Free The Riven Shield: The Sun Sword #5 by Michelle West Page A

her taking what
is
hers by right of succession is almost none. The Kings will not interfere if she does not petition them, and even if she does petition them, even if she carries some document, some pale piece of evidence of the truth of her words, they will be . . . loath to interfere. She may hold enough influence to sway them, but that will destroy the House. Even if she arrives in time, if there is no support in place—and placed there by
my
command—it will unravel.
    “And I do not believe that Jewel would take the risk of opening the House up to the inspection—and far, far worse—the dictate of the Kings.”
    “But the Kings are—”
    “The Kings rule the Empire.
We
rule the House.”
    Finch shut up.
    “If she has, as her support, members of significance in the House and its affairs, if she has among her supporters, one or both of the captains of my Chosen, if she has council members, no matter how junior, the matter of the succession will not be so swiftly decided.”
    “I therefore wish to confer upon you, her strongest and her most loyal supporters, those titles that your experience will bear.” She seemed to lose strength, then; her shoulders seemed to bow, at last, to some inevitable pressure, some invisible hand.
    “Gabriel is my right-kin, but he may be sorely tried in this, for his blood-son is among the contenders. I am not completely certain what he will choose to do if I am no longer his lord.
    “Arann,” she said quietly, “the sword is heavy. Choose.”
    He nodded; the tip of the blade scored his forehead. “As you have chosen,” he said quietly. “I so choose.” He held out his hand, and she laid the edge of the blade against it.
    No one was surprised who could see the blood well up in his cupped palm.
    She lowered the blade, but she did not sheathe it.
    Instead she waited until he had gained his feet.
    “Teller,” she said, “I would have both you and Finch join the House Council.”
    Just like that.
    “The—
the
House Council?” Finch knew she was sputtering. She looked up, and at the edge of the garden path, she could see Ellerson waiting alongside Morretz. She almost raised both of her hands in a wild frenzy.
    “We can’t give you an answer tonight,” Teller said.
    Finch let him speak for her. She didn’t have words to speak for herself.
    “Ah. You misunderstand me, Teller. What I asked of Arann cannot be commanded. It has been thus with The Terafin and the Chosen since the founding of the line. But what I ask of you and Finch is not in any way a request.” She paused. “I understand your reservations. Believe that they are not as strong as mine. But you
will
join the next meeting of the Council when it convenes in three days, and you will be introduced there.”
    “But—but—”
    “Take Jester as your aide; you are allowed four, with pay. Take Carver and Angel as two of your guards, if you can have them present themselves decently. Speak to Torvan about the rest.” She bowed her head.
    “I am . . . sorry . . . to place this burden upon you now. But Healer Levec spoke to Alowan, and Alowan spoke to me; we are certain that Jewel will return from the South.
    “She will never be the leader of a den in the twenty-fifth holding again. She understood that before she left. Understand that you will never again be a den in the twenty-fifth holding. You will be the foundation upon which this House survives.
    “I can afford to spare you nothing. And having decided, I must ask one further favor.” She turned to Arann, Arann of the Chosen. “Arann,” she said gravely, “draw your blade.”
    “I—”
    “Draw it.”
    He had never witnessed the induction of the Chosen before, but even so, he knew that there was something amiss. He hesitated a moment, and then rose, hand still bleeding, and drew his blade. “I won’t cut you,” she said without thinking. “It is part of the ceremony, but it will wait until the ceremony.”
    “Then why did you cut him?”
    She