Various protective enchantments had been laid against both windows and walls; the floor was a mosaic of magical color if one knew how to look. Sigurne Mellifas did. She was intimately aware of perhaps three quarters of the enchantments; she would never be given leave to examine them all. Nor had she need.
What the hall lacked in an appreciable sense was silence. The doors and the walls did not permit sound to travel beyond their perimeters—but within the room itself, the acoustics carried spoken word, enlarging it.
When the steward opened the doors to the hall, raised voices escaped. Sigurne exhaled. She did not ask the steward how long the Kings had been resident in the hall; nor did she ask to remain outside while the heated discussion continued. It would not, in the past two months, be the first time voices had been raised in this room.
Today, there were several. The Kings and the Exalted were not seated upon their thrones; they stood in a tight group, made wider by the obvious divergence of opinion. The Queens were present, but they were excluded from the debate. Sigurne had some small hope that she would be likewise spared.
It was a vain hope. Before she had reached the halfway point of the room, the Lord of the Compact turned. Duvari was not a man to raise his voice in anger; he lowered it, in times of duress. He reminded Sigurne of nothing so much as a guard dog; the barking, one could safely ignore; the growling, at one’s peril.
“Guildmaster,” the Lord of the Compact said.
“Lord of the Compact.”
“—And may I remind you again, brother, that we are not beholden to the gods’ every whim; we are mortal, and mortals rule here.” King Reymalyn’s voice echoed in the ceilings above.
“So you have said. Nor have I disagreed; the decision is not in the gods’ hands; it is in ours. But the gods have made clear the danger a single citizen poses to the rest of the Empire. They have a history—”
“It is a history that has been offered us piecemeal, and it is irrelevant. The Terafin has not contravened the laws of this land. If we are to execute—or assassinate—every person who poses a possible threat, there would be no city when the Lord of the Hells at last approached the gates!”
“The nonexistent gates, surely?” the Exalted of the Mother said to King Cormalyn. He looked every bit as ill-pleased as the god-born son of Justice. Sigurne did not envy them this argument. On the contrary, as she had little place in it, she would have been grateful to be excluded.
But she knew that variations of this argument had tied the Kings’ hands, extending the life of The Terafin. Rumors implied that it had not likewise bound the hands of the Astari.
“If she were the danger feared by the gods, she would not have had to flee the Common when the demon attacked.”
The Lord of the Compact bowed. It was a graceful, economical motion, and it brought the argument to a temporary halt. “I have received a report,” he said, into the ensuing, bitter silence. Duvari was perhaps the only man who would have dared interrupt; the Queens, as Sigurne, were silent.
King Reymalyn nodded brusquely.
“There is some evidence that there are recent—and notable—structural changes within the Terafin manse.” All eyes now fell on Duvari, who weathered the inspection as if it were irrelevant. “The changes involve The Terafin’s personal chambers.”
“Are they as impressive as the architectural changes within the Palace?” the Mother’s Daughter asked.
“They are as complete.”
“That is an evasion,” Sigurne said.
Duvari glanced in her direction. “My sources have not yet accessed The Terafin’s personal rooms. But the access points that were meant for the use of highly placed servants have vanished.”
“Pardon?”
“They no longer exist. There are no back halls and no back stairs that lead into them; they vanished overnight.”
“Which night?” The question was sharper, harsher; King Cormalyn was the speaker.
“The night The Terafin woke. The external building has not significantly changed; the upper floors remain intact. There is only one exception; the glass dome that once overlooked The Terafin’s personal libraries.”
“It is gone?”
“No. But the glass is now opaque.” He hesitated, and then added, “It is not, to our knowledge, glass at all.”
Silence.
The Exalted of Cormaris spoke. “If it is true the gods give us an incomplete history, it is also true that much of it has been irrelevant to our rule. That, I fear is changing. You know what we counsel. If it is to be effective, you are running out of time; it is a commodity of import to the merely mortal.”
“Can we demonstrate,” King Cormalyn said, “that The Terafin is now, in effect, a very real threat to the Empire?” He turned to Sigurne.
She was silent. She knew that the rooms in the upper reach were not the only difference to the manse, and knew further that the Astari had not infiltrated the Chosen. “If you mean to take this evidence to The Ten, no.”
“Would The Ten agree to meet with the gods in the Between?”
“That will, in my opinion, depend entirely on the meeting of The Ten. But if you intend her death to have the fewest repercussions, you will have her executed before that meeting. You will not receive dispensation from The Ten; if she is dead, however, they will have little recourse.”
“Very well. Her domicis is reputed to be a mage without parallel.”
“I have not tested him,” Sigurne replied. “But we are aware, and we are watchful. Member APhaniel does not believe he constitutes a threat unless and until any harm is offered his Lord.”
“The cats?”
“Are deadly. I do not think the Astari would be sufficient to contain them.” She hesitated. It was noted.
“Speak freely.”
“The gods appeared to recognize the cats; it is of the gods, not of the Guildmaster of the Order of Knowledge, that you must ask that question. The cats do not fear the demons; they do not fear assassins. Nor, in my opinion, should they.”
“Lord of the Compact, is the room ready?”
“It is.”
“Guildmaster, The Terafin brings a member of the First Circle as her attendant.”
“He will not interfere.”
The Exalted of the Mother lifted her head. She glanced at the Queens; Siodonay was stiff and pale, her hands in fists above the fabric of her very practical skirts. “I have one request,” she said, smiling the kindly smile of an aged matriarch—an expression Sigurne knew well in all its significance, she had used it so often herself.
“Ask,” the Kings said, in unison.
“I would like to show The Terafin some evidence of what she unintentionally wrought.”
Sigurne tensed. “I do not consider that wise,” she said.
Duvari added, “I concur.”
“And the request was not, with all due respect, made of either the guildmaster or the Lord of the Compact. The most difficult element of this decision has always been the character of The Terafin. The rooms are unusual. Like the work of Artisans, they do not conform in expected ways to the vision of their visitors.
“But The Terafin will not harm the Kings until it is clear they mean her death—and perhaps not then.”
“What do you hope to gain?”
“Information, as always, Your Majesty. The Terafin is the only seer born in the Empire of which we are aware. What she sees might give us a glimpse of what we face in an increasingly unpredictable future—and if we mean to have her removed, it is the only such glimpse we might receive.”
* * *
Jewel did not arrive in Avantari as a penitent; she had considered that approach, but had chosen to discard it. What had been done in Avantari, without her conscious consent or intent, was done. She had, through Avandar and Celleriant, two men bound in different ways to her service, preserved the lives of the Princes—men who would one day occupy the thrones of the Twin Kings. She did not intend to apologize or grovel for that.
; Nor did she feel either would be advantageous; had she, she would have put aside—with difficulty—the pride required to rule. But her demeanor, from the moment she exited the enclosed confines of the Terafin carriage, was being watched, gauged, and judged. It was judged by the Kings’ Swords and the Astari—as well as the servants of the royal palace; it was not these that concerned her as she made her way up the wide and grand stairs of the palace, and had it been only those who labored in service to the Crowns, she might have modulated her bearing, her carriage, the stiff tone of her voice when she spoke at all. No, among the servants here, and no doubt among the Swords, were those who might pass on word of what they witnessed to The Ten.
What the Kings demanded—or perhaps what Duvari demanded—was in direct opposition to what The Ten required. She could not be seen to accept censure with either grace or ease.
Shadow landed on the stairs and inserted himself behind the Chosen to her left, forcing Avandar to fall back. He did not, however, step on Avandar’s feet or on Jewel’s skirts, and he did not speak at all. She in turn accepted his presence by her side as if it were natural, sharply aware of his change in visible stature. She’d grown accustomed to it in such a short period of time it should have been disturbing.
No, it was disturbing. But at heart he was the same creature who’d dogged her steps for months.
Perhaps because of his size and the Swords’ inevitable lack of exposure to guards that moved on four paws, had wings, fangs, and looked like walking death, the Kings’ Swords were present in greater number than Jewel remembered them being on any prior occasion. She accepted their presence without comment and without acknowledgment; inasmuch as armored and armed men by the dozen could be beneath notice, these were.
The steward who met her at the head of the Swords offered her a deep bow; it was not exaggerated for effect, but it was not brief.
“Terafin.”
She inclined head, no more.
“Please, follow.”
Jewel was not a frequent visitor to the Hall of Wise Counsel, but she had never entered that room and found the Kings waiting. The Kings remained in a separate chamber until summoned, probably by the Astari. The Exalted, however, were less paranoid.
Cautious, Avandar said.
I didn’t say it out loud. Is it necessary to correct my thoughts?
His answer was clearly yes. She followed the steward from the large, intimidating halls into the first of the public galleries. Prepared for what she saw, she didn’t miss a step—but that took work. It was hard to both gape and pretend that nothing was noteworthy; she managed something in between.
The floors in the hall were adorned with long rugs. The rugs caught the eye, but beneath them, the stone stretched out from one end to the other in a single piece, unbroken by anything as everyday as seams. These, she could have ignored with little effort.
It was the pillars that would have been hard to ignore. No, she thought, impossible. They were, as the floors, of a single piece, and they rose from floor to the height of the beginning of arched vaulting. But they were a darker stone than the floors. They were not polished, although they appeared smoothly ground; flecks of color caught and reflected light. In and of itself, this would not have been remarkable—but the shape of the pillars had changed; they now looked like the trunks of enormous trees, over which the vaulting ceiling served as branches reaching, always, for the sky.
She wanted to ask if they were all like this, all of the pillars, but couldn’t. Here, where there were no other speakers, her voice would carry her ignorance to whoever listened.
The walls, however, did not appear hugely changed. They were still adorned by tapestries and paintings. The statues, however, caught her eye. They were, in theory, carved likenesses of the gods—although having seen them, in the Between, Jewel was aware that only an Artisan might truly capture some part of their essential nature—but they were not the statues with which she was familiar. No; they were so finely chiseled, and so elegantly adorned, they seemed almost alive. They were taller by a good three feet than they had been the last time she’d seen them.
Taller, prouder, and—to Jewel’s eye—crueler in seeming.
She forced herself to keep her eyes on the steward; she asked no questions, and made no comments.
* * *
Duvari was, of course, waiting for Jewel in the Hall of Wise Counsel. Sigurne Mellifas was also present; she looked both weary and alert. Five minutes with Duvari could easily account for that level of weariness, but in this case, that was wishful thinking on Jewel’s part. The steward announced The Terafin; the Swords spread out along the back wall, leaving Avandar, Teller, Meralonne, and Shadow standing at the foot of a long blue runner that led to the dais upon which the Exalted were seated.
Jewel, mindful of Amarais’ prior behavior, tendered the Exalted a perfect obeisance. She held it until the Mother’s Daughter bid her rise. The Mother’s Daughter was not old, but at this moment, looked it. Her golden eyes were ringed with dark circles, and her lips, creased deeply at the corners.
“We were both alarmed and concerned when we received word of your cancellation of our last audience. What caused your absence, Terafin?” she asked, coming directly to the point. The new point. The pillars, the floors, and the unmentioned statues now seemed to be of lesser concern.
Jewel had intended to dismiss her absence as a House affair—an emergency; given that it was semi-public knowledge that she had been targeted by assassins five times in the last few months, it was almost plausible. Instead, she found herself saying, “If we might wait upon the Kings and the Queens? The Ten meet in Avantari today, and the explanation required might take some time.”
This was not to the liking of the Exalted of Reymaris. “The Kings are also extremely busy.”
“Understood, Exalted.” She did not, however, answer the question; she chose to wait.
Duvari walked to Sigurne’s side; they conversed briefly. In the silent room, none of their words reached Jewel. This surprised her; if silence was used as a defensive precaution—and it was—it was seldom used in such an obvious way; not in this room.
“APhaniel,” the guildmaster finally said.
“I consider it safe,” the mage replied. He looked bored. He was not, however, holding his pipe.
Duvari spoke to Sigurne again; Sigurne looked as pleased at the exchange as any notable man or woman of power in the Empire might. But if Duvari was not satisfied—and in this room, he seldom was—he nodded.
The carved reliefs along the back of the room began their slow fade, announcing in silence the arrival of the Kings and Queens. They entered the room flanked by two men and two women who were dressed as minor aides, wearing the gray that characterized the Swords, but absent the tabard and obvious armor. They were, in Jewel’s opinion, Astari.
The Queens offered Jewel a shallow bow, which surprised her; the Kings confined themselves to a stiff, minimal nod, which did not. They took their thrones.
Jewel turned to the Exalted of the Mother. “My thanks, Exalted,” she said, meaning it. “And my deep apologies for absenting myself from our last meeting. I was indisposed in such a way that I was not aware of the passage of time, and were I, I was nonetheless not in a position to attend.” She drew breath as they waited, watching her.
She placed a hand on Shadow’s head when she caught the twitch of his ears from the corner of her eye; she did not take her eyes away from the god-born and the Queens. “In the estimation of Levec, I was felled by the sleeping sickness.” She couldn’t tell if this was news to them or not; she assumed that word had reached Duvari through Devon.
“He woke you?”
“No. It was not necessary.”
“It was not possible,” Shadow hissed.
She felt Avandar’s anger. The god-born, however, did not seem annoyed by the interruption.
“Without the intervention of healers, the sleepers do not waken.”
“One has,” Jewel replied calmly. “She woke sho
rtly before I woke.”
The Kings glanced at Duvari, who nodded. “Are we to understand from this that you had some hand not only in your own waking, but in theirs as well?”
“Yes.”
“We await your explanation.”
“The sleeping sickness has, on occasion, been called the dreaming plague. Given that the sleepers, when wakened by healers, have no memory of their dreams, I’m not certain why. But reason aside, the second name is the more appropriate. I’m not certain how the victims were chosen—I know only that they all dwell within Averalaan.”
“It is the only distinguishing feature; there is no uniformity of location, age, or gender.”
Jewel nodded again. “They were found in their sleep. They were found,” she continued, “in their dreams, and while dreaming, they were caught and trapped.”
“Terafin.”
“Exalted.”
“You speak with certainty.”
“With as much certainty as I can; I am certain the information is not complete. I, too, was caught while dreaming.”
“But you were aware.”
“I am seer-born,” she replied, without a trace of the bitterness that often accompanied the word. “And often the strongest or most complete warnings come to me in my dreams. I seldom forget dreams for that reason, and even when I am caught in them, I can . . . observe.”
“That is unusual, but the explanation seems reasonable,” the Exalted of Cormaris said, speaking for the first time. “Continue.”
“While sleeping the night before my previous audience with the Exalted, I dreamed. In that dream I met a . . . man . . . who called himself the Warden of Dreams. He was within the confines of my dream—but he exists beyond it.”
“And not as a figment or a creation of your dreams?”
“No. He identified himself as one of the firstborn.”
Silence.
* * *
After a long pause, the Exalted of the Mother said, “Please continue.”
“The Warden of Dreams is not, as he appears, one person; he is not, however, two distinct entities. Both of those entities occupy the same physical form, even in the dreaming; both appear to have their own plans and their own goals—which in this case did not entirely coincide. I think of them as Dream and Nightmare, but for purposes of this discussion, I will use Warden of Dreams, if that is acceptable.” When no objections were raised, she continued.
Battle: The House War: Book Five Page 45