No one’s dared to ask her about the fate of the upper halls because anyone with a shred of luck has managed to avoid her.”
“Rumors?”
“They’re gone.”
Jewel nodded. She walked across the much expanded library, toward the doubled set of doors on the wall at the far end. They seemed to be where she remembered leaving them in the morning, which was a relief. Ellerson followed, as did the Chosen; Carver lagged behind a bit. “I’m guessing the back halls are definitely gone,” he said, as Avandar opened the doors.
“That is now my biggest nightmare,” Jewel replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Master of the Household Staff so angry, and I can’t afford to have her resign in fury. I know just barely enough to know how much of a nightmare it would be to attempt to replace her with someone of half her competence.”
Beyond the double doors, the rooms looked very similar to the rooms The Terafin had occupied for all of Jewel’s life in the manse. “Is the library subject to constant change, or is its geography now dependable?” Ellerson asked. He removed the dresses from Carver’s arms and hung them, with care, in the large closet; he set up the various brushes, combs and clips that were the bane of her morning existence, and made her hate the sight of her own hair.
While he worked Jewel pulled Carver away.
“Exercise caution,” Avandar said. “I wish to ascertain that the room is materially magically unaltered, and that it is . . . predictable.”
“I will exercise as much caution as the current situation allows,” Jewel replied. She turned to Carver, the Chosen almost invisible to her now, although they were present. “Where?”
“There are no direct entrances into the bedchamber,” Carver replied. He gestured in den-sign, and she replied: take the lead. As he headed into the hall, she added, “I haven’t examined any of the other rooms, and the former private office was . . . greatly changed.”
“Angel told us. He also showed us the spear. I’m not sure Ellerson approved.”
“I’m sure he didn’t.” She followed as Carver opened the doors that led to the larger room at the end of the hall. It was used for informal meetings—where informal generally meant private, and of a critical nature. Jewel had seen it twice. She held her breath as Carver entered the room, and entered it hesitantly at his back. Or rather, entered hesitantly at Torvan’s back; if he was willing to allow Carver free run of suspect rooms, he did not extend the same courtesy to his Lord.
It looked, to her eyes, like the same room. She exhaled.
“Don’t be relieved yet,” Carver said quietly, discerning both her anxiety and the slackening of its grip. “I don’t recognize that door.”
“The very ordinary door to the left?”
“The very ordinary door that wasn’t here the last time I made a pass through these rooms.”
“Carver . . .”
He offered no apology, his expression hardening. “You were going to be Terafin,” he said, as if there had never been any question. “If you survived the South, if you came back to us—you were going to be The Terafin.”
Torvan said nothing, but she expected no interruption from that quarter.
“Access to these rooms from the back halls is severely restricted, so I didn’t come here often.”
“And you didn’t come here with permission. Does Merry know?”
“I’ve never asked her. But that door wasn’t here the last time I was. Captain?”
Torvan said, “It’s new.”
It looked like a nondescript interior door, admittedly in the personal rooms of the ruler of House Terafin; it was dark, fine, the lintel of its frame engraved with the horizontal relief of the House Sword, as the interior doors in these rooms often were. There were wall sconces to either side of the frame, meant to contain magestones, although no stones occupied them at present. The handle was brass.
Jewel approached the door; Torvan stepped in her way. “Captain,” she said softly, “If there is any immediate danger offered me by the door—or by what lies beyond it—I will know. If there is danger to you, or to my Chosen, I cannot guarantee that.”
She spoke in very precise Weston; he failed to hear a word of it, although he did nod.
“Torvan—”
“Understand, Terafin,” he said, relenting, “that it is not your gift that defines you. You are The Terafin. We are the Chosen. We are not, as you are, seer-born; it is not considered a grave deficit. The Chosen have existed for centuries without the talent-born