The Thirteenth House (Twelve Houses) (42 page)

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Authors: Sharon Shinn

BOOK: The Thirteenth House (Twelve Houses)
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Kirra spared the queen one quick look. Yes, the rumors persisted that Valri herself was sorcerous. Kirra had never seen her display the faintest trace of power, but perhaps she was very careful. In any case, she only had to enchant one man—her husband—to be considered lethal by those who feared magic.
 
“I wonder what she plans to accomplish by coming to Coravann,” Senneth said.
 
“We must keep Amalie away from her,” Valri said.
 
Senneth was quiet a moment. “Or make sure to introduce her.”
 
“Coralinda Gisseltess cannot be trusted!”
 
“I’m not afraid,” Amalie said. As she always said. Kirra was beginning to think it was actually true.
 
Senneth turned to give Amalie a long, thoughtful look, and Valri a quick one. “Coralinda can hardly do anything to the princess while we are standing here watching.”
 
“She’s
evil
,” Valri said intensely.
 
Senneth nodded. “So I believe. But Amalie is safe with us. Here and now.”
 
“I think I should introduce myself,” Kirra said suddenly.
 
Senneth glanced at her, that faint smile on her face. “Has she never met you, serra Casserah?”
 
Kirra shook her head. “No, never. Don’t you think she’d like to? My father knows her, of course.”
 
“Bring her here when you’ve finished making polite conversation,” Senneth said.
 
“It’s not safe,” Valri insisted.
 
Senneth didn’t even turn her head. “Cammon. Go fetch Tayse.”
 
There was a grin in Cammon’s voice. “All right.” A rustle of ragged clothing and he was gone.
 
Kirra was smiling. “Let me go make myself known to our unexpected guest.”
 
CHAPTER
21
 
K
IRRA made her way across the dance floor, mostly empty by now as people clustered in small groups against the walls. The orchestra had given up any notion of playing dance music and now offered a muted score of soft strings and wistful reeds. Servants were circulating through the room, carrying wine and other refreshments. Kirra snagged a glass of water from one tray, drank it all down, and handed it to the next servant who passed.
 
By this time she was on the outskirts of the group still gathered around Coralinda Gisseltess. Worthwhile to take note of those who were fawning over the woman who headed the Daughters of the Pale Mother, and those who had gathered in the corners of the room to scowl at her. But the quick tally did her no good, for it seemed that some members of the Twelve Houses could be found in either camp. And she herself, representing Danalustrous, was carefully pushing herself through the crowd, impatient to introduce herself—and all the gods knew that she was no fan of any of the heirs of Gisseltess.
 
“Excuse me,” she murmured, slipping between two women who wore moonstone pendants over their housemarks and who watched the newcomer with reverent eyes. “I beg your pardon.” Her left hand was deep in a hidden pocket of her red gown, closed around the small, smooth shape of the striped stone lioness. Just the feel of it gave her courage and strength.
Wild Mother watch me,
she thought, and broke through the final circle of bodies surrounding Coralinda.
 
She found herself side by side with Heffel Coravann, who looked down from his superior height to give her a rather silly smile. “Serra,” he acknowledged. “Would you like to meet the Lestra?”
 
She felt her eyebrows arch in what surely would have been Casserah’s most supercilious expression. “The ‘Lestra’?” she repeated.
 
He nodded. “The title accorded the woman who leads the Daughters,” he said.
 
She remembered now; Tayse had returned from Lumanen Convent with that name upon his lips. “A self-proclaimed title, I assume?” she said coolly. Heffel looked scandalized.
 
“No, no, she is a most devout lady,” he said. “Come, let me introduce you.”
 
Coralinda finished some conversation with a fatuous-looking older man, who bowed deeply and touched his right hand to his left shoulder. Kirra was a little shocked; that was a gesture that the Riders commonly used to acknowledge their king, or vassals used to honor their marlords. She had never seen anyone use it to express reverence for a religious figure. Coralinda nodded to him and turned away, her eyes searching the crowd for the next supplicant.
 
Heffel immediately caught her attention. “Lestra,” he said. “May I present another admirer? Serramarra Casserah Danalustrous, who is most desirous of meeting you.”
 
Coralinda was shorter than Kirra, yet Kirra still had the sense of looking up into a face some immense distance away. That the face showed a certain surprise was gratifying. “Serra,” Coralinda repeated. “I am pleased to meet any admirer from the House Danalustrous.”
 
She extended her hand, wrist and every finger clenched with moonstones, and Kirra held her breath as she laid her own hand against Coralinda’s. Cammon’s magic held, but barely; she felt a jolt run up her wristbones and quiver all the way down her spine. She squeezed the lioness in her pocket even more tightly, and the trembling ceased.
 
“Serra,” she drawled in turn, because she was not going to flatter the old hag by offering made-up titles. “I never would have expected to find you at such a frivolous event. My father has given me to think you are the most serious of women, but here you are, come to dance with the rest of us on a summer’s night.”
 
The frostiest smile crossed Coralinda’s face. “Not at all,” she said. “I came to see my friends among the Twelve Houses, conveniently gathered in one place.”
 
“I had not realized you had so many,” Kirra said.
 
“There is much that Danalustrous does not seem to realize,” Coralinda replied.
 
“Is that so?” Kirra said in a musing voice. “And yet, my father is a very observant man. I have never found much that escaped his attention.”
 
“Your father makes dangerous choices.”
 
Kirra opened her eyes very wide. “Dangerous? How? Are there armies even now headed for the Danalustrous borders? Let me know, and I will send word to my father.”
 
The Lestra was not amused. “He endangers his soul, Casserah. He starves it. And he feeds it instead with a diet guaranteed to make him sick.”
 
“You talk in riddles, serra.”
 
“I am not averse to plain speaking,” Coralinda replied. “Your father allies himself with mystics and offers them safe harbor. Such sorcerous association will sear his soul.”
 
“You speak of my sister?”
 
Coralinda nodded. “Your sister and others whom Malcolm has befriended. He does not realize the danger he puts himself in—himself, his heirs, and his realm.”
 
“I do not feel endangered.”
 
Coralinda leaned forward, suddenly intent. Kirra felt herself sparkle with chill, as if the Lestra herself exuded an icy air. “You are opaque,” she murmured. “You are the strange, dark daughter that no one has been able to penetrate, and even I cannot read you. But I would be glad to know you better. I would be glad to explain to you some of the glories of the goddess—and some of the perils of your own path. Come to me—tomorrow or the next day. I will visit here awhile. I will propound to you on the mysteries of the true faith.”
 
Kirra felt her heart pounding. She could imagine few things she was less interested in doing than having an exclusive audience with Coralinda Gisseltess to discuss the Pale Mother. But Casserah would not have hesitated; Casserah would not even have been alarmed. “Perhaps, serra,” she said. “If my party and I stay another day or two, I can take you up on this generous offer. I am interested to learn what you are so eager to teach.”
 
Coralinda reached up one of those bejeweled hands to trace the curve of Kirra’s cheek. Kirra felt the moonstone etch a line down the bone, barely concealed by the mortified skin. “You are young and beautiful and intelligent,” Coralinda murmured. “It is so important that the ones like you do not go astray.”
 
It was actually rather difficult to speak calmly. “There are others here even more young and beautiful,” she managed. “Would you like to be introduced to the princess? She is across the room and most agog to meet you.”
 
Coralinda’s square face sharpened with interest and she dropped her hand. “Amalie is here? Her father has released her from the prison of that walled city?”
 
“I do not think she considers it a prison, but yes, she is traveling. She is here now. Let me take you to her.”
 
“I would like that very much,” Coralinda said. Taking Kirra’s arm, she paced forward across the white star in the lapis oval, heading in Senneth’s direction.
 
Kirra felt heat flash up through her bones and turn her whole body into an inferno. She had the quick, irrelevant thought that this must be what it was like to be set on fire by Senneth’s magic. She actually stumbled, the pain was so intense, and Coralinda gave her an inquiring look.
 
“Turned my ankle,” she gasped. “My heels are too high.”
 
“Something else we must talk about,” Coralinda said. “The hazards posed by ridiculous fashions.” She squeezed Kirra’s hand in a friendly way, and Kirra felt her wristbones kindle within her skin.
 
Across the room, Cammon glanced up, looked straight at her. He murmured something to Senneth, then hurried across the dance floor to intersect with Kirra.
 
“There are chairs over by that wall. Let’s go sit there,” he said, guiding them in the proper direction by laying a hand across Kirra’s back.
 
The agonizing knife of fire throughout her body cooled into smoke and drifted away. Just with the touch of his hand on her body. She could not keep herself from sending him one quick, marveling look. He kept his eyes straight ahead, urging them forward, but she saw a tiny smile play around his mouth.
 
Now that was frightening. That was almost as frightening as seeing Coralinda Gisseltess at Coravann Keep. From thirty yards away, Cammon could sense her pain, and as soon as he touched her, he could make it vanish. She had never heard of anyone with power like that.
 
They made their way not entirely smoothly across the room, interrupted at frequent intervals by lords and ladies approaching Coralinda for a benediction. Finally, finally, they arrived at a cluster of chairs and sofas that seemed designed for some kind of intimate conference. The others, unimpeded by well-wishers, had arrived before them—not just Senneth and Amalie, but Valri, Donnal, Tayse, and even Justin.
 
And Romar, come to defend his niece from danger. He looked fierce, serious, and handsome, but he was not even wearing a dress sword. Kirra thought if she were making wagers on who in this group might keep Amalie safe, it would be Senneth and the Riders.
 
And Cammon, if the touch of moonstones burned Amalie’s skin.
 
Coralinda dropped Kirra’s hand and very properly curtseyed, as any serra would to royalty. Kirra took a deep breath and refused to look down at her disguised flesh, but she knew that in its proper shape it would be crisp with red welts. Amalie responded to Coralinda’s curtsey with a dignified nod. Though they had purposefully gathered around this arrangement of furniture, no one sat.
 
“Do you know all my friends?” Kirra asked, dying to introduce Donnal and Cammon as well as the high-ranking individuals, but deciding that even Casserah would not be so audacious. “Senneth Brassenthwaite, of course. You remember her.” Coralinda was unlikely to forget. “Queen Valri. Lord Romar Brendyn of Merrenstow. And Baryn’s daughter, Princess Amalie.”
 
Coralinda did not bow again, but she gave quick nods of recognition to everyone except Senneth. Her eyes moved beyond the circle of nobility to settle on the big Rider standing just a pace behind.
 
“Tayse,” she said, her voice sorrowful. “I am sorry to see you here among these fellows.”
 
“Lestra,” he replied. His face was absolutely expressionless, but Kirra would swear he was amused.
 
“I had hopes for you,” Coralinda continued. “You have such strength. I hate to see it corrupted.”
 
“I am happy where I am.”
 
Senneth spoke, her voice edged. “It is hardly my place to teach you manners, but you would more profitably direct your attention to the princess,” she said. “Who is most eager to make your acquaintance.”

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