’d annoyed her and surprised her, both of which were better than wherever it was she’d been. “What do you mean, ‘oh, that?’ ”

  “It’s not like she’s there to do anything or make any decisions. Not yet. It’s just a—job.”

  Merry’s eyes widened further, and this time she did wheel and smack him hard on the chest. “You don’t understand the House, Carver! You don’t understand how it works!” One of her fists now held a bunched and crumpled invitation, and the wax had cracked and crumbled. “Do you think House Council members just spend their days hanging out with servants?”

  “You’re ATerafin.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Why? Burton said—”

  “I don’t give a damn what Burton said. Yes, I’m ATerafin. Yes, he’s ATerafin. But do you really think that makes us equal to someone like Gabriel?”

  “I—”

  “Do you think that Gabriel—or any of the House Council—spend their time with the servants?”

  Carver didn’t understand Merry half the time. Mostly, it amused her; on one or two occasions it had enraged her. But never like this. He understood then. He understood that what Vera had said was wrong; it wasn’t the Name.

  “I’m not on the House Council,” he said, voice low, his hands somehow dangerously perched on either of her shaking shoulders. “I’m not Jay.”

  She laughed. It was the least happy laugh he’d ever heard. “You’re one of hers. Everyone knows it, Carver. You go where she goes. If she rises, you’re going with her. And she can’t afford to have supporters who are—who are—”

  “Who are what?”

  Merry turned away, or tried to. He tightened his grip.

  “Merry, who are what?”

  “Me,” she whispered. And then she tore herself free and turned toward the far wall. “Me!”

  He would have laughed, it was so stupid. But Kalliaris was watching, and laughter wasn’t the first thing he did. He walked to where she was standing, back to him; he knew she was crying. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  She spun in that quick, startling way she sometimes could, her hands still bunched in fists, her knuckles white, her eyes red and wet. She even opened her mouth to speak. But the words didn’t come for a few minutes, and when they did, they were broken by more unhappy laughter. “Carver—it never occurred to me there was anything to say.”

  “I don’t think there is,” he replied, keeping his voice low and quiet. “No one asked me to stop being myself in exchange for the House Name. No one made me promise to avoid . . . the wrong people.”

  “And what would you have said? It’s the House Name, Carver.”

  “I—”

  “And Jewel wanted it. She’s earned it. You don’t know what’s said about her. You don’t know how important she could be.”

  “Uh—”

  “You’re important to her, the whole House gets that. But what she’s going to be, and what I am—they’re not in the same world.”

  “But I’m not her!”

  “And if you were told that she needed you, and needed you to be part of the patriciate? Properly, not in your half-assed way? Would you have said no?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t told that. I’m not Jay, and I can do whatever I want!”

  She stared at him, and then, shaking her head, she looked down at the creased invitation, its wax cracked.

  “It’s not a fancy party,” he told her. “I think.”

  “In the wing, in the manse, and you think it’s not going to be fancy?” She shook her head, tears still running down her cheeks as something that was almost a smile changed the shape of her mouth. “I—I like you, Carver. I really do. You’re kind of stupid, you’re kind of silly, you don’t pay attention to any of the rules. You don’t want much for yourself. You don’t.” She looked at him, then. “You’ll learn.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll learn. Maybe I’ll learn. Maybe you will.” Awkwardly, he added, “Will you come?”

  She just stared.

  “We’re inviting everyone. Not only people we met here,” he added, “although I think Finch is inviting Lucille and Jarven.”

  She stared.

  “Merry—we didn’t get here on our own. We had each other, but we had help. You helped,” he added, voice lower. “You helped me. You let me tag along everywhere.”

  “I told you to get lost.”

  “Well, yeah, but not like you meant it.”

  She laughed; it was wobbly but genuine.

  “If you hadn’t,” he added, “The Terafin might not have survived the night the demons came. When we went to get Alowan, we went through the servants halls because I knew them.” He caught her hands, crunching the letter further. “Yes, Jay earned her name. But you’ve earned at least this much as well.

  “Jay says—well, her Oma used to say—we can’t count on the future. We just have now. I want you to come.”

  “I have nothing to wear—”

  “Didn’t you see us when we first arrived?”

  She had, of course.

  “If you’re worried about clothing, that’s easy.”

  “It’s not—it’s not just the clothing. The Master of the Household Staff won’t like it.”

  “All the more reason to come. Please,” he added. “We want the people who helped us all along.”

  She opened the invitation, then. “Carver—”

  “Just say yes.”

  “But I—”

  “Yes.”

  She hesitated and then asked, “Can I bring Mira?”

  “Why?”

  “I won’t have anyone to talk to, and I—”

  “You can talk to me.” But as her request now offered more hope than he’d had for a week, he added, “Yes, if you want, you can bring Mira.”

  Jewel walked through the Common as if she’d finally come home. It was crowded, and as usual the stronger scents of the various stalls hit her nose in a rush; she had to turn sideways to avoid the moving wall of people, but she was used to that. Avandar, by her side, was not—but he was larger, and he was more forbidding; he didn’t have to get out of the way.

  “Is this absolutely necessary?” the domicis asked. He was, for Avandar, in a reasonable mood; on anyone except Meralonne APhaniel, it would have been considered foul. He had a sharp, patrician nose, which was useful for him, as he looked down it so often.

  She didn’t bother to answer, since she’d answered the same damn question a dozen times. But she made her way to the poorest section of the Common, and there she found Helen, wrapped in wool, her hands red with the chill of the season. She was, nonetheless, working. Jewel cleared her throat, avoiding Helen’s son, who for once didn’t look pissed off to see her.

  Then again, he clearly didn’t recognize her. “Can I help you, miss?”

  She stared at him suspiciously and then glanced down at her clothing. It wasn’t fancy compared to the stuff she was forced to wear for formal meetings, but it was fancy compared to the clothing that he and his mother generally sold.

  “No, I’m here to speak to Helen.”

  He turned instantly, and with such alarming speed Jewel was halfafraid his mother would die of shock. But Helen rose. Moving at her usual speed, and with about as suspicious an expression as Jewel had ever seen on her face, she made her way to the front of the stall.

  There she stopped, and her mouth slowly opened and stayed that way.

  Jewel flushed. “Helen?” she asked, almost nervously. “Do you recognize me?”

  “Jay?”

  Jewel n
odded. “I’m—I have something for you.” She held out a hand, and Avandar, who had almost insisted she use the normal Terafin messengers, placed an invitation into it.

  “Well, don’t just stand there,” Helen said to her useless son, “get out of the way and let her come in. Come here,” she said to Jewel. “I want to look at you! What are you wearing?” she added.

  “Oh, clothing. It’s—I’m—” she pushed her way into the stall, leaving Avandar behind. “I’m living on the Isle, Helen.”

  “On the Isle?” Helen’s brows rose. She reached out and gathered handfuls of cloth, pausing to examine the seams. “This is good work,” she finally said.

  “I hope so. I think whoever made it charges a lot.” She held out the envelope, and Helen took it, turning it over. There was an awkward pause while she examined the seal, and she finally said, in an old, flat voice, “you’ll have to read this for me. My eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

  Her eyes, Jewel knew, were still good. But she didn’t hesitate; she opened the envelope, cursing Avandar under her breath; if it had been up to her, there wouldn’t have been any stupid invitations.

  “We’d like to invite you to our place on the Isle. We’re—we’re having a party, and we want all our old friends to join us.”

  “Where is your place on the Isle?”

  “We’re living—” Jewel hadn’t realized until this moment how awkward this would be, but she brazened ahead anyway. “We’re living in the Terafin manse. We’ve arranged for all the tolls to be paid, for anyone who wants to come, and if you want, we can send a carriage. I asked,” she said quickly. “The Terafin manse has a lot of carriages.” She drew another nervous breath and then added, “If you want to bring your son, he can come too, if you think he’ll be helpful.”

  Helen snorted, and the sound was so familiar, Jewel wanted—briefly—to hug her. Hugging Helen, who wore pins and needles all over her clothing, was always a mixed blessing. “He won’t be,” the old woman said. “Henry, where’s my pipe?”

  Henry, however, was speechless for once; his mouth had dropped open and been left hanging, as if he’d forgotten it was attached to his face. Jewel had never particularly liked him, and he’d certainly had no use for her den, but she understood that he was all the family Helen had.

  “Henry,” Helen said. She didn’t like to have to ask something once; repeating it usually made her angry. But her son had failed to hear the imperious use of his name; he was staring at Jewel as if she’d grown two heads. On top of the one that she already had. Jewel almost laughed, but she felt sorry for him, because he was now embarrassing his mother in public.

  Helen was much like her Oma, for a woman with no ties to the South; Jewel knew he’d suffer for it later. But later was later, and Jewel wouldn’t be here to see it, with any luck; she still had a few places to visit before she returned to the manse. She caught Helen’s still-pipeless hands in hers. “Please come,” she said.

  “I don’t have a thing to wear,” the old woman replied.

  “We showed up on our first day there in the clothing you made for us,” Jewel countered. “That was good enough for The Terafin. It was good enough for us, Helen; if we didn’t have better, we didn’t have nothing, thanks to you.”

  Helen grimaced. “You went there in those clothes?” Shaking her head, she added, “I don’t know, Jay.”

  Avandar waited until the small stall was well behind them before he said, “The son will make certain his mother arrives.”

  “Good. I won’t let him in without her.”

  “I believe he is aware of that. Are you certain this is wise?”

  Jewel shrugged. Avandar, as a servant, was vastly more intimidating than most of the nobles she’d met. She didn’t like him much; she was almost certain she never would. “Define wise.”

  “You are about to host a gathering at the Terafin manse; it will be your first official gathering.”

  “That’s kind of the point.”

  He frowned.

  “Look. I haven’t agreed with you the last hundred times we’ve discussed this. I’m not going to agree now. Just drop it.”

  “As you say.”

  Since it was the way he’d ended each of the previous arguments, Jewel snorted. She walked quickly enough to put distance between them; he walked quickly enough to close it. She did not want him looming over her shoulder looking condescending while she talked to Farmer Hanson.

  She could see the farmer in the distance. At this time of year, he sold far fewer things—but not nothing, unless the weather was bitter, in which case he didn’t leave his farm. He wouldn’t be here for as long as he would during the warmer months, but she could also see his daughter, with her famously dour expression, and at least two of his sons. She almost tripped over her feet—and did, in fact, trip over other people’s—in her sudden rush to reach his stall.

  The kind of angry ripples that rush of clumsiness produced in the Common meant he was aware that something was happening, and he was watching the crowd as she emerged from it. His eyes widened at that same time as his lined face broke into a grin—a wider grin than she was used to seeing on that familiar and much-missed face.

  She reached the side of his stall as he was opening the small, swinging gate to allow her entry, and she didn’t even stiffen when he enveloped her, instantly, in a hug.

  But she did laugh when he finally set her away at arm’s length and gave her the once-over. “Have you grown?” he asked.

  “Not me. Teller has, if that helps.”

  He chuckled. “Finch came by to see me last month.”

  “She told me—I was jealous. I was crawling around in the dirt, or worse, with a really, really grouchy overseer.” She’d decided against using the word mage, because while it was accurate, it failed to convey any of the experience. And it made people nervous.

  “Well, you don’t look dirty now. Things are going well for you?”

  “Things are. I don’t know how long it’ll last,” she added.

  He laughed again. “Always the cautious one, you were.” He shouted something at one of his sons—and even this made Jewel smile, because he always shouted at his sons, and they always accepted it with good grace. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

  She did. She skipped most of the bits that were, in theory, never to be mentioned to anyone; she also failed to use the word “god-born.” She did tell him a bit about the Terafin foyer’s destruction because everyone in the city had heard something about that. He was impressed by it, but even impressed, he still paused to ask questions about the rest of her den; she asked him about his wife, his daughter, and—yes—his useless sons.

  “You won’t be needing much from me now, will you?” the farmer asked, smile lines still deep around the corners of his eyes and mouth, although he was no longer chuckling.

  It was true. Of course it was true. Jewel shook her head. She had daydreamed about the day when she wouldn’t need to take things from Farmer Hanson. And the day when she could come to him in triumph and give him enough money that he could, in his quiet way, feed other kids who, like her, were in need. She wasn’t even sure that this wasn’t that day, but she felt no triumph.

  It hadn’t occurred to her, in that long ago daydream, that being that woman meant that she would no longer see him every day.

  She no longer came to the market. She didn’t do the den’s shopping; no one in the den did. Food appeared in their dining room and breakfast nook as if by magic; it was cooked in the wing, but she had no idea where it had come from originally. She had no idea where laundry was done, or how; The Terafin’s servants didn’t go to a well to get water; they’d have needed an army’s worth of buckets.

  She shook herself, returning to Farmer Hanson.

  “No,” she said softly, because she wasn’t good at lying, and even had she been, this man didn’t deserve it. “But . . . we did. We needed you.”

  “You’ll be the only one of my children to rise so far,” he replied. �
��House Terafin. Arann’s good?”

  “He’s good. Or better than he was. But I’m gabbing and forgetting why I came—you can see him for yourself.” She handed the farmer the invitation.

  He looked at it with some consternation, as if it were notification of a new tax or arrears from an old one. It was the seal, she thought. He didn’t get much that had wax affixed to it.

  “It’s an invitation,” she told him. She wanted to ask him if he could read it, but she bit the words back. “We’re having a bit of a party at the manse. We want you—and all your family—to come join us. I’m sorry about the seal,” she added. “It wasn’t my idea, but someone insisted on it.”

  “Who?”

  “My domicis.”

  “Your what?”

  “He’s a—a fancy servant. And a bodyguard. And a master of etiquette and political squabbling. And—”

  The farmer held out a hand, laughing. “I surrender. So he told you you needed a fancy seal?”

  “Yes. Apparently so my old friends could look at the invitation as if it were a legal writ.”

  “Maybe he knows best.”

  “Gods, I hope not.”

  The farmer’s frown was brief. “But he serves you, right? You get to decide?”

  She laughed; it was not an entirely happy laugh. “That’s what I keep telling him.” More anxiously, she asked, “Will you come?”

  He broke the seal carefully and pulled out the invitation. “That’s a lot of words for a ‘come to my party.’ ” Before she could say another word, he looked up and smiled. “Yes, we’ll come. We’d be proud, and frankly, my daughter would likely never forgive me if I said no.”

  Since this was easily the most believeable thing Farmer Hanson had ever said about his daughter, Jewel relaxed. She even hugged him again. “I have to go.”

  “Back to the manse?”

  “Oh, no. Not yet. I need to find a dressmaker.”

  “Well, this is the right place for it—unless you want the High Market.”

  Jewel couldn’t imagine a day would come when she’d want the High Market over the Common, and she said so, remembering to curb the rude words only half a second before they were leaving her mouth.