Skirmish: The House War: Book Four

by Michelle West

  “Before you left—and in such a dramatic fashion—you offered Amarais the only comfort you could offer her. I do not know what occurred in the South, although rumor has it that Commander Allen was…less than pleased at your disappearance.”

  “How would you know?”

  “The magi have ways of communicating over long distances, and the Commander had already received permission to second your services for his war. I believe he communicated with Sigurne through one of the magi that now accompany the army.”

  Jewel had the grace to cringe, no more—the army was in the South, in a different country. But she? She was no less at war.

  “She called you home,” he added, staring at the liquid as if it were a mirror. “And you are home, now. Four of the House Council members are on the move; in truth, they have been on the move for months, possibly years. Yet you, Jewel, are not.”

  “Am I not to be allowed to bury her?” was the bitter reply. “I’ve never been able to bury my dead,” she added, her voice low.

  “You are not personally responsible for the burial, and you are not a child; you understand that she is dead. What happens to her corpse is a grace note, but it will not bring her back; nor will it alter the situation in which you find yourself. You hesitate, Jewel. You stall for time. You know that you cannot afford this. Were it not for the manner of her death and the unexpected presence of the Twin Kings, the leadership of the House might already be decided.”

  He drank again, slowly and steadily. “You were not the only person to offer her comfort before her untimely death.”

  This surprised her.

  “Do you think she had no understanding of either who or what you will face? Demons, certainly, she did not expect—not initially. But she was canny, and she knew how to fight.

  “She trusted you. In the end, I do not think you will betray her trust. But you have never seen what must unfold now. Yes, you’ve seen the politicking that occurs between merchants, both aligned and unaligned with the House; you’ve seen some hint of the violence that might occur. You’ve seen the assassination of Alayra; you’ve seen the deaths of Alea and Courtne, and were it not for those deaths, you might not now be in the position you are in. But those? Those were trivial games in comparison. Those deaths hurt Amarais immeasurably, but they did not deprive her of the House.” He set the empty glass on the table, and Avandar, like a cold shadow, retrieved it.

  Jewel hated—had always hated—the taste of liquor. But she liked the color, and wondered, watching Devon’s stiff expression, if it might not one day come in useful. He took the glass that Avandar had refilled in silence.

  “Devon.”

  One dark brow rose. “I had wondered if you had lost your voice.”

  “What did you promise The Terafin before she died?”

  The other brow also rose. “I should have expected that,” he replied, with a slight, but pained, smile. “You’ve always been perceptive. Not always, sadly, predictably so.

  “What did she demand of me? Very little, Jewel. Very little that she didn’t expect would naturally occur. One of the few fortunate things about imminent death is the lack of debt incurred. She was, of course, aware that some interest would be taken in the struggle for the House Seat. She was also aware that some preference might be given, discreetly, toward some of the claimants. She was certainly aware that one or two would find no favor at all.”

  “With Duvari?”

  Devon didn’t answer.

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have. But you are new to this. If you were not, Jewel, you would ask for my support. Not all of the candidates know that I serve the Astari; it is possible that none of them do. I expect to speak with all four before the week is out. They will offer concessions in return for my visible support.”

  “You’re not a House Council member.”

  “No. But the House Council is small, and it is not the whole of the House. I occupy a visible role within Avantari, and the merchants know me.”

  “What would they offer you for your support?”

  “A better question. I am not entirely certain. I believe it’s possible they will offer me the Merchant Authority office.”

  “But that’s already occupied by Jarven.”

  “Indeed; they will also curry favor with Jarven.”

  “What would they offer him?”

  “At his age? A settlement, in all likelihood—and at that, a valuable one. He is close to an age where retirement would be expected, and indeed such retirements often occur during the changing of the guard.”

  “I can’t offer you that.”

  He raised one brow. “No?”

  She snorted. Pushed hair out of her eyes. “You don’t know Jarven.”

  “Ah. As it happens, I do know Jarven. It was Jarven who introduced me to Amarais, and it was Jarven who sponsored my first application into the House. I do not believe you’ve had much interaction with Jarven, however.”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Ah. Finch?”

  It was Jewel’s turn to be silent. She knew he already knew the answer, and sometimes these silences seemed like stupid, pointless games. But people played them for a reason.

  “Very well. You cannot offer me that, and between us, it is not a position I could accept. I am unlikely to make that clear to any of the other four. You will know.”

  She nodded. “I’ve nothing to offer you,” she told him softly, “except this: I’ll keep you. I’ll keep your secret. I won’t give you orders that you can’t obey. I won’t expect your service to the Kings to come second to your service to me.”

  “And will you resent it less, this time around?”

  She looked at a point just past his shoulder, refusing to drop her eyes, but unable to meet his. After a long pause, she said, “Yes. Yes, because it’s to me.”

  “And you value yourself less highly than you value your den?”

  “Is there any point to that question? Short of starting a dissection of my character I’ve no intention of participating in, what do you hope to gain?”

  He drank. “Nothing. My apologies, Jewel. I want more, however, than just that concession.”

  “I’ve nothing else to offer.”

  “Not yet. But if you become Terafin, the vast resources of the House will be yours.”

  “No, they won’t. They’ll be the House’s. I can’t promise you anything until I know what they actually are.”

  “Ah. How, then, do you intend to pay your prospective employee?”

  “What?” She shook her head; he had brought the awkward conversation around again, leaving her struggling to keep up. After a long pause, she said, “I have some money; I have nowhere near as much as the rest of the House Council.” Enough. “Devon—you probably know to the copper what I can access; you almost certainly know better than I do. What do you want, and what do you intend to do?”

  “If you intend to rule the House, ATerafin, you will never make such an open admission of ignorance again.”

  “I’m not Amarais.”

  “No. No, you are not. Very well, Jewel. I want you to announce your candidacy.”

  “I’d have to do that anyway.”

  “Yes. But you will put it off, and it will be a disadvantage. There are people who are now waiting for you, and their neutrality puts them at risk; there is some pressure on them.”

  “And on you?”

  He smiled. “Indeed. If you forsake your promise to the previous Terafin, I must choose another behind which to stand. It is not a simple matter to be both highly placed in the House and a member of the Astari, and it will require some time and some finesse to arrange, if that is even possible.”

  “Who would you choose?”

  “Elonne, I think. Possibly Marrick. Haerrad is so antagonistic to both Duvari and the Kings, any approach on my part would lead to my death.”

  “Not Rymark.”

  “Not now. Not given what you have said. I will speak
with Gregori; I believe he was present during the assassination.”

  “Gregor?”

  “Ah. Never mind; he is another member of the House, a junior one.” Devon leaned back in the chair and let his neck hug the hardwood at its height for a moment. Avandar refilled his glass and set it on the table. Devon closed his eyes, his face aimed toward the ceiling. “When I offer you my support, Jewel, understand what it means.

  “Most of the work I have done for the House involves Avantari and the various Royal trade routes. Some of it involves less bureaucratic matters.”

  “I know.” It was with Devon that she had been sent to the Merchant Authority so many years ago; it was with Devon that she had crawled through the dark basements beneath that Authority, where every shadow and every sound they made might be their death.

  “It is in the less official functions that I would most be of use to you. It may obviate your need for any secondary employee to, as you put it, spy for you.”

  “And will you kill for me?”

  “For you, Jewel? No. But there will be death in the manse—and beyond it—before this is done, and I cannot say for certain that I will not kill on command. I will advise you, as I can; I will provide what information I now have about the other four. It will not be complete; they are cautious, and I am forced to be cautious as well.” He opened his eyes and added, “You have your domicis, and he is meant for a struggle of this nature. But you will have me, as well, and where I am not present, one or two others. We are not yours, but inasmuch as you serve our purpose, we will protect your life as if it were the very Kings’.”

  “Is it safe to offer me this?”

  “It is safe to offer you this, yes.”

  “And would it be safe for me to refuse it?”

  “Although you might doubt me, Jewel, yes. It would be safe. Duvari has no interest in your death at this moment. That may change—that will almost certainly change—in time. You will never speak directly to Duvari about the House or its war. If any word is passed to Duvari, it will go through me.”

  This time, when Jewel looked at Avandar, Devon let it be.

  Avandar now turned to Devon. “She does not require another guard,” he said in a cool voice. “She has me, and one other.”

  “You counsel her to reject my offer?”

  “On the contrary. I would counsel her to accept the offer, but I wish to alter the provisions. I understand that Jewel is of value to you. She is of value to me, but my loyalty is completely undivided. You could not kill her while I was in the room, ATerafin, and you are skilled.

  “But she has oft disregarded her own safety in favor of those that she cares for.”

  “That is a weakness she cannot afford.”

  “It is. But it is a weakness, nonetheless. Demanding that she become something entirely other than the woman she is is as much a fool’s dream as her own dream of taking the House without death.”

  Devon nodded slowly. Jewel watched his expression shift and harden; it was subtle. Devon, she realized, didn’t like Avandar. She wondered if he had always disliked him this much, or if this was new.

  “Protect her den, in her stead. If you give her your word that you will do everything within your means to achieve their safety, she will believe you, and she will forgive any unforeseen circumstances that lead to your failure.”

  “Avandar, no—”

  Avandar lifted one hand. “His duty when he arguably failed Teller was neither to you nor your den; it was to The Kings and The Terafin. He made no promise, Jewel, and no oath, to you. This would be different.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Trust him? No? And yet you feel comfortable enough to speak frankly in his presence; you willingly—and needlessly—expose your ignorance time and again. You cannot trust him to love what you love, no. I will accept that as fact because you cannot trust me to do likewise. You cannot trust him to obey your commands when his own imperatives and morals dictate otherwise—but Jewel, you trusted both The Terafin and Alowan, and that was true, as well, of them.

  “I do not understand the hostility you feel toward Devon, but it is time to choose which of two things is greater: that hostility or your own needs in the matter of the succession.”

  Devon raised a brow. He also raised an empty glass, and after a moment, Avandar removed it and once again walked over to the cabinet. During all of this, Angel had been silently observing—and listening. He lifted a hand in den-sign, asking permission to speak. She nodded.

  “Trust him.”

  Jewel stared at Angel as if an unexpected gulf had opened between them, swallowing the floor, the chairs, and anything else in the room in the process.

  “Jay, he can’t be what you are. No one can. If it was that simple, we wouldn’t have followed you.”

  “But—”

  “He’ll do what you tell him to do here. He’s not stupid enough to do otherwise. He’ll do more, yes, and you can’t prevent that—but he won’t work against you. He’s got knowledge and experience that none of the rest of us can offer. Let him in.”

  She was silent. Devon, drink once again replenished, watched her; he never once turned to look at Angel. But Angel hadn’t finished.

  “We know what we’re up against. No, I’ll take that back—we don’t know. But we know that the chances we’ll all survive are next to none. We know what The Terafin wanted—but Jay, we follow you. Always have.”

  “No,” she finally replied. “The rest of us are all ATerafin.”

  “They wanted the name because you wanted them to have it. I didn’t care what you wanted; I cared about what I wanted. I cared about my own pride. I wasn’t willing to swear an oath to anyone else while you lived.”

  At this, Devon’s brows rose—slightly—and this time he did turn in his chair to look toward the wall at his back. Angel’s spire of hair bobbed as he met Devon’s gaze with a nod.

  “They want more from the House—”

  Angel exhaled. “Yes. They do. But what they want from the House is a grown-up version of what they—what we—wanted from you when we lived packed in two rooms in the holdings. You’re the only avenue to that future. We’re not going to walk to our deaths; we’ll make them expensive. But we’re not going to avoid the fight, either. We can’t.

  “Devon ATerafin is an intimate part of that fight. If we didn’t need him, The Terafin wouldn’t have made him promise to support us.”

  Devon turned back to Jewel and set his glass on the table. He added nothing to Angel’s words, and Avandar had once again achieved invisibility on the Devon scale of attention. Jewel, unfortunately, had not.

  “Jewel,” he began.

  What he might have said was lost as his expression suddenly stiffened. A second later, so did Avandar’s, and they both looked toward the closed door that separated these rooms from the rest of the manse.

  Avandar headed toward that door first.

  “ATerafin,” Devon said sharply, “tell your domicis to be cautious. I believe magic is now being used in significant quantities not far from here.”

  Jewel felt the blood leave her face in a rush.

  Celleriant.

  Chapter Five

  1st of Henden, 427 A.A.

  Terafin Manse, Averalaan Aramarelas

  THE WINTER QUEEN had commanded Lord Celleriant to serve Jewel ATerafin.

  It was therefore the Winter Queen’s command that had brought him here, to the Terafin manse. This manse, with its small people and its equally confining concerns seemed to leech color and vitality out of all who inhabited it; absent was the wild fury of the elements and the subtle beauty of the hidden ways.

  Celleriant had casually suggested that he and Viandaran could achieve, in minutes—or perhaps hours—what Jewel herself felt must be achieved: dominance over the House. She spoke of four possible rivals to the seat she would claim as her own; they were all, without exception, human; only one was talent-born, and his power, according to Viandaran, was insignificant.

  Let
us leave these rooms, Celleriant had said to Viandaran. The four are closeted here, like rabbits in these crowded warrens. Let us kill them now. He had offered Jewel his sword and his service, albeit reluctantly, for that very end, and what had he received in return?

  Her anger and contempt. It was to be expected, and for that reason, it did not gall him—but Viandaran did. Here, he played servant to her master.

  It is inadvisable.

  Inadvisable? Of all of the men and women gathered beneath these many roofs, only Viandaran was worthy of note; only Viandaran was worthy of fear. Even in the Court of the Winter Queen, Viandaran’s was a name that was considered apt for song or verse.

  Yet he, too, chose to huddle, damping his light. Given the way the others treated him, he had also hidden the vast depths of his power. And to what end?

  To play these pathetic, mortal games?

  The world was shorn of glory. Once, it had been driven by, possessed by, and almost destroyed by a wild, savage beauty. Such beauty might be found around any corner, through any pass. Had there been death? Oh, yes. But it hardly mattered; death made life so vibrant, so immediate.

  And the only thing that remained of it lingered on hidden paths, hidden roads. The Winter Queen.

  He felt her presence, as all sworn to her service must, no matter where they might wander; he heard the attenuated music of distant bells, distant flutes, distant horns. It disturbed him; the Wild Hunt had been called in the lands of the distant South, but the Winter had not yet given way to the Summer. It was the Summer he yearned for; warm beauty instead of cold. The Summer, the Queen, and Mordanant, his brother.

  Yet a different face, a different voice, troubled him as he walked these halls; not immortal, not perfect, not firstborn. A different song, both mortal and yet as beautiful, as haunting, as any voice raised in the Court of the Winter Queen save only her own.

  Kallandras.

  The Senniel bard faced war in the South; war, Kialli, and death. In the North? Celleriant faced squabbling mortals, too timid to lift sword. They might bare their fangs at each other, but only at a safe distance. It galled him. Even had they lifted swords, their weapons were like dining utensils in comparison to true weapons.