Had she, she would not have been The Terafin to whom Morretz had sworn life service.
“Terafin.”
She nodded, almost imperceptibly lowering and lifting her chin. This, this rooftop seen by those who tended the cisterns and saw to the repair of the manse itself, was her chosen retreat, the aerie of her fancy. Beneath her bare feet, the grounds were waking slowly; dew was on the grass and the leaves of the low-lying Southern flowers. The gardeners of Terafin were about their business and she watched them calmly.
“The plants in my rooms always die,” she said softly, as she watched the men and women at their work. “I forget to water them.”
“The servants would water them if you would let them.”
“Yes.” She lapsed into silence, knowing that he knew that the growing of a plant, to The Terafin, was also the owning of it; having the servants water them would make them servants’ plants, and not her own.
He said nothing, knowing it better to offer her the comfort of his silence. In silence, many things could be said, and many things hidden.
Wind came to punctuate the stillness; her hair flew back from her pale cheeks in dark, fine strands—loosed, as it seldom was. Unfettered by the severe and perfect finery that she chose for her rank, she seemed young; the slenderness of youth, the coltishness, lingered in the slim frame of her body; the defiance, behind the surface of her open eyes. She had been a girl once, although it was only at times like this that he could see even a trace of it in her.
He was the second man to see it, and the only man living; he felt a slight twinge—envy?—as he saw her curl the cloak more tightly about her shoulders, taking comfort from the ghost of memory, the false safety of childhood.
She brought her chin to her knees and stared bleakly ahead as he studied her profile. At last, he asked, “Will you eat?’
“No.”
“Amarais,” he said softly.
“Morretz, go away.”
He started to speak, stopped, and retreated to the edge of the roof trap. There, he watched her, holding light in his palm which the sun’s ascent made less and less useful.
It was hard to touch her when she was like this; hard to know how to be careful with her. She seldom needed care; she was hard and cold, although not cruel and not unjust. She knew power well, and understood its uses, but understood better than that the responsibility involved in invoking it. And he knew her and admired her for what she was.
Yet it was at moments like this that he found her most fascinating. He had chosen to serve Terafin because Terafin was a House of power, and such a House needed a domicis of his capability; he had chosen The Terafin because she was strong, and in this passage, he desired to learn the ways of strength. Weakness had a different lure; that of necessity, of being irreplaceable, of walking the very farthest edge of the life that service—that the honor of serving—demanded.
It did not attract him.
And yet, in her . . . He shook his head softly, closing his fingers over the light. Perfection was something to be striven for, but not to be attained; it was the flaws that were the blood and flesh of a living person.
Is love a strength or a weakness? he wondered, as he watched her fingers ruffle the edge of her grandfather’s worn cloak. As a child, the answer was simple; as a youth, simple as well, although the answer was different. Now, with youth and childhood behind him, he had lost the confidence required to make of anyone’s life a simple statement.
She looked up, as if hearing him; she was uncanny that way. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, staring through him as if she had no sight to speak of. But the vulnerability that he had seen moments before was already sinking quickly beneath the surface of her face. She was steel and stone as she rose, pulling the cloak from her shoulders and making of it a bundle of cloth.
“Morretz.”
“Terafin.”
“Please send for a messenger.”
“Terafin. To?”
“The Kings.”
“At once.” He bowed. “May I also arrange for—”
“Summon Jewel Markess, if she is within the grounds. Have her meet me after the messenger has been sent, and only then.”
He bowed again. “And may I—”
“And after Jewel and I have finished our meeting, you may, if it pleases you, arrange for the midday meal to be served in my personal quarters.”
“Terafin.”
“I will join you shortly,” she added, as she took one last look at the grounds of Terafin from the mansion’s height.
• • •
“Where in the hells have you been?” Angel vaulted from the ledge of the low, long window in the courtyard, turning easily in midair to land on both feet with a solid thump.
“Getting sloppy,” she said. “I’d’ve heard that a block away.” She reached up and pulled the servant’s kerchief from her hair and face.
Angel shrugged. “The way you’ve been lately?” His derisive snort was enough of an argument.
The blackening on her teeth came next, and the “shadows” beneath her eyes. Her hair, on the other hand, would remain the russet color that the dyes had decreed. “What’s up?”
“Where’ve you been?” Angel said again, falling into step beside her as she marched past him. “C’mon, Jay.”
“Out. Why?”
He frowned; ran his hand through the bangs of his otherwise monstrous shock of platinum hair, and then gave in. “Carver’s looking for you.”
“Great. What happened?”
“So’s The Terafin.”
That got her attention. She stopped, doffing the last of the heavy towels that added weight to her midriff and arms. “Terafin can wait,” Jewel told him. Angel’s brows disappeared into the line of his hair. It made her smile, although the smile was less than kind.
“I want you to gather the den,” she told him, not giving the surprise a chance to lessen any. “Have ’em meet me in—in the kitchen.”
“Why?”
“I’m not going to go through it all more than once—you can hear it when everyone else does.”
“But—”
“Angel?”
“Yes?”
“That’s an order. Do it.”
He met her dark eyes with his slate gray ones, and then a slight smile, crooked but sharp, twitched at the corner of his lips. “You’ve got work for us,” he said softly.
“Maybe,” she said, relenting a little. “But go on.”
He didn’t wait to be told a fourth time—which was just as well. Jewel wasn’t a monarch, and she wasn’t one of The Ten—so she didn’t demand that her den obey her the first time she spoke; Hells, the first time she said a thing, it usually barely managed to get their attention—unless it was a matter of life or death. But she only repeated an order three times. There wasn’t a fourth, and they knew it.
• • •
Ellerson stood stiffly at the door. Jewel had asked him to leave, and he had patiently explained that he was her domicis for the nonce, and that it was his duty to make sure that anything that she required be taken care of to the best of his abilities. He did not serve The Terafin; nor did he spy for her. He served Jewel Markess.
She told him that if he truly served her, he would never have insisted on the courtly clothing, the mannered manners, and the bathing every time she turned a corner—but he took it in stride, and waited patiently until she had finished her tirade before quietly pointing out that as he served Jewel, he insisted that she do what would best serve her interests.
In manners of the House, Ellerson knew what would serve her interests best, of course.
“Of course,” was the grave response.
The funny thing was that if Jewel ordered Ellerson to leave—instead of asking as she had—he’d do it. She couldn’t. Wasn’t certain why, either, but didn’t want to p
ush it.
Carver, last to come as always, took a seat and then glanced uncomfortably at the domicis.
“You can trust him,” Jewel found herself saying. “I do.”
“Yeah, great.” Carver brushed his hair out of his eyes and slouched into his chair. “We’re supposed to talk work around him?”
“Carver.”
He subsided, but his expression was just this side of mutinous. Jewel sighed and looked around the table. It was a lot larger than the table at home had been, which made her den look smaller than it ever had. But at least the table wasn’t warped, the legs were all level with the ground, and the smooth, gleaming surface meant that no one dared to fidget by carving their initials—or worse—into the wood.
Arann was looking good. It surprised her, to see him look so well; she’d been so busy digging around the ground beneath the city that she just hadn’t noticed. That was going to change. He smiled almost shyly at her, and if there was a trace of pain in the expression, they both chose not to notice it.
Jester was still, well, Jester. Teller, beside him, cupped his hand round Jester’s left ear and whispered something behind the curve of those fingers. He rarely spoke at meetings like this, and when he did open up to the whole group, it was always with something worth hearing.
It was Finch who piped in first. “Angel says you have work?” She had lock picks dancing between her slender, tiny fingers, and light dancing in her eyes.
In fact, they all looked excited in their own way. She realized, with a shock, that this easy life, with more food than any hundred people could eat and more clothing than any two hundred could wear was just as hard on them as it had been on her—maybe worse. She was out in the streets, taking the risks she always had. They were in here, and they belonged in Terafin like The Terafin belonged in the streets of the twenty-fifth.
I only wanted to protect them, she thought, but the words sounded hollow as she looked at their eager faces. Then the words took on strength as she thought of the den members who weren’t here. And why.
“Jay?”
“Hmmm? Oh, sorry. I was thinking.”
“Share it with the rest of us?” Finch again. “You’ve been real busy.”
“Yeah. Maybe too busy to be smart.” She leaned slightly into the table as she spoke; they all did. “We’ve got trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” Carver’s slender dagger, well-oiled for a change, gleamed in the brightly lighted room.
No point in playing her hand close to her chest; no point at all. “Demon trouble.”
“You mean like Old Rath?”
“Yeah. Probably worse.” Her gaze skittered off Arann’s very quiet expression and then came back to rest on it.
“Tell us,” the oldest member of her den said. “Tell us what you know.”
“First: I can’t find any of the old entrances into the maze. Not a single one. But we do know that they’re closing them.”
“The demons?”
“No, the magisterians, Angel. Don’t interrupt me.”
“Sir!”
“Second: The Terafin knows more than she’s telling me.”
Carver snorted. “Big surprise.”
“Carver,” she said, warning him. “It boils down to this, though. She thought maybe Old Rath was killed because they were trying to get at her—and even if it wasn’t true, she thought she could take ’em.”
“Take who?”
“Don’t interrupt me. Now she thinks it’s got something to do with the whole damned Empire.”
Silence. Then Teller said softly, “So she goes to the Kings and gets them to fix things.”
“Right the first time,” Jewel said, smiling just as softly as Teller spoke. “And none of that is our problem—we couldn’t help the Kings if we wanted to; couldn’t get near the damned palace.”
“So?” Both Angel and Carver were practically flat out against the tabletop in frustration. “What about us?”
“They’re going to come here.”
“Who?”
“Not sure. Either demons or people who work with demons. And we’re going to stop them.”
“We’re going to stop them? Jay—The Terafin’s got about two hundred guards. Even if we wanted a piece of the demons, we can’t take what those guards can’t.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” she replied. As she spoke, her eyes found the center of the empty table; she stared at it quietly.
The den fell silent as they watched her expression; they’d seen it before, and they knew it well. “What is it? What’re you looking at?”
“A battle,” Jewel replied, her voice curiously flat. “Dead all around. Armor. Swords. A lot of blood.” She swallowed, staring as she paled. “And The Terafin, staring; standing. I don’t understand it—but behind her, behind her is her death. It strikes, and she falls.”
“What strikes?” Carver demanded.
“I don’t know. I can’t see it at all.”
“Is she dead?” Teller asked.
“I—I don’t know. I thought she was dead last night. She may well be dead—but I don’t know.”
Finch looked unconvinced. “Sounds like you’re trying to sell us something you’re not sure you believe.”
“Maybe. Maybe I am. But I’m tired of feeling helpless. This—it’s a not-happened-yet thing. It’s not like Lander or Fisher. I knew it was too late for them.” She pushed her chair back and stood. “But I think it’s up to us. We’re not important, you see. You, Carver, Angel—the rest of us; we’re not important. Everyone knows that we’re thieves and ne’er-do-wells.”
Ellerson cleared his throat.
“Shut up, Ellerson,” Jewel said, without looking over her shoulder. She was quite surprised at the silence that followed, but not so surprised that she wouldn’t use it. “So that’s what we are. We’re used to having to hide from armed men. We’re used to trying to hide in plain sight, and we’re used to being watched if we’re noticed.”
“So?” Angel said again.
“So we don’t have armor, and we don’t have fancy weapons. So what? Never did. We were the best. We’re still the best. We’ve just got to change the rules a bit. Look—we can’t stand up to the guards in a fight—and we can’t stand up to anything that can kill half the House guard. We don’t have what it takes. Doesn’t mean we don’t have anything.
“There’s going to be a fight. It’s going to be aimed at The Terafin. And it’s going to go crashing through the guards trying to reach her. That’s not our problem.
“But there’s also going to be a different attack; I don’t know what. And that one’s a sneak. I think. And that’s the one we might be able to help with.”
“So why don’t you just tell her this, and let her deal with it?”
“I’m going to,” Jewel said softly and with utter certainty. “And she will. But not well enough.”
“And we’re going to be able to do better?”
“Count on it,” Jewel said, with no less certainty. She reached into the sash at her side, and pulled out a sheathed dagger. It was fancy, the handle so ornate and so perfect that it looked like it should be fenced. Her solemn expression told them that it was more important than that. She handed it to Carver without a word.
“Where did you get this?”
“I found it.” She didn’t add that she’d found it in the private quarters of Devon ATerafin, one of four such knives. “It’s special, Carver, real special. Worth more than your life. Don’t screw around with it; don’t take it out of its sheath until it’s needed. Got it?”
“Why?”
“Because I said so,” she replied sharply. Then, relenting, “And because I’m not sure what it does, and I’m not sure it’ll work more than once.” Swallowing, she took a deep breath, and once again surveyed her den. She wanted Duster, missed her sharply.
Was surprised at how much it stung, to start a fight without her. “You know what’s at stake,” she told them solemnly. “We’ve already lost four. Vote.”
Carver placed his right hand, palm down, on the table’s surface. “I’m in,” he said, without hesitation. Made her wonder if he really did understand what was at stake.
“Me, too.” Angel also reached into the table’s center with the flat of his right palm.
Jester plunged in with both hands, meaning he was committed if they all were. Finch came down with the flutter of a right palm, as did Teller a second later. Arann took the longest to decide, but in the end, he, too, chose the right hand. As his fingers unfurled to lay flat against the smooth wood, he looked up into his den leader’s eyes.
“No healers if things don’t work out,” he told her softly.
“No healers,” she replied, not certain whether or not she was lying.
“Uh, Jay?”
“What?”
“That only applies to Arann. If I’m not dead, I don’t want to be left to get that way.” Carver’s grin was cocky. Always was, really.
“Got it.”
“What’s the plan?”
Jewel smiled. “First: We don’t tell The Terafin. We don’t tell any ATerafin either. This is ours. We know our own, and we know how to make sure no outsiders get in.” She took her chair slowly, turning it back to the table and sitting with her legs astride it as she usually did in their war council. It felt good. It had been a long time since they’d done anything other than be afraid—or be quiet.
Ellerson very loudly cleared his throat at her back.
“What is it?”
“The rest of your plan, while I’m sure it’s laudable, requires that you be on the inside of Terafin—if I may be so bold as to guess.”
“Yes, so?”
“The Terafin has been expecting you for five minutes, and I do not believe that even her right-kin, Gabriel ATerafin, keeps her waiting longer than ten.”
The Sacred Hunt Duology Page 87