Battle: The House War: Book Five by Michelle West Read Free Book Online Page B

folded the cuffs of her sleeves, which she accepted. “The Southern victory was—and is—important, Jewel. You were in the South; you understand why.”
    She nodded. Morretz had died in order to deliver the message that had summoned her home from the Terrean of Averda. Summoned her, she thought bitterly, in time to witness—but not prevent—The Terafin’s death.
    Haval’s hand tightened. “Remember that you desired the position you now occupy. Attempt to occupy it well. Devon will be situated in the crowd.”
    “Devon will? Why?”
    Haval pinched the bridge of his nose. “Two of the four attempts would have been successful if not for the speed of your response—and yours alone. I believe he takes this fact personally.”
    “And you don’t?”
    “No. I am grateful, at the moment, for your survival. Do not tax my joy. If I may have a moment of your time after the late dinner hour?”
    “You can have an hour.”
    “Good.” He set aside his needles and turned to the white sprawl of lounging cat. “Snow, I believe it would be best if you accompany Jewel now.”
    Snow hissed. “She’s not
leaving
yet.”
    “Very well. You may remain here. If she forgets to summon you—”
    The cat rose. “I
like
assassins,” he said as he padded toward the door. “They aren’t
boring.”
    * * *
    The Terafin garden was almost empty, for the first time in eight weeks. Even the by now familiar robes of the Order of Knowledge were nowhere in sight. Jewel stepped down from the terrace and instantly populated the grounds with her battery of Chosen, House Guards, domicis, and two cats, the latter of whom were arguing and stepping on each other’s feet. As Jewel found it difficult to move without stepping on someone she had some small sympathy for their annoyance, although the resultant behavior was fast destroying it.
    “Night,” she said, choosing one of the two arbitrarily, “go find Celleriant and bring him here.”
    “Why do
I
have to do it?”
    She answered his question with a silent glare, and his belly slowly sank toward the ground. After a minute of this, he moved, complaining as he left. Snow was hissing, because he was spiteful.
    A breeze touched her cheeks and hair; not even a full summer storm would dislodge so much as a strand given Ellerson’s work. Leaves rustled as that breeze moved through the tall, tall trees that could be seen from the street—any street—on the Isle; they sounded like the sea. She closed her eyes, lifting her chin as she did; she reached out with one hand from the terrace and felt, for a moment, the rough touch of bark beneath her fingertips. She lost sound, let go of frustration; the scent of undergrowth rose, and with it the quiet of a forest seen in isolation. Birds sang in the distance, wordless and insistent.
    “Terafin.”
    The single word brought her back to the terrace, the manse, and the reality of the city. Celleriant strode up the path toward where she now stood; she could see Night in the air, weaving his way around the trunks of the great trees.
    “Lady.” He bowed.
    “Rise,” she told him, and he did. He carried no sword, no shield; he wore armor that seemed, in comparison to the armor of the Chosen, light and trifling. His hair fell down the length of his back in a straight, unfettered drape, and his eyes were the color of silver leaves, sharp and cutting. “We travel into the city, to celebrate the return of the victorious Kings’ armies.”
    Celleriant nodded.
    If Torvan and Arrendas resented his constant intrusion, they kept it to themselves, wordlessly rearranging their own marching order to accommodate his presence. They accepted Avandar’s presence in the same way, although Avandar was domicis, and they had become accustomed to Morretz. They were less copacetic about the cats, in large part because the cats failed to maintain a peaceful marching order. The cats were, however, more or less respectful in the presence of Lord Celleriant, which is as much as