“And who, within your own lands, would dare to give commands that you must heed?”
“My Kings,” Jewel replied softly, “but it is not at their bidding I have come.”
“My sister?”
“The Oracle?” Jewel grimaced. “No. She has yet to visit. But you know Evayne, and you will understand the significance of her words.”
To Sigurne’s surprise, the Summer Queen bowed her head; her eyes closed, becoming a fan of ivory lashes. She was silent, and that silence continued. No one broke it. Sigurne would not have dared; there was something now in that silence that spoke of pain, and the pain of the powerful oft turned to anger without warning.
In the end, she might have remained silent, but Meralonne moved. Meralonne knelt, once again, his head bowed almost to knee; his hands were trembling. Sigurne would remember that for as long as she lived, for she had never seen those hands tremble before. Almost, she turned to Jewel, to snap or bark, for although she understood what Jewel was, the history of all that she had been, from the moment Ararath of Handernesse, estranged from his house, had come to her tower stood between them.
But the Summer Queen’s eyes opened in that moment, and she regarded the top of Meralonne’s bent head. “And will you now turn away from your sole desire?” she asked, voice soft.
And, oh, his hands. He clenched them, making fists of them as if to hide the tremors. And it came to Sigurne that it was not merely the loss of the opportunity to once again serve by the side of this woman, but the pain of the loss of those he would never see again: the Sleepers. His brothers.
He did not resent the Summer Queen. Could not, Sigurne perceived. She had suspected it, had been told the truth of it, but had never understood the truth of it as she did now. There was nothing the Summer Queen could do to him, nothing she could demand of him, that would shake what he felt for her. Nothing.
“Lady,” he whispered, as if he could not raise the volume at which he now spoke, “My herald has not arrived. As I, he has weathered your absence among the mortals. He is traveling as we speak, but there are difficulties; I do not believe he will arrive before you take your leave.”
She waited in silence.
“And when he does arrive, I fear he will not be what my brothers’ heralds were; he is not as I am, and the centuries—” he shook his head. “I—”
“Speak. I will not censure you.”
“I failed. I failed you. I am not what I was then. But if the Sen is correct, if the word she carries is truth—”
“It is truth,” the Summer Queen said. And her word, Meralonne could not doubt. Could never doubt.
“I would not return to you as failure if there is any other option.” He lifted his face and met her gaze; his eyes were flashing silver. “And there is, Lady. What I failed to do—what we failed to do—I will do. I will redeem myself.”
“You have no brothers now. What reason have you to believe that you alone can succeed now, when you could not succeed then?”
“He will not,” Jewel said, “be alone.” She avoided looking at Meralonne; avoided meeting his gaze. Her expression was not the serene expression of the Summer Queen; her sense of guilt was writ large across the lines of her face, the tighter line of her mouth.
“Will he not?” the Summer Queen asked softly.
“I will return, Lady. But I will not return to you as a failure, a failed prince, unless you command it.”
“The choice is yours, Illaraphaniel.” She smiled; her eyes, as Meralonne’s, were shining, but hers were green now, the color of emeralds. Without turning or looking away, she said, “Sen, did my half-sister tell you where this sword might be found?”
“No.”
“Then perhaps, Illaraphaniel, that will be your first task. Without it, we cannot hope to accomplish what must be accomplished; the Lord of the Hells is not Breodanir and did not prepare for his return; there are no ceremonies of release, no rites. No weapons, save one.” She bent then; she did not bid Meralonne rise.
Bending thus, she brushed his forehead with her lips, her hand resting briefly upon his cheek. “Rise,” she then said. “Rise and walk with me in these strange lands, for you have experience of them that I lack.”
And he did as she bid. Sigurne did not move. They passed into the space that existed between the three great trees and were lost to sight almost instantly.
Sigurne then turned to Jewel.
“I cannot stay,” Jewel told her. “I am not truly here. And I am sorry, Sigurne. I am sorry for Meralonne. I am sorry to have extended his exile. But . . .” she shook her head. As she searched for words, she began to fade, transparency becoming invisibility.
* * *
• • •
“And I thought you had been lost,” the golden fox said. He sounded vaguely irritated, which for Finch should have been a warning that could not be ignored. She did her best to ignore it, however; the fox was once again lodged in her arms, as if she were a palanquin bearer and he were a temperamental patrician.
“Well,” said the much rounder and darker talking animal that walked by their side, “You were obviously mistaken. I was, perhaps, dallying overlong. I returned,” he added. “But I am, at the moment unrooted.”
This soured the fox’s mood further. Finch wanted to put him down and step away.
“I am unlikely,” he said, voice tart, “to bite you. Anakton, however, is a different story.”
“Come, come, let us not hold grudges. I did not want to sleep. But the world is waking. Can you not feel it? The air speaks. The earth speaks. The trees—ah. Did you hear what the Sen said?”
“I heard. It is not necessary to repeat it.”
“We exist now in interesting times,” the creature the fox had called Anakton said. “And I, for one, anticipate them. I may,” he added, glancing up at Finch, “shadow Illaraphaniel. He will probably want company.”
The fox stared, speechless, at the waddling fur-ball on the ground. “You have not changed at all.”
“Well, perhaps not—but that is our nature. Come, show me your Lord’s lands.”
“I cannot show you much while I am being carried by a mortal.”
“Then walk on your own feet.”
The fox sighed. Loudly. Finch might have called it a roar had a mortal creature made that noise. “Fine. Fine. But I feel that you will owe me a boon after this.”
“You may add it to the many I already owe,” Anakton replied.
Finch set the fox down. “Go back to the Terafin manse,” the fox told her.
* * *
• • •
That was not, however, her intended destination. She walked through streets that were familiar; they had been much changed, but the basic shape and length remained the same. She made her way, unguarded, to what she was almost certain was the Merchant Authority, making her way up the equally unguarded front steps. They were wide, stone stairs, all of a single piece.
She entered the building, and saw that the main floor, with its wickets, had changed: it was much larger. Or perhaps it only appeared large because it was so empty; she was not certain she had ever seen it so shorn of activity as it was today. It was not, however, her destination. She slid into the halls, and from there, to the stairs that led to the Terafin offices. They had become her second home, in some fashion, and if Averalaan had been transformed so drastically, the rest of the Empire had not. The wheels of commerce, of trade, would—and must—continue to spin.
But not today. Not today.
She reached the doors of the outer office, and they rolled open; she had not touched them and wondered if she would ever have to touch them again. She wondered, as well, what the carpenters and stonemasons would do if every building in the city had been repaired or replaced as this one had. It might become a problem, but . . . later.
Lucille’s desk still sat opposite the open doors,
although Lucille did not occupy it. And Finch’s office sat behind that desk. The doors were closed. In theory, they would be locked—or would have been locked—but she did not approach them immediately; she paused, instead, at the desk the junior clerks normally occupied. These were of wood, not stone; they were flawless, their surfaces missing the dents and dings and ink stains of the desks that had stood here before. So, too, the empty chairs tucked beneath them.
Terafin colors adorned the walls. Finch glanced at the ring she wore and dredged up something that resembled a smile before she headed, at last, toward the office she had shared with Jarven. She was not surprised when the doors rolled open before she reached them and was practical enough to think it useful for those days when she carried the tea service into the room. Those days, of course, were almost entirely behind her; Lucille now found it an offense to the dignity of House Terafin when Finch insisted on doing so. And Lucille was never wrong.
A half-smile touched her face as she entered the room. Lucille had survived. Lucille would—just as Finch now did—return to the offices that were her dominion.
She was not surprised to see Jarven.
Nor did he look particularly surprised to see her, although he did frown when their eyes met. His eyes were brown, as they had always been, but flecked with gold or light in a way that lent them an unnatural sheen.
“You meant to be unseen?” she asked, correctly judging his expression.
“Not for any nefarious reason, I assure you. I only attempt to sneak into my office when I am avoiding the interminable meetings foisted upon me by Lucille.”
“True enough. I would have assumed you more likely to sneak out.”
“It is practice, no more,” Jarven replied. “Lucille’s appointment book is refreshingly empty.”
Finch cringed, which caused Jarven to chuckle. “Your Jewel certainly made changes in her reconstitution of this city; I do not think all of them will be welcome.”
Some clearly weren’t to Jarven. Finch glanced at the shelf on the wall to the right of the doors. There were books on it, but they were not immediately familiar to her. She winced. “Your protections?”
“She clearly does not appreciate the value—or the cost—of those books.”
“You believe that monetary value will have meaning.”
“Unless she is Sen of the Empire, of course it will.” His eyes narrowed. “I perceive that you are attempting to be annoying; you have clearly come to the same conclusion.”
She laughed. Laughed, crossed the room to Jarven, and hugged him tightly.
“Finch, please.”
She did not release him.
“I am certain I have taught you far, far better than this. You are being practically maudlin. In public.”
“No, just in front of you.” She did not lift her face; her words were muffled.
“Finch.” His voice gentled; he returned the hug, but stiffly. “Do you think I am leaving?”
“You are.”
“I have been a set a task by the eldest. I cannot—yet—find a way to accomplish it, which is vexing. Regardless, you are no longer a child.” He exhaled. “You were not a child when you first crossed the threshold of this office at The Terafin’s command. You are not Lucille; you know who I am, and you accept it; you have no hope of changing it or altering it.”
“I know who you were.”
“That is fair. I am only beginning to learn the limits of who I now am. And the bindings; the laws are different, but they are frequently as much of a nuisance in an entirely different way.”
“I don’t want to be your enemy.”
“Ah. No, and you never have. But what you are and what I am are not, now, the same. I had thought perhaps you would become the only protégé I might leave standing. But you do not have the ambition; you lack the necessary drive.” He pulled back, gently releasing himself from her arms. “You will not be able to remain in this office if you take the House.”
“I won’t take the House.”
“Ah.” He shook his head. “You will take the House in all but name; you will, I think, have no choice.”
“The name is important.”
“Perhaps. But if you will not be The Terafin, I will not be yours to command.”
She snorted. It was a very Lucille-like sound. “You weren’t The Terafin’s to command, either.”
“I was, when it suited me. But it will not suit me in the same fashion. There is a much larger game, and The Terafin has knocked all the pieces off the closest board I might study. I am annoyed,” he added. “There were demons in the city, but they are gone; I believe they were reduced to ash in the moment of her ascendance. She can defend this city, and these Kings—but that defense is required, Finch. And she cannot command the whole of the Empire in a like fashion.”
“Why are you so certain?”
“I spoke with gods in the Between. They were not pleased to see me,” he added, with an almost delighted smile. “And they had warnings of their own to offer. But if you are afraid of what I will do, be at peace. The game I wish to play—the game I wish to win—has moved. It has not ended.
“I will leave my office in your hands. I will retire.”
“Will you leave the House Name?”
He looked almost offended. “You want to divest me of my name?”
“No. No, Jarven.” She exhaled, let her arms drop to her sides, and straightened her shoulders. “I don’t suppose you’ve taken a look at the files?”
“What files?”
She flinched. “They’re gone as well?”
“Yes. Apparently, The Terafin did not consider the legal proof of our various negotiations any more valuable than she did my protections. I will, however, be present when Lucille does return to the office; I would not miss her reaction for the world.”
* * *
• • •
Hectore’s manor was the only manor in the more expensive holdings that had persisted through disaster, destruction and transformation unchanged. The people who had sought refuge on his grounds—where grass had been destroyed and flowerbeds depopulated beneath the growing press of far too many feet—were likewise unchanged; they had survived where others had not.
They were grateful to Araven, but they would return to homes that had been materially altered. Hectore was profoundly grateful that the Araven manse had sheltered and protected so many, but he resented the lack of improvements to his own manor. The gates, however, had been opened, and people had begun their exodus to their own homes. He imagined, gazing across the city, that there might be some conflict about those homes, but for the moment, that was not his problem.
He fidgeted, and his wife frowned. Her frown, however, was minor; he was among family, and if his family could not accept the minor gesture of irritation—or nerves—they could move out. It would, he thought, be safe now for them to do so. On the other hand, Nadianne seemed the most irritated—and the most tired—and he eventually retreated to the outdoors, to examine the damage done to his grounds.
It was there that he found Andrei.
Or, rather, there that Andrei found him.
“You have managed to survive,” Hectore said, when he saw the shadow of Andrei’s wings cut across the ruined grass.
Andrei landed and those wings—awkward wings, really, given their shifting composition—folded, disappearing as the Araven servant struggled for control of his physical form.
Sighing, Hectore turned to glare at him, folding his hands behind his back as he waited for Andrei to, as he put it, get ahold of himself.
“I have been busy,” Andrei said, speaking through slightly clenched teeth.
“As have I,” Hectore replied. “And under the watchful glare of my wife, who for some strange reason believes the personal dignity of Hectore comes second to the dignity of Araven. We have no food in the pantry,” he ad
ded.
“None?”
“You missed the excitement. Apparently, half of the hundred decided that Araven was a safe haven during the upheaval. Look at this grass. And the flowerbeds!” Hectore shook his head. “My roses.”
Andrei was, once again, himself.
No, Hectore thought, he was once again the self he had chosen to be decades ago. “Nadianne was worried for you.”
“Apologies, Hectore. Things were somewhat . . . hectic.”
“You were not injured?”
“Not appreciably.”
“And The Terafin?”
Andrei was silent. Hectore, who had continued to examine damage—and calculate the cost of repairs—turned to look at his servant sharply. Andrei remained silent for a beat. Two. Three. Hectore’s glare did not subside. “You must have seen her,” he finally said. “It is said that everyone did.”
“Everyone,” Hectore said sharply, “who was not in Araven. What exactly did you do?”
“I protected your family,” Andrei replied. “And now, I must alter those protections. She is Sen; her protections will now be the greater of the two.” Andrei exhaled. “She will live in the cathedral that heralded the start of this . . . incident. Hectore—”
“She will not be the same.”
“No. But I believe that she would be grateful for your company, should you choose to offer it. And it is certain that Finch will require some guidance if the city is to once again resume its place as the heart of the Empire.”
Hectore would discover one advantage over the next few days: Araven’s records had remained exactly as he had placed them after he had signed them.
* * *
• • •
Avandar Gallais had been injured in the aerial battle; Calliastra had called him reckless—but with a low, delighted laughter that still traversed his spine. No sign of injury remained; nor had he availed himself of the Terafin healerie, such as it was.
Then again, the Terafin healerie was not yet occupied. Nor were its many offices, or its many halls. That, however, was to be expected. He was not, after all, in the Terafin manse, but in the cathedral that would supplant it, if Jewel did not have her way.
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