“The Terafin is correct,” the silver-haired mage confirmed softly.
It was not what Devon had expected her to say.
“Further,” she continued, “we know for a fact that some of the demon-kin cannot only assume the shape of a man, but also much of his identity and much of his memory. This is, of course, at the cost of the life of the one so imitated.” She paused. “This is no illusion, Devon. Such an assumption is not magical in nature, and when looked for, no magic will be found.”
Devon felt the blood drain from his face as the implications of what she was saying took root. “Reymaris’ sword,” he whispered.
“We do not know at which level the ranks of the Cordufar family have been infiltrated—but we know that, upon the staff of the magisterial truthseekers, there was one who was not seeking truth any longer.”
“Then we must find the summoner of these creatures.”
“Yes, we must. And we must do it with care and caution. I have already sent word, through all the channels that I have access to, that an assassination attempt was carried out, by magical means, against me. I have made it clear that there was a summoning of some sort, and have offered the usual reward for the mage who accepted the job.”
“In other words, you’ve done everything you can to appear as ignorant as possible.”
“Yes. But I’m not at all sure that it will work.”
“Why?”
She shook her head, and then grimaced. “Because the man that they killed and replaced—the man whose partial memories they own—was once my brother. We did not love each other overmuch in our later years, but we knew each other well.”
“Ararath,” Devon whispered.
The Terafin smiled rather grimly; it was clear that she expected him to understand much more than one of his station within the House proper. “Meralonne APhaniel is one of a suspected half-dozen of the mage-born who can easily detect these creatures for what they are. But he must be looking for it. Needless to say, most people will not.
“We cannot allow this information to be known; if people know of it, and know further that they cannot detect these creatures easily, there will be panic. And the panic will be twofold.” She no longer spoke to Devon, because she knew that Devon understood without the need for an explanation.
“First, people will begin to look for demons where none exist, and I fear that the innocent may well suffer from such a hunt, and second—and most important—if the kin are involved in higher levels of our councils, they may feel the need to prematurely move against us, our House, and our supporters. We must leak information, and that information must be true; we must let them know that we are stymied in our search, and that we suspect only the mage-born.
“To this end I have begun a ‘private’ investigation into the mage-born members of the Order of Knowledge. I have also sent my operatives into the lower holdings to search for foreign mages who may have been involved in this black art.”
“And why do we need to involve our foreign guests in our internal matters?” Devon’s question was pointed.
“Because,” The Terafin replied serenely, “it seems that Stephen of Elseth—unlike Meralonne or any of the mage-born—can see the demon-kin without resorting to the use of spell. He does not need to search for the signs; if he can see the creature, we believe he will know it for what it is.”
“And what proof do you have of this?”
Meralonne answered at The Terafin’s nod. “For reasons that are not clear to me or any of us, the demons are searching for Stephen and Lord Elseth. They were waiting at the western demiwall for their arrival.”
“Waiting? That implies that they knew they would be here.”
“We met them first in Breodanir,” Stephen added, speaking for the first time. “At the time, they were hunting Espere. She is not quite right, and we hoped to find both the answer to the question of why the demons hunted her, and the cure to her condition, if it can be cured, here.”
“And instead you have found that these creatures are here and hunting for you?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” He trailed off into silence, absorbing the answers to his questions while preparing to ask more.
The Terafin interrupted his musing. “The demon that they met here wore the guise of a magisterial truthseeker. We have been able to ascertain which truthseeker; he has been in service to the courts for over fifteen years.” She sat, then, and stared at her liege for a long time.
Devon was silent. The smile had deserted his face; his attention was focused inward with an intensity that he rarely showed. What was the connection between the demons, the girl, the foreign lord, The Terafin, Meralonne, and the urchin named Jewel? How many of these creatures were there, and how far up—or down—had they gone? If the power of the mage-born was at the heart of this problem, whose power, and what was their final goal?
He trusted The Terafin as much as he trusted any member of The Ten—but no more than that.
“Devon?”
The Crowns were his life, his sworn and his chosen life; and they deserved that loyalty and that dedication; they deserved it, and more, as no other rulers in any foreign country had ever done, or ever would. Against their well-being and their continued rule, the health of any House counted for little—any House save Terafin. Ah, wisdom, he thought, as he ran his hands his through his hair. Where are you now?
“Yes,” he said softly. “I understand it.”
“And you understand that no word of this is to leave the House?”
“Are you so certain that this is a House affair?”
“It does not matter if I am not,” she said severely. “I gave you an order.” Then, knowing to whom she spoke, she relented. But in the manner of Terafin. “Patris Cordufar owes his loyalty to which House?”
“Darias.”
“Indeed. Do you see?”
Devon cursed inwardly. Less than fifteen years had passed since the House wars between Darias and Terafin had nearly brought The Ten to their knees. Forty-three men and women had died in the service of the two Houses, and not a few of them powerful, notable. The Kings had been forced to intervene, for only the second time in the history of Averalaan, and their intervention had cost both Houses dearly. Only in the last year had The Terafin finally brought the House back to its previous position of political power upon the council; Darias still had not recovered.
Darias.
“It may indeed be that this matter is not solely a difficulty which the House must face,” she said. “But to bring it to the attention of the Kings, in the light of the assassination attempt, will cost us more than I wish to pay. If it comes to that, it is a decision that I will make.”
He swallowed; he knew that she would never come closer to speaking of his rank within the Astari. If indeed she spoke of it. And he knew, too, that he could not keep this to himself for long, however he might try. If he tried at all. “I will remain ATerafin if you judge me worthy.” The words and the tone were very grave. “But as a member of your House of little rank and merit, I must ask a boon.”
“Ask, then.”
“It is not, unfortunately, of you that that favor must be asked.” He turned to Lord Elseth and his huntbrother, Stephen. “At court there are two women, Lady Morganson and Lady Faergif; they are of the Breodani, and they traveled here when their sons inherited the responsibilities of their demesnes. They are sharp and canny in defense of the interests of your kingdom, and they have become accustomed to all things Essalieyanese. But if they learn that a Hunter Lord has left Breodanir to journey to the Empire, they will wish to meet that Lord—and, of course, his huntbrother.”
“You want us to go to court?” Lord Elseth said, with so much distaste that the huntbrother could not keep his disapproval from showing.
“What he means to say, Lord ATerafin—”
“Devon will do.”<
br />
“Devon, then. What he means to say is that we are not attired or prepared for a court so complicated and unique as that of the Twin Kings and he does not wish to insult.”
Devon did smile at that. “But he would come?”
“Yes, we would both be happy to accept your invitation.”
“Good.” Devon rose. If he could have the huntbrother for a gathering of the two courts, he could rest a little easier. He paused and met the eyes of The Terafin; he understood, then, why she had summoned him in the presence of foreigners. A gift, of sorts, to the Astari—guardians of the Kings. “Then I must prepare for your dogs—they will be properly kenneled and cared for in the style to which they are accustomed.” He bowed—and it was the bow of the Breodani that he offered. Then he turned to The Terafin and brought his arm across his chest in salute. “Terafin.”
“ATerafin,” she replied. “We will speak again, Devon. You may have your day in the two courts, and then we must have your day in the streets of the city. We need to conceal what we do.”
Chapter Ten
LORD ELSETH AND STEPHEN were escorted off the premises by Devon ATerafin, who was charged both with finding them a suitable domicile for their stay and extending the hospitality of Terafin to them. In normal circumstances, they would be housed in the manor proper at the very least, but The Terafin felt it too much of a risk to have all of the enemies of the demon-kin concentrated in one place, and although she did not voice this concern aloud, it was understood.
Jewel gave her report, and if she was nervous and a little terse, The Terafin did not appear to notice. Instead, she nodded. “You work well, Jewel. I understand the difficulty you labor under, and I must add to it; we will no longer send out crews to the various sites that Ararath mentioned in his letter. Instead, I will send you out with Devon, and only Devon.
“You are to follow his commands in all things; if you feel that his command exceeds my wishes, you are nonetheless obligated to carry out his word. I will take your reports in my chambers, and I will entertain any concerns that you may have at that time. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Dismissed.”
Jewel’s eyes flickered momentarily to Meralonne, and then away. She brought her arm across her chest and then stopped before the salute itself was complete. The Terafin smiled. “Indeed,” she said softly. “You owe me no such respect yet; I have not given you my name.”
Jewel nodded and walked away, and The Terafin watched her go. “She has temerity,” she said softly, almost to herself.
“She has that,” the mage replied dryly. “She also has a temper and a tongue to go with it. You’ve not been at the digs with us,” he added. Then he inclined his head and held it, like a demibow, before raising his face.
“Well, then,” The Terafin said quietly. “You have your own report to offer, I presume?”
“I, Lady?”
“Indeed.” She leaned back and pulled the bell by the bay window. “Would you care for refreshments?”
“No, Terafin,” he replied.
“A pity.” She watched the doors swing open; a man walked through them, carrying a tray with a heavy decanter and three glasses at its center. The tray itself was ornate, a mixture of ebony and gold inlay that suggested great fragility while providing great strength. Not unlike the ruler of the House itself.
The servant set down the tray on the table between the desk and the mage; he proceeded to pour two glasses of a liquid that was cool and dark. Meralonne raised a brow.
“I may be persuaded to change my mind,” he said softly.
“Good. Please.” She lifted the blue liquid to her lips and then pulled it back, staring intently into its depths. She watched the surface of her drink, rather than her companion’s expression, as she spoke next.
“Meralonne, everyone believes that you destroyed that creature.”
He sipped the chill, bitter liquid and smiled as it fell down the back of his throat. “Everyone but you?”
“I heard you and saw you; I would guess that you were fighting not the creature but the darkness that enwrapped it.”
“I see.”
“You did not mention, in your report, the probable cause of the creature’s death; did not mention whether or not you thought the creature dead at all.”
“An oversight.”
“Oh? But you did mention that you had dispatched it.”
“There are games, young woman, that it is better not to play,” Meralonne said, lifting his glass by the stem and staring through its facets.
“Indeed. May I give you the same advice?”
The mage stared at her a moment and then reached into the folds of his tunic and pulled out his pipe. “Do you mind?” She did not answer, and he took her silence as acquiescence. The slightly sweet acridity of pipe smoke began to fill the room by slow degrees.
“Meralonne, what you choose to withhold from anyone else is your business. I will not point out that you are in my employ, because it is of little consequence. I am The Terafin, and the battle occurred within the confines of my domain. I will know what happened.”
“I’m not completely certain myself,” he replied benignly.
“And yet, if I’m not mistaken, the magics used against that creature were of a variety that was once called Summer magic. Except that Summer magic was closely tied to stellar conjunctions.”
“Obviously not completely.”
“Obviously.”
He stared moodily at the woman who was, next to the Queens, the most powerful in the Empire. “If only,” he said at last, with a grim smile, “you were a man.”
She raised a brow at his comment, and at the bark of bitter laughter that followed it, understanding neither.
“What would you have of me, then? I will tell you what I know.”
“I doubt that, Master APhaniel. I doubt that very much.”
As if she had not spoken, he continued. “There are always mages who study the lost arts, hoping for some glimpse of the powers that the mage-born once mastered in the past. It is,” he added, in a darker voice, “a past that they do not understand, or they would not chase it so fervently and so foolishly.
“Understand, Terafin, that as you are the head and the embodiment of your House, so, too, am I responsible for mine; I am a member of the Council of the Magi, and it is under our guidance that the Order flourishes.” Pipe smoke filled the air around his face like a thin veil of mist. “An incident of this like is by its very nature a matter for the Magi, and of great concern to the Order, for while not all of the mage-born are members of the Order, the Order is magic as far as most of the Empire is concerned.”
She stared at him, impassive in the silence of her demands. He met that gaze without flinching, pipe in hand as if it were a ward against external influences.
But, significantly, it was Meralonne who spoke next. “Until we are certain exactly what it is we are facing, we are not at liberty to divulge what scant information we do have. In all honesty, we have not yet managed to argue our way into any consensus with regard to that information. I’m sorry.”
Her eyes glittered like gemstones, cold and hard. “If the lack of that information costs this House, it will cost you, I promise it.”
“Of course,” Meralonne replied, smiling without a trace of humor. He lifted his glass to his lips and then raised it in her direction. “But let me say this, Terafin. For the sake of the Order, and your continued goodwill toward it, I will offer my services to your House, without interruption, for the balance of this difficulty. And I will do this without the usual fees that are involved in such a transaction.”
“And if I choose not to accept this . . . generous offer?”
“You must do as you will, of course.”
She watched him as he smoked his pipe; he was not in the least intimidated by her, nor sh
e by him. They were both used to power and the subtleties of wielding it, and although they both craved information and knowledge, they were also used to making decisions based on instinct. At last, she nodded briefly.
“Very well, Master APhaniel. I accept both your offer and your service until further notice.”
He knew a dismissal when he heard it, and rose quickly, but not hastily; emptied his pipe into the hearth, and then, turning, raised a hand in a gesture of both respect and partial fealty. He did not salute her.
After the doors had closed at his back, The Terafin lifted her glass. “Well?”
“He is lying.” Morretz waited patiently until she had finished with her glass and then took it from her and placed it beside the decanter.
“You’re certain?”
“Of at least one thing. He has not argued with the rest of the Magi, or even discussed the occurrence here with them. There has been no council called within the Order.”
“And the rest?”
“I do not know. But it is obvious that he knows more—I would guess much more—than he wishes us to know.”
“What is his game?”
“It is too early to say,” Morretz replied gravely, “but were I to guess, I would say that it does not directly involve Terafin.”
She smiled. “Is this your way of telling me that you would have also accepted his offer?”
“I believe it better to have him under our surveillance than otherwise. Besides which,” he added, as he lifted the tray, “young Jewel seems to be able to work with him.”
“A telling sign,” The Terafin said, rising as well. “Probably the telling sign.”
“I have already advised you,” Morretz said, turning, “against relying upon one seer-born; the talent is wild and inefficient. You might recall the fate of Megan fair-hair.”
“Megan fair-hair is—and should remain—a cautionary tale meant to guide children. And I have already said,” she continued, in just as pointed a tone, “that it is not her talent alone, but my instinct, that serves me here. Now come. We have more important matters to arrange. I wish a meeting with Lord Cordufar.”
The Sacred Hunt Duology Page 67