Free Oracle: The House War: Book Six by Michelle West

gone. The specter of his absence haunted that same staff, although only Merry obliquely begged for any news that might come their way.
    In the absence of any responsibility, Jester had taken to the life of a well-to-do idle patris; he spent time drinking with some of the younger Senniel bards because he found them disarming and amusing. But it wasn’t their company he craved, although many did; it was the way they could work a room. He watched them.
    Jester didn’t expect that people would like him; given his birth and his lack of connections, there was no immediate advantage in even the pretense of collegiality. But he did believe that collegiality was a skill like any other; it could be practiced. It could be learned. He wasn’t particularly interested in being liked as himself; he wasn’t even certain what that meant.
    Bards were not considered the apex of political power, but bards could be found gathered wherever the powerful gathered. They offered each other polite, subtle warnings where warnings were necessary; on more than one occasion he had seen them control the flow of liquor, gauging the belligerence of the audience.
    Ludgar was, unfortunately, a mean drunk. He was at his most insecure—and therefore least pleasant—when alcohol had been served too freely and the room was too highbrow. It amused Jester to watch; he was not enamored of the people who considered themselves the ruling class, and he took perverse pleasure in their humiliations, large and small.
    But Finch was now one of them. He grimaced. Jay was at the head of the class. She hadn’t changed in any obvious ways—behind closed doors. But she was The Terafin. It didn’t matter where she’d found Jester—or Finch, if it came to that. Rath had taken her by the scruff of the neck, and shaken information about The Ten and the various merchant houses into her. It had been a source of frustration and conflict between Rath and Jay, and Jay had acquiesced only—in Jester’s opinion—because she needed a place for the den to live.
    She’d found it easier when Teller asked if he could sit in on the lessons, presumably because misery loved company. But Teller found Rath’s knowledge fascinating. He didn’t join Jay out of any sense of long-suffering obligation.
    He didn’t join many of the weapons lessons, either. Jester did. Not because he found them fascinating—he had a strong aversion to bruising, which was impossible to avoid—but because he thought it would be practical.
    It hadn’t proved as practical as the lock picking. That was one of the few lessons in which Jester had instantly excelled. Rath had also taught them how to pick pockets, cut purses, and sneak into a house through the front door. Jester felt no particular qualms about doing any of these things; Jay, however, did. She allowed theft only when the only other option was starvation. She put the den first—but what she’d wanted for the den was not that they live up to the name.
    She’d wanted what they had now.
    Jester watched the passing streets slow as the carriage approached its destination. She wanted what they had now, but even she could see that absent fancy clothing and larger fortunes, the games the patriciate played were almost identical to the games the dens in the holdings did. They had to be more subtle than street dens, sure. They had to understand the laws in order to not quite break them.
    But the spirit beneath all their polished sophistication was the same. They staked a claim to their turf, and they demolished all challengers. If they were prevented from killing those challengers, it wasn’t because they had scruples—most didn’t, in Jester’s opinion—but because they had so much more to lose if they were caught.
    They were much better at not being caught than the dens in the holdings; they didn’t run. They deflected. They sent letters. They held dinner parties and larger entertainments. If they were hunted, they were hunted with care, and with