Sun Sword - The Riven Shield Part 5

"I . . . see." The woman who ruled stepped back; her hands touched the pale, cold surface of stone as if she might draw strength from the Terafin altar. It cut across the heart of the shrine, forgotten by the den until the moment she chose to remind them of its existence by this simple gesture.

"You both serve the House," he continued, for if she touched the altar with the flat of her palms, she did not look away.

"I rule the House," she said, the words cool.

"You serve the House best by ruling it. And Jay served the House best by serving you."

"And how will she serve the House when I am dead?"

Arann didn't flinch. Finch did. And because she did, she missed the expression on his face.

"By ruling it," he said quietly. "By ruling it because in the end you've left her no other choice."

"I?"

"You know who seeks power. You've seen them. You've seen what they're willing to do to gain it. But-"

"It is not easy to remove the powerful from their positions. I would weaken Terafin immeasurably if I were to attempt such an extraction."

"You weaken it," he said, "by your willingness to leave that task to others."

"Do I?" She turned away. Gazed into the night sky in the distance, broken by the outline of the grand, the glorious, House. "Arann, how many of the four who now desire the t.i.tle will survive the struggle to gain it?"

His silence was her answer; it was an honest silence. She waited, gaze still upon her home, her life's work. And then she turned her back upon it, to look once again at the handful of men and women who were Jay's.

"I believe that two will not survive. Two will. And those two-whoever they are-will lend their strength and their expertise to the House."

"While they circle like vultures."

"No. They will accept their defeat. They play the edges of a game that could easily destroy what they desire. The Kings have turned a blind eye toward the struggles of the House-of any of the Houses-when there is a question of succession. Such small wars serve their purpose in a fashion. While such ambition is turned toward one of The Ten, it cannot be turned toward the Thrones."

"Only the G.o.d-born rule the Empire."

"Indeed, that is true. Now. But remember your history; before the G.o.d-born, who ruled?"

It was Teller who said, quietly, "The Blood Barons."

Henden cast its long, long shadow. Even the mention of the demon kin was somehow less threatening than the mention of the men who had made the Empire their battleground for so long that all of its traditions and festivals still spoke of the scars.

"B-but-But that was before the G.o.d-born. The Twin Kings can't be unseated now."

Her smile was bitter. "Why do you say that, Arann?"

"Because-they're the children of G.o.ds."

"They are not, except by cunning and the consensus of the ruled, more powerful than the magi. They are not more powerful than the talent-born. On a whim, the former bard-master of Senniel College could have forced them to dance to any tune she desired to call. They are not, as the scions of G.o.ds, among the most powerful of their kind and-in case it has escaped your notice, and it probably has-they pay for the immortal blood that burns in their veins; their lives are measured in shortened years.

"And you forget, G.o.d-born or no, had the first of the Twin Kings not been the children of Veralaan, had they not possessed the blood of the 'rightful' ruler of these lands, they would have received no aid; The Ten would not have joined them in their crusade. The Ten were not G.o.d-born," she added softly, "but they believed, then, that blood mattered more than achievement. Or that it was part of achievement; I confess that I do not understand the niceties of those ancient beliefs, having benefited in a fashion from their demise." Her smile was brief and plain.

"You expect much, Arann, from the G.o.d-born; they are, after all, mortal. But I digress; The Ten serve a purpose in many, many ways. The ambitious and the powerful are drawn to the Houses like moths to flame. Some achieve greatness within their confines; others achieve merely death. The Kings reign above, and beneath us the rest of the Empire unfolds. We are suspended in a manner of our choosing. We take a risk; we bear the cost."

"But not alone," Teller told her quietly.

She raised a brow. She had not addressed Teller directly.

"You called us; we came. Jay's never called us here, and she comes all the time."

"You are perceptive; I expect no less. Do you know who you will be, if you survive this war, Teller ATerafin?"

His smile was slight. "Teller ATerafin." And sweet.

"Of that, I have no doubt," The Terafin replied. Her voice deepened a moment, her expression shifting in the light as she turned again. "Survive," she whispered. "Haerrad saw clearly when he came to you."

Teller nodded.

"When I was younger-much, much younger-I felt that friends were a weakness. Had I the choice, I would have gathered men like Duvari around me, and no others."

Duvari, Lord of the Compact, was perhaps the coldest man Finch had ever met. He had come, on a handful of occasions, to speak with The Terafin-or Jay-and everything about him made her want to flinch. Or run.

She would really have to learn how to school her expression.

"Yes, I understand, Finch. But a man like Duvari is very, very hard to kill. Of all the men in the Empire, if I could choose one who would survive the world's end, the coming of the second h.e.l.ls, the return of the Firstborn-it would be Duvari."

"Only the good die young," Finch muttered.

"Perhaps. It doesn't matter; he picks his cause and he never wavers. It was important to me that my compatriots not die. Important that their deaths in no way be laid at my feet." Her arms bent; her hands supported her weight. "It's been so long, I had forgotten how visceral that desire could be."

Finch knew, then. "Until Alea," she whispered.

"Until Alea." The Terafin bowed her head. "Alea was the closest thing to a child the lord of a House is generally permitted. I was fond of her-and I am fond of few. But I was proud of her as well; she was worthy of respect.

"Morretz will never forgive me," she added quietly. "In my youth, I would have sought vengeance; I would have offered death for her death; I would have destroyed even the House I valued in order to achieve that end, and have peace.

"But I am not young, not as I was then. The things that burn me merely scar; they light no spark; they fan no useful flame. And peace is not to be gained by a simple death. Or a complicated one."

"Why will Morretz-"

Teller shook his head, sharply, and Finch shut up. It was as close to command as Teller got.

"I have asked you here for a reason," The Terafin said. She drew breath, gained height; the line of her shoulders straightened.

"You want our oaths."

"Yes."

"You want more than our oaths."

"Yes."

"We don't have a lot more to give you."

"Teller ATerafin," The Terafin said, bowing slightly, "I would never ask you to join the Chosen; you are a foot too short, and several inches too slender. But you have the temperament, if not the build. Finch, likewise." She looked away again. And then back. "Arann," she said, speaking to the only member of the den who had chosen to pledge allegiance to her House, and therefore indirectly, to her.

"Terafin."

For the first time that evening-and Finch would remember this for the rest of her life, no matter how short or how long that might be-The Terafin pulled aside the great cloak she wore. The cloak itself was fine, but weathered, and it sat too low on her shoulders, too close to the ground. Finch might have paid more attention to it, but it was a simple curtain over an unexpected window, and what lay beyond the window held all of her attention the moment she glimpsed it.

The scabbard.

The sword.

Justice.

She raised her hands to her mouth.

"Who do you serve, Arann ATerafin?"

He was, Finch thought, white as the altar at his lord's back. But he must have had some color left, because he got even paler when the sword left its sheath.

He knelt. Raised his face to meet her unyielding gaze.

"You," he said, so softly that Finch wasn't certain she'd heard it.

"Good. And do you trust me, Arann?"

"Yes." Louder.

"Will you trust my words above the words of all others?"

"Yes."

"Will you know which words are mine when all words come to you clothed in deceit and lies?"

He was silent. Finch wasn't surprised; she would have been. He lowered his face a moment, to look at the ground between her feet.

"To be one of the Chosen is not to be a mindless servant, not to be a fine swordsman; it is not a simple act of loyalty, although perhaps to the eyes of outsiders, loyalty defines the Chosen. You must know me, must understand me, must decide for yourself when an order you are told is from me is nonetheless not mine. Do you understand? You must, with loyalty and knowledge as a guide, be true in ways that I cannot foresee when I ask you to make this oath and accept the weight of this responsibility.

"Not all who are asked accept. And many of the men and women-Alayra, for one, and Arrendas-asked for three days grace in which to consider what I have just said. But forgive me; I do not have three days to give you. You must decide, as I have, on this eve."

He raised his face again. "Do you trust me, Terafin?"

The corner of her lips turned up slightly in a grudging smile. "A fair question."

"Do you believe that I am capable of what you've asked?"

"A second fair question. Why do you ask?"

"The timing," he said.

The Terafin's brow rose; the smile left her lips. She nodded slowly.

"You want me among the Chosen."

"Yes."

"Because of Jay."

"I would not weaken the Chosen," she told him, her voice cool. "You are loyal to me if you stand among them. You make your vow, and take your rank, from my hands and mine alone."

"Tell me why," Arann said. "Tell us."

She touched his forehead with the tip of her blade. Her hand was absolutely steady; it had to be. Finch could tell, by the sudden stillness of Arann's face, that there was no distance between skin and steel.

"Jewel ATerafin came to the House at a time that might be considered inauspicious by a lesser lord." No humility at all in the words-but Finch didn't mind; they were true. "And proved her value and her worth to my House from the day she arrived.

"Her worth was never in question; yours-all of yours-was. I knew that she took responsibility for you, and I admired that in a girl of her age and her background; I was willing to take you on to observe how she handled the transition from poverty to power.

"But I was impressed. From the streets of the twenty-fifth holding, with very little guidance, she chose her companions, and she chose well. I will leave out the peccadilloes of the two young men; they are beneath regard, but they do not invalidate their worth.

"In time, I offered the den the House name." The Terafin smiled. But she did not lower the sword; it rested between them, like the caress of an executioner. "I did not offer it for Jewel's sake. I did not offer it as a reward for her service.

"'You earned what you now bear. But you, Arann, were slightly different.

"I believed then, and I believe now, that had you not been dying when Jewel first arrived at the gates of the manse, had Jewel not bargained so harshly for your life, and had your life not required such drastic intervention to save, you would not now stand among the House Guard; you would cleave to your den.

"But you did receive injuries that would have proved fatal, and Alowan did, indeed, call you back from the foothills-or the bridge-that leads to Mandaros' Halls. I believe that Alowan has so often been forced to heal me that his impression of me shaded yours; you saw not what the den saw, but what Alowan did. And does."

Arann did not move, for the sword still had not wavered.

I never realized The Terafin was so strong, Finch thought, knowing that she would have cut his face from forehead to nose tip about two sentences in because the sword was so d.a.m.n heavy.

"What Alowan sees in me, he sees in Jewel ATerafin. What she desires for herself, and for this House, is tainted to some degree by the life that formed her-but it is also informed by the life she has built. She has never-and I believe she never will-stoop to a.s.sa.s.sination to achieve her ends.

"And I will not criticize the limitations that she places upon herself; in some ways it is by the limitations we choose to labor under that we are best judged."

It was Teller who interrupted her. Or rather, Teller who spoke when she fell silent.

"Terafin," he said, with more respect than he usually put into a name.

She shifted her gaze, but nothing else.

"You haven't answered his question. You haven't told us why."

"Do you need to hear it? Very well. If I die here before Jewel returns, the chance of her taking what is hers by right of succession is almost none. The Kings will not interfere if she does not pet.i.tion them, and even if she does pet.i.tion them, even if she carries some doc.u.ment, some pale piece of evidence of the truth of her words, they will be . . . loath to interfere. She may hold enough influence to sway them, but that will destroy the House. Even if she arrives in time, if there is no support in place-and placed there by my command-it will unravel.

"And I do not believe that Jewel would take the risk of opening the House up to the inspection-and far, far worse-the dictate of the Kings."

"But the Kings are-"