Terafin, she was almost certain she would have been asked for some sort of writ granting permission for the display of uncaged exotic animals, which wouldn’t have made them any quieter.
As she was, or rather, as the carriage was clearly marked to indicate that its occupant held the seat, the carriage was immediately waved across the bridge—once it reached that point. If the weather had not been cool, it would have been unbearable. As it was, enclosed in a carriage with Avandar’s disapproval and Celleriant’s disdain, it was close. Angel, never the most talkative of the den, chose to watch the road.
No one spoke until the carriage reached the holdings. As it did, the noise on the roof receded. Snow and Night were perfectly capable of dignified behavior when it suited them; it seldom did.
If you so chose, Avandar said, they would behave perfectly at all times.
Jewel didn’t particularly feel like listening to an angry domicis on the inside of her head. “I choose not to.”
“It diminishes you.”
She shrugged; his frown, which had started before the carriage had pulled away from the manse, deepened. “It diminishes them. They’re cats in name only; they look like winged, maneless lions. They’re a threat; everyone who sees them can feel it. But anyone who has to listen to them for more than five minutes doesn’t. I can’t get rid of them; not even Haval considers it wise. This is my compromise.”
“If they are, as you suggest, terrifying, it suits their role as guards.”
“It doesn’t. When I lived in the twenty-fifth, I would have avoided any streets—and the market—that contained those two unless I’d heard them squabble.”
“You would have avoided the House Guard as well.”
“Yes and no. The magisterial guard, yes. They generally threw us out of the Common on the flimsiest of pretexts. House Guards didn’t; as long as we kept out of purse-cutting range, they left us alone. When the cats are dignified—as you put it—they look like they’re on the prowl. We would’ve assumed that they’d eat us—or worse—and the magisterians would turn a blind eye. After all, The Terafin is powerful.” Her laughter was brief and bitter.
She was. She knew it. She knew what House Terafin meant, both in Averalaan and in the Empire itself; as a House Councillor, it had been part of her job—and not a little of her pride—to bolster that reputation. But nothing she had done since The Terafin’s funeral had made her feel more powerful. She was theoretically in charge, but every order of any import at all had to be inspected, measured, and weighed before it left either her mouth or her office. The former was much more difficult.
The assassination attempts had done very little to ease her doubts. Yes, she had been affirmed as The Terafin; Elonne pointed out that given the events of the first day rites and the presence of every man or woman of any standing at all in the Empire the title had already been given to Jewel in all but name. But clearly, affirmation was not the same as acceptance. If she was to be replaced, time mattered. She had not yet fully consolidated her power, especially not in the outer reaches of the Empire. Haerrad’s duties to the House were his; if she wanted a full review from him, she needed a small legion of incredibly competent spies. He was only willing to tell her what she already knew; he would cede nothing.
It was not Haerrad that troubled her, although she hated him. She had hated him since the day Teller had been taken to the infirmary with two broken limbs—a gift and a warning from Haerrad. She had fervently hoped that Rymark—or Elonne—would succeed in ending Haerrad’s life; attempts had been made, but he was, besides being a cruel, power-mongering son of a bitch, clever, cautious, and lucky.
Rymark was different. He wanted power, of course—they had all wanted that—and he was clever, cautious, and lucky. But he was talent-born as well, a member of the Order of Knowledge, and the former right-kin’s son. His presence on the House Council caused nothing but disquiet; she knew that if Rymark suddenly retired or disappeared, Gabriel might be convinced to remain.
But Gabriel did not want to face his son.
His son had produced a forged document proclaiming Rymark ATerafin heir to the House. It had been signed by Amarais, witnessed by Gabriel. Neither, of course, had seen the document before he had produced it in the Council Hall. Were it