own, and if you have come to posture, I will retire to better prepare for my interview with the Exalted on the morrow.”
Chapter Twelve
‘‘YOU SAID YOU HAD INFORMATION about the Shining Court.”
Rymark stiffened, but did not glance at Meralonne. Jewel did. The mage’s silver eyes were narrowed, but betrayed no surprise. “I did.”
“I am less concerned with the Shining Court than I have ever been.”
“That is unwise,” Rymark replied. “You do not know who presides over the Lords of that Court.”
“I think I do. What I don’t know is the composition of the rest of the Court, although I imagine there are Kialli among its numbers.”
“The Court matters little. The composition of the Court—with a few key exceptions—is not specifically of note. What matters is the Lord of the Shining City.”
“Allasakar.”
Shadow hissed; the hiss deepened into a low rumble of sound and motion. Even Rymark looked surprised and ill-pleased to hear the god’s name spoken so bluntly. He fell silent; they all did, except for Shadow.
“House Law,” Meralonne said, into that silence, “does not provide exemptions for acts of treason.”
Rymark said nothing, adopting—where Meralonne was concerned—his usual arrogant disdain. This required flexibility, as he had adopted a much, much more conciliatory approach to The Terafin.
“Assassination of a member of House Terafin is not an act of treason,” Jewel said, in his stead.
“No, indeed,” the mage agreed. “Consorting with demonologists, being a demonologist, or colluding with demons, however, is. If we agree that the method of assassination was, in fact, demonic—and there are credible witnesses to that effect, among them the Kings, we must also therefore agree that the act was treasonous.”
Jewel glanced at Meralonne. “Member APhaniel, I believe I said I was done—for the day—with games. They offer me little and cost me a great deal of time.” She forced her hands to remain by her sides, although they were creeping up toward their perch on her hips.
“Very well. ATerafin, you have claimed knowledge of the Shining Court, however indirectly. The Shining Court is the body politic of the Shining City; it serves Allasakar in all ways.”
Rymark again said nothing.
“I will not ask you how you come to have that knowledge, since we are to dispense with pretense. I will ask, instead, why you have kept it to yourself until now.”
“Perhaps I did not think it relevant,” Rymark replied, turning once again to Jewel. “Might we retire to your office?”
Jewel raised a brow. “I have no idea where the office now is, if it currently exists at all. I have felt no need for it; the meetings that have occurred in the library so far have been of a private nature.” She considered the table and the fountain, and glanced at Avandar.
No. I consider it unwise.
Why? She had her own reasons.
You do not, of course, trust him; that is both fair and wise. But you have not yet decided, Jewel, whether or not he will leave this room alive. If he does not, it doesn’t matter what he sees; if he does, it is much more of a concern.
What do you counsel?
I? Caution. No more, no less. I have frequently allowed those who meant me harm to live. I have not always chosen to do so; it depended entirely on their relative power and the advantage to be gained by either action on my part.
You want to know what he knows.
No, Jewel; I consider what he knows to be, as you have implied, of trivial value. You want to know what he knows.
She did. She felt a horrible traitor for choosing the politics of the moment—and of the future—over the need for the justice for which the House Sword was named. “Very well. Let us look,” she told Rymark and Meralonne, “for the offices that once occupied space within my personal rooms.”
* * *
Meralonne did not object, and that should have been a warning. Nor did he reach for his pipe—and Jewel was probably the only woman of any consequence with whom he dealt who didn’t strongly dislike it. He nodded to Rymark; Rymark passed him by, as if his presence were, in the end, of little consequence.
Jewel frequently considered Meralonne a colossal inconvenience; she never considered him inconsequential. She didn’t, now; he was gazing up at the sky, his eyes slightly narrowed, as if he expected something to emerge from its purple folds. Nothing did, not even clouds, but wind swept strands of his hair from his face. She noted only then that he hadn’t bothered to rebraid it.