Mystic and Rider (Twelve Houses) (9 page)

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Authors: Sharon Shinn

BOOK: Mystic and Rider (Twelve Houses)
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In a few moments, the fawning proprietor was back upstairs, the marlord of Helven at his heels. Tayse kept his hands folded on his sword and his eyes facing straight forward, but he was able to take in some details. Martin Helven appeared to be in his mid-fifties, portly and well-dressed. He was mostly bald except for a fringe of brown hair, and he was panting a little as he took the last few steps. No danger in this man, especially not with Senneth inside the room. Even Kirra could probably fend him off if he showed some inclination to attack.
“Would you be so good as to announce marlord Martin Helven to your mistress?” the proprietor asked, so Tayse rapped smartly on the door and passed the information along. Quite soon, the innkeeper had disappeared back downstairs, Martin Helven had seated himself across from Kirra on some highly decorated furniture, and Tayse was standing on the inside of the room with his back to the door. Kirra had told him the Helven man would not think it strange if he stood guard even during a private conversation, and so he had chosen to listen in—impassively, of course. Senneth sat on the window seat, appearing to embroider something. He found himself wondering if this was a skill she really had and, if so, what particular pattern she was working on. She had resumed her maid’s identity and looked as plain and unmemorable as a woman could look.
“Marlord Martin. It is so good of you to come visit me upon such short notice,” Kirra was saying in a warm voice. “Would you like some wine? Some tea? The innkeeper brought me these wonderful little cakes earlier today—he’s really the kindest man.”
The nobleman beamed at this praise. “I’m glad you find him accommodating. I own the hotel, you know, and the man works for me. He’s always seemed to do a good job, but I’m glad to hear you’re pleased.”
“Ah, I wasn’t aware that you owned this place!” Kirra exclaimed, though Tayse was instantly certain that she had known it and had picked the establishment for that very reason. “Well, you’ve done a most excellent job. You’ve such a good head for business. My father has often remarked at how any enterprise you turn to is invariably a success.”
“Well, here in Helven, we have only crops and commerce, so we do what we can,” the marlord said in a voice that he tried to make sound modest. “I’ve long envied you your coastline and fishing ventures—but then, it is always fashionable to envy Danalustrous!”
Kirra laughed merrily. Tayse was pretty sure she was flirting with the marlord in the way that a young woman always seemed to know how to flirt with an older man—meaning nothing by it except to smooth her own way. “Danalustrous thanks you,” she said. “So tell me! What’s the news from the middle of the kingdom? I have been up north so long I feel I’m completely out of touch with this part of the world.”
They gossiped for a good half hour, trading names and exclaiming over events that seemed so numerous and so trivial that Tayse could hardly conceal his stupefaction. Out of the corner of his eye he glanced at Senneth once or twice, to see if she was exhibiting any discreet signs of boredom, but all her attention was on her needle and thread. She never even looked out the window while Tayse watched.
Kirra, though, was subtler than Tayse had given her credit for. One name got idly tossed into the conversation, and then she hesitated for a moment, and then she said in a low voice, “But she’s—didn’t I hear—there was a rumor that she might be showing signs of being a mystic.”
Martin Helven actually glanced around the room, but seeing only a guard and a maid—in short, nobody—he seemed to feel it was safe to speak. “Yes, and her father was quite upset about it at first, but he has tried to show forbearance. It is not—forgive me, serra Kirra—it is not what one prays for when one’s daughter is born, that she will grow up to wield magical power. It makes life so hard, for the girl and all her family. And especially so these days—” His voice trailed off as he glanced around the room again.
Kirra leaned forward conspiratorially. “Yes, please, what can you tell me about the prevailing attitudes farther south? I had planned to continue my travels down toward Fortunalt and Rappengrass, but I have been starting to feel—well—less welcome than I always have. Is it my imagination, or is it my magic that is turning old friends against me?”
“I would never turn against you, serra Kirra,” the marlord said solemnly, “but your instincts play you true. There have been odd reports coming out of Nocklyn and Gisseltess—tales of mystics hunted down in the middle of the night, and turned out in the streets—or worse. I don’t want to upset you, but there have been—deaths—murders—terrible stories of mystics who have been found mutilated in their own homes. Even in Rappengrass—where, you know, mystics have always been tolerated—I have heard stories of men and women who have met terrible ends. It is all very distressing.”
Kirra’s eyes were as wide as if she hadn’t witnessed such a massacre for herself only a couple of days ago. “But what is causing such animosity toward the mystics?” she cried. “Have these people done anything—said anything—to earn such enmity?”
Helven shook his head. “I believe it is all Coralinda’s doing. She has a great deal of influence in these parts, you know.”
Kirra fell back in astonishment against her chair. Across the room, Tayse saw Senneth look up from her embroidery and lay her glance very briefly on Martin Helven’s face.
“Coralinda Gisseltess?” Kirra repeated. “But—but what—I thought she left her brother’s House some twenty years ago to take vows in the Pale Mother’s order.”
Martin Helven nodded. “Indeed she did! She was the most illustrious member of society to join the order, and you know she brought it no little cachet. Young noblewomen in the south started becoming novices by the hundreds once Coralinda joined and made it fashionable. Then they began calling themselves the Daughters of the Pale Mother and going around proselytizing. And Coralinda herself has been named head of the order. Some fancy title—the Luster or the Lestra or some such thing.”
“Yes—Daughters of the Pale Mother—that’s what they used to call the converts,” Kirra said in a faint voice. She was still leaning back against the chair, and all vestiges of flirtation had left her pretty face. She appeared to be thinking, and thinking hard. “There are convents up in the northern parts, too, but they only get a handful of applicants. My father has supported one for years, because he says all people need some form of faith in their lives, even if it’s something they choose not to follow. Just to know it’s there. Just to know there might be a power somewhere stronger than you and willing to knock you down if you don’t behave.”
The Helven marlord smiled primly. “That sounds very like Malcolm.”
Kirra’s attention returned to him. “But explain this to me! So you’re saying that Coralinda Gisseltess has been named head of the Daughters of the Pale Mother—and
she
has something to do with this sudden new persecution of mystics? Why would that be?”
“Oh, well, the Pale Mother disapproves of those with magic powers,” Helven said with a touch of sanctimoniousness. “Coralinda says that anyone who possesses magic is possessed by darkness. She has made it stylish—necessary, even—for members of the nobility to wear moonstones as part of their daily attire. She has been known—she, personally—to ride into a house where suspected mystics reside and expose them to the neighborhood. I have not actually seen her preside over one of those awful killings, but she—shall I say—she has seemed to feel such murders were justified to rid the world of a terrible scourge. Her views are extreme,” he added, “but others in the southern Houses have taken them up. I think you will find your way difficult if you continue on much farther.”
“Yes! I can see that I might!” Kirra murmured. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you have told me all this. Because just think what might have happened to me if I rode, all unaware, onto the prohibited streets in a Gisseltess city—”
Martin Helven nodded. “Very dangerous. Very dangerous indeed,” he said seriously. “I assure you, that is not how we feel in Helvenhall—but—well—perhaps
some
of the residents of the city are beginning to echo Coralinda’s words. It is very distressing to me. I have stopped such talk when it is said in the open, but there is no controlling what people whisper to each other at night.”
“Indeed, there is not,” Kirra said. “Once again, I must thank you for your information. Helven has always been a good friend to Danalustrous, and so it is again.”
They talked a few minutes longer, but it was clear even to Martin Helven that Kirra was through with him for the day. He did offer to have her to dinner the following night—“My wife and daughters would be overjoyed to see you”—but she gave him a smiling refusal. She would be on her way again in the morning; she was very sure she would turn back to Danalustrous. But she would carry kind words about him to her father, and she sent with him all her love for the women of his family.
As soon as Tayse had saluted the Helven lord out of the room and closed the door behind him, Kirra leapt to her feet and stared at Senneth. Senneth stayed seated where she was, but she had dropped her sewing to the bench beside her, and she was staring back.
“Coralinda Gisseltess orchestrating a persecution of mystics!” Kirra exclaimed. “Senneth, did you know anything about this? How can this be happening without every mystic in the land crying out the news?”
Senneth shook her head. “The king mentioned something of the sort to me, but only in passing,” she said quietly. “It was not his main concern.”
Kirra was stalking back and forth across the luxurious carpets. “Well, anything that creates such a disturbance in the kingdom should be his concern!” she said. “If she has influenced the southern nobles to such an extent—what other kind of suggestions might she whisper in their ears?”
“Exactly right,” Senneth said. “And Coralinda Gisseltess is a very persuasive woman.”
Kirra came to an abrupt halt and gazed at Senneth. Tayse was interested to see that, as soon as Martin Helven had stepped out of the room, Senneth’s face had resumed its normal contours, its usual mix of wariness and intelligence. Even her hair was its usual pale aureole.
“What do you know about her?” Kirra said more quietly. “I was a child when she joined the Daughters, and I don’t remember anyone talking about her much.”
“It was something of a scandal at the time,” Senneth said. “Since you’ve been old enough to pay any attention, people have started to worship the Pale Mother again, but I remember a day when no one gave much service to any of the gods. There’s a shrine in Ghosenhall that honors the whole pantheon—the Bright Mother, the Pale Mother, the Green Keeper, the Dark Watcher—there are a dozen, if I remember correctly, but even I don’t know all their names. All the gods had fallen out of favor when I was a little girl.”
There was a sound, and Tayse’s knife was instantly in his hand, but it was only the door opening from the connecting room. “What happened?” Justin asked. “Did he say anything interesting?”
Kirra was looking at Donnal, who walked in behind Justin. Cammon followed last. “Mystics are being murdered throughout the southern regions,” Kirra said. “He thinks some of it is the work of Coralinda Gisseltess, who joined the order of the Pale Mother some twenty years ago, and now is urging nobles to cast out or destroy anyone with magical power.”
Donnal’s face only grew darker and more solemn at the news. Cammon looked frightened, and Justin looked unimpressed. “I told you,” Justin said. “People don’t like mystics.”
“That doesn’t mean they go around butchering them in their own houses,” Donnal said.
“No,” Justin said in a begrudging voice. “No—and a systematic campaign to eliminate them—” He looked over at Tayse. “What does it mean for us?”
“We were just discussing that,” Tayse replied. “Senneth was giving us a lesson in religious history.”
Justin looked disbelieving. Kirra sank slowly back onto her divan. “Sit down, all of you,” she said. “There’s plenty of food left. Let’s eat, and figure out if—as Justin says—this has anything to do with us and our mission.”
In a few minutes they were all eating and relaxing, even Tayse leaving his post by the door once he was sure it was locked. “Anyway,” Senneth resumed. “About fifteen or twenty years ago—just as Coralinda joined the order—the Daughters of the Pale Mother began to gain some favor again. You would see people wearing moonstone neck-laces or setting up a small shrine somewhere on their property. In particular, travelers from the south would carry amulets and inquire about places of worship when they were in unfamiliar cities. People who dislike mystics were particularly drawn to their sect—because, of course, mystics can’t abide the touch of moonstones. Some people started to say that the Pale Mother was returning to Gillengaria to take back her people, who had been corrupted by magic.” Senneth shrugged. “You can see where two righteous and pitiless philosophies were starting to intersect. But I did not realize the sentiment had grown so strong.”
Tayse chewed and swallowed an entire miniature apple, seeds and all. It was the best piece of fruit he’d ever tasted in his life. “Well, if mystics are being murdered in this part of the country, and we’re traveling with mystics, what does that do to our chances of carrying out the king’s commission?”
Senneth smiled at him. “But we’re protected by two King’s Riders,” she said almost playfully. “Who would dare to do us harm?”

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