Teller almost laughed; the sound lurked in the corner of his eyes and lips.
“Haval?” Jewel said, when the tailor failed to move. He was watching Andrei. Andrei returned his regard; they might have been the only two men in the room. “. . . Or I could entertain Patris Araven if you have other pressing concerns at the moment.”
“A man of Patris Araven’s import,” Haval surprised her by saying, “should not be left unattended. Please, Terafin, do not let the minor matter of fittings cause neglect. I will wait.”
She did not stare at the side of his face, but it took effort. She knew that the resolution to this difficulty would occur only after she made an attempt to wake his wife, to return her to the waking world. She was not certain what Haval would do if she failed. “Are you certain?”
He raised one brow in a stiff arch.
“Very well. I would be delighted to entertain Patris Araven. Avandar?”
He bowed. If Andrei was a concern, he was content to leave him in Haval’s hands.
“Shadow, go to Ariel.”
The cat sniffed loudly. And complained. But his complaints were second class, for a cat. He considered Ariel boring. But he didn’t consider her annoying; he certainly didn’t consider her dangerous. That was no surprise. What was a constant surprise was that Ariel did not consider Shadow threatening. She frequently fell asleep draped across his side. She occasionally tried to stretch his wings—a crime for which other men would lose their hands. Or arms.
“Will you join us?” Jewel asked Teller.
Teller hesitated. Before he could reply, Haval said, “As right-kin, Terafin, and as host, he will of course join you.”
Teller evinced no surprise. He offered The Terafin his arm; Jewel took it. Her hand was shaking. Together, they entered the great room. Hectore was seated; he glanced at the door and rose instantly.
“Terafin! I am surprised.” He offered her a very correct, very formal bow.
“As am I,” she replied. “I am here for a fitting. I hope you will not consider the manners of my House to be insufficient; I did not know you were here.”
The smile froze, for an instant, on his face. “A fitting?”
“Indeed. At the moment, given the victory celebrations and the various functions within Avantari, I have a clothier in residence to see to the needs of my wardrobe.”
“In . . . residence.” Hectore glanced at the closed door. It opened, but Andrei did not appear in the frame; Avandar did. He carried two bottles to the sideboard as the door closed at his back.
“Please, Patris Araven, be seated.”
Hectore continued to stare at the closed door. “May I ask, Terafin, if your clothier is a man named Haval Arwood?”
“He is. Is this a concern?”
“. . . No. No,” he added, with a smile that was not entirely forced. “It is not, of course. You ventured into the den of The Ten this morning?”
“I did.” Jewel took a chair near Hectore; she clasped her hands in her lap as if she were once again at her lessons.
* * *
“I did not expect to see you here,” Haval told Andrei.
“Nor I you,” the Araven servant replied. They were alone in the hall, save for the presence of two of the Chosen, who now stood guard at the doors of the great room.
“Why are you here?”
“I might ask the same question.”
“Yes. And if there are no answers forthcoming, we will stand in the hall like two overly cautious men. I am here as a clothier. I have the distinction of being one of the few The Terafin hires.”
“I see. I am here because Patris Araven made an appointment with the right-kin.”
“I was not aware that the Araven fortunes were so congenially tied to House Terafin’s.”
“No, indeed. You were not. It is not information that is considered vital to most clothiers.”
They remained at an impasse. Haval had no intention of allowing Hannerle’s condition to be spoken of in Hectore’s hearing; if Hectore was unaware of Adam, he did not intend to bring Adam to the merchant’s attention. It was a simple precaution; Hectore of Araven was not a particularly mendacious or cruel man. But he was a man, and like all men, had his weaknesses.
“You are inspecting the manse?” he finally said, dispensing with the pretense of affability and ignorance.
Andrei inclined his head. “Terafin security, I am told, is adequate.”
“Your informant must be ATerafin. It is not, to my mind, adequate at all.”
“Indeed. Might we hold this conversation in a different room?”
“As you wish. I have a workroom in the Wing; it is inconvenient to task The Terafin with travel to—and from—my shop. It is not perhaps the tidiest of spaces, and I will ask you to touch nothing.”
Andrei nodded.
* * *
They entered Haval’s workroom in silence, aware of the Chosen at the doors of the great room.
Andrei’s frown was no doubt genuine as his gaze swept the floor of Haval’s workroom. “I had not realized,” he said, “that the attempt to touch nothing was to be so onerous. Will I be forgiven if I accidentally step on anything?”
“No.”
The Araven servant chuckled. “You have not changed at all, Haval. You have aged, but you have not markedly changed. I did not think that decades of life as a tailor would have so little impact.”
“They have not had none,” he replied. “Does the manse meet your approval?”
“It does not. There are areas I feel are of significant concern.”
“How thorough was your inspection?”
“It was not, given we had a spare few hours, as thorough as I would like.”
“And you are done?”
“No. Hectore will dine in the dining hall with The Terafin this eve. He is not amused,” Andrei added.
Haval chuckled. “No, he wouldn’t be. I am surprised he agreed.”
“He has taken a liking to your Terafin; he considers her, in many ways, the child of his godson.”
“Which godson? He has a dozen.”
“He has seven,” Andrei replied firmly. “But I am not in the mood to answer questions which are superfluous. You are aware of whom I speak.”
Haval nodded. If he did not trust Hectore—and he did not, but in the general misanthropic way he regarded most of humanity—it was Andrei who was his chief concern. “The Terafin has a domicis of whom even you would approve.”
“My approval is also superfluous.”
“Ah, I have grown clumsy. She has no need of any service you offer.”
“That was my conclusion, yes. Hectore feels that The Terafin is as sentimental as he was in his youth. He has taken her acceptance of his offer to heart, and he looks, now, to the two members of the House Council who are her closest friends.”
“Finch.”
“And the right-kin, yes. He is willing to work with Jarven.”
“I’m surprised you are.”
“I am servant; Hectore is master. My preferences in this regard are inconsequential.”
“Do you feel that Finch is in danger?”
Andrei did not answer.
“And the right-kin?”
“I am here, am I not?”
“If Hectore decided to arrive to celebrate the birthday of a servant’s child, you would be here regardless.” Haval frowned. “You have concerns about the right-kin’s safety?”
Andrei bent and lifted a pair of shears. “Haval, the mess here is almost overwhelming.”
“It is an ordered mess,” Haval replied. “I remember where everything has been laid. I expect no hands but mine to touch anything in this room; it is arranged in a way that is convenient to me.”
Andrei set the shears down. “I am here to examine the right-kin’s personal quarters. He was to accompany me. Will you do the honors?”
“I will—but I expect to be informed of any difficulties you perceive.”
Andrei exhaled, but nodded. “I do this n
ot for access; I have already been granted access.”
“Of course. You will tell me because you are certain that I am one of the very few people in this manse that will understand—and remember—the whole of what you say.”
“Hectore will not be pleased to see you so intimately involved,” Andrei said, as he stepped aside to allow Haval to leave the room.
* * *
Haval said nothing. He led Andrei to Teller’s chambers; the door was not locked. Had it been, he would have opened it. They entered the room together. Haval closed the door at his back, and stood against it, observing the Araven servant as he made his way, with care, toward the office, with its shelves, its more modest desk. He touched very little.
In truth, Haval was not ill-pleased to have Andrei in the Wing. Jewel’s particular abilities compensated for somewhat lax security, as did the plethora of guards with which she was often reluctantly surrounded. The cats were so swift in their response to danger, they reacted almost before she could.
He did not discount the importance of the Chosen, but he did not privilege it, either. He trusted her domicis with the protection the cats might fail to provide; they were not naturally strategic thinkers, in Haval’s opinion.
Had he been certain that the cats would remain as guards for Finch and the right-kin, he might have been less concerned. The cats did not trouble either of the two with their pranks; they did, of course, share their voluble complaints, but not even Jewel escaped those.
Haval was uncertain that the leash that restrained the cats would remain in place if Jewel herself were not present; if they slipped that leash, it would be disastrous. He was not certain that The Terafin was aware of the control she exerted. The cats whined, complained, destroyed carpets and occasional pieces of furniture when they sulked—but they obeyed her. They obeyed her express commands while attempting to maintain the polite fiction that they did so voluntarily.
But they appeared, to Haval’s eye, to understand the commands it did not occur to her to put into words. Shadow had never harmed Ariel. He had never attempted to frighten her. He was content—barely—to allow the girl to pull his whiskers and treat him as a large pillow. She adored the cats.
Jewel didn’t question this. She saw—as she often did—what she expected to see. What she desired to see. Jewel herself was not comfortable with silent and utter obedience. She assumed that the cats were not comfortable with offering it. But in Haval’s opinion, they were. They were perfectly capable of killing for sport or for distraction; they were capable of true menace.
They responded to her. They responded to the unspoken desire for familiarity. Were they more fractious than her den? Yes. And in words, far less mature. But they were not more fractious than the den, in the years of its formation, had been. More deadly, yes, but that, Haval thought, was immutable.
She controlled them the way she had controlled the spirits in her garden: without thought, without conscious word, without the need to express her desire clearly. She did not realize how much of herself she had laid open to the dreaming, to the cats, to the wilderness that she did not understand.
All of the sleepers had been gathered in Jewel’s forest. They were entertained and feted while they waited for her arrival.
All but Hannerle.
How much control was it necessary for Jewel to learn? She was not, now, in full and conscious control of her manse; were she, Carver and Ellerson would not be missing. Haval presumed them dead; Jewel did not. Their disappearance was the only element that now troubled Haval. Hannerle, he understood. He dispensed with anger, compartmentalized it. He knew what had happened.
Andrei had paused for too long at the side of Teller’s desk.
“I have tested the ink,” Haval said.
“I don’t know why you waste your time on these gambits, Haval; Hectore is not present. My concern is not, as you suspect, with the ink; I have not bothered to check it. Had I known you to be in residence here, I would have dispensed with this visit entirely.”
“And that would have been a misfortune,” was Haval’s smooth reply. He approached the desk. “You have seen the library.” It was not a question.
Andrei nodded.
“Understand that it became as it is in minutes.”
The servant did not reply.
“Did you inspect the library at all?”
“In a desultory fashion.”
“Did you detect magic there?”
Andrei was silent for a long moment. “No.”
Haval was surprised. He allowed some of this to show. “Nothing?”
“I was not given leave to peruse the environs at my own whim—but no. There was no magic upon the gate that led to the dining room, and no discernible enchantment laid against the wrought-iron arch through which the rest of the manse is accessed. We were not invited into The Terafin’s personal chambers; if there is enchantment there, I am unaware of it.”
“There is almost certainly some.”
“The House Mage?”
“Or the domicis.”
“Does the domicis otherwise interfere with magical protections?”
Haval considered this for a moment. “No. He is not a man who lacks confidence in his own abilities. Nor does he doubt hers.”
“You have personally cleared the servants.”
“I have not thoroughly done so, no. I am here as a tailor, Andrei. That is not completely a front.”
“I wish to have the desk replaced.”
Haval nodded. Andrei left the desk and approached the bookcases. Teller kept many volumes in his personal rooms. He was the only one of the den to do so; he had an affinity for books that his den-kin did not share. Andrei stiffened.
“You would like to replace the bookcase?” Haval asked.
“Haval, I find this entire visit something of a trial. Please do not add to it.”
“He is very attached to his books.”
“I imagine this is a well-known weakness. There are three volumes here that must be removed immediately.”
Haval froze. “Can you remove them safely?”
“Two, yes.”
“The third?”
“I am not certain.” Andrei did not touch any of them. “Leave them for the moment; let me check his room.”
Haval remained in Teller’s office, considering this new, and unwelcome, information. He did not doubt Andrei. But it added a layer of complication which would have to be dealt with. He considered Hannerle. He considered her anger. He considered the ways in which he might approach her, if he wished to remain involved.
He loved his wife, and understood her well; he knew her weaknesses and her strengths. He could, with little effort, step back to examine them all as if they were a topographical map and he was considering the movement of armies across its surface.
“Haval, remember to move on occasion.”
“The room?”
“There is very little in the room; it is, in my estimation, clean. There are two capes which appear to be enchanted; the enchantments, on second glance, are minor protections—against rain, perhaps. Finch’s rooms?”
“The books, Andrei.”
“I believe I will require the aid of the domicis or the House Mage for the third volume. I could remove it; I could not remove it with any finesse or subtlety.”
Haval nodded.
* * *
Finch’s rooms, in the end, were relatively clean. There were two items that Andrei considered suspect, one a necklace and one a bracelet. Finch had very little in the way of jewelry, given her status as a House Council member.
“At least one of those is a gift from a merchant,” Haval said. “He currently presides over one of the mining concerns.”
“Is the merchant ATerafin?”
“Yes.”
Andrei closed his eyes. “Ludgar?”
Haval nodded.
“Haval, that is not what I wished to hear.” Andrei grimaced and pocketed the necklace. “The bracelet was a gift from a similar sourc
e?”
“Almost certainly. The Terafin’s closest advisers have not yet mastered the art of ostentation. They did not come to the offices they hold with any measure of wealth. They tend to hoard, rather than spend, where it is at all practical. Take the bracelet. Evaluate it at leisure. If I am not mistaken, Finch wears one necklace and no bracelet. The necklace was a joint gift from Lucille ATerafin and Jarven for one promotion or another.”
“That does not make me less suspicious.”
“No, of course not. But if Finch is in danger from Jarven, there is very little you will be able to do, in the end, to preserve her.”
Chapter Twenty-six
AT HAVAL’S INSISTENCE, Andrei did not stop with the two suites. He was not asked to thoroughly inspect Haval’s workroom, but did not seem concerned. Nor did Haval lead him to the room in which Hannerle now slept, although he considered it with care while Andrei inspected the rooms of the other den members. There were very few men who were as thorough as Andrei; there were very few who were as suspicious.
Andrei did not suffer from the natural arrogance of the mage-born. He did not consider his own skills to be up to any conceivable task. He often made the mistake of assuming too much competence on the part of erstwhile enemies, but one rarely suffered from errors of that nature.
Haval was not pleased to discover that all of the rooms—with the notable exception of Jester’s—contained items of concern. None were as egregious as Teller’s books, but the fact that they existed at all was troubling. Only Ellerson’s much sparer quarters were pronounced completely clean.
Hannerle.
Haval was not a notably sentimental man; he had seen too many to their deaths, and if his had not always been the hand that killed them, it signified little. He had known, the day Ararath had left his store that he would never return. But he had known, on that day, that very little could dissuade his friend. Haval did not expend effort where it was fruitless.
Hannerle frequently did, but that was her nature; she was, in spite of her temper and the frequency of professed disappointment, a hopeful woman. Haval exhaled.
* * *
Angel’s rooms were, like Jester’s, sparse. Like Jester’s, the closet held very little in the way of formal clothing—but not none. Angel was frequently Jewel’s companion of choice. He did not seem to appreciate the clothing he was forced to wear when his den leader had inherited the title, but he kept his complaints largely on the correct side of his mouth.
Battle: The House War: Book Five Page 73