Skirmish: The House War: Book Four

by Michelle West

  “No.”

  “Ah. Because they are Veralaan’s trees?”

  “Because what stood here before, in wait, was so much worse.”

  Elonne once again inclined her head. “Rymark,” she said. “Marrick.”

  Haerrad was the only one who kept his distance. Jewel was grateful for small mercies, because in the foreseeable future, they were the only ones she was likely to receive. It was, on the other hand, a very small mercy because he was watching her as if she were the only person on the green. He loathed Rymark—in the Council sessions, if there was any unpleasantness, it was almost always due to their conflicts—but for the moment Rymark was less significant than she was.

  If she wondered why, she was answered—Duvari came to join them. Duvari, who silenced all conversation by simple presence. If Jewel’s dress and her entourage were instantly threatening to the House Councillors who desired to rule the House, they were still less of a danger than the Lord of the Compact. Jewel wondered if Duvari enjoyed their loathing and fear, but not for long; Duvari appeared not to know the meaning of the word “enjoy”—and if he did, he wouldn’t condescend to actually engage in any.

  “Your dress, ATerafin,” he said, with a slight nod, “is remarkable.”

  Jewel felt her jaw unhinge and caught it before it fell open. She couldn’t stop her brows from reaching for her hairline.

  “After the funeral rites have been completed,” he continued, voice smooth and hard, “we will have to discuss its origin.”

  Snow hissed.

  “Among other things.” He nodded to Rymark, Elonne, and Marrick, but did not move away.

  They were standing in a loose and silent circle near the tree’s base when Gabriel ATerafin at last made his way down the terrace. Night was his immediate escort, although Barston—and a half dozen of the House Guard—were not far away. He didn’t immediately join them; instead, Teller broke away from the main group—in which he was all but invisible—and made his way to Gabriel’s side. Or to Barston’s; it was hard to tell at this distance.

  “There has been no further trouble?” Duvari asked. He asked it of the air and the grounds, apparently; he didn’t look at anyone as he spoke. He watched Gabriel, Teller, and Barston, his hands loosely clasped behind his back.

  No one answered. Jewel glanced at Finch; Finch smiled, but her hand flicked a few words in den-sign.

  “My own men will be here, of course,” he continued, when no answer was forthcoming. “If the House will play its games of assassination and forbidden magic in the presence of the Kings, it will perish.”

  Rymark bristled openly. Marrick merely nodded. Elonne, however, failed to hear the words. Jewel should have joined them in their silence, adopting one style or another; she knew it.

  “And if it’s not the House that’s playing these games?” she demanded instead. She kept her voice even, and she kept all Torra out of it, although the latter was harder. Duvari could enrage her on most days simply by breathing.

  “Then perhaps the House will fall, for the moment, under the protection of the magi. Writs have been issued,” he added, without a ripple of expression. “The current guildmaster of the Order is well known for her pursuit of those who would practice forbidden arts; she is without mercy.”

  “She is,” Jewel replied. “And with cause.”

  “The House does not require the guardianship of the Order,” Rymark interjected. “We are not without magi of our own.”

  “May I remind you, ATerafin, of the reason for this funeral?” Duvari asked. “The Kings were present,” he added. “At the request of the guildmaster. If the demons seek entrance to the city through House Terafin, we are not content to let the matter remain at the discretion of a headless House.”

  “It will not remain long without ruler,” Rymark countered.

  “No, indeed. Perhaps the urgency of the situation will encourage the House Council to expedite their vote and their decision.” Before Rymark could reply, Duvari left them, walking straight for Gabriel.

  “That’s as clear a warning as he’s ever given,” Marrick said, recovering words and humor first. He was to be the only member of the House Council who managed the latter; Jewel couldn’t dredge up even the most brittle of smiles. When no one spoke, he added, “It is not costly for us to indulge him in this fashion; it’s important that he feels he is discharging his duties, as he will do so regardless.”

  Haerrad chose this moment to approach. It was safest; it was one of the few in which the House Council was likely to unite in common cause. If Haerrad was known for nothing else, his disdain for the Lord of the Compact was almost legendary. He was not, strictly speaking, rude to Duvari—but he stopped just short of issuing a bald challenge.

  Amarais had used this, in the past. If Haerrad could be considered to have a strength, it was this, and any words that fell, bristling, from Haerrad would not be entirely attributed to The Terafin herself, although on occasion she was required to deflect some of the ire they drew. Since it was a role that suited him, he donned it now, and in such a fashion, the House Council united. It was uneasy, but it would be; only for someone as powerful and openly hostile as Duvari would it occur at all.

  Duvari joined Gabriel; no doubt the words he uttered there would be similar, although he was marginally more circumspect in his discussions with the regent, in Jewel’s experience. The grounds slowly filled as the House presented its best; Finch left her side when Jarven arrived. Lucille was not yet present.

  Jarven, however, strolled in Jewel’s direction. He walked slowly, but in a stately manner, and the walking stick he carried lent him an unnecessary elegance; he had extended an arm to Finch, and Finch took it without hesitation. It was clear, from where Jewel stood, that Finch both liked—and trusted—Jarven ATerafin. Jewel, however, had never forgotten Haval’s very unusual reaction to the man. It made her cautious.

  But he obviously cared for Finch, which was a huge point in his favor.

  He stopped ten feet short of where Jewel stood; the Chosen faced not Jarven, but the House Council. He nevertheless failed to breach their invisible radius; instead he bowed. “ATerafin,” he said, rising. His expression was calm, untroubled; his eyes were clear. He made no comment about either her dress or the winged part of her honor guard; he made no comment about her pendant or Lord Celleriant. She tendered him a very correct bow.

  “Ah, so formal, so formal,” he replied. “And without the excuse of outsiders.”

  “The Lord of the Compact is here.”

  “Oh, tush. The Lord of the Compact is merely like a little rain at a picnic. Which, given the number of magi on the grounds, won’t be a problem for the funeral.” He glanced up. “The tops of the trees, however, might get wet.”

  “Is Lucille not coming?”

  “She is, of course, planning to be in attendance—but she’s likely to arrive when the guests do; she has work in the office that will not, apparently, wait, and as the office will be closed for three full days, she is attempting to minimize our losses. I really like the look of the grounds,” he added. “And when the weather is warmer, they will be an excellent incentive to entertain.”

  She stared at him. She wasn’t the only one.

  Jarven, however, responded to her. “Come, ATerafin. You must be well aware by now that the most jaded of men—and women—regularly cross the threshold of the Merchant Authority. They make decisions based on years of experience, but those decisions can be hastened if they are slightly off their guard—or if we, as a House, present something, some new experience, that no other House among The Ten, no other merchant family of significance, can likewise present.

  “This garden, and these grounds, have overnight become that: these trees are famed throughout the Empire for one reason and one alone: it is only in Averalaan that they grow—and only in the Common. Men and women have tried, often at great expense, to cultivate cuttings and even seeds—all have withered young. Here, however?” He raised his face again. “Here, House
Terafin now has them in full growth, and in full bloom, and one doesn’t have to enter the Common to appreciate them.” His smile was sharp and anticipatory. Turning to Rymark, he added, “Surely you must agree?”

  Rymark very smoothly replied, “Of course,” which surprised Jewel.

  “It is a promising start,” Jarven added. “Come, Finch, if I may presume upon your time?” He bowed to her and when he rose, offered her his arm again.

  “We’ll need her back before the guests arrive,” Jewel told him. “The House Council in full is expected to be gathered to greet the guests.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “IS IT TRUE,” Jarven asked, “that Jewel caused the trees to grow?”

  Finch grimaced. “Now is not the time to ask that, Jarven.”

  “It is exactly the time to ask,” was his quiet—and serious—reply. “She is bold today. She is dressed in a manner that might befit Queens, should Queens have access to such material and such artistry. Let me assure you, in case you are in any doubt,” he added, in a lower voice, “our Monarchs don’t. There is no one, no matter how rich or notable, who will compare with the young ATerafin. I admit to being somewhat surprised; I did not think she had it in her.” His smile returned, changing the creases in his face; he was at an age where they were always present in one form or another.

  “Look at the House Council; they are discomfited. Elonne takes stock; Marrick is being far too jovial. Haerrad approaches her as if she is the foremost of his rivals.”

  “And Rymark?”

  “Rymark concerns me,” Jarven replied. “He is ill-pleased, but he does not seem concerned.”

  “Should he? He’s always been arrogant.”

  “He has; he has never, however, been a fool. To ignore the significance of her presence in that dress, beneath those trees, and at the side of that creature is the act of a fool.” He glanced at her, as if waiting.

  “You don’t think he’s being a fool now.”

  “How perceptive. I should really stop, you know; Lucille will almost certainly be annoyed if I continue.”

  Finch felt a moment of relief; it was very short-lived. “…But she won’t be annoyed at me if I do.”

  His smile was warm, friendly, and just the slightest bit self-satisfied. “She will be annoyed at me if you do, but I am accustomed to that. She’ll probably make bad tea for at least a month. Do continue.”

  “You don’t think he’s being a fool now, which is why you’re concerned; you think he knows something we don’t know.”

  “He most certainly knows things that neither of us knows, yes—but he has made clear that at least one of them involves the neutralization of the young ATerafin, and possibly in a way that would meet with general disapproval.”

  Finch hesitated. “You know there was an assassination attempt yesterday?”

  He smiled brightly at one of the young men who sometimes worked in the Trade Commission office, exchanging a brief and pleasant—if slightly addled—greeting. “I had heard, yes. I’d imagine anyone with half an ear to House business has, although to be fair, the preparations for the funeral rites have occupied almost every echelon of the manse itself, from the regent down to the newest of the servants. I was very disappointed.”

  Her brows rose, and he rolled his eyes. “Not because of the lack of success, Finch; please, try to be less easily shocked. I was disappointed because it cannot have escaped the notice of any of the contenders that the Lord of the Compact has all but been in residence in the manse in preparation for the presence of the Kings and Queens at the funeral. An assassination that occurs in his lap might still fit the criteria of House Law—but Duvari could nonetheless make life very, very difficult for a House that is so poorly controlled that it cannot prevent itself from such extremes beneath his nose.”

  Finch said nothing. Jay had made clear that she thought something outside of the House was involved—and something outside of the House wasn’t likely to care all that much about whether or not House Terafin came under political fire.

  “Ah, Finch, I think our guests are beginning to arrive.”

  She froze. “The Kings?”

  “No. Nor the Exalted; not yet. If it had been either, you would know, have no fear. Unfortunately, I do recognize some of the guests, and I believe I am now expected to make my presence known.” He smiled, and offered her an arm. “You will, no doubt, recognize them as well.”

  * * *

  Gabriel made his way to Jewel’s side, taking time to speak a word or two to the members of the House over which he now ruled as reluctant regent. He therefore didn’t beat the arrival of the first few guests. Jewel watched them at a distance; they were, for the most part, notable members of the merchant houses on the Isle. With Gabriel came Teller and Barston, although only Barston was likely to remain at Gabriel’s side. Jewel offered Gabriel what she hadn’t offered any of the Council members: a full bow. She held it as gracefully as she could. Even when Night hissed.

  “You are well, ATerafin?” Gabriel asked, when she rose.

  “I am well. You are not yet weary of your companion?”

  Gabriel’s smile froze in place; Jewel wanted to laugh, but managed to keep silent. “It is as you said; he does not appear to require sleep, and if he requires food, our food is apparently beneath him.”

  She did laugh then.

  “It has plants in it,” Night complained.

  “He’s good practice,” Jewel said quietly. She felt, rather than saw, Avandar’s extreme disapproval, and ducked her chin until she could lose the expression. She also failed to say the rest of the words.

  “ATerafin,” Gabriel said quietly, when she straightened. “That is an unusual ring. May I see it?”

  Without visible hesitation, she lifted her normally ringless hand; he caught it—gently—in his own. “Where did you get this?” he finally asked, when he released her.

  “It was left for me by The Terafin,” she replied, evading the actual question. “It was a personal possession, and of little significance to the House.”

  “You were not wearing it yesterday.”

  “Not during the day, no.”

  “I see. Do you recognize it for what it is?”

  “It’s the signet of House Handernesse.”

  “It is. Do you know when she—”

  “Yes. I know how it arrived in the manse. I know who wore it last.” Frowning, she added, “Why is it significant to you, Regent?”

  He shook his head, but his expression was now careworn. “She asked me to watch for it,” he finally said. “I don’t think she was certain I would ever see it, but she asked.” He hesitated again, which was unusual for Gabriel. “But she asked it after receiving a visit from an outsider, a woman I have seen only once in my tenure as her right-kin.”

  “Evayne.” Jewel said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Indeed.” He straightened, his face once again adopting a benign and distant smile. “Your dress is very lovely,” he told her.

  She managed to say thank you.

  The bardic colleges were represented by master bards. Morniel and Attariel had sent two; Brekenhurst and Linden, one each. But Senniel College, alone of the five, was situated upon the Isle; Senniel, therefore, sent all of its master bards, or rather, all of the bards still in residence in the city. Even the bardmaster, of the five, the only one who had been born without the bardic gift for which bards were famed, was in attendance. Solran Marten was tired, and it showed; the War in the South had taken some half dozen of her bards from her halls, and she wasn’t certain that it would return them all; war seldom did.

  But in the absence necessitated by war, The Terafin had fallen in her own manse, and if rumor was to be believed, in her own Council Hall. Thus, the bards gathered. The regent, Gabriel ATerafin, was a man with whom the bardmaster was familiar; Senniel’s bards frequently adorned the Terafin grounds during the height of the season, as they were invited to perform at weddings and festive occasions. They were seldom invited to the more s
omber funerals—but in the case of a woman of The Terafin’s significance, they were necessary.

  I am old for this, Solran thought, watching her master bards disperse among the guests. She listened, as she habitually did, for the tone and current of the crowd; although she had no talent-born gift, she knew people as well as any who relied on their wits could. She was therefore drawn, by gossip tinged with both awe and envy, toward one of the younger members of the House Council: Jewel Markess ATerafin.

  Lays had been written about this girl, and at the quiet but firm request of The Terafin—now dead—they had been closeted within Senniel itself. It wasn’t legally required; the request had been made of Solran’s predecessor. But Solran had heard the songs: a seer-born girl, born to poverty in the harsh streets of the poorest holdings, had come to The Terafin with a message of both doom and hope: the Lord of the Hells was traveling toward Averalaan. During the darkest Henden of any living memory—and Solran would never forget that Henden, although she had tried many times—Jewel Markess ATerafin had used her gift to guide The Terafin to the Kings. The Kings had ridden, like Moorelas himself, into the darkness that lay in wait beneath the city, and when they emerged, the shadows were gone.

  The lay had only been played for the bards within Senniel; that much, Siobhan could not prevent. The Terafin felt the young woman’s life would be in danger were the song widely sung—and Solran did privately agree with this assessment. Amarais, she thought, pausing a moment to gather herself. You will be much missed.

  The moment passed, and Solran once again began to walk. She turned a carefully cultivated corner and the first thing she saw—which stopped her in her tracks—were the trees. Many of the guests, finely attired patricians all, had likewise stopped a moment, in wonder; they discussed those trees, and House Terafin, in the hush of near awe. In some cases, the awe was begrudged, and in one particularly loud one, the speaker determined that these were a tasteless illusion put on by hired mages.