SHE COULD NOT BE certain that he had seen her, but she was by no means certain that he had not; upon sighting the open doors, she had all but leaped back into the summoning chamber. Carver—forgotten until this moment—was cautious in the face of the unknown; he’d obeyed Torvan’s orders to remain behind. It was probably one of three times that he’d obeyed anyone’s orders but her own since he’d joined her den. Smart Carver.
She cursed her own stupidity, lowered herself to the floor, and then lay there on her stomach, as close to the open arch as possible, straining to catch the words.
For the first minute or two, there weren’t any.
Then, in a tone of voice that Jewel couldn’t have managed had she tried, The Terafin spoke again. “Gentlemen, while it’s been a pleasure to have your company, unless we can come to an understanding of circumstances, I will be forced to ask you to leave.” Silence, and then, “I have, as you can see, a visitor who arranged to speak with me.”
“If I’ve come at an inopportune moment, I can return at another time.” It was his voice—Old Rath’s voice. But the words were prettied up a lot.
“No,” The Terafin said. “Gentlemen?”
Silence. Jewel hated silences like these, with no sight to guide her, no sense of action or movement.
“What are you doing?” It was Rath; his voice was sharp and grating.
A fan of orange sparks shot through the arch, fading from sight as quickly as a falling star. Jewel drew a sharp breath and rose instinctively to her feet. She crouched, dagger in hand, beside the arch as Carver gestured her down.
“Meralonne,” The Terafin said, her voice almost twin to his. “Please. Explain your presence here at once.”
“I am here,” he replied, “at the behest of your Chosen.”
“Obviously,” was the icy reply.
“Please accept my apologies for the unannounced use of magecraft in your presence. And you, sir, if you would accept my most humble apologies.”
“For what?” Rath replied, the edge once again smoothed out of his words.
Oh, shit, Carver mouthed.
“Indeed, Meralonne. For what?”
“I merely attempted to negate any . . . illusion that might have been present.”
“Illusion?” Rath’s incredulity sounded genuine. “Are you saying that I’m a mage?”
“No, my good sir. Please accept my apologies. Terafin, it appears that I have been summoned in error.”
“Who summoned you?”
“I did,” Torvan said. Jewel could hear the sound of an alloy knee joint hitting the grand carpets.
“We will speak of this later,” was her cool reply.
“Lord.”
The guards came in through the arch and eyed Jewel and Carver with anger and disdain. Torvan wavered a few moments more before also rising and retreating. He did not look at Jewel or Carver, but he didn’t have to; his face was pale and stiff.
“I will take my leave,” Meralonne said, turning in the arch so lightly and quickly that it caught Jewel by surprise, “but I think that I have not been summoned without cause.” Jewel could hear the power in his voice. Shining brilliance came in through the arch; it was not so much a light seen as one felt. If someone had asked her its color, Jewel would have replied, warm. Not a color at all. She thought she could smell something sweet and wild in the air, some hint of a time and place that was safe and eternal.
A scream of mingled pain and surprise filled the room, turning to rage before it abruptly ended. Jewel was on her feet at once, shifting to take her second look into the room itself.
Old Rath stood ten feet away from The Terafin, his features contorted with pain. His hair was smoking, and his skin looked slightly singed. “My Lord,” he began, facing The Terafin. “You can see that this—this mage bears me malice for reasons that I cannot begin to—” The words died abruptly as he met the eyes of Jewel Markess. His expression shifted, a subtle movement of muscle—a flag, just enough of a warning.
The wall exploded.
• • •
Torvan stopped two inches from the back of the mage. He shoved Jewel to one side, but he did not dare to jostle Meralonne APhaniel; he had the sense to understand that the only thing that stood between his Lord and her death was the mage. For he could see that, through some work of will, some magic invisible to his eye, The Terafin stood unharmed by the fire and rock fragments that filled the room like sunlight.
She had not shifted her position or her stance; even her expression was inscrutable. “Torvan,” she said, without turning her head or taking her eyes away from her visitor, “I chose well, when I chose you.”
Of course, she would speak these words when there was room for no other emotions but dread and fear.
• • •
Torvan said nothing; Jewel could see the tension and fear in the white line around his lips.
“Old man, do you think that you are a match for me?” Old Rath said. “Do you think that your magics and your pathetic human power will outlast mine? You’ve had decades, and I, eternity. But I will see you suffer before this is done.” His voice was no longer the voice of her mentor and her friend; even the face, identical to Rath’s, had somehow slipped, like a mask accidentally jostled at a nobles’ masquerade. For that, she was grateful.
“Well, well, well,” Meralonne replied, his voice so mild it was almost friendly. “It has been a rather long time, and I do admit that I’m rusty.” He took a step forward and cleared the arch. Torvan practically lunged after him. A mistake; he crashed into empty air and bounced back, clutching his arm.
“Don’t try it again,” Jewel whispered. “Not yet.” She watched the air between the columns of the arch, filmed and almost shiny but somehow still transparent. At her back, crowding her so tightly she felt her shoulders curl inward in reaction, were the rest of The Terafin’s Chosen. “Carver,” she snapped, “get out from underfoot!”
He was used to her temper in a fight and let the words—and the tone that conveyed them—slide off his back. He knew that if it were up to her, she’d’ve cleared the room of the whole damned lot of them, except for maybe Torvan. Maybe.
“What do you mean, not yet?” Torvan’s voice was too tightly contained.
“He’s keeping us out,” she said, nodding to the back of the platinum-haired mage. “Or he’s keeping that creature”—she was happy; she never had to call it Rath again—“in.”
“How?”
“Mandaros knows,” she snapped back. “Am I supposed to?” Then she bit her lip, and prayed that she not be sent to the Halls of Judgment—and Mandaros’ sight—any earlier than lofty and ripe old age. She snuck in under Torvan’s arm, pushed him—well, nudged really, as pushing a man in that much armor required more momentum than she’d managed to gain—to one side, and squinted fully into the room.
The sight of her seemed to enrage the creature. “You have caused me trouble, little urchin. My war is with you.” Then, as if to contradict his own words, he gestured in a sharp, harsh arc. Hands that were human glinted in golden light as if they were made of steel, and something that seemed to be darkness made liquid spread from his fingertips.
Where it struck the ground, flames gouted; they traveled, hungrily turning the carpet to ash, to form a ring around The Terafin and her mage. Both remained untouched by fire.
Jewel jumped back and hit Torvan squarely in the chest; he’d moved again, and she’d been too absorbed to notice it. Bad sign.
The Terafin did not move. If she was afraid at all, the fear did not betray itself by showing its presence. No, to Jewel’s eyes she seemed angry, but even the anger was a subtle thing. “Where is the real Ararath?”
“He is our prisoner,” the creature replied, smoothly and swiftly. “But if I do not return in safety, he will be a corpse within the day.”
“He’s lying!” Jewel shouted.
For the first time, The Terafin’s stare wavered. Both she and the creature turned to look at Jewel, and what Jewel saw in both of their faces—although the expressions were in no way similar—frightened her. She started, and Torvan’s mailed hand caught her shoulder, both steadying her and keeping her in sight of the ruler of Terafin.
“How is he lying?” The Terafin asked, her voice level and gentle seeming.
“Old Rath is dead,” Jewel replied starkly.
“He will be,” the creature added. “But he is not dead yet. Do you think we would destroy so useful a bargaining tool, Terafin? This—” and he snarled as he gestured at Jewel, “has cost us much. We had hoped to take your House from within; it appears that we will have to accept destroying its leader.”
“A poor consolation.” But The Terafin’s gaze did not waver as she studied Jewel’s face. Jewel found it hard not to look away—but she knew that she must not, or else The Terafin would think her the liar. Held by The Terafin’s dark eyes, she felt her fear give way to loss.
It was The Terafin who at last broke the stare. “Master APhaniel,” she said, and her voice was steel. “Who—or what—is this . . . caricature?”
“I am your death,” he replied, in a voice that was no longer Rath’s or anyone else that Jewel had ever heard speak.
Time froze as they turned to stare at what had once been an old man. His skin seemed to melt into thinness over blood, and then even that ruptured as he grew in height and width. Slick and shining, his elongated jaws snapped shut and he lifted a vaguely reptilian head in a roar.
Jewel could have marked the second—the half-second—when that roar became a scream. Words escaped the sounds of agony, but they were spoken in a language that Jewel could not identify, and she had heard many in the streets of Averalaan. She didn’t need to understand the words to know a plea when she heard it.
“Master APhaniel,” The Terafin said, raising her voice so that it would be heard above the unnatural roar. “Cease this! We need information!”
A platinum brow rose. “I’m trying,” the mage replied, through clenched teeth.
She fell silent at once and watched as the creature continued to writhe. It was hard to tell what was blood from what was skin; he looked like something newly birthed. Jewel turned her gaze to the woman who ruled, and kept it fixed there. Although this creature had been responsible for not only Rath’s death, but Duster’s and probably Lefty’s, Fisher’s, and Lander’s, she could not watch his agony—it was too terrible. His death, yes. But cleaner somehow. In the end, although The Terafin stood firm, her gaze cool and remote as it rested upon the creature, Jewel’s hands covered her ears, and her lids, her eyes.
I wanted to kill it, she thought. He killed my kin.
But even a dagger drawn slowly across an exposed throat, or one driven time and again into a prone back, were the most vicious of things she had actually considered; she could picture them in her mind, could almost force herself to see. Others were fantasies that had never gone beyond the feel of the words in her unspoken thoughts.
Nothing she had imagined was like this. Ask her and she would have said that the killer deserved the most hideous death that the Lady could offer. But its screams, like human screams, went on and on until she could no longer feel anything but horror and pity.
She opened her eyes to see The Terafin’s impassive face, and it frightened her almost as much as the screaming did.
“Make it stop!” someone screamed. “For the Mother’s sake, make it stop!” Later, from the rawness of her throat, she would realize who it was.
The mage was pale. Water ran from the corners of his reddened, unblinking eyes, but it was obvious they were caused by no emotion more complex than simple physical limitation. He took a step forward, and then another; a pure golden light cocooned his arms, his face, his chest. His robe crumpled; a knee hit the carpet before he righted himself. Then, at the last, he gave a cry, a snarl of fury—and the creature, limned in a darkness that was thin and hard and sharp, was gone.
Jewel slowly took her hands from her ears. Her arms were shaking with stiffness, but she brushed one quickly across her face. It came away wet.
“Jewel,” someone said, and she forced her eyes open.
Shards of stone and a fine powder lined the furniture and the carpets of The Terafin’s rooms. The curtains had been torn to shreds by the flying debris—except for the spot at which they would have had to pass through The Terafin; blue formed a perfect silhouette of her stance. Beyond it, the carefully beveled windows had been shattered; the lead-and-pewter frames had been twisted like thin reeds.
The damage was superficial, even pleasant to look upon, when compared with the room’s center. What remained of the fine carpet was a damp, smoldering ruin, and the wet, dark stains across it would never be removed. But worse were the parts of flesh and skin stretched to breaking, of human teeth and the husks of human eyes, nails from hands and feet, matted, charred strands of hair.
Jewel was sick all over the good part of the carpet, but no one noticed. Meralonne, haggard but focused upon the task that he had started, crossed the room in safety, unconcerned for the dead that he might disturb. The Terafin watched him in silence as her guards emerged.
Torvan and Alayra immediately joined her, standing slightly back on either side. Their swords were drawn, and their shields, bright and burnished steel and wood, were across their chests. Torvan looked like stone, and Alayra, iron; they were hard and focused upon their duties to protect and guard their Lord.
But they were soft and yielding when compared to The Terafin herself. If such a woman had moved into the twenty-fifth holding to declare it—and all illegal traffic through it—her own, Jewel would have packed up and fled in a minute. As it was, she barely prevented herself from cowering to the side and ducking out of sight as The Terafin slowly approached the mage’s side.
She looked down at the debris at his feet, and then raised her chin. In a chilly, quiet voice, she asked, “Is this human?”
He raised a pale brow, and then gazed at the scattered flesh and remnants as if seeing them for the first time. He gestured a green light into existence, and it touched them, twisting about them in a lattice of eerie spell-light. The light faded slowly as Meralonne let his arms fall to his sides. He turned to her without expression.
“Yes,” he replied, no inflection marring the distance of the word. “These remains are human.”
She nodded as if the question was as perfunctory as the answer was emotionless. But she turned to the ruined window, the shredded curtains, walking between her guards as if they were columns and not people. “Leave me.”
“Terafin—”
“That was not a request. Leave me, all of you.” The voice of command was so quiet that one had to strain to catch it—but once the words had been heard, they could not be denied.
Torvan and Alayra exchanged wary glances as they backed out of the room. Meralonne APhaniel finished his inspection, and then stood crisply, lifting the hem of his robes as he traversed the carpets. He paused in front of The Terafin.
“Terafin, I will repair to the Order and begin my report. On the morrow, I shall deliver it to you.”
“You may return this eve,” was her remote reply. “After the late dinner hour.”
He bowed his acquiescence in near-silence.
“Jewel?”
Jewel, creeping along the side of the ruined wall, stopped short and fell to one knee. The edge of a stone chip cut into her kneecap; she bit her lip and waited.
“After the middle dinner hour, I would appreciate your company.”
Jewel nodded.
“I will send someone for you in your quarters. Please be there.”
She nodded again, and then scuttled out of the room as quickly as she could. She did not look back at The Terafin because she did not wish to meet her eyes or see her face again. It was too much like an invasion of privacy, an act of voyeurism.
• • •
Early dinner, middle dinner, and late dinner were not, as Jewel half-suspected, the different stages of noble repast. They were quite literally, as Ellerson pointed out, the hours at which civilized people were expected to—or allowed to—begin their dinner. In view of The Terafin’s request, he ordered dinner for the early dinner hour.
That was not the only change he insisted upon; the second was a matter of clothing. The third was a matter of weapons, or rather, a lack of weapons. The fourth was a matter of language—but the fourth could not be supervised closely when she was no longer in the wing; Ellerson therefore concentrated on making her presentable. Presentability meant a dress; anything else was unsuitable for the dinner hours. Jewel wasn’t even terribly surprised when he just happened to have a deep blue dress that was her size. It was not complicated, not frilly, and not restricting in movement. But it was heavier and finer than anything else she was used to wearing.
The sash, on the other hand, was worth more than the dress, and he helped her into it, tied it tight, and made sure she knew how to sit without destroying the lovely four-point flower he made of its length at her back.
“Nervous?”
“Shut up,” she replied, scowling into Jester’s smiling face.
He shrugged. “Hey. I was just going to say you look great.”
She snorted. “I look like someone we’d try to rob, idiot.”
“Given how hungry we’ve been this year,” Angel added wryly, “that is great.” He lifted the skirt and ducked as she whacked him soundly across the top of the head. “I was looking at the shoes! The shoes!”
Ellerson allowed them to continue their childish behavior for at least another minute before he pointedly cleared his throat. This subtle sound could probably be heard over the cries of merchants in the farmer’s basket during a mild trade war.
“The Terafin has sent Torvan to escort you to her quarters,” he said gravely. He said everything gravely, so it was hard to tell from his tone of voice whether or not he thought it was trouble. “You do not keep her waiting.”
“Ellerson,” she said, shoving Angel over and assuming a more dignified stance, “just because we’re poor doesn’t mean we’re stupid.”
“Of course not, ma’am.”
Teller caught her on the way out. “Kalliaris’ smile,” he whispered. He was worried, which meant that it was obvious to him that she was. She didn’t even try to hide it.
“She’s straight,” she said, taking his shoulder and turning him back toward the dining hall. “She won’t do anything to hurt me.”
“Then why can’t any of us go with you?”
She didn’t have an answer to that, and with Teller it was never smart to come up with an off-the-cuff lie. “Go on,” she said, but he forced her to meet his gaze as he stared over his shoulder. After a minute, he nodded and let her go. Or rather, let himself be pushed away.
• • •
“What does she want?”
“I don’t know,” Torvan said, his voice neutral, almost officious.
“Can you guess?”
“Yes. I’d guess it has something to do with the events of the afternoon.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s a big help.”
The sound of his heels filled the arches above before he spoke again. “Jewel, she isn’t a monster, and she isn’t a magisterian; you don’t have reason to fear her.”
“She’s one of The Ten!”
“She’s the House, yes. But she’s no threat to you if you haven’t harmed the House.”
“What have you told her?”
At this, he smiled. “The truth.”
“All of it?”
“I’m hardly likely to lie to my Lord.”
“I mean, did you tell her about the—”
“About my suspicions of your talent? Yes. She is my Lord, Jewel.”
“Then what am I supposed to say?”
“The truth.”
One of these days, she thought, as she hid a fist in the gathers of her skirt, I hope I rule this House so I can hit you. “Is she—is she upset?”
Torvan glanced at her. “Jewel.” He stopped walking and turned to face her. “You may not know much about the Houses and The Ten. Let me explain, briefly, what I can. None of us—none of The Terafin’s Chosen—were born to Terafin. The Terafin herself was not ATerafin at birth.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Sure. If someone’s good enough at what they do—and if it’s a trade that’s useful—then one of the Houses might sponsor them in. They get a home, a place to work, and the protection of the House—and they also get the name.”
“Yes. And if you understand that, then you understand that many of us—most of us—have other families, and other parents, although we are adopted into this one. We aspire to greatness, to become a part of this House, with its history of nobility and strength in the face of forces that threaten the empire. And when we finally achieve that destiny, if achieve it we do, we owe our loyalty to the House. We have the family of our birth and the title of our House, and between them, were we forced to choose . . .” He shook his head almost sadly. “Coramis is proud to have its son be ATerafin.
“Not all of us are urchins, not all of us are bastards. Some of us come from houses of minor nobility, and some from houses of great riches. Some of us are artists, some warriors, some mages; some of us are farmers and merchants and carpenters. And a very few of us are leaders.
“The Terafin is a leader. But she was not adopted to be The Terafin; she was adopted to aid the house in its political course. She became the heir because she was our best.
“My name is Torvan Coramis ATerafin. Coramis was the family of my birth, and Terafin, the House of my choice. The family name will be mine until I die; the House name mine unless I commit an act of treason or disgrace myself in the eyes of The Terafin. The first is an accident, if you will, the second, an honor.
“Her name is The Terafin, but fifteen years ago, her name was Amarais Handernesse ATerafin.” He turned sharply and began to march down the long hall in silence.
Jewel could think of nothing else to say.
• • •
The room that she was led to was not the first room that she had seen, and certainly not the wreckage that had been made of the receiving room; it was a small room on the uppermost level of the mansion itself, in a hexagonal area that jutted out almost to the edge of the street below.
Everything about it was clean and simple, but nothing was modest; the carpets were heavy, and the rugs upon them of the highest quality; the curtains were of a material that was not even sold in any of the shops that Jewel loitered in or around. The mirror—the single mirror along the wall of what looked like a sitting or dressing room—was gilded, although it was not ornamented; it was silvered perfectly and did not distort the face.
There were chairs here that seemed be to made of a single piece of wood, and that a heavy, dark one; there was also a table, low and long, that seemed to be grown, rather than carved, into an intricate flatbed with reliefs of wide, flat leaves to lift and carry it. The lamps on the wall seemed to contain the heart of fire itself, and the glass that restrained those flames seemed liquid caught in the motion of pouring.
Jewel recognized the artifacts of the maker-born, and she knew that she was looking at the end effect of more money than she had ever seen in her life, even if she added up every copper, half-copper, or lunarii that had passed through the hands of her den-kin as well.
“Are these her rooms?” she whispered to Torvan. He nodded, and if he was amused by her uncomfortable awe, he did nothing to show it. Instead, he came to the edge of the archway that opened, doorless, into the outer rooms of The Terafin’s chambers.
As if his movement were a signal, a perfectly dressed man stepped into view. Jewel recognized him at once; he was Ellerson, only younger and a little less stuffy looking. His uniform was a study in simplicity; a long, pale cream robe with a gold-strand belt worn over house shoes. His hair was pale, more brass than gold; his eyes were dark. If he knew that he was under heavy scrutiny, it did not bother him at all. He bowed. “I am the domicis of The Terafin. She is waiting for you.”
Jewel looked at Torvan. Torvan shook his head. “There are no guards within the chambers of The Terafin unless they are summoned in emergency. She will have no weapons and no hint of turmoil within her personal quarters.
“I wish you luck, Jewel Markess. I hope—” He stopped speaking abruptly and drew his forearm across his chest in salute. Then he turned and walked away.
“If you will follow me.” There was nothing at all rude in the tone or the words, nothing forceful, nothing threatening. But Jewel knew an order, even if it was phrased remarkably like a question, when she heard it. She nodded, cleared her throat as unobtrusively as possible, unclenched her aching hands, and walked in his wake. He led her to a small library.
Above the room was a large, oval dome in which lead, like a web, held stained and painted glass. The sunlight was passing the horizon; by the end of the late dinner hour, it would be gone. Jewel almost wished it were midday, when she might see the ceiling in its full glory. She shook herself and looked down again.
There was no large desk in the room; there was a table as long and tall as a dining table, but darker and much heavier in build, surrounded by shelves placed along the walls. The Terafin was seated at it, book in hand; her hair was no longer bound, but hung at her back like a straight, dark curtain. She wore a simple shift, but again it was not inexpensive. Like the domicis’, it was a cream color, with highlights of gold. She set the book aside as Jewel entered the room.
“Terafin,” the domicis said.
“Thank you, Morretz. That will be all.”
He bowed gracefully and gravely, and then stood, turning suddenly to meet Jewel’s inquisitive gaze for the first time. She gasped, because his eyes were a blue that seemed too bright and shiny, and she had seen too much that was unnatural for one day. But the light faded into a trick of the imagination and he smiled, if a touch coldly, before he stepped out of her way.
Implicit in his gaze had been a threat; Jewel wasn’t certain what it was, or why it was offered. She didn’t have a chance to ask. He left her alone with The Terafin in the lofty confines of the library.
“Come, Jewel Markess. Join me.” She raised a hand and pointed, palm up, to a chair that had obviously been arranged for the interview. Jewel approached it as if it were a cage.
“Do you read?”
“Yes. Some.” It was hard to keep the defensiveness out of her voice, but she managed. She knew that something important was riding on the outcome of their interview. She didn’t know what it was, of course—but she didn’t want to blow it.
“Good. Have you done, or do you deal, with numbers?”
“Some.”
“Have you handled a house, or the affairs of a house?”
She hesitated a moment before she answered, deciding on truth. Lies were complicated; Jewel had learned to use them sparingly, and to blend as much of the truth as she could into the mix. Truth had its own sound, its own special feel, and only a good liar could mimic it well. Jewel was not a good liar.
“No. I—I’ve handled the affairs of my den.”
“Den.”
She nodded.
“How long have you taken responsibility for these children?”
It was not the question that Jewel expected, but then again, The Terafin was so far from what she’d expected that Jewel was only a little surprised, and not taken aback at all. “For almost three years, by my count.”
“Did you have to kill anyone to take your position?”
“Pardon?”
“In some holdings, and in some dens, leadership is decided by the demise of the previous leader.”
Jewel was silent. At last, she smiled. “You know a lot about dens for one of The Ten.”
“Knowledge is my business. You haven’t answered my question.”
“No. No, I didn’t have to kill. I—I gathered. I found kids that were like me, people I could trust. I took them in, and organized them, and found them a place to live. Taught them how to avoid magisterians.”
“I see. What did you do?”
She shrugged, uneasy. “What any den does when it doesn’t have a lot of muscle. Steal what we could from the market or from people in the street.”
“I suppose,” The Terafin said, raising a hand to forestall any reply, “that you’ll claim you had no other choice and no other way of surviving. I’ll not dispute it at this time.
“But if you had another option, would you take it?”
It was a trick. Had to be. “Depends. We don’t kill for money and we don’t have experience robbing manor houses.”
She raised a dark brow. “If,” she said, her voice quite chilly, “I wished someone dead, I would not hand the task to a young woman who is barely adult with no experience and no . . . knack for the skill.”
“Fair enough,” Jewel said evenly, although the blush was in her cheeks. “We’d consider another job, yes. But we won’t agree to anything without knowing what it is.”
“Very wise.” The Terafin placed both of her hands against the top of the table and rose, pushing slowly against it. She closed the book on the desk almost as if the action were an afterthought.
In the room’s light, Jewel could see that the title was in gold inlay, with a leather relief that had been worn with the passage of time. But she could not read the words that she saw; they were not in a language that she understood—or if they were, they were in words so complex that she had never been forced to master them. And Old Rath, while he let her speak as she wanted, had always been a taskmaster. Old Rath . . .
“Did he teach you?” The Terafin asked.
Jewel looked up, aware of what could be read on her face, and not even concerned enough to hide it. “He was my second teacher. My father was my first.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“I tried to rob him.”
She looked very surprised.
“He was an old guy, walking slowly down the street. He was better dressed than any of the rest of them. He had what looked like a money pouch. I hadn’t eaten in four days, or I hadn’t eaten enough in four days.
“I was ten. We’d had nothing but rain for seven days. The rent my father paid had vanished, and I’d managed to lie low for two months in the old apartment until the owner found me out.” She smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “So I was desperate, and not very good at being a thief. Most of the kids younger than me were much better at it—but my father had a real job, and I was expected to have a better one.
“Rath sort of took me under his wing—after he blackened my eye.” That elicited a smile. “I told him about everything. Didn’t realize how lucky I’d been because I hadn’t seen enough of the streets by then to know it. He told me. And told me. And told me.”
“How did Rath occupy his time?”
“Not sure,” Jewel replied evasively. “He’d done some time as a merc. He knew how to fight. Read. Write. Stuff like that.”
“You aren’t telling me all of the truth.”
“No,” Jewel replied.
“And if I wanted to hear it?”
“If I thought you wanted to hear it, I’d tell you.” It was a risky answer, but it was true.
“I’m the lord of my House, Jewel. If I ask a question, I want the answer.”
“But it isn’t a matter of your House.”
“Isn’t it?” The woman’s smile was cold and sharp. “Perhaps it wasn’t; but the mage was summoned, two of my rooms are in ruins, my—Ararath is dead, and the cost to repair what has been done today will come out of the House books.” But she turned her back to Jewel. “However, perhaps you are right. We had our differences, he and I, and I would not be surprised to learn how far back, and for how long, they extended.” She paused. “There will be no funeral.”
Jewel had already said her good-byes, and funerals were for the wealthy—or at least for those who could manage to scrape up enough money on top of what they needed to eat. She shrugged.
The Terafin turned again, her hair a curtain that slid slowly off her shoulders at the motion. “You showed a great deal of bravery, to come here.”
“He told me to come here,” Jewel replied.
“True.” The Terafin’s first completely genuine smile. “That he did. Have you read all of what you gave me?”
“All of it.”
“Very well. This afternoon I sent out my own private investigators. I wished to be able to confirm some of what Ararath had written. It’s quite extensive.” She picked the book up from the table and walked over to one of the many shelves that lined the honeycomb walls. It was almost as if she could not—at this moment—sit still, or be idle. “They discovered nothing.”
“Nothing?” Jewel furrowed her brow. “But what were they looking for?”
“Any of the entrances to these so-called tunnels of which Ararath wished me to be warned.”
“But he didn’t tell you where any of the tunnels were.”
“You’re wrong,” she replied, and her voice was shadowed. “He did. In those lists, in the words that he chose, in the way that he put them on the page. Handernesse had its own hidden codes, and even after years away from that family, I have not forgotten them. Had I, I would not have learned what he wished me to learn—and I would not have known for certain that those texts were genuine. He told me much, Jewel. He even mentioned you, although not by name.”
“Did he say anything good?”
“About you?” Another flash of smile. “Yes, or I would not have summoned you. But we have more serious things to discuss.
“I sent my people to the apartment that he called home, and explored the basement. There was no subbasement. Even using magical means, we were unable to detect one. In the end, my people were reduced to digging, both with magical aid and in the normal fashion. We worked with speed and as much discretion as possible. But there was no entrance into the tunnels of which he spoke. None.
“I do not believe that we will find any of the tunnel entrances to which he alluded, although teams of my people will explore those areas of which he wrote.”
Jewel felt a tingling up her spine. “There was an entrance into Old Rath’s place. I’ve used it. A lot.”
“I don’t doubt it,” The Terafin replied. “But at this point we can only surmise that whoever it was who summoned the creature responsible for Ararath’s death was also a mage skilled at gleaning information from an unwilling source.”
Jewel waited for the rest, but the rest was long in coming; The Terafin’s face was pale, except for the shadows in the hollows of her cheeks. Had she eaten or slept since the attack? Jewel was certain the answer was no. “Why do you think that?”
“Because the entrances are somehow disappearing.”
“They might’ve done because they knew we’d escaped with that information.”
A dark brow arched as The Terafin looked down. “Jewel, you were valued by Ararath, but the advice that Ararath gave you—to come to me—was sound. Ararath’s enemies did not have much to fear from you. Who would listen to you? And who, in the end, would you have tried to speak with? You did not know who to turn to; you came at his command. His last act.” Her smile was bitter. “Ararath sent you here—and one who was not familiar with Ararath, not familiar with the—with our relationship, would never have made the connection between him and me.
“He repudiated his family and his name. He would not mention our connection to anyone—not even those that he trusted absolutely.”
Jewel was silent. Repudiation of family, even among the people that lived in the city holdings, was almost unthinkable. Family—if it was willing to claim you—was half of what and who you were.
“Do you understand now? The creature that became Ararath knew to come here.”
“He might have followed us.”
“True.” She bowed her head. “But nowhere in the letter that Ararath left for you did he mention his relationship to me. He did not, I am certain, mention it to you—although he gave you the order to come here. No one who knew him as Rath knew it; I would swear by the spirit of the ancestor. Yet this Rath knew. I have a letter, delivered into the hands of my right-kin, that clearly states it.” Her hands shook a moment; she looked down into them as if reading that letter again. Then the trembling stopped and the face tightened; Jewel was certain, seeing that expression, that there would be no trembling and no hesitance again. “If the imposter knew of our connection—knew that Rath was, in fact, Ararath—they must have coerced that information from him, and they must know much, much more. Therefore, any information which he imparted in the letter he left cannot be considered a secret.” She stopped pacing very suddenly and turned to face Jewel, who remained seated.
“But not all of the letter was hidden; I read what he wrote to you. You explored those tunnels without his supervision—and against both his orders and his request—and I don’t believe that you told him what you found, for possible fear of censure.”
Jewel could add, even if what she was adding wasn’t numbers. “Yes,” she answered, her voice soft. “They don’t know what I know. They don’t know that we know the tunnel entrances to other places.” She took a deep breath. “They’ll probably guess that we know all the entrances in the twenty-fifth. If they know what Rath knew, they’d know most of the exits into the basin holdings—but not all. He didn’t know ’em all.”
“Indeed. Are you willing to work with my investigators?”
The big question, now. “And what do I get out of it?”
She did not bat an eyelid. This—although the language was far less formal, the nuance replaced by the subtlety of words poorly wielded—was what she did with much of her time. “For the duration of the investigation, you will need a place to stay; I will allow you to remain here. I will pay you at the same rate that the rest of my people are paid.”
“What’s that?”
“Two solarii a day.”
Through a great effort of will, and the tickle of Old Rath’s admonitions in her ears, Jewel kept her expression completely cool. She’s rich, she told herself. Two solarii might be more than we’ve ever seen for a day’s work—but it’s nothing to her. Hold out for more.
“My den-kin?”
“They’re your responsibility. They can remain with you—provided that you take responsibility for their adventures or misadventures while they are under my roof—or you can put them back where you found them.”
She bristled. “They’re my family. They follow my rules, they take orders from me. I don’t throw ’em out anymore than you throw yours out.”
The Terafin smiled again, and it was almost a smile of equals. “Very well. If you do as I ask, if you support me and show yourself to be worthy of my House, then I will make you—and yours—a part of it in name and in fact.” It was clear from her easy acquiescence and the odd look in her eyes that it was an offer she had already considered—and considered Jewel worthy of.
Jewel could think of nothing at all to say.
“Morretz will see you out now. Consider my offer carefully; I will call for you after the hour of the first meal.”
Morretz appeared like a pale shadow, moving so silently that Jewel was unaware of him until he appeared at her side. She followed him automatically, hardly aware of the carpet beneath her feet, and then a question rose to mind and lips before she could stop it.
“Why?”
“Why would I consider you as a possible member of Terafin?” The Terafin did not seem surprised by the question; indeed, she seemed to expect it.
“Yes.”
“You wonder if it has anything to do with Torvan’s report of your . . . special intuition.”
“Yes.”
“No, Jewel. In the end, it does not. A House is made by more than the ability of its members, and in only a few cases do we sponsor and adopt someone for the sake of his or her ability alone—and in those cases delicate political balances rule. You are not, because of your station in life, one of those cases, although I do confess that, when we have the leisure—and if I have taken your measure correctly—I would like to see your ability trained properly.”
“But—but if not that, then why?”
“First: Because you have information that I desire.”
“You could’ve bought that. I’d’ve given you what I had.” Her eyes were very dark. “You know we need the money.”
“Very good,” The Terafin replied softly. “And if you had proved to be different, that is indeed what I would have offered you. But—” She smiled. “A family is made up of its members, no more, no less. You understand that; you show it to me, to all of us, by the way you lead your den, Jewel. Those children are your responsibility. Not your serfs and not the victims of your brutality; they are yours. I think—and I am not a poor judge of character—that they would die to protect each other. Because of you.
“There will always be room in my House for people who can instill that, and be worthy of it. You are worthy of your den, and if I am not mistaken you will be, in time, worth more.”
“And if you are?”
“Then there will be no place in Terafin for you. It will not be the first time it has happened.”
• • •
When Morretz escorted Meralonne into The Terafin’s presence, it seemed for a moment an odd processional, where the master, white-haired, fair-skinned and richly attired, led the initiate.
The Terafin blinked and the image vanished; she was left with Meralonne APhaniel, looking slightly haggard and somewhat harried, as was his wont. He was a mage of the Order, and more besides, and she trusted him more than she trusted any other mage, which was little better than half.
He walked into the library without stopping to stare at the multiple shelves, the second story of which had been shadowed by the coming evening. He did not glance upward at the oval window, as Jewel Markess had done; he was an older man, and one used to power and finery.
Neither ever impressed him.
“Terafin,” Meralonne said, bowing low.
“Master APhaniel.” She gestured, and he took a seat quietly, rummaging in his sleeves a moment before looking up.
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” It was a lie, of course; she hated the particularly acrid smell of pipe smoke. But she liked the look of the light in front of his lips when he gestured and the leaves, curled and dried, became slow-burning embers. And she liked the way that smoke, in a thin, gray-blue line, contoured his face and made of it an almost ethereal vision.
“I have taken the liberty of speaking with Morretz,” Meralonne said. “Or rather,” he added wryly, “Morretz has taken the liberty of speaking to me.”
She smiled, but Morretz did not.
“As you suspected, the creature did not use illusion. He literally wore Ararath’s flesh.”
She nodded, and the smile was gone, consumed in flames darker and hotter than that which consumed the tobacco.
“Let me call it possession. I have done what research I can—and that research is severely limited for reasons which I will explain in a moment—and the most that I can tell you is this: Ararath was possessed and consumed by something that we know as demon.”
She did not flinch, did not even feel the desire to do so. These were answers, and answers were all that was left. “How do you know this?”
“Because he was affected by a primitive branch of magic that is hardly practiced now. Historically, such a magic was used against the Allasakari and their allies.”
Allasakari. The Terafin did not flinch, but she felt a chill wind take the room and make it a colder place. There were no priests of the Dark God in Averalaan, but history’s lessons were dearly remembered by all who lived on the Holy Isle. “I see.”
“Demon,” he added, “is an old pre-Weston word; it means kin of darkness. Weston usage often called them ‘the Kin’ or ‘demon-kin,’ the latter of which is, as you can see, inaccurate.”
This is why she usually stayed away from members of the Order. Bored lesson masters were less prone to odd—and inappropriate—conversational drifts than half of the Order’s members. “It is quite clear that this creature was not a natural one. Very well, call it demon. What can you tell me of it?”
“Very little, I’m afraid. The knowledge and study of the kin, and their summoning, was lost centuries past in the great cataclysm. Research into this branch—and a few of the other branches—of magic is strictly forbidden to the Order’s members, and the council of the magi also keep watch for the mage-born unbeholden to the Order who might stumble across its usage. You can understand why.”
“Yes,” The Terafin replied tersely.
“With that caveat, let me tell you what little I have been able to glean. The demons have their own phyla, and within those, a range of abilities. But from the old texts it is clear that there were a very few who were able to—absorb, I think, is the word we want here—the memories or thoughts of their victims.
“From Morretz’s terse debriefing, I believe that that is the case here.”
“You think he knew everything that Ararath knew?”
“Not everything, no. But much. Those memories that were long and grim, formative if you will, would be the easiest to reach.” He stopped speaking for a moment, and then looked up. “I am sorry,” he added softly, “for your loss.”
“Don’t be. He was lost to my family long before today.” Her face was an ice queen’s face; she rose and turned her back to him. “But you have answered my questions for the moment, and I wish to retire. I will call upon you tomorrow.”
He left, led by Morretz, and she remained.