His feet did not remain long on the snow-covered earth; he pushed up, off it, spreading wings in a snap of restless motion. The sky could contain the force of the great cat’s restlessness, and Jewel was grateful for it.
Her breath hung in mist the moment it left her lips; the air was mercifully still. She watched her companions emerge, counting them one by one, as she had done only during the final days of foraging in the undercity. The realization caused her to stop.
The Winter King was last to leave the lands of his beloved White Lady and, unlike any other member of their company, he did turn once to look back, but he did not linger.
Only when they were assembled did Angel say, “You do know how to get back to Fabril’s reach, right?”
Jewel had considered this before departing. “Yes,” she replied, but her hands signed maybe.
7th day of Lattan, 428 A.A.
Terafin Manse, Averalaan Aramarelas
Teller was right-kin, although he was a relatively junior member of the House Council. Jay, however, had been a member of the House and its Council since their early years in Terafin; Teller could not, therefore, be unaware of the political machinations that threatened the rule of The Terafin. He had come to understand that hierarchical position—at the top of the House—was no guarantee of either power or authority, unless one saw it from outside of the House.
He wondered, as he accompanied the Master of the Household Staff, what The Terafin—past or present—might have achieved had her authority been unquestioned and absolute. The Master of the Household Staff had far, far more practical power than The Terafin herself. She gave orders without raising more than a brow, and those orders were instantly obeyed. As she swept through the halls, those halls emptied; the Household Staff fled.
Teller was uncertain if they fled because they were terrified of her or because they were terrified of what her orders, accompanied as they were by both the right-kin and the two living trees, might signify. He suspected, however, that it was the former, and if he had ever doubted the use of fear, he repented.
His own task was more difficult, and he therefore started with Marrick. He understood that Marrick was powerful, and that Marrick’s web of connections were diffuse and not entirely predictable, but of the most senior members of the Council, it was Marrick with whom he was most comfortable.
Marrick, given the hour, was not immediately available; given the right-kin, however, he became available as quickly as a patrician who was accustomed to setting his own schedule could. He was surprised at the presence of the Master of the Household Staff, but he was not a servant; the greater part of his well-contained surprise was caused by the arborii. They extended him the courtesy of twin nods, each precisely timed and identical.
He did not waste words. “It is time?”
Teller nodded. “Take your people—and any of the people you have influence over—to The Terafin’s personal chambers.”
Marrick nodded, grim now. He had questions—Teller could practically see the way he restrained them—and turned toward the interior of his private rooms. “It would be best,” he said, without looking back, “if the House Council could discuss this when we have removed to safer quarters.”
* * *
• • •
The closest suite to Marrick’s was currently occupied by Iain ATerafin, and Teller went there next, because he suspected that the Master of the Household Staff’s presence—even if she failed to speak, as it was not her place, would sway that member of the House Council almost as quickly and certainly as the presence of the trees had moved Marrick. Nor was he wrong, but he found it interesting to watch Iain’s response. Unlike Marrick, Iain’s contacts were not founded upon social interaction, or at least not the type that turned a working day into Jester’s version of normal hours. He was attired for work, and he looked as if he had been doing just that; his fingers were slightly ink-stained.
His eyes alighted first on the tree spirits, and then upon Teller, but his gaze came to rest upon the Master of the Household Staff. She would not, of course, flout rules in the presence of the right-kin, but she did give a brief, very stiff, nod.
“Right-kin,” Iain said, offering a passable bow. “How may I be of service?”
“It is time,” Teller replied, “to gather the entirety of the House and lead them to safety. Word,” he added, “has been sent to allied Houses, and, with luck, they will be doing something similar.” He had not said this to Marrick, although it was truth. But Iain was the type of man who would actually care.
“Gather your people and lead them to The Terafin’s personal chambers. The Chosen understand the difficulty we face; they will allow anyone into those chambers that the chamber itself does not reject.”
Iain’s glance was brief, appraising. He nodded. Like Marrick, he asked no questions, but perhaps for different reasons.
* * *
• • •
By the time Teller reached Elonne’s chambers, Elonne was waiting. There were no servants attending her, no pages ready to carry her messages or greet possible guests. She did not offer Teller a seat and did not take one herself; she abandoned the protocols of polite greeting, although she did offer Teller a deliberate nod, the acknowledgment of a peer.
She did not appear to notice the Master of the Household Staff; nor did she appear to notice the tree spirits who now served as Teller’s guards. “You have had word.”
“From the denizens of the wild forest,” Teller replied. “It is time—”
“It is past time,” one of those guards said.
“—That we move our people. We are, however, to take those that we can gather to The Terafin’s personal chambers.”
“And will our people be there to lead and guide them?”
“The Chosen are already marshaling the House Guard,” Teller replied.
“What has happened?”
Teller understood that power did not admit readily to ignorance. He understood that the right-kin was, in theory, The Terafin’s voice in The Terafin’s absence; that it was at the right-kin’s discretion that people were allowed to make appointments to meet with The Terafin at all. But he also understood that political caution now might be too costly in the very near future.
“I don’t know. The forest elders sent the trees to me. The Terafin desired the safety of Terafin, and she understands that Terafin is its people. If the buildings are lost, they can be repaired.” With a brief, wry grin, he added, “It isn’t the first time a god has destroyed significant parts of the manse.”
This surprised Elonne enough that she offered him a smile in return. “Very well. Have you spoken with Haerrad?”
“I will speak with him after I leave you. The pages that serve the right-kin’s office were among the first sent out. Haerrad, however, will not accept the word of a page.”
“No,” Elonne replied gravely. “At this juncture, I believe your presence is necessary. I will speak to my own people on your behalf.”
“Approach the forest,” Teller said again, “from The Terafin’s personal chambers.”
Elonne nodded. To Teller’s knowledge, Jay had not received Elonne in the later version of her personal chambers, but some word had clearly filtered down. Or up, he thought, glancing at the Master of the Household Staff.
He nodded and left her rooms. The Master of the Household Staff then excused herself. She was aware of Haerrad’s disdain—or perhaps resentment—for her authority, and where she was the perfect aid in dealing with men and women like Iain, she would not be of aid in regard to Haerrad, the man Teller thought of privately as the most difficult member of the House Council.
He had become less openly hostile in the very recent past. But the past stretched out beyond that, and Teller had had personal experience with the lengths to which Haerrad was willing to go to get what he wanted.
Fortunately for the House, none of tho
se involved alliance with demons.
* * *
• • •
Teller was not surprised to see that Haerrad, as Elonne, was waiting. Nor was he particularly surprised to see that Haerrad had retained the use of personal House Guards, although the House Guard was, in theory, subordinate to the Chosen in a state of emergency. He had no doubt—or very little—that the Chosen had called up the House Guard, and was certain that they had not deployed these to Haerrad’s command.
This, however, was not a matter for the right-kin; it was a matter for the Chosen and the captains of the House Guard. He was not apprised of all the subtleties that such command involved and did not feel the need; he trusted Arrendas and Torvan, daily, with his life. The captains of the House Guard were far less of a known quantity, but, again, they were not his immediate concern.
No. Haerrad was. Haerrad was not, as every other member of the House Council was, attired in a manner suitable for the daily life of a patrician of notable power. He was attired for war. And the war itself was not to be a thing of pomp and circumstance; he wore armor that had clearly seen use in a context with which Teller was unfamiliar. He carried a sword, and if the sheath and pommel were ostentatiously fine, Teller was suddenly certain the sword, too, had seen practical use. He did not look like a House Council member, standing in the very finely appointed room in which he greeted guests.
His smile was grim; he understood what Teller saw and understood, as well, the whole of his thought.
“We’re evacuating Terafin?”
Teller nodded, momentarily at a loss for words. Haerrad had that effect on him even in day-to-day circumstances. The House Council member looked up at the arborii, assessing, as he did, their arms, their armaments. Haerrad did not unsettle them. They met and held his gaze, assessing him just as carefully, which should not have surprised Teller, although it did.
“We’ve been advised to evacuate through The Terafin’s chambers,” Teller began.
He did not finish.
Beneath their feet, the ground trembled; it was not subtle, and it was not short.
“They are coming,” the tree spirits said, almost in unison. They lifted heads the same way, and looked to the south, as if the walls of the Terafin manse—the most powerful of The Ten—were now so insubstantial they could barely be seen at all. They stood taller; the rumbling tremors of a shaking building did not seem to concern them. Nor did it seem to move them.
It did concern Teller. The Terafin’s personal chambers were not on the first floor; if the building collapsed, he wasn’t certain what would become of them. Or rather, of the door that led there. He was absolutely certain that those who made it past that door would be safe—for a time.
But the air grew colder, as if every window in the manse, all of them glassed, had shattered and the whole of winter was now free to enter the interior, even if winter had, in theory, passed, and the air itself had become seasonally warmer. He thought nothing, now, would surprise him.
Haerrad, however, tried.
“Right-kin, with your permission, my men and I will take the exit to the grounds.” It seemed, to Teller’s momentary shock, that he was actually asking permission.
“It is The Terafin’s desire,” the tree spirit said, “that all members of her House retreat to the forest.”
“You are creatures of theory,” Haerrad replied, as if he conversed every day with trees that were taller than he, and armed as he was. “Your roots are deep, and you seldom walk among us as you now walk. But we are men. We put down subtle roots, and they do not bind or hold us when action is required.
“What The Terafin—what my Lord—desires, I, too, desire. But few, indeed, of the people who shelter here are capable of self-defense. The Chosen and the House Guard will remain to secure the premises.”
Teller opened his mouth to say that Haerrad was not, in fact, a member of the House Guard, and certainly not one of the Chosen. But he was uncertain to whom he would have been speaking, and therefore kept the words to himself.
As if Haerrad could hear the thought, he looked—down, as his was the greater height—at Teller. “You are lambs,” he said with a grin. “And lambs—with cause—fear wolves. But right-kin, even The Terafin understands the need for wolves. Her predecessor understood it better—it is why she never removed Jarven.” Something in Teller’s expression spoke to Haerrad. “Jarven is here?”
Teller exhaled. “Jarven,” he said quietly, “is where the Kings are.”
“You never knew him in his prime.”
“No,” the arborii who had done most of the speaking said, “but he will. Teller, we must away.”
“We’re not finished yet.”
“Then hurry. This is not our place of power, not where we must stand if we are to protect what is important to Jewel.”
Teller then turned to Haerrad. “Yes,” he said. “You are right. We are not what you are, and what you are is necessary. Go and defend the House and its people as only you can; I will find the rest of the lambs and see them to safety.”
Haerrad nodded. He turned to the House Guard, who clearly took their orders from Haerrad, and only Haerrad, and they exited his rooms in a din of noise and motion, certain of their destination because Haerrad was certain.
* * *
• • •
On the first day Teller had come to House Terafin—in the shadow of demons and death—the Terafin manse had been a blur, but a rich one; he had wandered its halls observing the almost obscene proof of great wealth on every wall, every floor. The ceilings were so high, the halls so long, that he had thought the space an endless maze of treasure; surely gods must live this way in their distant abodes.
He was quiet, one of the quietest members of his den, and he had observed servants and their positions with some care, hoping that he might steal something—anything—that the den could sell to stave off starvation in the grim future that surely awaited them. But he knew, as well, that the rich and the powerful didn’t trust him—or them—and even with some cause. They had never lived with the desperation, the struggle to simply survive, that the den had faced, day in and day out.
Half a lifetime had shrunk those halls; familiarity had shrunk the manse.
Only today, as he hurried through it, did some ghost of that first long trek haunt him; he felt desperate, afraid. The reasons were entirely different. Here, without the threat of starvation, the threat of freezing to death in the winter, of being shoeless or of wearing the rags that were like flags to the magisterians that protected the Common as they could from random thieves, he had room for an entirely different kind of terror. The lives of the people in the manse had been left in the den’s hands. In his hands. Jay had trusted them with this.
The ground shook again, and he began to jog, and then to sprint; he found his voice and raised it.
8th day of Lattan, 428 A.A.
The Common, Averalaan
The wind swept across the Common, howling but wordless. Words, however, could be heard in a rising descant, a song of distant terror, as buildings that had stood for centuries listed to the side; the roads cracked, fissures growing wider and deeper.
From beneath the ground, from beneath those streets which had housed the rich, the poor, the landed and the homeless, the peak of a dark spire gained height, widening.
The Kings did not fall; the stone fell away beneath their feet, but the air held them, the wind protected them. Jester was safe with Snow, and Snow, being all cat, began to circle the spire as it rose, and rose again, as if flight were an act of smug defiance. Jester, on his back, felt none of that. His eyes went to the ground, to the building that, even now, continued to break it. Chunks of stone fell, to vanish into darkness, and he thought of those fallen buildings, those fallen blocks of much larger stone, that the den had navigated with rope, magestone, and luck.
He was half a lifetime from that navigation
; it was in the distant past, and he seldom thought of it. But for the moment, he might have been sixteen again, desperate and afraid of life, because in the main it held pain and death.
The peak of that spire widened, and beneath it, all of a single piece of stone to the naked eye in the light of a dawn that had only begun to encroach night sky, came the rest of a tower; in width, it was equal to the space that Moorelas’ Sanctum had occupied moments before. The statue itself was gone, just as the bits of stones were gone, into the darkness below; Jester did not know how long the fall had been and how much of that statue remained.
Nor did it now matter. The tower itself was not the only element of the emerging building, and more of the Common was destroyed—or would have been destroyed—by the width of the rest of it.
But the Ellariannatte that had accompanied Birgide were there, and as Jester watched, their roots, exposed, began to twine together, to form some kind of a bridge, a landless land upon which a man could stand. Many did—the Kings’ Swords were deposited across those roots by a wind that had swept them, armed, armored, toward uncertain safety.
“ATerafin.”
Jester was not surprised to see Andrei. He was slightly surprised to see that he kept pace with Snow, and Snow seemed to find this mildly offensive. But the cat did not speak of boredom now; beneath Jester, his body was tense, readied.
Andrei had sprouted wings. He did not wear armor, and that was a pity; wings on the back of the Araven servant looked wrong in every particular.
“What—what is that building?”
“I do not believe you have seen it before,” he replied.
“Is it from the—the ruins of the city that used to be here?”
“No, ATerafin. It is new. It is entirely new. But the stone in that ancient city was not quarried as the stone in Averalaan is; it is older by far. You have heard of the changes The Terafin made—at a distance—in Avantari.”
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