Oracle: The House War: Book Six (74 page)

“What purpose do the heralds serve?”

“They will wake the Sleepers,” Meralonne replied, “when they reach their sides. They will carry the regalia of their forgotten office; they will remind them of everything they have lost. In loss, they will be at their most dangerous.”

“What will stop them?” she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“The Terafin, if she returns.” His tone of voice was wrong; it was grim and edged.

“Meralonne—”

“Enough. I have said enough. Leave me.” It was a command. Nor did Birgide disobey it—not immediately. But she turned as she reached a standing, wrought-iron arch. Flowers bloomed across its height, as if it had been designed as a trellis and not the gate she now knew it was.

“What will happen to The Terafin?”

“I cannot answer that question with any certainty. She will arrive, either alone, or in the company of the only being alive who can command the Sleepers and expect to be obeyed. If she arrives alone, there is only one path open to her if she is to save the city that is at her heart.”

“And that?”

Softly, so softly Birgide thought she should have missed hearing the reply, he said, “She is Sen.”

15th of Morel, 428 A.A.
The Placid Sea, Averalaan Aramarelas

Jester found Marrick difficult because he was a hard man to distrust. Absent his actual presence, it was much simpler: Marrick had a web of connections through the patriciate, the merchant Houses, and the guilds. He had a sizable amount of money, and a personality that inclined all but the most suspicious to be of aid to him where it was not too costly.

In person, Marrick was amiable, friendly, and disinclined to the type of betrayal that characterized a man like Ludgar. Or Rymark. Jester’s visceral dislike of patricians came to his rescue—but only barely.

Marrick lacked Elonne’s sophisticated polish; he lacked Haerrad’s aura of brute, physical strength. What he donned, instead, was the patina of a distant, but much loved uncle—the man to whom you went for fun, rather than discipline. He wore it now, in the Placid Sea. He managed to get things done, his demeanor implied, by raw luck. As if a life like Marrick’s could somehow be stumbled across by a friendly, unthreatening, older man.

They had been given a table suitable for Marrick’s rank within the House—but it was not in an entirely private room. The owner of the Placid Sea was proud to have a senior member of the Terafin House Council as his customer, and wished his custom to be known. Had Marrick demanded a private room, one would certainly have been made available—but in keeping with Marrick’s easygoing, public persona, he was willing to be put on display if it was of aid to the owner.

Jester chatted with Marrick while food came and disappeared; he chatted while wine did the same, at slightly lesser speeds. Marrick’s laugh punctuated the low level conversation of the rest of the dining room, and heads turned frequently on the off-chance that some glimpse of whatever caused this good humor might be afforded at a distance.

In the case of the last laugh, it was the stone that Jester placed on the table. He looked rueful as he activated it, and this was genuine. Haval had conveyed it to Jester with curt, but specific, instructions. Since the stone itself did not contravene the laws of exception, Jester had grudgingly accepted it. He had no objections to the stone itself.

What he disliked was the conversation that was to follow. Jester did not, as a rule, speak about anything important. He disliked the pretension. He disliked the target it made of him.

But he was going to be wearing a target regardless, in the foreseeable future; he was Finch’s adjutant on a Council that was about to be crashed by no less a person than Jarven. The reactions of every
other
member of the House Council to Jarven’s presence were possibly the only thing about it that Jester looked forward to seeing.

“What,” he said, removing his hand from both stone and table, “would you say if I told you we have definitive proof that Rymark was responsible for The Terafin’s death?” He grimaced, and added, “Amarais Handernesse ATerafin.”

“You’re still not used to the change,” Marrick noted.

Jester shrugged. “The current Terafin refers to Amarais as The Terafin. I doubt that’s going to change in the next year. Or five. If it doesn’t offend her, I don’t worry about it.”

The easy smile remained on Marrick’s face. “Do you have definitive proof?”

“The Terafin does.”

“Would that be the reason Rymark has chosen to throw his lot in with hers?”

It was Jester’s turn to laugh; his laughter was unusually bitter. “
You
threw your lot in with hers after The Terafin’s funeral. Rymark serves himself, and only himself. You must be aware that he’s already starting to make waves in the House Council.”

Marrick shrugged. It was an easy, natural motion. Jester’s shrug clearly needed practice. “The hummingbird doesn’t change its wings. You are not, I note, concerned about Haerrad.”

“Haerrad is what he is. He’s relatively predictable. He acts in what he views as his own interests, but he hates to lose. Making a war unappealing for a man like Haerrad is simply a matter of making it appear to be a losing battle.”

“While appealing to his self-interest?”

“I don’t think it matters. Haerrad won’t trust anyone as far as he can spit them. He assumes that everyone approaches him with their own self-interest in mind; loyalty is a matter of how strongly the interests coincide.”

“You are being surprisingly expansive this afternoon.”

“Lack of solid drink,” Jester muttered. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“It seems, at this vantage, to be purely speculative. I assume there is more to it than that. If you wish me to wax philosophical—and given it’s you, I will contain my shock and consternation—I can do so. You’ve never been one for such discussions.”

“I admit they put me off the lunch I’m paying for, yes.”

“Well, then. What would I say? Probably, ‘Let me see your proof.’ Given your expression, this would leave the rest of the conversation hanging in the air—although your attempt to start it implies that you may have brought proof with you, if that were possible. Rymark is cautious. You are too famously lazy to manufacture proof, and The Terafin—your Terafin—is too scrupulous to allow it, regardless. Humor an old man, Jester. What is your angle, here?”

Jester and Haval had argued to a standstill on three separate occasions. It galled Jester to have to cede the tailor any ground. “I am out of angles,” he replied—as Haval had advised. “There have been two separate attempts on the life of Finch ATerafin.”

Marrick’s smile hung, empty, on his face. It did not, as it had for Jester when he’d first heard the news, vacate that face entirely. “Since The Terafin’s leave of absence.”

Jester nodded.

“Word of these attempts has not reached the House Council.”

“I should hope not. It only barely reached the den.”

“And Finch has installed Jarven upon the House Council to counteract the possible threat?”

Jester laughed. “Finch was opposed to the idea from the beginning; The Terafin acceded.”

“She seems wiser than that.”

“She doesn’t trust Jarven, no.”

“And Finch?”

“Finch knows him better than any of us—and she was the one who advised against it. But there’s no possibility, in my mind, that Jarven is responsible for the attempts. Had he been, she’d be dead.”

“You’re certain.”

“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. Inasmuch as he can be, Jarven is now looking out for Finch. But Finch is capable of looking out for herself.”

“And that’s why we’re here?”

“No. We’re here to discuss the fate of Rymark ATerafin—and the regency.”

At that, finally, Marrick’s smile deserted his face. “Why the regency?” he asked. If the smile had vanished, the easy, indulgent tone had not.

“Finch intends to hold it.”

“And not the right-kin.”

“The right-kin has his hands full, and he wasn’t trained by a wolf to preside over a den of overweening sharks.”

“It did not occur to Finch to bring this to my attention herself.”

“No. She has no idea I’m here.”

“And why are you here, then?”

“Because I’m lazy. I don’t want her power. Or The Terafin’s. Or even yours. I want a better drink than the Placid Sea offers important guests at lunch. I want to sleep in until dawn is well past me. And I want Finch to survive.” Jester leaned back in his chair, studying Marrick’s lined face. “I don’t know how many people you actually trust; you certainly don’t trust me. Haerrad trusts no one. Rymark trusts no one. Elonne trusts a select handful.”

“And me?”

“As I said, I don’t know. I trust no one outside of my den. I trust my den absolutely. What Finch takes, as regent, she will hold in trust. When Jay returns, she’ll step aside. She’ll do it happily. My other suggestion was you.”

Marrick laughed, then. “Me?”

“You. Even if you want to hold on to the power you claim, you’ll surrender it for the sake of the House. I won’t ask.”

“You are an interesting young man,” Marrick said, lifting his wine glass. “An amusing, interesting young man. What position will Jarven hold?”

“He will hold a senior Council seat.”

“Greater in theoretical power than the seat Finch herself holds.”

“His pride is overbearing. He has been a singular power in the House because of his duties at the Merchant Authority; he will not stoop to halve his power for a lesser consideration.”

“I admit that I have had few dealings with Jarven. It is not always considered wise where it is unnecessary. If you mean to ask me to support Finch as regent, I cannot answer immediately.”

“Of course not. You’ll have your list of demands.”

“Concessions is the word generally used.”

“By the well-heeled and well-educated, yes. But if I’m not to play at being a gadfly, I don’t have the energy to prettify.”

“You, of course, have asked for nothing.”

“I’ve asked to have things resolved as quickly as possible so I can return with good conscience to the dissolute life.”

Marrick’s answering smile had a different texture; Jester couldn’t quite put his finger on the difference. He didn’t doubt his own instincts; the difference was there. “I am flattered, I admit. Why did you choose not to ask me to accept the regency?”

“Haerrad would gainsay it immediately, as would Rymark. I suspect—I’m not certain—that Elonne would support you; given the alternative, I believe she’d prefer it. But you won’t do it.”

“Would I not?”

“No. Not unless the House were under external attack, or the lack of a regent would cause it irreparable harm—in your opinion. It’s all of the work, but comes with very little of the public benefit.”

Marrick did not laugh. He folded his hands across his chest, and leaned back into his chair, waiting. “You expect that I would not—as you put it—stand aside.”

“No,
I
expect that you would.”

Brows rose slightly. “Why, exactly, do you have this impression?”

It was Jester’s turn to evince surprise, although in Jester’s case, he could be certain it was genuine.

“The expression on your face is priceless.” Marrick lifted his glass and smiled. “I won’t even say you’re mistaken. But power is a funny thing, Jester. We grow accustomed to it. We change the nature of the power we hold by small and slow degree—and it changes us. I understand that you now want two things. You are, and will of course, remain loyal to Jewel. Not even Haerrad could doubt that. You don’t personally care about the House. I’m surprised you’re willing to talk to me, given your general disdain for the powerful.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Not obvious, no. But it’s there. You wouldn’t take the House if it were offered to you.”

“I took the name.”

Marrick nodded. “I didn’t say you were a fool.”

“What do you want?”

“I want my position on the House Council guaranteed. I want information, when it becomes available to The Terafin. I will never be right-kin; I don’t have the patience for it. The office is too small. So. The first thing you want is to preserve what your Terafin has built. I accept that. She is not ambitious enough—but she is new. In time, she will be.

“But the second thing is more interesting.”

“And that?”

“I am, in some ways, a betting man. Gambling, however, has not destroyed me, where it has destroyed many. Do you understand why?” It was a rhetorical question. Jester waited. “I accept a loss with the same grace as I accept a win. I do not want what you want.”

“And that?”

“Revenge.”

“I think we prefer to call it justice.”

“I don’t believe you. You know there’s no such thing. You are not here to ask me for support for Finch. If Finch felt she required my support, she would have arranged to meet with me herself. She is causing quite the stir in the Merchant Authority.”

“I
am
here to ask you to support Finch as regent. To support an actual regency. You know what killed The Terafin. If Rymark is actually responsible, you know that it is not a matter for House law.” Jester glanced at the wine in Marrick’s hand; he really hadn’t had enough to drink. “The Kings and the
Astari
already watch Terafin like hawks.

“Rymark was willing to accept the current Terafin. But he won’t be willing to accept a regent.”

“You are certain the others will?”

“I don’t care what the others do. With everyone else, it’s a matter of politics—and if I can’t wrap my head around it, there are people who can. With Rymark, it’s more. We can’t see the whole of the game he’s playing. But we saw one of the definitive moves, and it involved a demon. None of the den are talent-born.” He exhaled. “I don’t care if you promise to support Finch. If I’m wrong, I’ll be the only person to approach you.

“If I’m not, I won’t. I’m willing to bet that overtures have already been made. I want to know by who—but it’s not necessary.”

Marrick laughed. “You are a gambler. What, then, do you want from me?”

“There are a dozen people with middling to impressive power who might want to see Finch dead; it is possible—barely—that the assassin was sent by one of them.” But not, his tone implied probable. “There’s only one who is guaranteed to succeed.”