Jewel, having met the man several times, was far less certain. “You think the bardmaster chose to disseminate this bit of political irreverence as widely—and swiftly—as she possibly could.”
“Yes. As I said, I find it disturbing. The Kings appear to concur with my assessment.” She folded her hands behind her back. “I have, of course, seen the transformation of floors and pillars within the palace. In and of themselves, they would be unsettling; we all live upon the Isle, and our homes are far less protected against magical intrusion than Avantari itself. We are aware that while such changes can be seen as largely positive—given rumors that Avantari retained structural damage during the assassination attempt—changes of a largely negative nature could likewise be made.
“And if so, Terafin, we are all at the mercy of your largesse and your benevolence. You can imagine—”
“That it is not to your liking.”
“An understatement.”
Jewel walked toward the end of the table at which the Terafin House Seat was situated. “If the meeting is to revolve around me—me, personally, not the House over which I preside—what would the desired outcome be?”
“For Terafin?”
“No. Believe that I understand Terafin’s concerns in this regard. For The Ten.”
“The Ten are insular,” The Kalakar replied, after a long pause.
“You do not consider yourself insular.”
“I do. But I have spent months in the Dominion with the Kings’ armies, and I have seen the smallest part of what we face. We did not fight a war, Terafin; we fought a battle. The thing we most fear did not take to the roads he built—at great cost; he sent his scouts. Against those scouts, without the grace of ancient weapons and the god-born, we would have fallen. Devran—The Berrilya—does not agree with my assessment of the situation.
“But it is clear to me that at least some of the bards on the field did.”
“Because of the song.”
“Because of the spread of a song the Kings wished to suppress, yes. What I do not understand—what I am certain I will never fully understand—is why you have chosen to involve yourself—and by extension the whole of your House—in affairs that are almost entirely beyond the ken of the merely political.”
“And if I said that the choice was not entirely my own?”
“It would be the least favorable response you could tender.”
Jewel lowered her chin, understanding what Ellora did not put into words: she should lie. She should lie so convincingly that The Ten and the Kings might take comfort from it. Avowal of innocence, of ignorance, of the harmlessness of intent—those were the tools of a coddled or desperate child, and they had no place in this room.
“You have never served in the army.” It was not a question.
“No.”
“When I went to the Dominion, I expected to see demons; nor was that expectation disappointed. When the men under my command went to the Dominion, they likewise expected some hint of the demonic—but most of these men had heard stories and third – or fourth-hand reports. We found demons.
“We were prepared for them. What we were not prepared for was the final battle in Averda. There, the forces we faced were comprised entirely of the kin. They did not choose to disguise their nature, and one—at least one—could wake the very earth, changing in an instant the shape of the battlefield.
“It is said no plan of battle survives first contact with the enemy. It is sometimes said in jest, but it is largely true: battle plans are plans of contingencies, of what-ifs. Could we predict that a beast whose very voice would terrify every horse on the field, and whose step would break earth, opening chasms beneath the feet of our units, would appear?” She waited.
“I will assume the answer is no.”
“The answer is no. No more did I expect to have, within the ranks of my House Guard, the daughter of our greatest enemy. She was critical to our success in that war, and she was almost the singular cause of our failure. In ignorance, I made decisions. I issued orders. Those orders can be evaluated after the fact; at the time, they were almost certainly going to cost lives. I understood that. My duties on the field were not—are not—to preserve those lives. My duties are not to feed the men, to tend to the horses, to make or break camp. They are not, in the end, to form and stand in the lines of defense which have to hold; nor are they to kill enemy soldiers.
“My duties as leader are simple: to make decisions. To issue orders. To appear to be in command of a situation that is otherwise volatile and chaotic. I am mortal. I cannot stand and face a creature that is, if I understand the magi, scion of ancient, wild gods. My men know this—but regardless, it is my ability to assert control and command in the face of such a creature that holds the army together. Do I have doubts? Yes. All leaders do. But if those doubts are the only thing I convey, I have utterly failed those under my command.”
“May I then point out, Kalakar, that you are not under my command?”
“You may. It is, of course, true. But The Berrilya is not under my command, and he understands that we share a responsibility and a duty. You are our peer; you are our equal. If you wish to maintain that footing, you, too, must shoulder a similar burden. Or you may choose to hand the burden of decision and command to a higher power. If you make that choice, you have an option: the Kings.”
Jewel stiffened. When she turned to face The Kalakar, she was angry. She could not afford to vent her momentary rage upon this woman. “That is perilously close to insult,” she said, keeping her voice steady and even.
The Kalakar smiled. “In this room, and among the people who will fill it, it is not close to insult; it is an insult.”
“Understood.” Jewel took the seat reserved for the House; it was—had been—Amarais’. Amarais had left the House—and everything she had built within it—in Jewel’s care, and Jewel did not intend to abandon it. Nor would she fail it easily. It was true that Amarais had not accidentally restructured parts of Avantari; had she, what would she have done? Would she have dissembled? Would she have been forced into defensive denials of her own power?
No. Think, Jay. Think. What would she have done? Would she have failed? No. No, of course not. Lifting her chin, she said, “The floors were broken in much the same way the earth was broken in your battle.”
The Kalakar nodded; Verrus Korama came to stand by her side. Neither spoke.
“The pillars were also cracked in the same way—a casualty of the shift of earth and stone beneath them. The damage was not cosmetic.”
“You are certain.”
“Yes. I have not been given leave to discuss the sensitive nature of other possible alterations. But when the earth broke through the marble, it did not magically assert itself; it drew itself up from beneath the architecture built upon it.” As she spoke, she knew this was true, and knew, as well, that it was not only the two rooms she’d been asked to inspect that had been rebuilt. “Changes were therefore made belowground, with the same intent: to make certain the whole of the building was sound.
“I am the architect of these changes.” She smiled; it was slender, and there was no amusement in it. “And, Kalakar, as Commander, I did not trifle with the details. I did not choose the stone; nor did I labor with artists and artisans over the flourishes that are carved upon the pillars. Perhaps in future circumstances, this might be wise, but I did not have the luxury of time.”
“Could you, with ease, cause such changes in the future?”
“Not with ease, no. Perhaps not at all. I did not summon the wild earth.”
“But you commanded it. How?” The word was sharper, harsher.
Jewel’s smile was serene. “These lands, in a way the earth understands, are mine. While the earth wakes here, my commands have precedence over all others, even those who chose to summon it.” She lifted a hand before The Kalakar could speak. “Before you ask, Kalakar, the earth does not understand the claims of mortal Kings; no more does it understand the claims of The
Ten, even Terafin.
“But if you mean ‘how did I command the earth,’ it was simple: I spoke.”
“Could the Kings now claim what you have claimed?”
“No.”
“You are certain of this.”
Jewel nodded.
“I see that you have started the heart of the proceedings without waiting upon the attendance of the Council in full.”
Jewel turned as The Berrilya strode into the room. He wore the uniform of the Kings’ armies, and not the more patrician clothing—in House colors—that the rest of The Ten would wear. Even The Kalakar had forgone military dress.
“We have not,” she replied, before The Kalakar could. Her voice was cool. “We engage in discussions of a collegial nature between peers.”
“And such discussions now include assessment of the competencies of Kings?” He entered the room before his adjutant, a younger man of military bearing. He, as Korama, was Verrus.
“Not the competencies, surely,” was her equally chill reply.
The Berrilya took his chair as well. Although he wasn’t above productive, informal conversation, that was clearly not his intent today. He wore his uniform as if he expected to preside over armies upon a field of battle. Given The Kalakar’s expression, he probably did. Jewel had never completely understood the hostility between the two—its foundation appeared to be a solid, if grudging, mutual respect. That respect did not, however, prevent arguments.
And clearly, from The Berrilya’s expression, one of those arguments had occurred prior to the meeting of The Ten. “You are aware, Terafin,” he said, turning to her, “that the bardmaster has petitioned for permission to sit in observance?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Jewel replied, although the actual answer was No. No, she had not been aware. Permission was not dependent upon any one House, although in theory The Ten could force a vote for privacy, which would require the bardmaster to remove herself. Solran Marten was not, however, a woman one wished to offend. She had the ears of the Kings and their Queens, and her reach, if subtle, extended across the breadth of the Empire and beyond the Empire’s borders.
“I will tell you now,” The Berrilya continued, “that I am against it. I will also vote to have The Wayelyn removed from the chamber if he so much as touches a musical instrument during the meeting.”
Jewel did raise a brow then; it was seldom that The Berrilya, a man who defined rigid self-control and the capable use of protocol, made so bald a statement. She glanced at The Kalakar, who returned a shrug; The Wayelyn’s lack of patrician comportment had never been of great concern to her. While she did not likewise indulge, she did not find it threatening. “Such votes should not be called in what is an essentially frivolous endeavor.”
The Berrilya’s frown deepened, adding brackets around the lines already etched in place. “It is not frivolous to remind any member of this Council that this chamber is neither a tavern nor a theater.”
“If you feel Solran Marten should be excluded, you will be asked for justifications,” Jewel said. “And I feel that those justifications, in this case, will of necessity be slender.”
“And if my reasons are less than frivolous?”
Jewel inclined her head. “The Council will uphold them.”
“Very well. I believe her interests and ours are not aligned.”
“I would say that her interests and the Kings’ are not aligned; I fail to see their significance to The Ten.”
“You have heard?”
“That The Wayelyn has penned a song which has freely traveled? Yes.”
“And the song itself?”
“I have not heard it.”
The Berrilya straightened. “When you hear it, if you do, it will change your opinion in this matter.”
“Kalakar?”
“I am uncertain. I believe you were—and are—unaware of the song itself. But if the song is considered significant to the bardmaster, it would be better, in my opinion, to demand the reasoning for her decision to ignore the Kings’ request. Something,” she added, “we cannot do if she is not present. As she will be present at her own request, we expend no political capital to receive an answer.”
Jewel nodded; she agreed.
“Solran Marten is not a woman to answer demands,” The Berrilya pointed out.
“No, indeed—but I have not heard that the Kings demanded an explanation. She will find it difficult to ignore such a question posed in this chamber.” The Kalakar folded her arms.
After a long pause, The Berrilya said, “Very well. I will not, however, tolerate song.”
* * *
Within the next half hour, The Ten filtered into the chamber. The Morriset arrived fifteen minutes early, with only an aide in tow; The Darias arrived at the side of The Fennesar, which surprised Jewel. The Fennesar was a woman similar in style to Amarais; she looked almost severe today. The Darias, however, seemed completely at ease in her company, and their conversation implied that they had been conversing for some small time before they arrived at the open doors of the Council chamber.
The Korisamis arrived five minutes before the hour. Jewel was surprised. Of The Ten, he had shown the most obvious displeasure at the need to reschedule the meeting. She had, of course, made no excuses and offered no explanations that would ameliorate his assumption of frivolity or incompetence on her part. She’d been too busy, and was also aware that admissions of any such kind had a political cost. He was, however, dressed in the southern style of Korisamis, which was the preferred formal dress for the House.
On his heels, and very much in House colors, came The Wayelyn; he did not arrive alone. Instead of advisers—of which he had many—he had chosen to escort the Bardmaster of Senniel College. Solran, silver-haired, wore the Senniel tabard. She offered a bow to the table at large before joining it at The Wayelyn’s side. Jewel thought The Berrilya would object; he did not. The Wayelyn appeared to have divested himself of musical instruments, but the bardmaster more than made up for the lack. The Berrilya was not apparently pleased at this departure from the etiquette which otherwise governed the full Council meetings; nor was he the only one to look askance.
Jewel thought it clever. Clever, in her experience, always courted trouble, something The Wayelyn seemed to thrive on.
To no one’s surprise, The Garisar arrived exactly on time, and to no one’s surprise, The Tamalyn arrived five minutes late, looking as if he had only barely managed to dress on the way out of his manse. He looked slightly bewildered; the woman at his side looked slightly frustrated. Were he not so guileless, it would have been difficult not to assume this was orchestrated, an act designed to render those around him careless. Jewel had never understood—and, given her role in Terafin, was never likely to—how he managed to maintain his position as the head of his House.
They took their seats as the doors rolled to a close.
As they did, The Berrilya rose. Jewel glanced at Avandar; her domicis nodded. Although each of The Ten Houses held a relative rank in the eyes of merchants and bankers, it was not official. The members of the Council had devised a rotation by which each member of each House—should they so choose—had the opportunity to open the meeting. In an emergency, such protocols could be ignored, but not without cost. It was, in the parlance of the street, The Berrilya’s turn.
Nor did he dissemble. “Terafin.”
She inclined her head.
“You were much missed during our previous attempt to convene a full Council.” If there was a question in the statement, it was inaudible. He left a beat, as if waiting for her to make an excuse or offer an apology, neither of which she could safely do. “Very well. I am certain that matters requiring your full attention conspired to prevent your attendance.”
“I, however,” The Garisar said, lifting chin but remaining in his chair, “would like an explanation, if one has been offered.”
“So, too, would House Korisamis.”
“House Darias concurs.”
/> Three, Jewel thought, waiting. To her surprise, The Wayelyn added his voice to the chorus. Four. She glanced at The Morriset; he held his peace.
She exhaled and played the first of her cards. “My apologies. My absence was unplanned in its entirety. You have all, no doubt, been apprised of the difficulties caused by the sleeping sickness.” She glanced at The Garisar as she spoke, as he was the first to voice what was tantamount to open criticism.
“We are, indeed.”
“The sleep is not natural.”
“That is conjecture,” he replied.
“No, it is not.”
“And you have proof of that?”
“I am proof of that,” she replied, choosing words with as much care as she could, although she suspected it would avail her little, in the end.
“To what do you attribute the sleep?”
“The Warden of Dreams,” she replied. “Both of them.” She watched the length of the table as the words left her lips; she knew Teller was doing the same. Solran Marten stiffened. The Wayelyn’s stillness was more subtle, but it was evident. To her surprise, The Korisamis frowned, a slow, deliberate folding of brows and lips. He didn’t look surprised; he looked, for a moment, as if he were attempting to recall where he’d heard the words before.
The Garisar, on the other hand, merely looked annoyed. “Those words have no meaning to House Garisar. Explain them, if you intend to offer them as proof of your claim.”
“Very well; the explanation will of necessity be less than brief. I have been the subject of various rumors over the past decade. Those rumors reached their height after the funeral of my predecessor. At least one of those rumors is pertinent, because at least one of them is true: I am seer-born.”
Silence. She hoped the confession would buy her a few minutes; she was relatively certain it would not.
“Across the Empire one may find stories and legends that involve the seer-born; I believe that my predecessor had them unearthed from any number of sources shortly after my adoption into the House. They were not numerous, and they were not of particular use to my situation: what the seer-born in story claimed to have achieved, I have never mastered.
Battle: The House War: Book Five Page 49