Skirmish: The House War: Book Four

by Michelle West

  “You have been a valued and valuable customer of my establishment for well over a decade. Jewel, I am aware that your…offer…was meant to display some stiffening of spine on your part, and some tendency toward tougher negotiation than has been your wont.”

  “I’m not—”

  “You pay a premium to come here, and you always have. The only exceptions to that general rule have been on those occasions when you are not personally negotiating. You have a sentimental attachment to my establishment, and to me personally, that weakens any negotiation you undertake. I am a fair man, and I attempt not to take advantage of this fact.” Haval sat, gracefully and silently, on the chair closest to the center of his desk. He slid a drawer open, retrieved a blotter and paper, and slid it shut again. The room was silent. It was overly crowded as well; he greatly desired to send them all on their way. Measurements lay on the desktop as well, and if he intended to make suitable funereal attire, he needed all of the time remaining.

  But he did not take it, not yet.

  “Because I have not agreed to your terms, I am still endeavoring to be a fair man. Jewel, your opening gambit in this case does, I admit, make it less of an issue. Since I am aware that you are frequently less observant than you should be—a failing shared by a majority of this city’s inhabitants—I am attempting not to respond in anger.”

  He knew what she would look like, which is why he didn’t bother to turn; she could see the stiff but perfect lines of his back and shoulders as he folded his hands for a moment in front of him.

  “Hannerle,” he said, after a long pause, “would, if offered the same…deal…that you have offered me, refuse it with prejudice. She only barely tolerates the gathering of harmless gossip; she guards against anything more active on my part as if her life depends on it. And,” he said, choosing this moment to shift his chair so that he might face her, “she is not wrong.”

  He waited. There was a reason for it; he was not angry, although he had implied the opposite; he was annoyed, but his annoyance was procedural, not emotional. He was also curious. But he believed that Jewel did indeed possess some method of waking his wife; that the waking would not be permanent.

  “Do you understand what the base weakness of your opening offer was?” He now steepled his hands in front of his chest.

  The girl who had once walked into his shop had been eclipsed by the woman, but they were connected by some of the same essential qualities, although this woman was infinitely better dressed. He saw the familiar tightening of jaw, the slight furling of hands—but they went no farther. Her hands did, however, move up to the hair in front of her eyes. She would no doubt push hair from her eyes at least a dozen times before this conversation was over.

  She swallowed and nodded.

  “Please,” he said, loosing his hands to gesture briefly with open palms. “Elucidate for me so that I may be certain.”

  “Hannerle isn’t half the devious bastard you are,” was the slowly worded reply. “She doesn’t lie. She doesn’t pander. She cooks, she cleans, and she keeps this whole place running just so you can make dresses.”

  “I will point out that I frequently went to the wells; I am not entirely—”

  “Did you want the explanation?”

  “I wanted something less personal and more concise; I should perhaps make allowances for personal style. My apologies.”

  “I’ve known her just as long as I’ve known you. She makes me help in the kitchen. She complains about you while we’re working. She even loves you.”

  “And the significance of these?”

  “I care about her. I consider her a friend. I can’t threaten to withhold something that’ll help her.”

  “Ah, no, you can.”

  “I can’t do it in a way that makes it believable.”

  “I believe that you believed you could, because you are under a great deal of pressure, and the demands of those you have chosen—as Finch made clear—to protect cannot be tossed away for the sake of one person. However, in my own arsenal, Jewel, I have Hannerle herself. Come.” He rose. “Why don’t you say hello to my wife?”

  Haval wasn’t certain how she would respond. Oh, he knew that she would follow him into the most light-filled room in their dwelling, but he didn’t know whether she would do it bowed by the weight of a guilty conscience. It was troubling, that she still possessed that. He himself felt no twinge of it at all. But she moved to the door almost before he reached it, as if she were eager to enter, eager to see the sleeper who wouldn’t wake. As if, in spite of her intentions, this one old, round woman with a querulous temper and a tendency to turn breath into nagging, was momentarily more important than a House.

  He hadn’t lied—implying anger which he was entitled to feel, even if he didn’t, could hardly be counted as a lie; Hannerle would choose death before she saw him pressed into the type of service that he had once performed. He glanced once at the domicis, a man who had weathered the passage of years very, very well. He was certain that a few delicately worded sentences would make clear to the man the scope of Haval’s previous profession.

  But he was himself uncertain if Jewel actually knew what she was asking of him.

  He entered the room where his wife lay abed. The sun was not yet high, and light came through open curtains in spokes; the room was perhaps dustier than was ideal. He did not approach the bed; he might have, but Jewel was there before he could and Finch and Teller shadowed her. Only the domicis kept his distance.

  Jewel, therefore, took the single seat by the bedside, and Jewel, not Haval, picked up the limp, cool hand of his wife. Jewel spoke to her, voice low, words even. She wasn’t a patient girl; she was up before five minutes had passed—but she didn’t seek escape. Instead, she touched Hannerle’s forehead with the back of her hand, and gently brushed strands of hair to one side or the other.

  “Does she drink?”

  “I have given her water already.”

  “I could—”

  “No.” He waited, counting seconds until Jewel hugged her.

  “ATerafin,” he said stiffly. “Jewel.”

  She ignored him. “Avandar.”

  The domicis did not look pleased. “I think it unwise.”

  “We don’t have another way of doing this. We can’t take her by carriage—she’s not small enough that we can manage to sneak her into the House. Not now. Probably not even a decade ago, when there wasn’t a hint of a succession war.”

  “And then she will be in the House. It would be better if—”

  “We can’t. We can’t ask him to come here. He’s already going to attract attention because he’s traveling with Levec almost every damn day to Avantari. His destination affords him some protection; it’s also going to raise eyebrows. I don’t want him to become the next Alowan. What he does for her, no one else can know. No one can attribute it to him.”

  “Perhaps I might be included in this logistical discussion?” Haval suggested.

  They both turned to look at him.

  It was Jewel who looked away first. “You win,” she said. “I blink. I fold. Whatever it is that people do when they try to play a game with a bum hand.”

  “And you are suggesting—” His brows actually rose. He could have stopped them had he desired, but saw no advantage to hiding a shock that any person in the Empire might have shown. “You’re not suggesting that he take her to the Terafin manse by magic?”

  “I’m open to any other suggestion,” was her flat reply. “But without a good reason, we can’t have the healer in question come here. If Hannerle’s awake, you can figure out a way to sneak her out of the House. Hells, if she’s unconscious and you can think of a reasonable way to sneak her in, that would be our first choice. The rest of us would go by carriage, you included. For the next few days you have every reason to be in the House—tailors will be coming and going all over the manse. But not unconscious ones.”

  “May I ask a question while I consider these options?”

  J
ewel nodded.

  “What did you intend to offer me? Or were you aware of Hannerle’s condition?” Jewel’s silence, so loud with facial tics, was answer enough. “I believe I will have words with Jarven ATerafin. He told you, Finch?”

  Finch was also silent. Her silence was meeker and smoother. “Jay wasn’t certain she believed him.”

  “Very wise of her. Unusually wise. What else did he tell you?”

  “Not very much,” was her diplomatic response. She even smiled apologetically as she said it. As lies went, it wasn’t—but her smile was smooth as sword steel.

  “And did he happen to mention his reasons for being so generous with other people’s information?”

  Finch’s brow folded. “Pardon?”

  “Did he suggest you use this to your advantage?”

  “No. But he knows that Jay’s fond of Hannerle. He thought, given everything, word might not reach Jay in time.”

  In time.

  Had she said it to be cruel? No. No, not Finch. But he thought her angry, at the moment, and words could be said in anger that might never be thought of otherwise.

  Haval lifted a hand to his eyes. When he lowered it, he looked tired and overwhelmed. Her expression softened, as he’d intended.

  “I remember,” Jewel said, as they stood in silence, “that you once told me a good lie worked because it used things that were true as foundation.”

  “That is not entirely what I said; I assure you I would have been somewhat more exact.” He exhaled, straightening as he did. “There are other things you must learn. It is possible to threaten someone when you have no intention of carrying out that threat. We call that a bluff. It is not possible, however, for you to use this particular bluff on me. I am too aware of your foibles, and also aware of your current circumstances.

  “I am not a foolish man. Sometime in the very near future the bluff could become truth, even in your hands. Your context will shift, Jewel. It will change. You feel you are desperate now—but you are far from it. You will understand the difference. I do not wish that on you,” he added, softening his voice. “But if you intend to take the House—and I understand that is your decision and you will not be moved from it—you will be forced to do things that you have never considered before.”

  Jewel lifted a hand; it was trembling. “Enough, Haval. Enough. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “Attempted to use a weapon against me that wounds you almost as deeply when you wield it? No. Never do it again.”

  The domicis actually chuckled, and this time, Haval turned to look at him. “I wish you luck, Haval,” Avandar said, his lips still etched with the lines of a particularly dry smile. He was, in Haval’s opinion, a handsome man, and a distinguished one. “I have attempted to teach Jewel ATerafin similar lessons on occasion. She can be forced to listen; she cannot be forced to obey.”

  “Ah. Perhaps that is your difficulty. I have no need to be obeyed. I tell her what she should have already observed, no more, no less. She—like so many—observes what she pleases, and she evaluates it in a similar fashion. Because she is canny, she is often partially correct. If I sound either irritated or displeased, it is because, if she cannot learn from her errors with regards to other people, she should at least know better than to make such rudimentary errors while I am her opponent.”

  “And are you?” The domicis said, the sly smile still gracing his face.

  “You, on the other hand,” Haval replied, “are canny, perhaps in exactly the same way I am; I cannot help but think that you were offered your contract in the domicis hall for exactly this fight, in the end. The Terafin was an admirable woman in almost all ways; she saw far, and she planned for many, many contingencies. I do not believe that you—that any of you—have yet seen the full range of the plans she set in motion before her death.”

  Finch took a step toward Haval; Teller caught her hand and shook his head. It was a single, economical movement. She halted, waiting.

  Waiting, Haval thought, for Jewel to speak.

  “Avandar,” Jewel said crisply.

  Avandar’s silence was chilly, but he nodded. “I will meet you in the West Wing. I would appreciate it if you survived until then.”

  Jewel snorted, which made Haval wince. It was not a sound that should have come from the mouth of a member of the Terafin House Council; it was certainly not a sound that would be allowed The Terafin. He studied her clothing; she wore it the way she always had: gracelessly, but energetically. Her bearing was not—would doubtless never be—regal. She exuded neither confidence nor power.

  “ATerafin,” Haval began.

  “You haven’t come up with any suggestions as to how we sneak Hannerle into the manse,” was her practical reply. “Which means you don’t have any.”

  “Not at the moment, no.”

  “Then we’ll do without.”

  “I have not agreed to any terms.”

  “No. I told you, I surrender. I’m going to do this regardless, and I’d appreciate it if you just shut up and accept it. If you want, you can run out into the streets after the magisterial guards; we’ll be long gone by then, with any luck.”

  “I think they would frown on kidnapping.”

  “They’d probably do a hell of a lot more than just frown. You want her to wake up, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “Then leave it, for now. Work, do whatever it is you need to.”

  “I think Hannerle will be confused and possibly annoyed—”

  “Enraged?”

  He winced. “Or, indeed, somewhat angry, if she wakes in a strange room and in a strange place. If I am there, I can calm her.”

  “Fine. You can come back with us. You’ll need to bring her home, regardless.”

  “Then give me a few moments to gather a few things. Finch, if I may borrow your help?” he added, as he headed out of the room.

  Haval’s definition of a “few things” was like Jay’s definition of a “little trouble.” It was also, sadly, in line with his definition of a “few moments,” and involved a lot of carrying. He moved tall bolts of white cloth and tall bolts of black cloth, none of which were light. They were easier to handle than the small jars of pins and beads, and the heavy box full of needles and thread.

  “You realize,” she said, while she was carrying the third bolt, “that we’re going in a carriage, not a wagon?”

  “Ah, yes.” He picked up the measurements he had made and slid them into a pocket. “If we had more room or more time, I would take more.”

  She nodded, although she couldn’t imagine how much more he could take with him.

  “The Merchant Authority is closed tomorrow,” he said, as he picked up a few small items and also deposited them in pockets. “Which is good. I find this type of tight deadline taxing.”

  Finch nodded. “I’ll be home, but Teller will spend most of the day in Gabriel’s office.”

  “And the House Council?”

  “There’s a meeting later this afternoon, but it should be brief. The only items of import so far have been discussions about the funeral and the guests invited to attend the burial itself. The great hall’s been opened up, and the servants have been working like a small army; as far as I know, we have three Senniel bards who will either sing or play during the procession and the burial. The Kings and the Queens will also be present, so the House Guard’s been busy as well. The gardeners have been weeping in frustration,” she added, with a pang of sympathy. This was not the time of year for the gardens, and absolutely not the time of year for a burial.

  But death didn’t particularly care about the weather or the season; it came when it came.

  They had reached the door with the last of Haval’s “few” items, and Finch waited while he adjusted the sign proclaiming his absence, and locked the door firmly. The carriage was already waiting, and given the day, it received its share of baleful glares. They were carefully baleful, on the other hand, given the prominence of the Terafin crest and the si
ze of the horses.

  Haval was not required to carry his cloth and his tools; the footmen who met the carriage did that. Nor was he required to use the tradesman’s entrance, because he had arrived in the same carriage as no less than three members of the House Council. He took care to look smaller and more nervous than he might otherwise have looked, and he walked several steps behind Finch. Jewel led, but she led in the unconscious way she always had. Her stride was wide and unfaltering, even given the skirts she wore; her step was heavy and certain. It wasn’t elegant and it certainly wasn’t graceful; Hannerle might have approached a kitchen counter in just the same way that Jewel ATerafin now approached the wing of the manse she called home.

  She would have frowned—and not silently—had she heard the comparison, but there it was: something in Jewel reminded him of his wife. They were not the same woman, not even close to the same woman. Jewel was cursed with an earnest heart and a hope for the future that never wavered enough to break, something that Hannerle had never had. His wife believed in the present, and held onto it with a ferocity and a focus that defined her.

  But they were both practical women, and they both had a temper that on occasion caused crockery to break. They were both fiercely protective of their homes, their families. Hannerle’s home and family had always been small. Jewel’s had grown.

  It had grown, Haval thought, beyond her capacity to protect. She hadn’t realized it. Not even The Terafin’s death had yet made that clear. But she would understand it in time. Had he been a man who found prayer useful, he might have prayed now: let it be a long, long time in the future.

  He was not a man for prayer, and not, in any case, pointless prayer. He trailed behind the three House Council members, deflecting the brief glances of passing servants and House Guards.

  Marrick. Elonne. Haerrad. Rymark. Each had their strengths and weaknesses; each had, over the course of a decade, built a base of power on which they might both stand and maneuver. If rumor was to be believed, Rymark had gone as far as claiming a writ of inheritance from The Terafin herself. Rymark was canny, if cruel; he was clever. He was also the blood son of Gabriel ATerafin, the man who now held the House Council together until a successor emerged. That successor, if it was not his son, would emerge from the shadows his son’s corpse cast.