Skirmish: A House War Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

the situation in the South were not so dire, I would take leave of the Order to watch over her myself.”

    “You will not stay for the Council meeting?”

    He grimaced. “I see little point. Among other things, I seem to have left my pipe in the encampment in the distant South, and I could not endure such a trivial meeting without it.”

    She let him go. She wanted him at her side, but knew what the possible cost of that decision would be. “Meralonne.”

    He nodded.

    “Win this war. I do not, at this distance, care what decisions you undertake to guarantee that victory.”

    “Do not labor under the illusion that this battle is the whole of the war.”

    “If we lose, I fear it will be.”

Chapter One

    26th of Corvil, 427 A.A.
Terafin Manse, Averalaan Aramarelas

    W HEN THE KINGS RETREATED from the Council Hall, noise and movement returned to the men and woman granted the rings of governance. Arann, injured, leaned against the closest wall; Finch clutched Teller’s arms, her face as white as her knuckles. Celleriant sheathed his sword; the demon dissolved, the menace and size of his form sinking into a soft, gray ash that could not maintain a shape. Rymark clutched the document he had declared the legal will and intent of The Terafin; Haerrad, bleeding in the doorway, had barely moved when the Kings left the room, so intent was he on Rymark.

    Gabriel was the color of demon ash; the silence was profound.

    No. The silence of the woman who had ruled and guided this house for years was profound. The color of her blood. The vacant, unblinking stare of eyes that sought ceiling only because of the way she had collapsed.

    Gabriel spoke. The Chosen moved. Everything was strained, everything was wrong.

    This is what Jewel remembered as she strode down the gallery—and against the tide of people running without purpose, although they didn’t know that yet—toward home: the West Wing. She had longed for home for months—at times she had been certain she wouldn’t survive to return to its comfort—and now that she was here, she could barely see it at all, although it surrounded her as she moved.

    *   *   *

    Jewel did not immediately head to the kitchen, although she had called the meeting there. Instead, she went to the room in which Morretz now lay. His eyes were closed, his face ashen; his chest neither rose, nor fell. His body was stiff with death.

    Ellerson entered the room in silence. He tendered Jewel a perfect, silent bow; as she now knelt by the side of Morretz, she had nothing but silence to offer in return. There were questions, of course. There would always be questions. The den had answered most of the urgent ones. They had answered them, and then they had let her go without answering any of theirs in return—because Morretz was here, Morretz was dead.

    Gabriel had the Chosen to guard and tend the body of The Terafin. Alowan had not been called; Jewel thought it an understandable oversight, given demons, Kings, and mages. She had therefore walked in haste to the wall upon which lay the simple magic that would alert the healerie—and Alowan—of the need for his presence.

    Finch had stopped her. Finch had caught her hand. Finch had told her that Alowan was no longer in the healerie.

    And why? Gods.

    Alowan was also dead. Dead days ago. The flowers that lined the halls, the small portraits, the keepsakes and mementos offered as a sign of affection, respect, and loss were still in evidence in every corner of the galleries and the courtyard; they lined the walls of the great hall, and no servant had sought to remove them. They had tidied the more egregious of the wilted petals; that was all.

    But they would be removed now. They would be replaced. Alowan had been loved, yes. But The Terafin had been the heart of the House; word of her death had spread. Word, weeping, the silence that comes when no words can convey horror, loss, shock. Jewel knew; she had been there to witness the death of