Battle: The House War: Book Five

by Michelle West

  He almost killed you.

  It was true. He had. In the wilderness of her contested lands, in the lee of the Warden of Dreams, he was the only one of the three to present a very real threat. Had Adam not been by her side, he would have succeeded. Where he might then have gone—if he had retained any freedom at all—she couldn’t say.

  He was gentle with Ariel. He was affectionate with Teller and Finch; he treated Haval with something approaching respect. He was at his most difficult with Avandar, Celleriant, and his brothers, although he often stepped on Angel or Carver if they happened to be nearby.

  Carver.

  She swallowed. She had not lied to Meralonne; there was no decision demanded of her. Not by the Kings, nor by the Council of The Ten; not by her den or the House Council. But she had not been entirely truthful, either. She was waiting. She was waiting in the role of Terafin for some sign, some word, of her missing den.

  She was waiting, with far more power and far more responsibility, as she had waited for some sign of Lefty in far poorer streets than the one along which the carriage ran.

  It wasn’t the same, of course. She had known that Lefty was gone. She’d known it. But knowing in that bone-deep way hadn’t made the hope any easier to bear, because she did hope, and yet had none. She did not have the certain, talent-born sense that Carver would never return.

  But Snow and Night had not returned. The Winter King had not. Nor had Celleriant. The odds that the two cats were actually looking were low. She imagined they would remember Carver between distractions, if then. But while there was any hope that Carver still lived, the Winter King would not return. He had not.

  It was seldom that Jewel prayed; the silence of the carriage created a space for it. She closed her eyes and bent head. She wanted nothing so much as a glimpse of the Winter King, because—unless she commanded it—he would not return without Carver.

  * * *

  Teller returned to the right-kin’s office, and Jewel joined him; much of her daily schedule had been put on hold because of the indeterminate length of the Council meeting. Teller, in theory, had done the same with his own, but a message indicating his absence had clearly failed to propagate; there were people waiting in the office. Jewel froze in the door, until she ascertained that none of these people were the Master of the Household Staff.

  Barston was already rising to tender her a perfect bow. “Terafin.”

  “Barston. For the moment, the Council matters have been resolved to the satisfaction of The Ten.”

  His smile was slight, but genuine. “Right-kin,” he said, to catch Teller’s attention. When there was anyone else in the office, he did not use Teller’s name.

  Teller, about to retreat into his office, pivoted and turned back to his secretary’s desk.

  “Patris Araven sent a message requesting an appointment.”

  “I see. When did he request such a meeting?”

  Barston cleared his throat. “This afternoon. An hour after lunch.”

  Since lunch in the busy office was a moving target, Teller frowned and glanced at Jewel. Jewel flicked fingers in rapid den-sign. “You accepted?”

  “I accepted contingent upon the right-kin’s timely return from Avantari,” Barston replied. “If the right-kin wishes, I will reschedule the appointment.”

  Teller, glancing briefly at the waiting room, shook his head.

  “If you could inform the Household Staff that I’ll take lunch in my quarters,” Jewel told the secretary, “I would be grateful.”

  Barston’s lips tightened. “I will inform the Household Staff,” he said stiffly. He glanced pointedly over her shoulder at her domicis, and sank back into his chair. Avandar was amused, although his expression could have frozen water.

  She retreated, so comfortable in the presence of her Chosen they might have been noisy shadows. They were, on the other hand, a good deal quieter than Shadow who was loudly bored. He gave Avandar’s feet the evil eye while he complained volubly about the unending dreariness of his life.

  Jewel stopped him when he started to give the same eye to the pages and servants in the galleries. She told herself firmly that there were many, many things worse than a bored cat. There weren’t, however, many things as irritating. Irritation caused her to walk as quickly as possible up the stairs and toward the library. When she entered the doors, Shadow at her side, she froze.

  Haval was waiting.

  He was not wearing the apron in which he so frequently did his work; he was dressed, instead, in a velvet jacket, its deep blue collars fringed in lace that on Haval looked disturbing. His cuffs were accoutered the same way, and he wore boots that were a far cry from the practical, everyday boots he generally chose. She recognized him because she was familiar with him, but she felt a sinking suspicion that had he wished to remain unnoticed, she would have failed to notice him.

  She lifted a hand as Gordon approached the clothier, and Gordon halted, hand on the hilt of a sword he had not yet drawn. Shadow interrupted his litany of the things that were boring to stare at Haval.

  “Terafin,” he said. He offered her a perfect, brittle bow. “I trust the Council meeting went well?”

  “It went as well as could be expected given Terafin’s arrival time was two hours after any other House’s.” She had not moved to close the distance between them. There was something about Haval, in clothing better suited to the ambitious patriciate, that was disturbing.

  Shadow approached the clothier. He did not, however, do so with his usual sense of nonchalant condescension. Haval glanced at the cat, no more; he was watching Jewel. The bow was as much as he was, at the moment, willing to give her.

  She found her voice. “Will you join me for lunch?” Turning to Avandar, she said, “Inform the Household Staff that I will dine with a guest.”

  Her domicis did not move for one long moment. The bow he tendered her before he left was exacting and perfect. Be wary, he told her, as he left to follow her orders.

  I know, she replied. He’s angry.

  Yes. He is angry, and Jewel—he has always been a dangerous man.

  * * *

  There was nothing stiff about Haval; he did not carry himself in any way that suggested rage. He was more graceful, his movements more fluid, than they often were. He had not been to the small dining room within Jewel’s personal quarters, but offered her his arm as she approached.

  She accepted the offer in silence, placing her hand in the crook of his elbow. Shadow chose to walk by her side, rather than between them. He walked in silence, and the litany of boredom that she had found so irritating she now profoundly missed.

  The room had not appreciably changed since her meal with Hectore, but it seemed smaller and more confined. Haval held out her chair, and tucked it beneath her as she sat; his manners were flawless. In no other way did he accuse her.

  But she knew why he had come.

  “Hannerle is not awake,” she said, as he took his chair.

  “No. Adam will wake her when I return.”

  Shadow, tail flicking, sat between them in silence, a sentinel. Two of the Chosen remained by the doors; in general, more were not required in her personal rooms. She thought, as she watched Haval, that more would make no difference.

  “Let me tell you what occurred when Adam and I visited the Houses of Healing.”

  He inclined his head. He offered no questions, and made no accusations. He was almost entirely unlike the Haval with whom she regularly interacted. It made her uncomfortable, and she guessed that was his intent. But she had spent time with moneyed merchants—which was certainly the guise he had adopted—and she knew how to carry herself.

  “Killing me,” she told Haval quietly, “will not bring Hannerle back.”

  “That was my suspicion,” he replied. The doors opened; wine arrived. Jewel glanced at it. She had never developed a taste for wine; she found it acrid and bitter to the tongue. She had, however, learned to drink it. It was the duty of the host. “Adam did not wake the sle
epers.”

  “No. Adam could see them and he could bring them out of the dreaming, but he couldn’t sever the connection between the waking and dreaming worlds.”

  “You did.”

  “Yes. Let me tell you what happened, and then you can decide—with as much information as I have—how you want to proceed.”

  She chose her words with care, but held nothing back; nothing except Adam’s revelations about Corniel ATerafin’s death. Those, she did not choose to share with anyone. She hesitated briefly before describing the leaves of iron and the bleeding cuts they had made in her palms, because no evidence of those cuts remained by the time she had stepped onto the lamp-lined footpaths of the gardens.

  Haval did not interrupt her. He did not ask for clarifications, he did not pinch the bridge of his nose. He merely waited. He accepted wine when Avandar poured.

  Avandar, however, did not speak, not even to Jewel. Like Haval, he was capable of containing the whole of his thought behind a perfect facade. The only person present who struggled with that was The Terafin herself.

  “It was only as we approached the manse that I realized the one person I hadn’t seen at the gathering was Hannerle.”

  “She was not present.”

  “No.”

  “These . . . individuals said they had gathered the sleepers.”

  She nodded.

  “They had gathered them because they understood your intent and your desire, although you were, up to that point, unaware of their existence.”

  Jewel nodded again. Her throat was dry. Avandar poured water for her, which she accepted in almost nerveless hands. “I don’t know why Hannerle wasn’t there. I don’t know why I didn’t notice it until I was almost quit of the forest. I’m sorry.”

  “And you can wake her now?”

  “I should be able to wake her.”

  “You are not certain.”

  “No, but, Haval, I had no idea what I would do to wake the others, either. I know what happened with Leila, the first time. I thought it would be something similar: I would have to walk into the heart of their dreams and force them out.”

  Haval lifted his wineglass by its very fine stem; he regarded the magelight through its burgundy depths. After a long pause, he lifted the glass to his lips. Jewel did the same. The silence stretched and thinned as she watched him. She had known him for over half her life, but she had never known him.

  “Haval.”

  “Terafin.”

  “I will, after lunch, accompany you. I will return to the West Wing and we can try to wake her. I did not intend . . .” The words trailed into silence; they could find no purchase in his expression. She could not afford to make an enemy of this man. She did not want to make an enemy of him, and certainly not this way. She liked Hannerle, and always had.

  But she wondered what Haval would become if Hannerle did not survive. She wondered what Haval had been before Hannerle, and what he would have become had he never met her.

  “No,” Haval said. “You did not intend that she continue to sleep. Were I to ask you now, Jewel, you would swear that you intended its opposite.” He set the glass down.

  She felt relieved, because his voice sounded almost normal, but his expression was so pleasantly neutral she could not relax.

  He smiled, as if he knew. She had the absurd desire to beg him not to be angry with her, and because it was absurd, she stiffened as if to hold it in. “Tell me,” he said, “about the Council of The Ten. Tell me, Jewel, about Avantari.”

  She blinked. “Haval, it’s not necessary. We can eat lunch, and I can—”

  “You do not understand what has happened. I do. I can put some of the blame at my own feet, although it pains me to do so.” He lifted the glass again, as the doors opened. Lunch had arrived. “I will not kill you. I will not so much as make the attempt.”

  “It’s not—”

  “And it would please me to hear you tell me why.”

  She grimaced. “Haval—”

  “The reasons should be obvious.”

  “Will you at least tell me what you understand that I don’t?”

  “We would be here all week,” he replied, and he smiled again.

  Jewel glanced at Shadow; Shadow had not moved. Not even his whiskers twitched. She exhaled and set her glass firmly down. “You won’t kill me because if I die there’s no chance—at all—that Hannerle will wake. Even if I were responsible for her continued sleep, it wouldn’t matter; her life is in the balance and it’s tied to mine.”

  “Very good. If she dies of this illness?”

  “All bets are off.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Haval—what about Hannerle don’t I understand?”

  “I believe you understand my wife quite well; she certainly feels she understands you.” As Jewel opened her mouth again, he lifted a hand. “When you first approached me and offered me the position of adviser, you attempted to threaten me.”

  Jewel nodded.

  “I considered the attempt insulting.”

  She nodded again.

  “My opinion in that regard has not changed, Terafin. You could not, at that time, deliberately hurt my wife; nor could you deliberately threaten her. You might—in my estimation—rise to a level of uncertainty wherein a threat against me is not impossible. But Hannerle has ever been determinedly apolitical, and you do not draw innocents into your battles where it can be avoided at all. Indeed, I feel your consideration in that regard is a weakness.

  “But dreams, Terafin, are not deliberate. Desires are not deliberate. Our base natures are often things we struggle, for the sake of society, to repress. You walked the dreaming lands, and you found the sleepers—they had been gathered in response to a desire you had never consciously expressed. You did not know the sleepers; I am certain Adam recognized most, if not all, of them. He did not notice Hannerle’s absence.

  “Nor, at the time, did you. Do you think it an accident that she alone of all the sleepers was not present?” He paused, waiting for her reply.

  She had no reply to offer. She had not considered the question at all—and she should have. She had had little time, of course. She had had the Council meeting to prepare for, and she had the Kings and their decision—whatever that decision might be—looming above her House. But she had had time to think about Carver and Ellerson.

  Was it an accident? She had not told the strange immortals who lived in her forests to gather the sleepers; how could she when she hadn’t known, until the moment she laid eyes on them, that they existed at all? They had, they said, acted on her desire. They had gathered everyone else, and they had kept them both amused and safe. Nightmares had not troubled them in their captivity.

  But Hannerle was not there. If Hannerle was not there, did that mean they believed she didn’t want Hannerle to wake? And if they believed that, why?

  As she circled the question Haval had asked, wary of its hidden edges, she knew the answer. “No,” she said, almost inaudibly.

  “I have considered myself almost superfluous to you, Terafin. You are served by Devon and Gregori, and they bear the House Name; in all matters except one, they are beholden to you. Your right-kin is served by Barston, a formidably well-organized and perceptive man; your Finch is guided by Jarven.” When she stiffened, he added, “I am not enamored of that connection myself, but Jarven is canny in a way you will never be.

  “You have the Chosen, and if they are smaller in number than they were at the height of your predecessor’s power, they are devoted to you; there are no cracks in that armor. You have your cats, and a control over the lands you have claimed that no Terafin before you has even dreamed of having. You have failed to die each of the five times assassins have been sent to end your life; I do not believe you will acquiesce when a sixth, a seventh, or even a hundredth is sent.

  “You have enlisted the aid of Hectore of Araven. You think him sentimental, and you are not mistaken; you feel that sentiment, however, is proof of other sterling qualitie
s, and in that, you are incorrect. Elonne, if I am not mistaken, serves you, and will do so unless you falter. Marrick is yours, and he will be yours until your death. Haerrad is not, but he is not a fool. That leaves only Rymark, and I believe you think to play a game with him.

  “Regardless, Terafin, your House is at peace, and your rule is uncontested. My services are almost inconsequential, given the realities of your current situation.”

  Avandar moved to the sideboard and began to serve lunch. He was silent; even his internal nagging had been put on hold—which did not mean he thought she was on safe ground.

  “I am a comfort to you because I am familiar, and because you are foolish enough to trust me.”

  There was no point in arguing with the last statement. Haval felt that trust in general was foolish as a matter of principle.

  “But it is not for comfort, Jewel, that you would threaten Hannerle.”

  “I would not threaten Hannerle.”

  “I do not speak to your conscious intent. You would not; we are not in disagreement. What I did not take into account—and while I am chagrined, I do not see how I could have, given the information with which I was working—was your subconscious intent. You believe that I am necessary. It is seldom that your assessment disagrees with mine so profoundly.

  “I am not a modest man. If I feel that I am superfluous, there is a reason.” He laid napkin across the folds of his lap with fastidious care. “But while your impulses veer to the sentimental and the foolish, you are not a fool. Were you, it would be simpler. What am I to make of this?”

  Haval could talk circles around her. He could reason her into the ground. She knew it, and knew that she could stop him if she could take control of the conversation. But she was hesitant. This Haval, she recognized; she was afraid to lose him completely.

  “I will have you speak to me of Avantari now. The Council of The Ten I consider the lesser threat; if you cannot force them to support you as the legitimate ruler of Terafin, against any possible decision of the Kings, you will not survive the rule of your own House.”