They entered the large function room very quietly; the servants’ door, which was also built into the paneling in a way that made it near invisible from the outside, was always kept well oiled. Jewel suspected that the hinges had somehow been enchanted for silence.
The great room wasn’t empty. Levec was kneeling on the ground beside one of the long reclining seats; the occupant of that seat was a pale Gabriel ATerafin. Avandar loomed above them both, arms folded.
All three looked toward her as she approached. Gabriel, however, said, “Teller?”
“Barston insisted I accompany Jewel when he realized you weren’t…in your office.”
“I see. How is Barston?”
“He’s been worse.”
Jewel turned to Teller as her jaw attempted to slide free of her face. “He’s been worse?”
“Yes. Don’t ask. Assassination attempts—as long as they fail—aren’t his responsibility; they didn’t occur because of anything his staff did, or did not, do.”
“The appointment book?”
“I didn’t say he looked well; I said he’s been worse.”
Avandar cleared his throat, which ended that discussion. “ATerafin, I see you are still alive.”
“I am. The demon isn’t.”
Gabriel’s eyes closed. “Your domicis said you were attacked.”
She nodded. “I’m not sure if you were the target or if I was.”
“How so?”
She looked, very pointedly, at his bloodied shirt. The fabric was sliced clean through, but the skin—and she could see skin clearly—was whole. “They may have assumed that if I were under attack at the same moment, whatever erratic vision I possess wouldn’t give me a clear warning about you. Which sort of implies they know I’m seer-born and also have no clear idea of how the talent actually works.”
“You’re certain the two are connected?”
“I was sent a message; you wanted to speak with me in your office, and it was urgent.”
“I…see. Who delivered it?”
“We are working on that now,” was Avandar’s smooth reply. He was watching Jewel intently, and she wasn’t certain why.
“Levec?”
“It was not likely to be instantly fatal,” was the healer’s quiet reply. “But there may have been secondary infection concerns from the wound, given where it was.” He rose. He did not look happy—but he was Levec; happiness wasn’t one of his public emotions. According to Adam, it was one of his private ones, but Jewel had her doubts.
Unhappy or no, he was clearly exhausted. Jewel headed toward him; he lifted a large hand to ward her off. It was shaking. She stopped instantly, and examined the dark circles under his eyes. To Avandar, she said, “Get water and something bland for him to eat.”
Avandar raised a brow, and she realized he wasn’t actually in much better shape at the moment than the healer; he was just much, much better at keeping it to himself. Teller, however, walked quickly out of the room’s main doors.
“Duvari?” Avandar asked.
“He’ll be fine.” But even answering, her gaze slid to Levec. This type of question, Avandar could have asked in silence; he’d deliberately chosen not to, which said something. Once again, what it said wasn’t immediately clear. “The Chosen were there. The assassins were dressed as House Guards?”
Gabriel nodded uneasily, which answered more than the question she’d asked. They weren’t only attired as House Guards; they were House Guards.
“Why aren’t you using the Chosen?”
His silence was exactly wrong, and when he broke it, he failed to answer. “Your assassin?”
“Mine? Oh. Mine. I think he was a stablehand or maybe a gardener. I know it wouldn’t be hard to get a stranger in through the gardening staff.” She glanced at Levec. “Is it okay to have this discussion?”
“If he were in my domain, I would forbid it,” was the gruff reply. “But he is demonstrably not a patient in the Houses of Healing. You were uninjured?”
His pointed glare at the height of her sleeve made her look down and wince. “Yes. He just cut cloth.”
The door to the great room opened. In it were Teller, Ellerson, and a very alert Devon. Ellerson carried a tray. Entering the room he made his way to Levec’s side—and the small table to one side of the lounge chair. Setting the tray down, he lifted the heavy, silvered pitcher in its center and poured what Jewel assumed was water into a glass; this he handed to Levec.
“ATerafin,” he then said. Both Gabriel and Jewel looked up at him. “Devon ATerafin has arrived to question you about the possible whereabouts of the regent; the Lord of the Compact is…concerned.”
“Devon,” Gabriel said quietly. “Tell the Lord of the Compact I am both safe and—” he glanced at Avandar, “—secure, for the moment. I would be in your debt if you could also inform my secretary of the same.”
“I can carry that message,” Teller offered.
Both Devon and Gabriel swiveled to look at him; neither accepted. Jewel lifted a hand in brief sign, and Teller winced, but nodded. To Devon, she said, “Duvari is probably still in the office of the right-kin. If he’s not, I don’t want to know where he is. I need—I need about fifteen minutes. I’ll be back.”
She made it five feet. Avandar was on her heels at the sixth. “Where,” he asked, in the tone of voice she least liked, “do you think you’re going?”
“To check on the cats. If you feel like subjecting yourself to gratuitous insults, please feel free to accompany me.”
Sigurne Mellifas had never particularly cared for the Lord of the Compact. She was, however, aware that he was a necessity, and on most days could be polite, respectful, and civil in his presence. In fairness to herself—and at this juncture, any fairness was of dubious value—she seldom encountered Duvari carrying a blooded sword. She was aware—as were all who had encountered the Lord of the Compact—that he was in theory a capable man, where capable in this case involved both self-defense and the ability to kill quickly and efficiently. It was seldom, however, that she was called upon to witness the effects of his vaunted and yet unknown training.
She was underimpressed.
Matteos, by her side, was not; he was far too grim, far too angered, to find the detachment necessary. His anger, however, was entirely contained behind the compressed line of his lips and his narrowed gaze. The Chosen had come, in numbers; both of the Captains—Arrendas and Torvan—at their head. They entered an office that was now largely vacated; the regent’s unfortunate secretary was still present, and appeared to be attempting to remove a dagger from the frame of a painting. Sigurne almost winced on his behalf as she recognized the painting and the artist. She noted, however, that the long knife embedded in the desk remained where it was standing.
The Captains of the Chosen treated Duvari with all the diffidence due the partially invisible. They ascertained that the dead were indeed Terafin. Barston informed them that the regent had survived the attack, and was now resting in an undisclosed location until further notice, which annoyed Arrendas, and skittered off Torvan. They examined the seared carpet and the remnants of what had once been a demon—of minor power, in Sigurne’s opinion, although she felt it politic at the moment not to emphasize this point. They were diplomatic when speaking with the guildmaster, because the matter of magic and writs was not the business of the Chosen; it would be Gabriel’s business—and Duvari’s.
Duvari, however, grudgingly executed his very broad writ of exemption. It was the only time in Sigurne’s long career that she had been grateful for that breadth; she had argued against it biannually for as long as she had held her office, a fact that was not lost on Duvari. Nor, sadly, was the presence of the unconscious Brialle. She was not dressed as a member of the Order, and clearly neither of the Captains of the Chosen recognized her. Were it not for the presence of Duvari, Sigurne might easily have claimed that the woman had fainted in fear at the sudden outburst of both violence and magic. Brialle was a mage of the Second Circ
le, but she was young and her power had never been adequately tested, in Sigurne’s opinion. Given her actions here, it was unlikely that it would be now—not in a way that did not end in someone’s death.
Duvari, however, was speaking with Barston about the matter of Rymark ATerafin’s use of magic. Duvari could, if bold, go directly to Rymark to demand a writ of exemption—but given that the target of Rymark’s magical fire had been the demon, it was unlikely that the writ would be withheld. Sigurne, however, resented it briefly; she disliked the paperwork and the discussion demanded by such a writ, because writs granted after the fact were far more political and far more time-consuming.
“Why, exactly, did you elect to reside in the Terafin manse until the close of the funeral rites?” Matteos asked softly.
“I thought it would simplify things, and, if I am being honest, I desired a small break from paperwork.” Sigurne’s smile was grim and brittle.
Matteos eyed Brialle. “How long will she be out?”
“I am not entirely certain. She will not wake soon.”
He raised a brow.
“I wished to apprehend a criminal; I was not perhaps as cautious as I might be were I in the teaching labs. We will need to contact the Mysterium,” she added.
“We will need to get out from under the Lord of the Compact.”
Sigurne frowned and Matteos once again fell silent, regarding Brialle. “Go,” she finally told Matteos. “Have Eranil summoned; tell him who we have in custody and tell him to be prepared. I will wait upon Duvari.”
Matteos clearly wanted to argue, but they had been together for decades; he knew when he could be protective and when he must surrender that role. It chaffed. The magi did not have Chosen, but had they, Matteos would have been their Captain. He nodded and retreated from the room while she watched.
Chapter Sixteen
JEWEL EXITED the great room, leaving Teller in the figurative lion’s den. He was more adept at handling the powerful than she was; he was closer to Gabriel, and he had Ellerson’s quiet, steady help. She had Avandar, but on balance, she’d left Levec. Devon was a neutral, but given his first words, she was probably being too generous. Avandar, on the other hand, was in a foul mood.
“You cannot honestly believe that the target of that attempt was the right-kin,” he said, in scathing, but measured tones.
“ATerafin.”
Both Jewel and Avandar turned; Ellerson was standing by the great room’s door. “Your cats,” he said, “are with Haval.”
Haval’s work was firmly entrenched across most of the floor, two of the chairs, and the entire window seat. He would probably have commandeered the room’s long couch, but Snow and Night were lounging across its length, heads on paws. They looked bored.
Only one of Haval’s eyes was visible; the other was obscured by a jeweler’s glass. His frayed hair suggested that he had been running his hands through it at far too frequent intervals.
The glass, however, dropped as his expression changed. “What,” he said, “have you done to my jacket?”
Pointing out that it was not, in fact, his jacket didn’t even occur to her. “First, I didn’t do it, and second, it’s only the jacket; I’m fine.”
Haval’s obvious outrage attracted attention. Snow’s ears instantly twitched, and Night’s head rose. It was Night who got down from the couch, stretching his wings so that one of their tips batted Snow in the face.
“Do not step on anything,” Haval told Night.
Jewel was shocked when Night hissed—and obeyed. To be fair to the cat, there wasn’t much room for paws. “She’s cut it,” he said, as he approached.
“I told Haval it wasn’t me,” she replied.
“You let someone else cut it?”
Haval had, by this time, fetched the glass that had dropped from his face; he pocketed it, a sign that he intended to forgo work for at least a few minutes. “Please, ATerafin, do answer Night’s question.”
“I wasn’t exactly standing still,” Jewel told the cat. “I just couldn’t dodge quickly enough.”
“And what was the ugly one doing?” This was said in a lower, growlier voice.
Avandar, however, failed to answer. It was his general response to the cats if he happened to be in the room with any of them.
“Avandar, which is what the rest of us call him, was saving Gabriel ATerafin’s life.”
Haval’s expression shifted again; when Jewel glanced at his face she saw neutrality writ large. It made him look younger, but not in a way she liked.
“If it makes you feel any better,” she said to the erstwhile clothier, “he had Duvari’s help.”
He didn’t so much as twitch a muscle. “You are aware, ATerafin, that I have yet to complete either Teller or Finch’s attire? I will attempt to work while speaking; you will forgive me if I appear to be inattentive. Please. Tell me what happened.”
By the time she’d half-finished, Night was lying across the floor, his head in her lap; this occurred only after she’d cleared some space. His complaints about boredom numbered in the handful, which, for the cats, was good behavior.
“Tell me now what you think occurred.”
“Haval, this isn’t the time for testing—”
He glared with one eye; the other was still behind glass. “As negotiations for my fee have not yet taken place, and no agreement has therefore been made, you will indulge an old man.”
Night snickered. Had he been one of her den, she’d’ve smacked him across the back of the head. She’d never hit a cat, on the other hand, and even one that was larger than many of the den still counted. “I think,” she finally said, “that someone in the House has targeted Gabriel for assassination.”
Haval stopped work for ten seconds; she could almost hear him count. “Besides the obvious,” he finally said, in a tone that indicated displeasure, “what would lead you to draw that conclusion?”
“The House Council has always known I’m seer-born. I think whoever attempted to kill Gabriel was afraid that I’d give advance warning—somehow—if I weren’t occupied myself. My vision has always been pretty reliable when it’s my own life in danger.”
“ATerafin,” he replied, in a glacial voice, “I have had very, very little sleep in the past few days, and I am unlikely to alleviate that deficit within the next five. While I realize you might legitimately make the same claim, I would like to point out that my ability to reason has not diminished significantly.”
“You think the entire point of the attempt was—me?”
He very pointedly said nothing.
Try to remember, she told herself silently, that you wanted his advice. Closing her eyes, she let herself be lulled into a calmer state of mind by stroking Night’s head; he didn’t seem to mind, and it helped. “They sent two humans after Gabriel; they sent the demon after me.”
“Indeed.”
“But—it makes no sense, Haval. The timing makes no sense. Gabriel is the only person on the House Council who’s made it clear he doesn’t want anything. He won’t remain as right-kin, regardless of who The Terafin is. His regency is the only thing the House Council could possibly agree on at this point. There were no abstentions on that vote, and it was fast.”
“And it would be inconvenient in the extreme to have the regent assassinated two days before the Kings arrive for the funeral. It would be the act of a fool, given the nature of House politics and the very special laws that govern the internal struggles of any House, to attempt such an assassination while the Lord of the Compact is practically also living under this roof.”
“I thought you said I was to do my own thinking?”
“I did. I assume that this is what you would have said, given your assessment of the situation, and I believe my version is briefer.”
After a long pause, Jewel opened her eyes. Haval’s hands were now still; although he still held his needle, he’d removed the glass from his eye, and he was watching her without expression.
“You think tha
t the goal was my death; the cover was the attempt on Gabriel’s life.”
“Gabriel ATerafin’s wound was not fatal?”
“No.”
“Would it have been fatal without intervention?”
“Not according to Levec.”
“Where is the Member Mellifas?”
“I don’t know. She—she dealt with the demon. But—there was an illusion of some sort on Gabriel’s door. She—” Jewel frowned. “I think the illusion was being sustained by another mage. I don’t know if the mage is a member of the Order of Knowledge or not.”
“You are certain that another mage was present?”
“Yes.” She opened her mouth and closed it again.
“You look like a fish,” Night said. There was so much smug in that cat’s voice.
“ATerafin?”
Jewel shook her head. “It’s Order business, not directly ours; I’m not sure how it will be handled, because the other mage wasn’t operating in the manse with a valid writ.”
Haval rose. “I am not comfortable with this assessment, but I will allow it for now. I believe,” he added, “we have a guest.”
She frowned. “Pardon?”
The door slid open. Devon ATerafin stood in its frame. He frowned as he caught sight of the cats; the cats, on the other hand, regarded him with indolent boredom. Jewel attempted to shove Night off her lap, but Devon shook his head. “If I am not interrupting, ATerafin?”
“You are,” Haval answered, before Jewel could. “You would be Devon ATerafin.”
“And you are…Haval.”
“I am. We are just now discussing the assassination attempt, if you would care to join us. If you are here to deliver either word or request from the Lord of the Compact to Jewel ATerafin, we are not yet finished; as this is not a matter of the security of the Crowns, he will have to wait.”
Skirmish: The House War: Book Four Page 46