Skirmish: The House War: Book Four

by Michelle West

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” she began.

  Matteos shook his head. “I am enough of a judge of character to understand who the actual source of the trouble is. I assume Member Mellifas has asked that you summon me?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I judge from the change in your clothing that we will be expected to go outside, where we might be found until evening makes it truly cold?”

  “Yes again.”

  “Very well. Give me but a moment, and I will join you in Sigurne’s rooms.”

  If the magi were stretched to the very limits of their patience by the simple requirement that they tolerate each other in public, Sigurne’s seemed limitless. She was waiting when Jewel returned, Avandar in tow, but she showed no sign of frustration or impatience.

  “I must ask your permission,” Sigurne said, as she left the room, subtly indicating that Jewel and Avandar were to follow, “to utilize a small amount of magic to deal with the drop in temperature. As I may have mentioned, it’s our tendency to travel as little encumbered as possible.”

  “If it’s my permission you need, you’ve got it,” Jewel replied. “But…given the laws that govern magic and its use, I’m not sure I’ll do.”

  “You’ll do. If you wouldn’t mind leading?”

  “For form’s sake?” Jewel asked. She was certain that Sigurne knew the layout of the manse quite well.

  “For form’s sake,” Sigurne replied. “It is my understanding that the Lord of the Compact has been a frequent visitor, and I would not be at all surprised to encounter him during my stay.” From the tone of her voice, she wouldn’t be pleased either.

  Jewel nodded and led the way to the front doors, where Ellerson was waiting. He handed her a cape that was far too fine. She shook her head.

  Avandar, however, nudged her between the shoulder blades. “If, as you expect, you will meet the regent while in the company of the guildmaster, it is better to overdress for the occasion.”

  “Gabriel knows—”

  “As does Sigurne,” Avandar said. “But it is not simply a matter of what is known about your personal preferences; it demonstrates that you can, when necessary, put them aside.”

  “But I can when necessary.”

  “Indeed. What remains to be seen is how much your narrow definition of necessary can be broadened in the weeks to come.”

  Sigurne was politic; she said nothing. On the other hand, Ellerson said nothing as well—his was just louder. Jewel compressed her lips into a thin line and nodded; Ellerson, not Avandar, slid the cape around her shoulders—but Avandar allowed it.

  Avandar, however, pinned it in place with a cape pin Jewel had never seen before. It glowed a faint orange in her vision, which caused her expression to shift.

  “It is, indeed, enchanted,” Sigurne said, with a slight smile. “Come, Jewel.”

  As expected, Gabriel ATerafin was at the site of the tree’s destruction. He was clothed in a way that befit his rank, although his clothing was suited to the Henden weather. He bowed when he caught sight of Sigurne Mellifas. “Guildmaster Mellifas. Member Corvel. I’m afraid that things have been very busy in the past few days, and my manners have all but deserted me.”

  “I should have liked to see your manners when they hadn’t,” Sigurne replied with a smile. “They must have been quite intimidating.”

  Gabriel chuckled, and ran fingers through his hair. On closer inspection, his eyes didn’t look all that much healthier than Matteos’. Jewel wondered what her own looked like, and decided firmly against asking—or looking in a mirror.

  “I’m afraid you will have some small wait ahead of you, Member Mellifas—but I assure you they will return. In the meantime, I would like to invite you both to dine. It will have to be the late dinner hour,” he added. “If you are not adverse to small dinners, we will dine outside of the hall.”

  “I am very much unopposed to a more intimate dinner setting.”

  “Good.” He turned toward the tree. “Your magi are efficient.”

  “They can be. Have they been working continuously?”

  Gabriel raised a brow; Sigurne frowned. “If you will allow me, Regent?”

  “I will, indeed. ATerafin?” he added, to Jewel.

  Jewel nodded and followed in Sigurne’s wake. Well, in Matteos’ wake. She was not surprised when Torvan ATerafin pulled up the rear. “When did you get here?” she asked, slowing.

  “Some fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Why?”

  “I was informed,” he replied gravely, “that you would be present.”

  “Torvan—”

  “Accept it, Jewel. Gabriel has designated the Chosen as your guard for the moment. If you prefer, you may refuse that guard outright—but Gabriel will not accede to what I assume would be a polite request without argument.”

  “I can argue with Gabriel.”

  “Indeed. Perhaps I wasn’t clear. In order to divest yourself of the Chosen, you will have to win the argument.”

  She turned sharply and caught the sliver of a grin that touched his otherwise austere expression. It remained in the lines around both lips and eyes as his tone grew more serious. “Do you expect to find difficulty?”

  “I’m…not sure.”

  “Good enough. Please wait here a moment.”

  * * *

  A moment became five, and it produced three more of the Chosen. She recognized only one instantly: Arann. He looked nervous, to her eye—but Arann’s nervous was very much like the rest of him; silent, unless you knew what to look for. She signed; he nodded. This was the first night he was to work alongside the Chosen of Terafin. Den-sign didn’t divulge simple things like names. She knew the two Chosen who accompanied Arann by sight, but no names immediately came to a mind that felt suddenly and inconveniently empty. One of them was a woman ten years younger than Torvan, the other a broad-shouldered man. He had a beard, although it was very neatly groomed, which was unusual in the House Guard.

  “ATerafin,” Torvan said, saluting. It reminded her of where she was and who she was supposed to be: a House Council member in service to the regent. One day, she wouldn’t need a reminder—or at least that was the hope. She let Torvan and the rest of his Chosen fall into the background as she joined Sigurne Mellifas near the foot of the tree.

  The magi had stopped there; Matteos stood by her side, his arms rigid. Her arms were in motion, but it was an unhurried, steady motion—one that implied the slow strength of tree growth, not the quick and vital strength of duelers. Jewel could see her face in profile; Sigurne’s chin was raised, her eyes open and unblinking, the lines of her face falling into neither smile nor frown. Her hands were limned in a steady blue light that rose like fine, fine webbing to cover her face.

  Jewel had always been able to see magic this way; she couldn’t remember what blue meant, and didn’t ask. Instead, she waited until the blue light slowly faded and the mage nodded to herself. “If there is magic here that is a threat to us,” she told Jewel, without actually looking down from the height of the gutted tree, “it is a magic that I cannot detect. Sadly, in the case of wild or ancient things, there is much that cannot be detected. Matteos?”

  “I concur. In both cases. You have Gavin in the lead here; his temper is not yet frayed and he seems to be holding the magi to their task. Will you not retire, Sigurne?”

  “I am not yet weary enough to retire,” the older woman replied softly. “What do you see when you look at this tree, Matteos?”

  “A gutted trunk. It’s dark. My eyes are not what they were.”

  “Matteos, please.” She spoke with just a hint of impatience.

  Matteos relented. “I see a tree, Sigurne. But I also see the shadow of a tree, as if the two were imposed upon each other. It is not clear to me which of the two is truly the tree; nor is it clear to me which of the two is the stronger. In my opinion, however, the two cannot be separated.

  “But you must concur, Guildmaster; the work to uproot the tree proceeds.”<
br />
  “Ah,” was the dry reply. “That would be in part because the regent’s request for immediate emergency magical aid was granted so swiftly there must be truth to the rumors that Duvari is all but living on the grounds. What he desires in pursuit of the Kings’ safety, he will have. It is seldom that the magi work in concert with the Astari.”

  “And I note it is not the Astari at risk; it is, of course, the magi.”

  “As you say, Matteos. But would you have it any other way? Of the men and women assembled beneath the mansion’s many roofs, who would be better suited to take such a risk?”

  “Duvari,” was the prompt reply. “The gods themselves couldn’t kill that man.”

  “I would not be so sure of that. I will, however, concede that the gods themselves could not force him to see reason. Jewel,” she added, frowning, “what are you doing?”

  Jewel looked down at the leaves in her hands. There were four: silver, gold, diamond, and ruby. Sigurne’s sharp question was a perfectly reasonable one; it was just bad luck that Jewel had no answer. She remembered, dimly, shoving the leaves into her pockets in a hurry. What she didn’t remember—and it was far more recent—was taking them out. But they were undeniably in her hands, and in the growing darkness of the falling night, they glittered or gleamed.

  “Tell your magi,” she said softly, “to stop their work.”

  Sigurne drew one sharp breath. “You will have to explain your reasoning to the regent,” she finally said. She nodded to Matteos, and he departed with her unspoken order.

  That was a dread for another day. Hopefully, tomorrow. Jewel nodded. “Sigurne, look at the leaves.”

  “I am,” was the soft reply. It was shorn, for the moment, of edges.

  “What do you see?”

  “I see silver, gold, and diamond. I see ruby.”

  “Not more than that?”

  There was a very slight hesitation, and then the mage said, “I see the ghost of branches, Jewel, attached to each of the leaves.”

  “Even the ruby one?”

  “Even that. Perhaps especially that one.”

  “Guildmaster!” A man shouted.

  Sigurne sighed and turned away. “Yes, Gavin?”

  “Why have you signaled a halt to our work? The roots of this tree go deep—we won’t have a hope of finishing on time if we’re delayed much further.”

  “It’s been a scant few minutes, Gavin.”

  “Unless you intend to aid us—and second Member Corvel to do likewise—these ‘scant few minutes,’ as you call them, will be costly.”

  “I’m not entirely certain there hasn’t been a change of plans,” the guildmaster replied. “ATerafin?”

  Jewel hesitated. The leaves in her hands still looked like precious metal or fine spun glass, but they now felt supple to the touch. They felt warm. Given the deepening chill of the Henden night, the warmth was momentarily welcome.

  Do not let it lull you.

  Jewel missed the old days, when Avandar was forced, for reasons of propriety, to keep the sharpness inherent in his advice to himself. But she nodded because he was right. “Tell your magi to stand well away from the tree and its roots,” she told Sigurne as she failed entirely to take the advice she’d just offered.

  The man who had shouted now approached. “Guildmaster—” he began. His voice sharpened and grew quite a bit chillier. “Excuse me,” he said to Jewel. “This area is strictly off-limits to all but the magi.”

  “She is here with me. You probably don’t recognize her,” Sigurne added, in exactly the tone of voice Avandar might have used had Jewel made a similarly unforgivable political blunder. “But Jewel ATerafin is a member of the Terafin House Council.”

  “I don’t care who she is. Is she magi?”

  “Gavin—”

  “Then she has no business standing in a danger zone.”

  Jewel failed to hear him. She’d learned this from Ellerson and was happy to find a use for it.

  “She has the permission—and the complete confidence—of the regent. You will stand back, Gavin. Tell the others to do the same.”

  “What on earth does she intend to do?” he demanded, not noticeably having moved back so much as a step. He was taller than Sigurne—but then again, on most days so was Jewel—but not as tall as Torvan or Arann. What he lacked in height, he made up for in presence—the particular, arrogant presence of the magi.

  “Matteos,” Sigurne said quietly.

  “Oh, no,” Matteos replied, with an almost feral grin which looked entirely out of place on his staid face. “I’m afraid I’m in agreement with Member Ossus in this particular case. Jewel ATerafin is special; I won’t argue that. But the tree is unique, and the tree has proven to be a danger. Sigurne, you have no idea what she intends. I’m willing to bet she doesn’t either.”

  “Matteos—”

  “And whatever she does, she is tampering with a magic that none of the wise understand. I think it highly advisable to continue with the task of removing the tree, since we are short on time.”

  “If we were not short on time?”

  “I would seek the guidance of the Exalted—and, more specifically, their parents. The safer alternative would be to continue with our task here, for which, I might point out, we have received permission in record time.”

  Sigurne nodded. “It would be the safer alternative given the complete lack of time available. ATerafin?”

  Jewel shook her head. She’d meant to nod. The Terafin’s funeral was two and a half days away, and the gardeners had already tripled their ranks—which infuriated the Captains of the House Guard because it caused security headaches and Duvari was breathing down their necks—in an attempt to make it ready. Matteos was right, but no meeting with the Exalted could be demanded on such short notice.

  “ATerafin,” Sigurne said, her voice a delicate blend of age, wisdom, and steel, “I will trust your instincts here. Does what you intend pose a danger to us?”

  It doesn’t work that way, Jewel wanted to say.

  No, Jewel, the Winter King told her. But it should.

  “I can’t promise that,” she finally said. “But I think there’s a reason I kept these leaves—all of them. And I think this tree is somehow it.”

  “Very well. Member Ossus.” Sigurne’s voice was distinctly chillier. “You will have your mages stand down; I will not ask again.” When her Oma had used that tone of voice, people bared their throats.

  Gavin Ossus wasn’t one of those people, but he did stand his men down. “Very well, Guildmaster. With your permission I will remain to observe.”

  “It is not mine to grant. ATerafin?”

  Jewel wanted to tell him to go away. Instead, she said, “I leave that decision in your hands, Guildmaster. Your understanding of the magi is far deeper than my own will ever be.”

  “Very well, Member Ossus. Stay and observe. Matteos?”

  Matteos failed to hear her. His hands loosely twined behind his back, he watched as the magi abandoned their positions around the circumference of what was purportedly the bulk of the tree’s roots—it was a much larger area than the trunk that Jewel approached. She noted, as she did, that if the magi left their work, they did not leave their protections; each of the mages was surrounded by pale lights, mostly orange in color, but not all.

  Jewel, the Winter King said. He emerged into the darkening evening, his coat a winter silver—a color it had never been in Jewel’s memory. Sigurne drew one sharp breath, but she was the only person who made any sound. All others, even the voluble Member Gavin Ossus, were silent in his presence.

  You know, you could try subtlety once in a while.

  It was not one of my more renowned traits. He approached her as she stood, leaves in hand; the Henden face of the bright moon was high and strong. The pale moon was almost invisible. Do you understand what you intend?

  No. But even as she said it, she thought she might. Is it foolish? she asked, as he knelt on his forelegs, indicating by posture alone
that he intended her to mount.

  No, ATerafin, although in time you may consider it otherwise. His eyes were sapphire and shining as he watched her move. I remember you.

  It was a very strange thing to say.

  Is it? Do you not remember Viandaran at specific moments? Do you not remember the sight of Lord Celleriant and the mortal bard ascending the skies to bring battle to the heart of the storm in the desert night?

  She remembered both very well. I’m not any of them, she told him uneasily.

  No, nor will you ever be, if you are very fortunate. No more will you be Winter King, ATerafin. But if you feel that all memorable moments are those that might scar the world, you are young, yet.

  She climbed up his back.

  I remember the first time I saw you, Jewel.

  She said nothing as he rose. Why is your fur white?

  Is it?

  White or silver. In this light it’s hard to tell.

  She felt his smile like a deep warm place in a landscape that was otherwise ice and snow. I remember that you stood in the middle of the ancient road, surrounded on all sides by the mystery of the Stone Deepings—a mortal woman, in a place where mortals are forbidden by nature to walk.

  I served the Winter Queen, Jewel ATerafin. I have served her without fail since the Hunt in which she claimed my life that Summer might at last arrive. She is the whole of her world, and where she walks, she is kin to the gods. Yet you stood your ground against her, in ignorance of her long history. You should have died.

  I didn’t.

  No. That is what makes the memory so strong. For a moment, where you stood, I could see the worn cobbles of mundane streets; I could smell baking and ale and sweat. I could hear shouting and laughter and weeping. I remembered them, then, in a way I had not for a very long time, even in nightmare.

  And why is that important now? The uneasiness Jewel felt grew deeper as the Winter King turned toward a tree that was mere yards away. He began to walk, each step stately and deliberate, as if she were at the head of a solemn parade or funeral march. She didn’t like it. At all.

  I did not recognize you, he continued, as if entirely unaware of the effect this conversation was having.