The Thirteenth House (Twelve Houses) (64 page)
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Authors: Sharon Shinn
BOOK: The Thirteenth House (Twelve Houses)
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“We’re led by a King’s Rider, and he’s very ruthless.”
“And it wouldn’t be so bad if you liked them all, or most of them,” Darryn’s brother said. “Are you friends with everyone in the group?”
“Some of them,” she said. “Even the ones I don’t know well I have found to be fairly agreeable. The others I’ve managed to tolerate. And we’ve left one or two behind on the road.”
One, anyway. The most important one.
I will never see Donnal again,
she thought.
she thought.
BY the end of the meal, not only was her stomach one burning knot, but her head was pounding. She thought of asking Senneth if she could borrow Tayse, who knew some secret trick for curing Senneth’s recurrent headaches. She would have, if she’d thought the same methods would work on her. But Senneth’s headaches tended to be by-products of magic or anger. Kirra thought her own was concocted of despair. She didn’t think even Tayse’s strong hands could throttle that emotion away.
She knew she would not be able to sit through an evening of music no matter how exquisitely played. She must escape to her room and sleep, or sob, or do something to alleviate her profound depression. It was almost a relief when Romar approached her obliquely, almost accidentally, as the diners rose and milled about before moving to the salon.
“Serra,” he said, his voice formal but his eyes warm. “Perhaps we might sit together as the harps are played? You know so much more about the gentler arts than I do. I thought you could explain to me which players are gifted and which are merely competent.”
She managed a smile, but barely. “I think I will go up to my room right now and not leave again for any reason,” she said, trying to convey with innocent words the information he most wanted to know. “I find I am reacting in an unfortunate way to something I ate earlier in the day. Most unpleasant. I cannot stay for the music.”
I cannot come see you. But I cannot tell you why. I am sad because another man I say I do not love has left me because I say I do love you. How could I speak those words? How could you possibly understand? I do not understand myself.
It was unlikely Romar knew that Donnal had left the caravan. It was unlikely, even if he knew, he had figured out why. She was safe to plead illness. It would not be hard to believe.
I cannot come see you. But I cannot tell you why. I am sad because another man I say I do not love has left me because I say I do love you. How could I speak those words? How could you possibly understand? I do not understand myself.
It was unlikely Romar knew that Donnal had left the caravan. It was unlikely, even if he knew, he had figured out why. She was safe to plead illness. It would not be hard to believe.
Romar looked instantly concerned. “Shall I send for someone? Senneth? Or I’m sure the marlady employs a healer of some kind.”
“No, no, this is a passing thing. I just need sleep and solitude.”
He still watched her. “You have not had much rest these past few days, I know,” he said.
She couldn’t help a smile at that. “And there have been many nights I have lain awake, not yet ready to fall asleep,” she said demurely. “I think such evenings are starting to take their toll.”
“I hope you will feel much improved in the morning.”
She smiled again. “I’m sure I will.”
She turned away and excused herself repeatedly as she cut through the crowd, back toward the formal doorway. Naturally, the one person she encountered was the person she least wanted to see—Justin, on his way to guard the salon while Amalie sat inside it. His face wore its usual expression of scorn and fierceness, carefully cultivated to show he was dangerous and unimpressed by nobility. When he caught sight of her, his face momentarily darkened—more scornful, more ferocious—and she read anger and condemnation in his eyes.
He
knew, if Romar Brendyn did not, that Donnal had left. And why.
He
knew, if Romar Brendyn did not, that Donnal had left. And why.
But something on her own face snagged his attention, and his expression changed, became suddenly alert and inquiring. He caught her arm as she would have stalked right by him.
“Are you all right?” he demanded.
She shook herself free. “Fine.”
“Should I get Senneth?”
“I’m fine. I’m going to my room. I’m tired.”
He said nothing else for a moment, merely watched her. She thought she could see him considering and then rejecting any number of other comments, everything from abuse for her stupidity to sympathy for her pain. Finally, he said, “Cammon’s in our room. Just down the hall from yours. If you need someone.”
This was meant to be kindness, she knew, and she was almost undone by it. “Thank you,” she whispered, because the tears had made her throat close up and she could not speak normally. “I just want to be by myself.”
He nodded and stood aside to let her pass. She practically ran up the stairs and down the hall to her room, flinging herself on her bed. She had wept hysterically for maybe ten minutes before she felt Melly’s soft hand on her shoulder. It had not occurred to her that someone else would be in the room, and she struggled to sit up, to compose herself. But she could not do it. Melly wiped her face with a damp cloth and murmured something inarticulate and soothing, and Kirra just gave up. She turned her face back into the pillow and sobbed herself to sleep.
KIRRA woke late and reluctantly, and then only because someone was calling her. “Serra. Serra. There is a message from the marlady. Serra, you cannot sleep all day.”
She rolled over on the mattress to try to locate the voice, reorient herself to her surroundings. Dark hair on her pillow, a worried young woman bending over her, bright light streaming in through unfamiliar windows. She was Casserah, this was Rappengrass, and it had to be past noon.
Bright Mother blind me,
she thought, and sat up.
Bright Mother blind me,
she thought, and sat up.
“What time is it? Is something wrong?”
“Everyone else has just gone down to lunch. Nothing’s wrong. You’ve gotten a note from the marlady, who would like to see you. I didn’t know—I didn’t want to wake you but—Are you sick? Serra Senneth said I should let you sleep as long as I could.”
Kirra dangled her legs over the side of the bed, then sat there a moment, assessing. How did she feel? Rested; that was a nice change. A little foggy from too much sleep, but that would surely pass. There was a lurking sadness in her heart, hiding in a dark vaulted chamber and unwilling to be examined too closely, but she could breathe. That was another nice change.
“So, Senneth has come by this morning?”
Melly nodded. “And Cammon. And two of the Riders.”
Kirra could not help smiling at that. The very act of smiling eased some of her pain, which made her realize just how much pain she still was feeling. Hell and damnation. “What does Ariane want?”
“She didn’t say. Just that she would like a private audience with you. Today.”
“I suppose I’d better get dressed then.”
“Are you hungry? I had some food brought up.”
Kirra checked again, but couldn’t find hunger among her range of wants. Still, she supposed she should eat something before she met with Ariane. “Yes, thank you,” she said, summoning a smile. “You are very good to me.”
“That’s not hard,” Melly said, turning away to fetch the tray. “You’re very easy to care for.”
IT was not quite an hour before Kirra was dressed, fed, reasonably focused, and on her way to see Ariane. As a servant led her through the ornate halls of Rappen Manor, Kirra could not help but notice Rappengrass soldiers everywhere. They were visible out every window that overlooked the lawns, training or lounging; the room where she was finally taken was guarded by six men, all grim-faced and heavily armed. So it had been several months ago when Kirra had come here last, shaped as herself, Senneth at her side. Ariane Rappengrass clearly was taking no chances with her own safety—or that of her guests.
The heavy door was opened by Ariane’s steward, a cadaverous, humorless man who had always had a fondness for Kirra. “Serra Casserah,” he said and waved her inside.
Ariane was standing across the room, just beside a wide desk. The whole chamber was furnished in deep colors, maroon and bronze and purple, the somber effect somewhat mitigated by the glorious sunshine pouring in from three high windows. Ariane herself looked just as serious as her furnishings, with her severe hairstyle, the grave expression on her broad features, and the black color of her dress.
“Thank you, Ralf. You may go,” she said, dismissing her steward as she came around the desk toward Kirra. A smile lightened her face somewhat; she took Kirra’s hands and studied her a moment. “Casserah. It has been a long time since I’ve seen you. I cannot believe you are twenty-one already. I think of you still as a thin and somewhat clumsy sixteen. You have become so poised.”
Not everyone in the nobility liked Ariane Rappengrass, but everyone in House Danalustrous did, so Kirra allowed herself to smile warmly in return. “I resent being told you ever thought I appeared clumsy,” she replied. “I assure you, even when I was at my most awkward, I considered myself
quite
adroit. I suppose, when I am thirty, I will look back with dismay at the gaucherie I display now.”
quite
adroit. I suppose, when I am thirty, I will look back with dismay at the gaucherie I display now.”
“I doubt it,” Ariane said. “From everything I hear, you are very polished.”
Kirra laughed. “Has Darryn been telling tales of me?”
Ariane drew her over to an embroidered crimson sofa and they sat. “Oh, Darryn is filled with admiration for both you and your sister. He said that Kirra has better hair but you have better insults.”
Kirra choked and then laughed aloud. “And I thought I was always so kind to him! I’ll have to treat him to real disdain during this visit so he can see me at my best.”
“Yes, do that. It will please him so much.”
There was a polite knock on the door and a servant entered with a tray of refreshments. Neither of them spoke until the food had been arranged on a small table and the servant had withdrawn again.
“So, I am wondering what you’ve learned on this jaunt across Gillengaria,” Ariane said, pouring tea and handing a cup to Kirra. When Kirra was silent, Ariane looked up with a smile. “Is that too blunt? Surely I cannot be wrong in thinking your father sent you on the circuit to gather information about the state of the realm.”
Kirra sipped at the tea, which was really too hot to drink. She wasn’t sure how to answer. “My sister came back from her travels earlier this year, full of dire warnings about rebellions being plotted in the south. My father is not sure how much turmoil is real, how much is just—posturing—by the southern Houses.”
“My own guess is that there is a very real chance for war,” Ariane said flatly. “And that I sit in the middle of a combat zone.”
Kirra nodded. “So my sister said. And she was anxious to hear my father say aloud that he would support the crown if the Houses divided.”
Ariane looked at her sharply. “And he would not say so? Surely Malcolm would never side with rebels! Particularly rebels led by Halchon Gisseltess.”
Kirra drank a little more tea. “My father would—no. He would never rise against the king. But he might do everything in his power to hold back from a war. I believe he would stay neutral if he could.”
“He can’t,” Ariane said.
“He thinks he can.”
Ariane replaced her cup on the table as if she was afraid she might spill it if she held it much longer. “So Malcolm would desert us,” she said, clearly angry. “I thought we could count on Danalustrous.”
“War is not here yet,” Kirra said gently. “He may have a different answer if it arrives.”
The marlady gave her another keen look. “And you? Now that you have been named heir to Danalustrous? What if war came while you were installed in Danan Hall?”
Harder and harder to answer this as Casserah would. “You know that I seldom stir beyond my own borders. Danalustrous is first and foremost in my heart, and I would do anything in my power to keep it safe. But I have to admit, I do not think Danalustrous would be safe if the rest of the world was rent by war. I think sides would have to be chosen. And I would never, under any scenario you could devise, choose to cast my lot with Halchon Gisseltess.” Kirra drained the teacup and set it down. “And neither would my father,” she added. “If he takes sides, he will fight for Baryn. With you. With Brassenthwaite.”
“Yes, and with who else?” Ariane said with a certain grimness. “Did you happen to pick up any clues about Nocklyn and Coravann and Kianlever while you were journeying across the continent? For I am sure Fortunalt is against us. I wonder just how alone we will stand.”
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