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Book: Michelle West - The Sun Sword 02 - The Uncrowned King by The Uncrowned King
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Authors: The Uncrowned King
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The Terafin tendered no reply. But it surprised them both when she dismissed them.
That night, she watched dawn from the roof of the great manse, in the solitary comfort of the oldest piece of clothing she owned. And the day after, she prepared—as she did today—for a funeral. A leave-taking. Had she cried?
He was certain of it. She shared her tears with
no one
, not Morretz and not the men and women in whose hands she placed her life. But she shed them; he was certain she must shed them, and she was given room in which to choose pride over public display. Dark times, those few days.
They were nothing compared to Alea; she was, had been in her fashion, the closest thing to a child The Terafin had allowed herself to have. Amarais had given her life to the House, and the House had become entirely hers for the sacrifice; for companionship she had her Chosen, her domicis, and her Council.
Only one other death, Morretz knew, would be—could be—as painful as this one.
Jewel ATerafin's.
But Jewel was not considered by the Council to
be
a contender. Her past as a street urchin—a thief, if the truth were baldly stated— and the speed with which she reluctantly learned to treat the patriciate as equals on their own ground—slow—precluded her. If this bothered her at all, she showed it as often as The Terafin showed tears.
She was reliable in her fashion, but prone to a certain impatience, a certain wildness, that never harmed the House—but always hovered on the edge of doing so. Amarais trusted her in spite of, or perhaps because of, her past. There was affection between them that was on one level completely different from the affection she had offered Alea, and on the other, absolutely the same.
As if she could hear every word he was thinking, she looked up, her eyes hitting the surface of perfectly silvered glass to meet his. "The sword," she said softly.
Jewel was in a fury.
They all knew it. They could hear her clattering about the kitchen in isolation; she'd purged it entirely—in one sweeping curse— of both her den-mates and the one or two servants she grudgingly allowed to clean and tend it. Carver hadn't moved fast enough, which is how they'd learned that fury was the right word: she'd sent a tureen—an empty one, but nothing in Terafin was cheap and light—flying into the wall four inches to the right of his head just to catch his attention.
Caught it, too. He left. They all left. No one stayed to ask questions.
Luckily—in a manner of speaking—she'd thrown Avandar out as well. First, of course. He wasn't the den favorite—he had never become part of the den in any significant way—but they'd developed a sneaking admiration for his ability to deal with her graceless temper; he wasn't a man who looked like he was used to hearing a single angry word, let alone what Jewel usually said in the heat of the moment.
"What happened?" Angel said, straightening out a spire of hair and looking at the closed door beyond which a small army's worth of noise could be heard.
Avandar Gallais looked back over his shoulder before he shrugged. He was older than any of 'em, dressed better, spoke better, and knew how to read every language they'd ever encountered even better than Jewel did. They suspected that he could actually
use
magic; he sure as hells recognized it when he saw it coming. They didn't know, though; no one had ever asked him directly. He wasn't a man who usually answered direct questions— even Jay's, which really pissed her off.
Avandar was, as he most often was, silent and thin-lipped. This meant he was both angry and resigned. Angel had already turned away, and almost missed the answer; it was curt and to the point.
"Alea ATerafin."
"Oh."
They knew what it was, then. Alea ATerafin had been about the only member of the upper echelons of Terafin that Jewel Mark-ess ATerafin had actually
liked
. Quiet woman, in her own way, and in Finch's opinion a little on the watery side, but she was
That night, she watched dawn from the roof of the great manse, in the solitary comfort of the oldest piece of clothing she owned. And the day after, she prepared—as she did today—for a funeral. A leave-taking. Had she cried?
He was certain of it. She shared her tears with
no one
, not Morretz and not the men and women in whose hands she placed her life. But she shed them; he was certain she must shed them, and she was given room in which to choose pride over public display. Dark times, those few days.
They were nothing compared to Alea; she was, had been in her fashion, the closest thing to a child The Terafin had allowed herself to have. Amarais had given her life to the House, and the House had become entirely hers for the sacrifice; for companionship she had her Chosen, her domicis, and her Council.
Only one other death, Morretz knew, would be—could be—as painful as this one.
Jewel ATerafin's.
But Jewel was not considered by the Council to
be
a contender. Her past as a street urchin—a thief, if the truth were baldly stated— and the speed with which she reluctantly learned to treat the patriciate as equals on their own ground—slow—precluded her. If this bothered her at all, she showed it as often as The Terafin showed tears.
She was reliable in her fashion, but prone to a certain impatience, a certain wildness, that never harmed the House—but always hovered on the edge of doing so. Amarais trusted her in spite of, or perhaps because of, her past. There was affection between them that was on one level completely different from the affection she had offered Alea, and on the other, absolutely the same.
As if she could hear every word he was thinking, she looked up, her eyes hitting the surface of perfectly silvered glass to meet his. "The sword," she said softly.
Jewel was in a fury.
They all knew it. They could hear her clattering about the kitchen in isolation; she'd purged it entirely—in one sweeping curse— of both her den-mates and the one or two servants she grudgingly allowed to clean and tend it. Carver hadn't moved fast enough, which is how they'd learned that fury was the right word: she'd sent a tureen—an empty one, but nothing in Terafin was cheap and light—flying into the wall four inches to the right of his head just to catch his attention.
Caught it, too. He left. They all left. No one stayed to ask questions.
Luckily—in a manner of speaking—she'd thrown Avandar out as well. First, of course. He wasn't the den favorite—he had never become part of the den in any significant way—but they'd developed a sneaking admiration for his ability to deal with her graceless temper; he wasn't a man who looked like he was used to hearing a single angry word, let alone what Jewel usually said in the heat of the moment.
"What happened?" Angel said, straightening out a spire of hair and looking at the closed door beyond which a small army's worth of noise could be heard.
Avandar Gallais looked back over his shoulder before he shrugged. He was older than any of 'em, dressed better, spoke better, and knew how to read every language they'd ever encountered even better than Jewel did. They suspected that he could actually
use
magic; he sure as hells recognized it when he saw it coming. They didn't know, though; no one had ever asked him directly. He wasn't a man who usually answered direct questions— even Jay's, which really pissed her off.
Avandar was, as he most often was, silent and thin-lipped. This meant he was both angry and resigned. Angel had already turned away, and almost missed the answer; it was curt and to the point.
"Alea ATerafin."
"Oh."
They knew what it was, then. Alea ATerafin had been about the only member of the upper echelons of Terafin that Jewel Mark-ess ATerafin had actually
liked
. Quiet woman, in her own way, and in Finch's opinion a little on the watery side, but she was
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