Skirmish: The House War: Book Four

by Michelle West

  “Avandar has done more damage than small armies.”

  “I will not lecture you on the wisdom of saying that so openly; it is my guess that the only person in this small room who might be surprised at all is your Angel, and even there, I have my doubts. But you understand that it is unwise to make such a claim where outsiders might hear it?”

  She nodded.

  “You understand as well that these rooms are not generally magically protected in a way that makes them impervious to magical eavesdroppers?”

  She was silent.

  “Jewel. Jay,” he added. “What I see in Celleriant, what I see in Avandar, what I see and have seen in many of my acquaintances, past and present—even in Ararath—is not different from what they see in me. I understand that ignorance is oft a comfort, and I am far more guarded than you will ever be; I will not say more.”

  “This is why Hannerle has always hated your work.”

  “My previous work.”

  “I don’t want to hurt her,” she replied, her hands in fists she couldn’t unfurl.

  “No. No more do I. Not every man or woman who has power indulges in games of death; nor do all who jockey for power assume that death is the collateral by which they will achieve it. But some, yes; they embark on dangerous games. It is in these games, in which the stakes are high and the danger equivalently high, that such men as we three have been involved, in the past.”

  “But that’s in the past, Haval, and I—”

  “The past is part, always, of the present. We cannot leave it behind in its entirety because it is the foundation of who and what we now are. It is true of you and your den as well; the difference is only in how the game is played and the reward sought.

  “Did you truly not understand what you were asking of me, Jewel?”

  She wanted to say no. No, she hadn’t understood. She couldn’t. She met his gaze, saw the lines etched around perfectly clear and lucid eyes, and looked away. “I didn’t,” she finally managed, “understand what I was asking of Hannerle.”

  “I will allow that as truth. But now that you do understand, Jewel, what will you do? I have committed myself, in all but deed; if you release me, I will withdraw. If, however, you do not, there is the small matter of compensation which will have to be discussed, and the compensation itself must of necessity be discreet. I will not be insulted if you withdraw your offer of employ.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I will only be insulted if you obviously undervalue the services I will provide—but inasmuch as you are unfamiliar with those services, I will attempt to be patient.” He paused and then added, “If you are uncertain of suitable fees, there are, among your House members, people you might go to for guidance. They will understand the need for discretion, although at least one of them will be surprised at the need for that guidance.”

  She lowered her shoulders. “Are you done with me?”

  Haval knew she was stalling for time. He raised one brow, no more, but nodded; she all but leaped off the stool. She was, however, careful in her dismount because long experience with Haval had taught her that messing up his careful pinning meant much longer stays on the stool as a result. Removing what was not quite a dress, but much more than cut cloth, she laid it carefully on the bed, adjusting undergarments she despised as she once again girded herself for daily House business. She envied Finch more than she could possibly say because Finch was required, by duty, to leave the manse; Jewel, now watched with excessive interest, was not.

  Thus attired, she asked Haval to wait a moment, and went in search of Avandar; Angel followed. Celleriant, however, did not.

  “Jay?”

  She shook her head. “I need to find Avandar.”

  Angel said nothing else, but it wasn’t required; Avandar met her in the waiting rooms. “ATerafin,” he said, which meant he was still annoyed at the morning discussion. “Are the fittings done?”

  “Yes, and Haval’s packing his things. He’ll probably be back later tonight, if we’re lucky.”

  “I see. Is there some difficulty with his work?”

  “No. Not the dresses.”

  “Ah.”

  There were whole days when she wanted any other domicis. “Avandar,” she said, through slightly clenched teeth. “Do we really need Haval?”

  “I believe I have answered this question before. If you wish to pursue the most aggressive course of action, the answer, to my mind, is a clear no.”

  “And if we wish to pursue something sane and humane instead?”

  “I have, in my years of service, come to know much about the House, its politics, and its more powerful members and factions. I have taken some care to study similar forces outside of the House, but I am seldom far from your side, and those forces have offered neither opportunity nor threat to you.”

  She waited, her hands falling almost unconsciously to her hips, as if she were a much younger version of her Oma.

  “Very well. Yes, you feel you need him.”

  “Why? Why does it have to be him?”

  Avandar’s smile was thin. “He is canny, Jewel, in a way that you will never be. He is observant in a way that I myself have never been. His instincts, on the very few occasions I have been privileged to observe him, are more than sound. There are very few men in the Empire that are like Haval. But that is not the answer you desire. He has no particular ambition on his own behalf; in a man with his talents, this is unusual. For reasons that are not entirely clear to me, he has a sentimental attachment to you. If you allow it, he will serve your interests more clearly and more devotedly than you yourself can.

  “But the limits of that service will be found in your response to his advice and counsel. If you cannot take his advice or learn from his lead, he will, in the end, be wasted.”

  Jewel exhaled. It was a brittle sound in the otherwise silent hall.

  “You are having reservations.” Avandar didn’t look particularly surprised; he looked slightly weary.

  “I am.”

  “Become accustomed to them, Jewel. They will never stop. Win or lose, you will never be unaware of the cost. What you take from Haval, you take. There is a very good chance that he will not survive this struggle.”

  “It’s not Haval I’m worried about.”

  Avandar’s eyes narrowed into slits. It is his wife, of course. He was annoyed.

  She didn’t answer; not in thought and not in words. Instead, she turned back to her room, trailing two shadows, not one. She entered; Haval was almost finished his careful packing, and he looked up. Celleriant was standing by the nearest wall; he was watching Haval with open curiosity, which was much more than he usually showed.

  “Who do you advise me to speak with about fair compensation?”

  Haval smiled. “Two men. You will, in my opinion, benefit from approaching either, and for this reason, I counsel you to approach them both. Tact is necessary, as is discretion, but I believe your approach to at least one will be expected.”

  “Will anyone observing be happy about it?”

  “No.”

  She had so hoped that the funeral would be behind her before the knives actually came out. She hated the politicking when The Terafin hadn’t even been properly laid to rest. She hated every single member of the House Council who had sent her letters or invitations; she hated the merchants who had implied that they were willing to receive hers; she hated even the Kings, whose search for evidence of the demonic within the House was interfering with the necessary work of the funeral preparations. The only person she couldn’t bring herself to hate was Sigurne Mellifas, who was also frequently seen traversing both grounds and galleries.

  And she knew it was a waste of time. She knew that to say this at all would make her seem ten years younger, and not in a good way. She held her peace. It was hard.

  Then again, she’d already lost her temper in the kitchen, and Avandar would make her pay for that one way or the other.

  “Who?” she asked again.
/>   “I encourage you to consider the options, ATerafin.”

  “Haval—I’ve no time for tests, today.”

  “Your entire life is about to become nothing but a continuous test, in which failure is likely to be marked by death—even if that death is not yours. I believe you had an Oma of whom you were fond? I offer you the advice she would have offered.” In perfect Torra, Haval then said, “Begin as you mean to continue.” He turned to Angel. “If you will help me carry my things, I would be grateful.”

  Angel nodded but didn’t move; he wouldn’t, until Jewel gave him the signal. She was pretty certain that Haval expected this.

  Silence enfolded her as she stood, considering Haval’s words. After a long pause she looked up at him; he hadn’t moved. “I can only think of one,” she admitted.

  “And that one?”

  “Devon ATerafin.”

  “Of the Imperial Trade Commission, senior aide to Patris Larkasir, also of the Imperial Trade Commission. Very good.”

  “The second?”

  “I forgive your ignorance in this regard, but urge you to do more thorough research in the future. I will give you the name as a show of my good will, although I will point out that you are familiar with the person. He lives in the manse. His name is Jarven ATerafin.”

  “Jarven? Finch’s Jarven?”

  Haval chuckled drily. “The very one. I would have this conversation with Jarven directly, and not through Finch, although Finch has the easier and less suspicious access. And now, if you don’t mind, I would like to borrow your Angel.”

  Jewel lifted her hand in curt den-sign; Angel nodded and began to carry the greater part of Haval’s load.

  Only after they had both departed did Jewel look to Avandar. “Well?”

  “His advice is sound, but I understand why you have not, prior to receiving it, chosen to approach Devon.”

  “I don’t even know if he’ll have time to see me. Can it wait until after the funeral?”

  Avandar raised a single brow, which was all the answer she needed. It wasn’t the answer she wanted, however.

  Devon ATerafin had rooms within the Terafin manse. They were not so fine as the rooms the den had occupied since their arrival, but to be fair, there were far fewer of Devon than of the den itself. His rooms, like most of the rooms senior members of the House occupied did not sport House Guards; nor, at this point, did they have private ones.

  Devon, however, did not spend all of his time in his living quarters in the manse itself. They had been supplied for his use as a gesture that made clear his worth to the House—but it was a gesture meant to assuage the doubts of outsiders. Jewel was therefore uncertain that she would find him at home, should she even attempt to contact him.

  It was an excuse.

  Carver made it a very short-lived one. “He’s been using his rooms,” he said quietly, as they hunkered around the kitchen table looking as bleary-eyed as Jewel felt. The night’s sleep had been anything but good. Avandar had spent the evening in her room supplying the light that stopped nightmares from echoing when she woke screaming their tune.

  “You’re certain?” Jewel demanded, although she knew he was.

  He nodded. “Vivienne mentioned it to Merry.”

  Carver’s connection with the servants in the manse had strengthened over time. He was even tolerated—barely—by the formidable Master of the Household Staff because he understood the rules that governed the servants. He only sidestepped them when he was certain that charm could prevent damage. In the case of the stiff, silver-haired dictator from whom servants regularly fled in tears, that was almost—but not quite—never.

  “Is he taking meals in his room or in the dining hall?”

  “In his room, for the most part.” Carver hesitated, which was unusual.

  “Spit it out.”

  “Duvari has visited Devon at least three times that we know of. The investigation into the presence of demons isn’t going to go away any time soon.”

  “Teller said Gabriel had submitted a request for an audience with the Twin Kings.”

  “Did he get it?”

  “Yes, but it won’t occur until after the funeral services are over. The Kings will be here for those; so will the Queens and the Princess Royale.”

  “For all three days?”

  “For at least the first day; I believe they are also committed for the third. We’ll see the Exalted on the first day; the Triumvirate will perform the ceremonies.”

  Carver nodded.

  Jester, however, said, “The point Carver forgot he was trying to make is this: Devon’s going to be housebound as much as possible while the Astari are crawling around the grounds. It’s easier for him now; he has leave from Patris Larkasir because of The Terafin’s death. It’ll be harder later—but if you need to speak with him, now’s the right time.”

  “While Duvari could pop in at any second.”

  They all fell silent, considering that. Or all of them who were around the table. Celleriant was by the wall; Avandar and Ellerson were by the door. Jester, Angel, and Carver were here, but Arann, Finch, and Teller were gone, as they would be most days from here on in. Arann’s rise in the House Guard, his entry into the Chosen, had changed his shifts for the better, for the most part—but the “better” hours were longer.

  Ellerson cleared his throat. It had been a long time since he’d been her domicis, but that sound was as familiar—as painfully familiar—as breathing. “It is my opinion, ATerafin,” he said, speaking to Jewel, “that you are considered a moderate threat.”

  “By who?”

  “By all of the contenders. You have not put yourself forward as a possible candidate. You are nevertheless of value to any future leader of the House. You might also be of extreme value to any putative leader. It is clear to me that The Terafin’s death occurred in your absence for a reason; whoever planned and executed it could not be certain that in your presence his plans would not go awry. Your vision is unreliable and it is not easily commanded, if at all—but where it exists, it is accurate and undeniable.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Devon ATerafin’s disposition is not entirely well known, but his standing within the Imperial Trade Commission makes his support valuable. He is likely to be at least partially observed. As are you.”

  “You counsel subtlety in my approach.”

  “Given the nature of your possible request, yes. But given the nature of the events within the House, it is also likely that a meeting with Devon would not be overly suspicious as long as it did not occur with any frequency.”

  “Avandar, could you mask my presence?”

  Avandar glanced at Ellerson, but nodded. “There is a risk, however.”

  “And that?”

  “I would use magic; if we approach the door and someone is exceptionally cautious, I will be noted.”

  Use of magic would probably ring clarion bells throughout the upper echelons of the House.

  Jewel pushed hair out of her eyes before she let her chin sink into her hands. “Fine. Angel, Avandar, with me. Celleriant, you draw more attention than gold coins tossed in the streets of the twenty-fifth would. Stay here. Or, if you want, you can discreetly check the grounds for Kialli.”

  “I feel that was not entirely wise,” Avandar told Jewel as they exited the West Wing.

  “It probably wasn’t. But I’m certain that demons exist on the grounds, and I want them gone. If I could kill them myself, I would. I’m tempted to try, regardless. Celleriant, on the other hand, can take them.”

  “So can I. And Lord Celleriant is unlikely to be subtle.”

  “If you want to join him, feel free. I’ve got Angel.”

  Avandar said nothing. Loudly. Jewel exhaled. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

  Angel’s fingers moved in a mute it’s good, but he didn’t break the domicis’ icy silence.

  That silence carried Jewel like a wave to Devon’s closed door. The halls weren’t empty; they were crowded with
various merchants and their attendants. One of those merchants almost bowled Jewel over, but he could be forgiven—he was carrying a flower arrangement that was taller than she was, and it made her hard to spot.

  No one stopped her; no one called to her. She passed House Guards on duty and House Guards escorting visitors of import; she passed the very occasional servant who was being used as a guide. Once she’d cleared the main gallery and the halls, she expected the traffic to taper off. It did, but not entirely. She was not the only House member in desperate need of new attire on very short notice.

  But eventually she came to Devon’s rooms.

  She hesitated in front of his door, and as she did, Avandar lifted the delicate brass knocker and rapped it loudly. After a few minutes, the door opened.

  Devon, in burgundy bathrobes, stood in the frame. His hair was dark and wet, and his brows lifted as he saw who his visitors were.

  Jewel reddened. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “We’ve come at a bad time. We’ll come back later.” She turned quickly from both Devon and his door.

  “Jewel.” Two voices. Devon’s and Avandar’s. Jewel froze, forced her expression into something she hoped was businesslike, and turned again. Devon glanced at Avandar; Avandar merely waited.

  “Please. There will be no good time before the end of the funeral services, and if you are not discomfited, I will not be.” He pushed the door open and stepped back, leaving a small trail of water in his wake. “Give me but a moment, and I will change into something more appropriate for entertaining guests.”

  He disappeared, leaving said guests stranded in a sitting room that was much more modest in both size and furnishing than the den’s sitting room. Jewel took a seat. Angel and Avandar didn’t. It made her feel distinctly uncomfortable, so she rose; she couldn’t manage to stand as still as either of her companions, however. There was a fireplace here; there were two paintings on either side of the mantel, and nothing above its center. One painting was of the Twin Kings, and the other, of The Terafin. It was the painting of The Terafin that Jewel approached.