Skirmish: The House War: Book Four

by Michelle West

  “Then I have not done more. I have not declared myself King—” a whisper went up around her in a spreading circle, a wave of quiet words. “Nor have I declared myself Queen. I have taken no authority upon myself except that claim.”

  “You have forbidden egress to those who—”

  Jewel lifted both of her hands, then. “I told the water, the wind, and the earth that they were to listen to no voice but mine in these lands. I won’t apologize for that. There shouldn’t be any voice they can even hear, if I understand what the Guildmaster of the Order of Knowledge has said.”

  “They should not, according to the same guildmaster, hear yours,” the Son of Cormaris said, deigning at last to join what could only barely be considered conversation. “Yet it is clear to all present—all, ATerafin—that they did. It is clear, as well, that your voice was heard across the breadth of the Isle when you spoke those words; the priests in our cathedrals and in our service heard them, and what they heard, our Lords hear. In the expert and considered opinion of Sigurne Mellifas, you are not mage-born come very late into your talent; in the expert and considered opinion of the Bardmaster of Senniel College, you have no bardic talent.

  “Either the mage-born or the bard-born might—at great risk to themselves—make their voices heard in such a fashion. Yet you have demonstrably done what they could only barely do, and you stand among us.”

  Snow took two steps forward, his claws gathering carpet in their passage. Jewel reached down—without looking—and placed her left hand firmly across the middle of his head, slightly flattening his ears; the cat hissed, but stopped. No one else in the hall would have dared; she had, and she had done so without fear. Be cautious, Jewel, Gabriel thought.

  “I stand among you,” she replied, “because I am Jewel ATerafin, member of the Terafin House Council. I stand among you because today is the first of the three-day rites that mark the passing of The Terafin, the person I respected most in the world. I’m a citizen of the Empire; I owe allegiance to Terafin, and to the Kings Cormalyn and Reymalyn. I am what I have always been.”

  “And have you always been able to command, so easily, the elemental forces of nature?”

  “I don’t know. None of them have ever attempted to tear up my home and destroy the ceremony meant to honor and respect my Lord, before now.”

  The Exalted exchanged a glance, and the Son of Cormaris fell silent. The Exalted of the Mother now continued to speak. “Do you not understand what you have done?”

  It was not the question Gabriel expected; it was not, clearly, the question Jewel expected either. She seemed to lose some of her steel under the steady and watchful gaze of the older woman. “I understand what I did,” she said, in a quieter and less measured voice. “But I don’t have the words to explain it all. Daughter of the Mother, they were going to destroy my home. Left to run wild, they would have killed everyone on these grounds, and hundreds—thousands—of people outside of them. Someone else gave them permission—no, orders—to do exactly that.

  “Everything I’ve ever valued, everything I love, is here.” She turned her face toward the grounds, as if she could see through the walls that separated them; Gabriel had an uncomfortable feeling that it was not impossible. “There are old, old roads that were carved and built on this Isle long before there were Kings, Exalted, or Jewel ATerafin. They’re hidden roads, ancient roads, wild roads. But sometimes—sometimes people who are merely mortal step onto them by accident.”

  “That was not an accident.”

  “No, Exalted, not today. I didn’t know, before I went South, that the roads existed at all, but in the South—” she shook her head. “In the South, I walked those paths.”

  “And you came to understand them?”

  Jewel shook her head. “I came to understand what home means to me, there. I came to understand that on those roads, the force of that certainty has power. Even there, even in the South. I could make my stand on those roads because of that. But here? This is home.”

  “And it is not your intent to claim home as your personal kingdom or Empire.”

  Jewel shook her head. “My House is mine—but I belong to the House just as much. My kin are mine; I’m theirs. Before they died, I lived with my mother, my father, and my Oma. Their home was my home, but the rules were their rules. I don’t see this as different.”

  The Exalted of the Mother’s smile was almost pained. “I believe that,” was her quiet reply. “But what you see and what others see will of necessity be different.” She turned back to the Son of Cormaris and spoke a few low words.

  “The Terafin was my Lord,” she continued, her voice dangerously close to breaking. “If I could give my life in exchange for hers before I took another breath, I’d do it. I can’t.”

  “She would not have allowed it,” the Mother’s Daughter said, and this time—in front of the gathered witnesses, she lifted a hand to Jewel’s cheek and held it a moment, as if to offer comfort.

  “No,” was Jewel’s soft reply. “But I mean for the rites to continue. If we put them off now, we’ll never hold them. The rains have stopped. The grounds are safe.”

  “There are several dead,” the Exalted of the Mother said gently.

  “Yes. I understand the gravity of those deaths—but there are also people now dead in the streets of the hundred holdings who would be dead regardless. We would have paid our respects to our dead, because we were simply unaware of those deaths, and willing to be so.”

  “It is not your decision to make.” Gabriel closed his eyes as Haerrad’s voice—loud, militaristic—echoed in the vaulting of the ceiling.

  “No, indeed, Councillor,” the regent now said, entering a conversation in which both he and Haerrad were almost entirely superfluous. “It is mine. The Kings may choose to repair to Avantari; the Exalted may choose to return to their cathedrals—there is undoubtedly much they must now do. Some of the guests,” he continued, lifting his voice, “who have honored Terafin by their presence and their choice to pay respects to the woman who ruled the House for so long, and with so much wisdom, may likewise choose to depart.

  “But the members of House Terafin will perform the rites. We owe far more to Amarais Handernesse ATerafin than any to whom she did not offer the protection and honor of the House Name. We deeply regret the interruption and the danger our guests have faced today. As a House, however, we have faced similar in the past, and we are still standing; while we stand, we honor our own.” Judging by the expression that briefly crossed Haerrad’s face, very few of Gabriel’s words had registered; the fact that Gabriel, not Jewel, had spoken them, however, mollified the Councillor, inasmuch as Haerrad would allow himself to be mollified.

  “We will attend,” King Reymalyn said. He did not speak quietly. His words filled the contours of the arches above the gallery, catching the attention of the delegates and guests who had otherwise not been party, or privy, to the discussion between Jewel and the Exalted of the Mother. “The Queens have also decided that they will remain to pay respects to a woman who exemplified all that was worthy of respect in our Empire.”

  It was not the decision Duvari wanted; it was clearly the one he expected. He approached King Reymalyn, and the Justice-born King lifted a hand in warning. “There are forces gathered today,” he continued, when Duvari heeded the gesture and failed to speak, “that present a danger to our Empire; it is a danger that we will face. We will not ask more of our people than we ask of ourselves.” He glanced at Jewel ATerafin as he spoke. “How far, ATerafin, does your…determination…extend?”

  She understood the question, and Gabriel saw her knees begin to bend. He also watched as she locked them, bowing only her head instead. “I am sorry, Son of Justice, but I am unable to answer that question.”

  “Unable?”

  “I can’t leave House Terafin, and I can’t be certain until I do. I will do so upon your command the minute the last of the rites have been observed.”

  “Very well. We will wait, ATeraf
in.” He inclined his head and turned to King Cormalyn. To Gabriel’s surprise, he hesitated, and then turned once again to face Jewel. “We are in your debt, ATerafin. Only the very wise or the very headstrong attempt to place Empires in their debt.”

  Her eyes rounded, but her mouth remained shut. Gabriel watched, assessing every gesture, every silence. “That was not my intent,” she finally replied. In a much quieter voice, she continued, “I am seer-born; the seer-born, in theory, can look clearly into parts of the future. I therefore consider the actions undertaken in Avantari at my command to be my duty to the future rulers of the Empire of Essalieyan.”

  King Cormalyn’s lips twitched in a slight smile. “ATerafin,” he said. “You must now attend the regent; he is restive, and there is much to be discussed—and in very little time—before the magi return to us.”

  The regent was not, of course, the only man to observe, nor the only man to measure Jewel ATerafin’s critical performance. In Haval’s opinion, Gabriel ATerafin’s assessment was, by nature and desire, far too gentle. As a dressmaker, Haval was of course among the least significant of the guests; no one asked his opinion. Or rather, no one should have. He allowed himself a theatrical, if mild, grimace as Jarven ATerafin approached the tall and intricate plant beside which he now stood. The rather better dressed and better known head of the Terafin operations in the Merchant Authority grinned at Haval’s sour expression.

  “Haval,” he said, inclining his head as he adjusted the position of his walking stick. “I hope I find you in good health? You are not notably dry.”

  “I am an old man,” Haval replied, “and not prone to moving quickly merely to avoid rain.” He glanced at Jewel ATerafin, who had fallen uncharacteristically silent under the weight of so many stares. “I see you escorted young Finch to the gallery.”

  “Indeed. An advantage to my position; she has to work with—and for—me.”

  “I’m surprised Lucille allowed it; Lucille appears to have more sense.”

  “Lucille was, unhappily, quite busy.” Jarven smiled broadly. “And, yes, I’m certain I will hear about it when the offices in the Authority are once again open for business. Finch is astute, and I would say, on the surface, more politically subtle than Jewel.”

  Haval nodded. “A fair assessment. Jewel is not known for her graceful maneuvers in the political arena. You are concerned, Jarven. If you consider it not entirely unwise, I would be interested in your reasons.”

  “They are, of course, the obvious reasons. She has certainly made no friend in the Lord of the Compact.”

  “No head of a House of any import has a friend in Duvari.”

  Jarven raised a brow. “That was unworthy of you, Haval.”

  “I felt it was an appropriate level of response for the comment that preceded it.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps. You are aware that we are now both out of our certain element?”

  Haval nodded. “Only one of us, however, is looking forward to the new landscape with any enthusiasm.”

  “I have very little at risk.”

  When Haval lifted a brow, Jarven added, “I have lived a long and eventful life, Haval. I have few years left to me, and I admit an absurd level of gratitude that those remaining will not be inconsequential and dull. I do not, I admit, have much of an opportunity to observe her directly; it’s almost as if young Finch doesn’t trust me.”

  “That is possibly the highest praise you could give the girl.”

  Jarven’s jovial smile suddenly vanished; no trace of it remained. “What will she do?”

  “You will discover that Jewel ATerafin is remarkably straightforward. I consider it both her chief failing and the characteristic that just might preserve her life in the months to come. If she can navigate those with unfailing care, she may survive beyond that. Duvari will, of course, counsel otherwise. I am uncertain what the guildmaster will suggest, and I am equally uncertain what the gods themselves will have to say; if the gods counsel her destruction, it will be…tricky.”

  “Is she even aware it’s a possibility?”

  Haval, hands behind his back, watched Jewel intently. “In my considered opinion, no. But she will be.”

  Jarven nodded. “Can you have her do anything about those cats?”

  “Sadly, no.”

  Jewel wanted, desperately, to go back to her room and stay there until the magi sent word. It wasn’t the first time she would so badly want something she could no longer have, and the bitter disappointments and grinding fears of an entire lifetime now provided the foundations on which she could—and must—stand. She went—Snow, Angel, and Avandar at her side—to Gabriel.

  To Gabriel, in full view of the Exalted, the Kings, and anyone else who was keeping score, she bowed. She held the bow until he cleared his throat, and then rose. What she saw in his face made her regret that. He was tired. He looked, to her eyes, worn—even old. “Jewel.”

  She nodded.

  “The Council will convene the day after the last rites are offered.”

  She nodded again.

  “If the Kings call you on that day, what will you do?”

  “I will attend the meeting of the House Council—”

  “It is a meeting, in full, of the Council.”

  She kept the flinch from her expression, or hoped she had. “And then I will travel to Avantari and allow the Lord of the Compact to interrogate me for the hours he no doubt intends.”

  A trace of a smile shifted the lines of Gabriel’s face. “And if he demands otherwise?”

  “The Laws of Exemption allow my absence at this time.”

  “Yes. But wisdom and the Laws of Exemption are often in conflict.”

  “In this case, I cannot afford to be absent from the Council meeting. They’ll understand why. Duvari will never be pleased with any choice I make, so he may as well get used to it.”

  “That really is a very lovely dress.”

  “A very lovely, suspiciously dry dress?”

  He did chuckle then. “Yes, to both. This is not what I envisaged for today. Let us hope that the rest of the funeral will pass without further incident.”

  Sigurne returned almost a full half hour later. Although she was bent and fragile to the eye, room was instantly made in the crowded gallery for her passage; she reached the side of the Kings in a handful of minutes. Matteos Corvel was at her elbow, looking wet, bedraggled, and determined.

  She executed a perfect obeisance to the Kings, the Exalted—and the regent of House Terafin. To Duvari, she granted the nod of an equal. “Your Majesties, the grounds are now deemed safe. We have fortified the shields; the warrior-magi are now in attendance. If there is difficulty in the rest of the City, however, we will be hard-pressed to respond in any timely fashion.”

  “Understood, Guildmaster,” the Lord of the Compact replied. The rest of the City, as Sigurne had so neatly called it, was not his concern. To Gabriel, he said, “The Kings and the Exalted will depart from the gallery; they will follow the route we discussed. The galleries are to be cleared now.”

  Gabriel nodded. He gestured to the waiting House Council, and they approached, leaving their attendants behind. “I must attend the Kings until the Lord of the Compact is satisfied,” he told them; it was not a surprise. “Return to the Council seats; lead the guests by example.”

  Gabriel seldom gave orders; only Haerrad bridled, discerning the source of those orders correctly. But Haerrad was not a man noted for his grace; the political acumen for which he was—in some circles—admired had little to do with elegant maneuvering and much to do with raw power.

  “Where is Councillor Rymark?” he asked, his broad, deep voice traveling the length of the hall.

  “He is toward the eastern end of the gallery,” Gabriel replied curtly. “Before you continue to ask questions that are appropriate for the Council Hall—and only that hall—let me inform you that his disposition was entirely at the request of the Lord of the Compact; he would have been here, otherwise.”

&
nbsp; Haerrad’s brow rose, as did the corners of his lips. The brief contortion could not be dignified with the word smile. “There is much to discuss in the Council Hall when the Council convenes.”

  “Of that,” was Gabriel’s dry reply, “I have no doubt whatsoever.”

  The servants were a moving army across the whole of the green; the Master Gardener’s tabard adorned several who now worked at edging the newly turned grass. Murmurs, muted, traveled between these men and women like a living, irregular wave: they had expected a disaster. It was true that the benches were damaged by their fall, but they had not been crushed or destroyed beyond possibility of use; nor had all of the intricate tenting that adorned the pavilions, although the tables had to be—quickly—replaced.

  But guiding them, watching them, were the first things that had been retrieved and reinstated: the poles that bore the banners and colors of House Terafin. The coffin itself had not been touched or harmed; it was not wet, it was not scratched, and no trace of dirt adorned it. That also caused whispers to spread, but they were muted and hushed; even the newest of the servants to the Terafin manse knew the story of Jewel Markess ATerafin’s humble beginnings, and only a handful had failed to recognize her voice.

  It should have terrified them; it didn’t. No more had The Terafin herself, when she had ruled these grand, forbidding halls. The only thing that caused them to quake in their boots—or shoes—was the Master of the Household Staff, and as that august and terrifying woman was present, the murmurs never broke a hurried whisper. Nor would they, in any case, when guests—outsiders, all—were present in such large numbers. Many of the servants were ATerafin, and they had received the offer of formal adoption from The Terafin herself. If she had been so far above them they could not ordinarily approach her, she had nonetheless recognized their service, the value of their dedication.

  This, then, they could do for her.

  The seats were rapidly filled; the desultory greetings and political wrangling that any such occasion demanded had already occurred, and no one was yet in a mood to repeat them. What, after all, could be said? If the strangers and visitors did not recognize the history of Jewel Markess ATerafin—or even the name—they would, in time; they understood for now that they had been in danger, and that that danger had been very, very real. They approached, and resumed, their seats with care; the political zeal for the best seating had quieted, although there were one or two among the patriciate who would cease their jostling for position only at death, if then.