Battle: The House War: Book Five

by Michelle West

  “I suppose there is no hope that you will accept the information and dispense with the informer?”

  She glanced at him. “Why are you even asking the question?”

  “A fair response. If I understand your hesitance correctly, you wish the information—but you also wish to execute Rymark for, among other things, treason to the House.”

  She exhaled. “I do.”

  “Understandable, Terafin. You believe him responsible for your predecessor’s death?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well. I believe it unwise to accept his offer.”

  “You don’t trust it?”

  “It is not a matter of trust—at least on my part. He is dangerous. There have been multiple attempts on your life in the past several weeks; there is very little chance, in my opinion, that Rymark ATerafin did not play a part in most of them. I believe you will find the alliance, such as it is, costly to you.”

  “In my position what would you do?”

  “I? I would accept what he offers.”

  “But you counsel against my acceptance.”

  “I am not you, Jewel. Were you a different person, we would not even be having this discussion. I understand the politics of alliance; it is, by and large, amoral. Expedience and mutual goals are all that I require. You freight your negotiations with sentiment.”

  “As does Hectore of Araven, but you feel he is both canny and competent.”

  “I feel he is exceptionally canny and exceptionally competent, yes. In your position, however, Patris Araven would accept; he is far too curious to do otherwise. Regardless, you are not Haval, Hectore, or Jarven. You are willing to play games; you are fully aware that to sidestep them courts the disaster of ignorance. But there are elements at play which are not negotiable, chief among them your sense of honor.

  “Your sense of honor may well preclude justice, regardless.”

  “How so?”

  “You cannot bring yourself to have him killed. You feel that his vulnerability was entirely his choice; he made his offer in good faith.”

  Every word was true.

  “I believe Rymark is well aware of the effect his honesty will have upon you. But the deaths in which he has participated, if indirectly, were and are of grave personal import to you; he is taking a calculated risk. What does he expect you to do, Jewel?”

  “Build a city,” she replied. She had reached the long table with its multiple chairs, all empty, and its haphazard stack of books. “He expects me to build a city that can withstand the full force of a god’s power.”

  * * *

  True to form, Haval’s expression remained neutral. It was an act of courtesy on his part; a sign of genuine respect for her. Given how their early morning conversation had begun, Jewel was surprised he still had any.

  “I note, by your reaction, that you do not find this laughable.”

  “I do,” she replied. Before he could lecture her on the quality of her lies—a favorite theme of Haval’s—she added, “But I understand how it might, in theory, be possible.”

  Haval was staring at the fountain on the other side of the library’s table; his eyes were slightly narrowed. She didn’t ask him what he saw when he looked at it; instead she said, “Meralonne believes it was crafted by Fabril himself.”

  “And even a humble dressmaker is aware of some of Fabril’s many legacies. Rymark feels you can do—to a city—what you did here?”

  “I didn’t ask him. But it’s the only thing that makes sense of his behavior.”

  Haval turned to face her. “Can you do it?”

  “Not consciously.”

  “That is the worst possible answer you could now offer me. You did not design this library.”

  “No. The only room that reflects my conscious attempt to visualize is my bedchamber.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was sleeping, and I knew if I didn’t wake, I’d die. I could hear people shouting. I could recognize their voices. I knew where I must be, and what I must look like—in the waking world. Sadly, I was trapped in the dreaming.” She gazed at her reflection across the table’s surface, obscured in part by books. “I forced myself to wake.”

  “And you brought the dreaming with you.”

  She was surprised. But instead of answering, she thought about what he’d said. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “I confess I am not an expert in ancient lore. Before you tell me that it is not your specialty, answer a question. If the god we do not name were to appear at the borders of Averalaan as it is now, what would happen to the city?”

  “Anything he wanted to happen.” She hesitated. “I think parts of the Isle could stand against him, at least for a while—the Guild of Makers, the Order of Knowledge, the inner sanctums of the Exalted.”

  “Avantari?”

  “I don’t know, Haval. If you’re asking me whether or not I think the god could destroy this city, the short answer is yes.”

  “Give me the longer answer.”

  “Yes.”

  Haval exhaled and turned to Avandar. To Jewel’s surprise, he tendered Avandar a bow. It was not a shallow bow; there was nothing in the graceful bend that was perfunctory.

  Avandar glanced at Jewel as Haval rose.

  “With your permission,” the dressmaker said, “I would like to speak with your domicis.”

  “Why?”

  Haval frowned. “The answer to the question is obvious, but I am not entirely in an instructive mood. I will not, therefore, make you answer it yourself. I wish to speak with Avandar because I believe he will not, of necessity, resort to monosyllabic answers.” When she did not immediately respond, he added, “We have little time, Jewel. You have spent far too much of your life believing in relative strata of power. I will not argue the merits of this belief; in most cases, it is wise.

  “I know very little of gods; I know very little of the ancient. Before today—ah, no, before The Terafin’s funeral, the knowledge was esoterica; I did not require it. Now, I believe I do.”

  “Haval—our enemy is a god.”

  “Indeed.”

  “You can’t treat him as if he’s—”

  “An opponent? Of course I can. It is what you yourself are beginning to understand. It does not matter that he is a god; it matters only that his goals and ours are mutually exclusive. Had he no need for subtlety, it is highly unlikely that a Shining Court—a Court comprised in part of mortals—would exist at all.” He turned to Avandar. “If it is acceptable to leave you with your Chosen, I require a few moments of your domicis’ time.”

  Avandar did not look to Jewel; he regarded Haval for a long, motionless moment before nodding.

  “If we may use the small conference room within your suite, I would prefer it. I dislike these open skies.”

  Jewel rose.

  “I wish to speak with your domicis alone.”

  “Haval—”

  “Jewel—you are afraid. You are afraid of the gods, afraid of the wilderness, afraid of the shadow your own power casts. I understand—I can even commend—that emotion. I cannot, however, conduct a conversation through it. You are aware that your domicis is unusual. You are aware that he has a length and breadth of experience that is relevant to our current struggles. Any conversation I will have with him should contain a fraction of the information the two of you have shared.

  “But it will not. You are afraid of—or for—him; I cannot readily discern between the two, at the moment. I cannot afford to be either if I am to serve you. If you accompany us, there will be almost no conversation. I cannot command him, nor will I try. But I will be unaffected by any answers he chooses to give—and you will not.”

  Go to the right-kin’s office. If I am not to be with you, I do not trust the library. When we are finished conversing, I will meet you in the dining hall.

  I have my Chosen.

  Yes. And in the lower manse, that is all you will require.

  * * *

  Jewel did not head to the
right-kin’s office immediately. Instead, she chose to visit the West Wing. Ellerson did not magically answer the door; Jester did. She signed a brief question; his expression was answer enough. Carver and Ellerson had not returned. Shadow was in Ariel’s room with Adam; Arann was sleeping.

  Angel was in his room. She was surprised that he was awake, although his eyes were ringed and his face the wrong kind of pale.

  “You haven’t been sleeping.”

  “Not much. Teller told us about your visit to Avantari.”

  “How much did he tell you?”

  “Enough.” It was evasive.

  “I have to go back.”

  “To the room with the statues.”

  She nodded. “I have a few things to do before I return there.” In den-sign, she added, be ready.

  “For what, Jay?”

  “Anything. I have to speak with the Oracle, and I’m not entirely certain what will happen when I do.”

  “But you have suspicions.”

  “Yes.” She hesitated, and then said, “I promised I’d do my best not to go where you couldn’t follow. If I leave, and it’s possible, I’ll take you with me.”

  He closed his eyes, displaying a fan of platinum lashes. But when he opened them, he nodded. “Can I visit your war room before we go?”

  “As often as you’d like. If you can avoid mentioning it to Meralonne, I’d appreciate it.”

  “How big will this get?”

  “I don’t know. It probably won’t be worse than running up the side of a tree and fighting gravity the whole way.” She grimaced. “But it probably won’t be a lot better, either.”

  “When, Jay?”

  “With luck? A week.”

  “Without it?”

  “When the Kings reach a decision and command my attendance. I have to face the Council of The Ten in two days, and I have to face Levec this afternoon.” She glanced at the Chosen, and added, “And I have to speak with Rymark somewhere in between.”

  “How prepared do you want me to be?”

  “Think of the things I won’t have time to think of. Angel—” She stopped speaking; the silence was abrupt and uneasy. In the end, she chose not to break it.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  11th of Fabril, 428 A.A.

  Houses of Healing, Averalaan

  JEWEL ATTEMPTED to tell Adam, for perhaps the hundredth time, that she was not the Matriarch of Terafin. The hundredth attempt was as successful as the ninety-ninth—or the first. He attempted to use the correct word, but his Weston was not up to the task, and any conversation that slid into Torra included the word Matriarch.

  “I don’t understand,” he said, the last word broken when the carriage wheels hit an unfortunate absence of cobbled stone. “You are Matriarch. I can use a foreign word, but the word doesn’t change what you are.”

  “No, it doesn’t. But I know what the word means to you—and I am not a Matriarch. I’m not Yollana.”

  He paled. “You are not. But my mother was not Yollana. My sister Margret is not Yollana. You remind me of my sister,” he added. “You are the same age, and you have the same temper.”

  Remembering Margret, Jewel winced. She did not deny it.

  “How is it different?” He was frustrated. He had been frustrated for most of the day—or the parts that included breakfast, a change of clothing, and any activity that didn’t bring them closer to Levec and the sleepers.

  “Matriarchs rely on secrecy. Among my den, I don’t. I know less than many of the people who serve me, and I rely on their knowledge and understanding. Among the Voyani, no one knows more than the Matriarch.”

  Adam nodded. It was not, however, in agreement; he appeared to be waiting for her to make a definitive point. “Matriarchs see. You see. Matriarchs can walk the hidden roads—with cost. You can create them, Jewel. If Yollana were here, she would call you Matriarch—I think. She would see the Voyanne in your gardens. I do not think she would enter them.

  “I will try to remember,” Adam added, turning to stick his head out the open window. The first time he had ridden in a Weston carriage, he had been suspicious and a little appalled. It had seemed a waste—of space, of large wheels, of horses—to pull something that was basically two cushioned benches, with doors on either side. Voyani wagons were tiny homes, pieces of territory to a people that otherwise claimed none. They were not simply conveyances.

  But he had grown accustomed to them, if slowly; he had acclimatized himself to the Terafin manse, the Isle, and the continuous presence of the sea. He had even grown used to the press of people, although he still found them difficult. Only during the Festival of the Moon were crowds as dense—and harmless—as the daily foot traffic in Averalaan.

  Nowhere in the cities of the South was there a man to compare to Levec.

  “You are worried about Levec,” Adam said, glancing back into the cabin’s interior.

  “Am I being that obvious?”

  “He is intimidating.”

  “He’s certainly that.”

  “But you like him.”

  “Say rather that I admire him. I admire what he does for his healers. He’s like a mother and a guardian and a domicis rolled into one large, angry man. Large, angry, suspicious man.”

  “He is not suspicious without cause.”

  She was silent for a moment, as she often was. “No, never that.”

  “Why are you worried today? Today, Levec will be happy.”

  “Levec is never happy.”

  “But we will wake the sleepers.”

  “Yes. Adam . . . do you have any idea how we’re going to achieve that?”

  His dark brows rose in surprise, before descending into a bunched furrow. “You don’t know?”

  “I have ideas—but that’s all they are. I’m not in my manse; I’m not on my ground. I don’t know what I’ll see, if I see anything at all. I’m hoping that maybe you can wake them, and they’ll just stay that way.”

  He shook his head.

  “You don’t think so, either.”

  “No. I think—I think if that worked, it would have worked at any other time.”

  “But the Warden of Dreams is gone—”

  “Yes. But I think it is like a spider’s web. The spider is gone; the web remains. They are trapped in a web.”

  “But we woke Leila.”

  He nodded.

  “We don’t have time to wake them all the way we woke Leila.”

  “If we have no other choice, we will make time, no?”

  “No, Adam. Time is the one thing I don’t have. If I spend the time here, I’m not sure what it will cost in future—but it won’t be good.”

  “You see this?” His eyes were bright, curious.

  She shook her head. “It’s not vision; it’s instinct.” The carriage came to a halt beyond the heavy fence and manned gates behind which the Houses of Healing resided. Exhaling heavily, Jewel waited until the carriage door was opened, dismounting with a great deal more dignity than she felt as Avandar, silent and uncommunicative on all fronts, offered her a hand. Adam, on the other hand, leaped free of the cabin the second there was no danger he’d collide with her on landing.

  She knew he was older than most of her den had been when she’d first found them, but he seemed so young to her now; she smiled as she made her way to the guard. Adam did not run around her; he waited, although he wasn’t exactly standing still. He was genuinely fond of Levec.

  The guards knew him, of course; they knew her, as well. They were therefore slightly less curt than was their wont. Given their employer, they were perhaps the only guards in the city who could afford to offend The Terafin with impunity. She didn’t begrudge them. They took their lead from Levec, and compared to Levec, they were the soul of tact and kindness.

  He was waiting when the front doors opened, which was unusual. He was also scowling. “Adam,” he said curtly, “you will enter the infirmary immediately. I will have words with The Terafin.”

  “Avandar, Torv
an, please accompany him.”

  The domicis nodded.

  “Terafin, my office.” The healer turned neatly on heel and stalked down the length of wide hall. Jewel followed. Her Chosen also followed, which caused the frown on the healer’s face to deepen when he looked back. The Chosen did not walk silently.

  Levec’s office was not a grand space; it was, however, large enough to accommodate the head of a House and the minimal number of guards required. Levec’s desk was cluttered in a way that suggested correspondence was not his forte—or perhaps his problem. He sat, indicating an empty chair that had seen better days. Jewel joined him at the side of the desk.

  He could clearly find correspondence; he pulled out one letter. Jewel could see the broken remnants of the Terafin seal along its outer edge. “I am not in the habit,” Levec told her, rattling the sheet in her direction, “of opening my healerie to The Ten. I’ve just about had it with the damn mages, and I swear I will strangle the Astari if their leader pokes an inch of his nose across my threshold again.”

  “What was said in the request for a meeting?”

  “Nothing of value.”

  “Given your feelings about the patriciate, Healer Levec, that covers a wide range.”

  He raised one half of a continuous brow before he handed the letter to her. She recognized Teller’s distinct hand—and accepted Levec’s dismissal. Teller had asked for an appointment for The Terafin at Levec’s earliest possible convenience. He had not mentioned the reason for the visit; he merely stated that it was urgent. No wonder Levec was annoyed.

  He was not, however, angry; not yet. “My apologies, Levec. I thought Adam might have mentioned the reason for my presence.”

  “What does Adam have to do with it?”

  “Clearly, he has not. Leila was one of your patients, I believe?”

  He frowned. His frown was the whole of his answer.

  “She woke. She has been discharged?”

  “A few days earlier than I would have liked, but yes. Adam insisted that she was no longer in danger.”

  “And has she suffered a relapse?”

  “No.”

  “I am here to attempt to wake the rest of your sleepers.”

  “And how exactly,” Levec said, leaning across the breadth of his desk as if it no longer existed, “are you going to do that?”