be so. For Jewel, there was no slightly; she longed to return to her rooms and change into something that did not feel so confining. She didn’t even ask. She understood that the lunch with Haval had been a test. She was accustomed to Haval’s tests, and frequently failed them. She knew that this was not a test she could afford to fail.
It was not Haval’s way to offer comfort. He offered opinion—some of it caustic, much of it frustrating—and fact. Comfort was not something that the reigning Terafin should require. Ever. He therefore said nothing as he walked by her side toward the West Wing. He frowned once at her grip on his arm, and she forced her hands to relax. More than that, he did not say; they were in public.
He trusts your intent, Avandar told her, his voice tinged with mild frustration. But feels you are wise enough and mature enough to understand that intent counts for little. He is also aware that his wife would be beyond upset if he were to kill you; if he chooses to act against you, he will not do it while there is any chance she will survive.
Avandar had a sense of comfort very similar to Haval’s.
She approached the West Wing, wondering if anyone, besides Adam and Ariel, would be present.
The answer was not quite what she expected; as she opened the doors and entered the hall, she saw a familiar man slide between the doors of the great room. She felt Haval stiffen and glanced at his profile.
“Andrei?” she asked, as she released the clothier’s arm.
His brows rose slightly. “Terafin.” He bowed.
* * *
Teller entered the hall a moment later. His brows rose as he met Jewel’s gaze; his hands moved briefly in den-sign.
No, she replied, in the same language. No danger.
He glanced to her right, where Haval stood. She grimaced. No immediate danger.
You’re all right?
She didn’t answer. She wanted an hour and real words for that. Haval did not immediately move. Neither did Andrei. Jewel cleared her throat. “Is Patris Araven here?”
Teller nodded. “He is. He’s in the great room, at the moment. I took the liberty of offering him a tour of the manse.”
“We don’t mean to interrupt, of course. Haval is currently measuring me for two dresses—hopefully less confining than the monstrosity I’m currently wearing.”
Teller almost laughed; the sound lurked in the corner of his eyes and lips.
“Haval?” Jewel said, when the tailor failed to move. He was watching Andrei. Andrei returned his regard; they might have been the only two men in the room. “. . . Or I could entertain Patris Araven if you have other pressing concerns at the moment.”
“A man of Patris Araven’s import,” Haval surprised her by saying, “should not be left unattended. Please, Terafin, do not let the minor matter of fittings cause neglect. I will wait.”
She did not stare at the side of his face, but it took effort. She knew that the resolution to this difficulty would occur only after she made an attempt to wake his wife, to return her to the waking world. She was not certain what Haval would do if she failed. “Are you certain?”
He raised one brow in a stiff arch.
“Very well. I would be delighted to entertain Patris Araven. Avandar?”
He bowed. If Andrei was a concern, he was content to leave him in Haval’s hands.
“Shadow, go to Ariel.”
The cat sniffed loudly. And complained. But his complaints were second class, for a cat. He considered Ariel boring. But he didn’t consider her annoying; he certainly didn’t consider her dangerous. That was no surprise. What was a constant surprise was that Ariel did not consider Shadow threatening. She frequently fell asleep draped across his side. She occasionally tried to stretch his wings—a crime for which other men would lose their hands. Or arms.
“Will you join us?” Jewel asked Teller.
Teller hesitated. Before he could reply, Haval said, “As right-kin, Terafin, and as host, he will of course join you.”
Teller evinced no surprise. He offered The Terafin his arm; Jewel took it. Her hand was shaking. Together, they entered the great room. Hectore was seated; he glanced at the door and rose instantly.
“Terafin! I am surprised.” He offered her a very correct, very formal bow.
“As am I,” she replied. “I am here for a fitting. I hope you will not consider the manners of my House to be insufficient; I did not know you were here.”
The smile froze, for an instant, on his face. “A fitting?”
“Indeed.