Battle: The House War: Book Five Read Online Free PDF Page A

is indeed possible.”
    “And the Lord of Wisdom is
not
the Kings. The gods do not rule here. The previous assassin was demonic in nature.”
    “I am aware of that.”
    “If the demons want her dead—”
    Duvari lifted a hand. “The Kings have taken that into consideration. They are willing—barely—to wait. I infer, from the words of the Exalted of Cormaris that time, should we wish to remove the Terafin, is of the essence. She does not yet understand the power she wields.”
    “No more do the gods!”
    “They understand it better than the magi or the Kings,” Duvari said, voice the cold of ice. “And she
will
grow to understand it. She altered the architecture of the Kings’ Palace without once leaving her own backyard. She did so without obvious intent.”
    “She saved the lives of the—”
    “I
understand
what she did. Were it not for that, the Kings would have made the only wise decision immediately upon arriving in the Palace.”
    Birgide cleared her throat, and the two men turned. Duvari was unamused. “I wish an introduction to the Terafin Master Gardener.”
    “I did not summon you from the Western Kingdoms. Nor did I request your expertise at this time. If you hope to infiltrate the Terafin manse, you have now made that clear to Devon ATerafin.”
    She smiled. “I am aware of Devon. There is no way of gaining entrance to the House that would avoid his detection. I have not been briefed about the architectural changes, but such a briefing was obviously not considered germane.
    “But I may be of assistance. I may be necessary.”
    Devon did not argue. He did not point out that both he and Gregori were ATerafin; nor did he claim that they could easily assassinate the Terafin although, were she any other head of a House, he might have.
    “What, exactly, do you desire of House Terafin?”
    “I am a botanist, Duvari. I wish to study her grounds, her trees, and her rumored forest. Not more, not less.”
    “I will consider it.” He turned his attention to Devon. “Do not cross me.”
    “If you wish me to revoke the Terafin name, only ask. I serve the Kings, Duvari. I do not believe that the Terafin’s death is in their best interests.”
    “You are not impartial. What you feel is immaterial.”
    18th of Henden, 427 A.A. Araven Estates, Averalaan Aramarelas
     
    Hectore of Araven hated no color on earth so much as black.
    This had not always been the case; in his feckless, brash youth he barely noticed it, and in his errant first attempt at adulthood, he had considered it a bold fashion statement. Now? It was a public emblem of loss: Black, white, and gold—but black, in this case, the predominant color. His daughter wore mourning white, as the mother, although she wore a black veil; her husband, the white and black; the whole of the Household Staff of the Borden Estate in the seventeenth holding employed were likewise attired.
    Even Hugh, the oldest of Rachele’s children, was somber and colorless as he stood beside his parents in the long hall that led to the single, modest public gallery, and from there to the grounds in which Sharann, Hectore’s beloved grandchild, would be laid to rest. Rachele, the youngest of his daughters, had been coddled, according to Hectore’s wife and his many friends; she had not learned that life was a constant test. It was not success that defined a man or a woman—it was their grace and their continued ability to maneuver in the face of inevitable failure. His daughter held her head high, but even through the veil her swollen lips and eyes could be seen.
    She had shed nothing but tears for weeks now. She had traveled, when she could bear it, to the Houses of Healing at Hectore’s side; she had sat by her youngest child’s bed, and dribbled water and broth into her daughter’s mouth. She had watched—as Hectore had watched—as Sharann dwindled in weight; at seven years of age, she had weighed well under thirty pounds in the last few days of her life.
    She