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

had woken four times on her own, and a handful of times with intervention, but she had eaten so little; toward the end, when she woke, her eyes were dull and she could barely remember how to speak. Hectore had visited daily, absent the usual merchant emergencies; he resented each and every one of them bitterly, now.
    Sharann was not the only person to die of the sleeping sickness, as it was colloquially called in hushed whispers throughout the hundred holdings; she was not even the only child. But she was the only one whose death Hectore of Araven took personally.
    He hugged his daughter tightly and wordlessly; after a few seconds, she wrapped her arms around his neck and the whole of her body trembled. He didn’t much care that other visitants were waiting to speak a few words to the bereaved; they could damn well wait. He didn’t care about their time, their convenience, or their much smaller sense of loss. There were only two things he cared about today: his daughter and his grandson. He went to his grandson after he forced himself to relinquish his hold on his daughter.
    “Hugh,” he said, offering the boy an open hand. Hugh, mindful of his father, took the hand; mindful of his mother, he stepped closer to his grandfather. He was, in Hectore’s opinion, just a shade too young to fully understand what death meant. He was not, however, too young to understand his mother’s pain. He was, in Hectore’s admittedly biased opinion, a good child. “You’ll have to take care of my daughter,” he said, bending in, speaking softly as if attempting to conspire.
    “Da takes care of her,” was the quiet reply. “She doesn’t want my help.”
    He glanced at Rachele and then back to his grandson. “She doesn’t know how to ask, yet. She doesn’t know that she wants help. It’s not that her world is over—but she’ll never see Sharann again, and that’s hard.”
    And you’ll never see her again either, but that’s not quite real to you yet.
He took his leave of his family, and accompanied by Andrei, made his way out to the gardens. “Well?”
    Andrei glanced at the grounds. They were almost impeccable, and they were certainly larger than the grounds Hectore’s gardeners maintained; Borden was situated in the hundred, and Araven’s main house, upon the Isle. Land on the Isle was at a premium.
    “There are no easy answers. There are no answers within the Order of Knowledge that my sources were willing to divulge; the Exalted are involved.” He paused and added, “The
Astari
are involved.”
    Hectore rolled his eyes. “I have no designs upon the Kings; they were not materially involved in my grandchild’s death.”
    “No.”
    “But I feel that something was, Andrei, and I will know what it is.”
    “Patris Araven—”
    “Do not sling titles at me; there are no eavesdroppers.” Hectore’s hand was cupped firmly around a stone of silence, in his pocket for just such a conversation. “Had you met me before I was required to depart, things would be simpler. My daughter will be in tears for the whole of this wretched day, and I would be there to offer her comfort.”
    “Your daughter accepts the death, Hectore.”
    “She’s no other choice.”
    “She has.” Andrei raised a brow.
    “Give me the information you’ve managed to obtain.”
    Andrei nodded. “It is, as I suggested, scant. It is therefore not reliable.”
    “But?”
    “Hectore—”
    “Out with it.”
    “It involves House Terafin.”
    House Terafin. First among The Ten, although not by such a wide margin now as it had once enjoyed. Hectore had some dealings with Terafin, although to be fair, he had dealings with all of The Ten in one form or the other. His merchant holdings were not small, and they were not passive. He frowned. “House Terafin. It’s where the healer boy lives.”
    “It is.”
    “Andrei, your expression could sour wine.”
    “The boy is not, as you well know, the most significant aspect of Terafin at the moment. You