Battle: The House War: Book Five

by Michelle West

  Barston rose.

  “May we use Gabriel’s office? Or Teller’s?”

  “Gabriel’s office is the more secure.”

  * * *

  Jewel deliberately chose to take Gabriel’s chair. It was behind his very clean, very fine desk; that the desk was also functional was not in question. Avandar, however, stood to one side of the ornate doors, as if he were part of the furnishing—the tasteful, sparse furnishing—of the right-kin’s office. Barston closed the door and joined her, but he chose to stand instead of availing himself of one of the chairs which visitors generally occupied. He had been a fixture in this house before Jewel—and Teller—had arrived at the front gates. He ran the office; if he deferred to Gabriel, it was because the office served the right-kin. The right-kin was the conduit to The Terafin for everyone.

  “You know that Gabriel intends—fully intends—to retire.”

  “Yes.”

  “You are aware that, were he willing to stay, I would retain his services?”

  “Yes.” Barston offered a weary smile. “Teller has made that quite clear to Gabriel. He has also,” he added, his smile transforming into a tight frown, “made it clear to anyone else who is privileged to work in this office.”

  “There’s no harm in that.”

  Barston said nothing.

  “As I have not yet expired—and not from lack of trying on the part of my enemies—I need this office.” She watched him closely. “Gabriel can retire, Barston. It’s not what I want, but I understand the difficulties he now faces.” She drew a deep breath, exhaled, and made a decision. “Are you aware of the state of his finances as they pertain to the House?”

  “Of course.” The secretary’s expression shuttered. Not a good sign, but not a definitively bad one.

  “Are you aware,” she continued, “of the state of his personal finances?”

  “His personal finances are not the concern of the House.”

  “They would not be, if my rule of the House were less uncertain.” She phrased the statement in a tone of voice that implied agreement, not argument.

  He watched her.

  “You are aware that I am to meet with The Ten in Avantari on the morrow.”

  “Of course.”

  “I had intended to take Gabriel with me.”

  His silence was longer and deeper.

  “Let me make things clear, Barston. Gabriel’s personal account saw a withdrawal of a significant sum of money. There has been no change in his holdings, and no acquisitions—through any of the regular, known channels, of the items of art that he personally collects. That sum was not paid to his son; nor was it paid to any of the various people Gabriel regularly employs. We cannot trace a recipient.”

  “Terafin.”

  “But the sum corresponds to the rather hefty fee one would be expected to pay for an assassin who had any hope of success. I’m sorry.”

  “There must be an explanation for it,” Barston finally said, in the most chilly of tones he might offer the woman who ruled the House. Had she been anyone else, Jewel was certain that she would no longer be standing—or sitting—in Gabriel’s office.

  “Yes. And I am certain the answer does not rest with Gabriel—not directly. Gabriel is, to my mind, above suspicion.”

  Some of the ice melted.

  “But it is an investigation which must be entered. It is not, of course, public. Nor will it be made so—not directly, and not by me. I am certain, however, that Haerrad, should he gain access to that information, is likely to spread it at least among the House Council.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I will do nothing,” was her quiet reply. “Gabriel has said—from the beginning—that he would not remain as right-kin; no plea I’ve made has moved him, and I do not imagine any plea I make now would. He has remained in this office as ATerafin, because the House is in turmoil. If it were not, he would have resigned the moment I was acclaimed.

  “You have remained with him. You have offered no word of your intent to resign.”

  “If Gabriel is forced from this office, Terafin, after his years of service, I will not remain to guide it.”

  She nodded; she had expected no less. “If he is allowed to retire, as has been his declared intent?”

  “If his retirement is clouded—”

  “Inasmuch as it is within my power, it will not be. I have never intended to force him to remain. But if he leaves now, he is unlikely to be drawn into what will no doubt become an ugly investigation.” She exhaled again, and said, “If there is irregularity in his accounting, I expect it is entirely due to his very ambitious son.”

  “He does not support Rymark.”

  “I know. But Rymark troubles him, nonetheless. We do not, it is true, choose our kin.”

  Barston raised a brow and cleared his throat.

  Her smile deepened. “Most of us do not. In the case of my den, we had little choice.”

  “It is seldom that lack of choice proves so fortuitous.”

  “Rymark has always pressured his father, and in a way that Gabriel cannot easily counter—if at all. Gabriel’s sense of responsibility will not—yet—allow him to disavow his blood kin. But if we move against Rymark in this, Rymark will throw his father into the wolf’s path, and it is Gabriel who will fall. The investigation must continue, and its conclusions must come to light—at least within the Council Halls. I cannot prevent it; indeed, my rule will depend on it. I would spare him at least that much. If he is not among the Council—”

  “He will surely retain a seat upon the House Council?”

  Jewel looked away. “If he has not discussed this with you, then I should not. But I will, regardless. He does not intend to retain a seat upon the House Council. He has suggested, instead, that I take the very unusual step of appointing Jarven ATerafin.”

  Barston’s brows rose. “Jarven is . . . not a young man.”

  “No. And he is a busy one. I am considering appointing Lucille in his stead.”

  The brows rose further, which should have been physically impossible. But they fell as Barston schooled his expression. “Let us not discuss the possibility of his replacement before he and I have had a chance to discuss this.”

  Jewel nodded.

  “You wish to spare Gabriel the continued . . . misfortune . . . of dealing with his son.” Barston did not deny the truth of any of Jewel’s barely veiled accusations.

  “I do. I wish it enough to deprive myself of Gabriel’s guidance at a time when it is desperately needed. If I allow Gabriel to retire, with honor, what will you do?”

  Barston hesitated, which was very rare. He then walked over to the desk and took the chair nearest to it. “Oh, very well. Who will you appoint as right-kin in his place?”

  “Does your continued tenure in this office depend on my reply?”

  Barston’s eyes narrowed. “It is a great pity that Gabriel could not see his way clear to fully supporting you in his former position as right-kin,” he said, after a significant and disapproving pause. “While on the surface you have very little in common, it is clear to me that some tendencies have strong overlap. One of these would be asking superfluous questions.”

  “Superfluous.”

  “Those to which you already know the answer. Those to which,” he added, enunciating each syllable, “anyone who breathes might already know the answer. Of course it does. You could appoint Rymark or Haerrad, and I would not even go so far as to properly pack the office for the sake of my successor.”

  She laughed. She knew Amarais wouldn’t have had she been in the same position, but the genuine amusement his perfectly correct outrage had caused welled up and burst forth before she could even think of containing it. “There is no way I could appoint either man,” she said, when she could once again school her face. “I am still breathing, after all.” She let the smile drop from her face. “Gabriel feels that you have earned a respectful—and peaceful—retirement.”

  Barston’s smile was wi
thering. “Gabriel also believes that most adults behave with a modicum of consideration and respect for my labor. He has clearly spent far too many of his notable years on the wrong side of these doors.” He lifted a hand. “I am, occasionally, wearied by the work; I will not deny it. But I find it stressful to contemplate the state of this office without my guidance.”

  This could not come as a surprise to anyone who had even a passing acquaintance with the man.

  “Were Gabriel’s retirement to involve lesser, but similar, work, I might join him. I have considered it. But if he means to absent himself entirely from the responsibilities of the House, no.”

  “No?”

  “Gabriel has always pursued interests of his own; he has his art, and some small handful of artists, for whom he serves as patron, and he has endowed a not inconsiderable sum on Senniel College. He has one standing grant offered to the Order of Knowledge on alternate years; he has some small interest in the study of ancient languages. I confess that my own interests in any of his endeavors is entirely because they are his; they are not my own.

  “If Gabriel truly takes the retirement he yearns for, those hobbies will occupy his time and his attention. They will not, however, likewise occupy mine.”

  “You’ve no hobbies?”

  Barston raised a brow. “I am unaware that you yourself have developed a broader range of interests that do not reflect the business of the House.”

  “I’m not certain my sojourn in the South reflected the specific interests of the House,” she replied.

  “It was not, by all accounts—and those accounts were muted, indeed—a voluntary leave of absence. But the needs of the office today will, as you say, require some finesse and the patience of an energetic saint. I will therefore attempt to come to the point, without duly taxing either of our abilities to dance around it.”

  “And that point?”

  “The office of the right-kin, Terafin.”

  “It is not an office that you yourself have ever considered assuming?”

  He looked completely scandalized. Jewel almost laughed again, but this one she managed to contain. “Barston, it is not an entirely idle question. You of all people must be aware of our origins. Your current Terafin was born and raised in the twenty-fifth holding. If, with my background, I can take the House Seat, surely the office of right-kin is not beyond yours? You have both the experience and the education for it.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, his face almost as shuttered as Haval’s could instantly and easily become. “I understand that you mean no insult, Terafin, and I will therefore endeavor to take none. You must understand the difference in our relative positions. You came to the House Council at the unprecedented age of sixteen years. You were accepted on that Council, the usual reservations entirely muted, because of your singular talent.

  “It is not a talent with which I was born. I was never invited—or commanded, as Teller was—to assume such a seat. Nor was my employ and the gradual shift of the weight of responsibility designed in such a way as to allow it. It was clear to us—to Gabriel and myself—that The Terafin had hopes for, and designs on, your futures.”

  “She sent Teller to you.”

  “She sent Teller to Gabriel, yes. Do you think it was merely to make work for the boy?”

  Jewel was silent.

  “No. You don’t. No more do I. Nor did I, at the time. I have trained him—and I will say that he was an adept student. He is not hasty, and he is more than considerate; he has performed his duties to this office with a characteristic humility and completeness. But as his understanding of the duties of the office evolved, he served as junior aide to Gabriel, and not under-secretary to myself. What he saw of the office and its responsibilities broadened considerably in the scope of those duties. Had Teller been my successor, his duties would have, of necessity, been somewhat different.

  “That was never his role.”

  “And you are content?”

  “Were I to reside in this office—were the chair you now so boldly occupy to be, in truth, mine—who would run the office itself? They cannot be a person who exudes little authority—and for that reason, if no other, I would hesitate to put Teller behind my own desk—and they cannot be a person to whom the small, daily duties and information are not essential. Most of the assistants who have been sent my way feel half of their work is trivial. They make small errors because they do not retain the focus required, and those small errors become, as they gather, much larger and more difficult.”

  Jewel lifted a brow. “You are telling me that you consider yourself irreplaceable.”

  He reddened, very slightly, but did not demur.

  “. . . And Gabriel, of course, is not. But irreplaceable or no, if I did not approve the correct man—or woman—as right-kin, you would abandon your duties.”

  “I am secretary, Terafin,” he said, as if secretary was a position only less exalted than the Kings themselves. “I am not the whole of the office; I am half of it. But the halves of the office—both the internal and the external—must work together to weave a consistent, single fabric, and if I am attempting to weave silk while the other is attempting to hammer nails into the threads, the office will not function.”

  “And Teller?”

  “He is not Gabriel,” Barston replied. “But he understands no office but this one.” He folded his hands in his lap and waited.

  Jewel rose. “Very well, Barston. I will tell you that I consider to you to be nigh irreplaceable. If you will serve Teller as secretary, Teller will be my right-kin. When Gabriel returns, send him to my office; I wish to inform him myself. But it is Teller who will accompany me to Avantari on the morrow.”

  Barston rose as well. He bowed.

  “There is one other matter of concern,” she said, as she reached the door. “The matter of your own successor. Please, please find a suitable assistant that you might begin to train.”

  “Of course, Terafin.”

  * * *

  “Well?” she asked her domicis as she headed down the hall.

  “You did well. He is, in his fashion, a formidable man. He will not slay demons for you—but the majority of the previous Terafin’s life did not require it. Without obvious rank, he is clearly not a man to be crossed more than once.”

  “I mean, will he find an assistant?”

  Avandar chuckled. “I believe he has been laboring under the exact same orders for the better part of two decades.”

  “Teller says he has high standards.”

  “Indeed.”

  * * *

  Torvan—alone—was waiting in The Terafin’s office when Jewel arrived. Two Chosen were stationed outside of the doors, but this was common. Even, apparently, when The Terafin was not within the manse. The sharp, loud clang of a full salute, offered in dress uniform, filled the room. Jewel said, “At ease, Captain.”

  Ease came to him slowly, and in the only fashion that it ever came to the Chosen whose Lord was still living.

  “I’m sorry,” she added, when he failed to speak first. “I had no warning of what might occur in the Common before we left the manse, and only warning enough to clear the platforms before the demon emerged.”

  Torvan remained silent.

  “He intended to fight his way to me, through whatever was foolish—or brave—enough to stand in his way.”

  His exhalation was heavy. “He was there for you, then.” It wasn’t a question.

  She answered anyway. “He was. I had some hope that he might follow if I returned in haste to the manse; he was winged, and the wings were not decorative.”

  “He did, Terafin.”

  “Casualties?”

  “It is unclear. Many were injured; some half dozen are dead.”

  She flinched. “Teller? Finch?”

  “None of the dead served you. Two of the magi fell, and one Priest of the Mother. We would have returned in haste to the manse, but the three armies would not be easily moved; they were summoned in haste
, deployed in haste. The three Commanders took charge.”

  “The streets are clear now?”

  “The streets are not clear at the moment, no. Because the route was lined with both enterprising merchants and the citizens who wished some glimpse of the returning soldiers, they are still not cleared; it will be perhaps another hour before full order is restored. The Chosen, however, are upon the grounds. The House Council will follow; they are no doubt being detained by the Astari as we speak.”

  “I can imagine.” Duvari was not going to be a happy man. “I’m almost surprised the Chosen were allowed to depart.”

  His face perfectly composed, Torvan said, “It is better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.”

  That did evoke a smile. “How clear was it that the demon was there for me?”

  “It was not immediately clear at all. The assumption, given the presence of the Kings and the Exalted, was otherwise.”

  “When did it become clear?”

  “To the Chosen? When you left, and the demon chose to pursue. It was not clear, at the time, that you had vacated the Common; it became clear shortly thereafter when Lord Celleriant made it clear to Member APhaniel. I do not know if it was, at that point, clear to the Crowns or the Exalted.”

  She nodded. “Thank you, Torvan. Tomorrow—provided the meeting is not, in light of this uproar, rescheduled, I will meet with The Ten in Avantari.”

  He nodded.

  “Teller will accompany me.”

  “Angel?”

  “Yes, of course.” She hadn’t considered leaving Angel behind. But Torvan knew her, and he understood that her silence came from hesitance; he therefore waited. She was silent for a long moment, and was saved the effort of making a decision by the arrival of Gabriel ATerafin.

  * * *

  Jewel wanted to dismiss every other person standing in the room. It was instinctive and protective, and it was a desire she worked to squelch. Torvan, the Chosen and her domicis were, as far as Gabriel was concerned, a functional extension of her body. He would have far less difficulty with their presence than she herself did, at the moment.

  “ATerafin,” she said quietly, and then, “Gabriel.” She took a seat behind her desk, and indicated that he might, should he so choose, take one of the chairs that fronted it. He accepted the offer. His eyes had the gaunt, sunken look of a man who’s chased sleep for nights without managing to catch it. He had come from the Common, and splinters still adorned the left arm of his jacket, as did the gray overlay of spread ash.