The Thirteenth House (Twelve Houses) (66 page)

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Authors: Sharon Shinn

BOOK: The Thirteenth House (Twelve Houses)
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Ralf stooped to take Kirra’s bag. Senneth hesitated, still unsure as to whether or not she should really leave. Cammon touched her on the sleeve.
 
“Everything’s all right,” he said in a voice too low for the guard to overhear. “Let’s take Amalie to the gardens.”
 
CHAPTER
34
 
T
WENTY minutes later, Ariane led Kirra to the upper level of the fortress, where the family members had their suites. All of Rappen Manor was impressively and tastefully furnished, but this top story was particularly beautiful, Kirra thought. The stone floors were covered with wool rugs in rich hues; stained glass was set in all the windows, throwing wild jewels of color across the stern gray walls as the sun glittered through. The scents were homier, of candle wax and wood polish and fresh linen just now washed and folded and put away.
 
Ariane laid her hand on the knob of a door down the end of the wide main hallway. “She is probably sleeping,” she said in a low voice, and stepped inside.
 
The room was darkened, curtains drawn against the afternoon sun, and smelled faintly of pungent herbs. Homemade medicines, Kirra guessed, mixed to ease the patient’s pain. She made out a few vague objects in the semidarkness—a bed, a dresser, a couple of pieces of furniture. A small shape lay under thin covers on the bed. Two chairs were drawn so close to the bedside that the people sitting in them could touch the sleeping girl without even stretching.
 
As Kirra and Ariane stepped inside, a man stood up from one of the chairs. The woman sitting beside him glanced over, but did not rise. Her face was pale against the dark fabric of the chair; her face was indifferent with exhaustion.
 
The man approached them and spoke in a whisper. “No change. She’s sleeping now.”
 
“I have brought someone to see her,” Ariane whispered back. “Kirra, this is my son-in-law, Marco. That’s my daughter, Bella, sitting by the bed. Marco, Kirra Danalustrous. She’s a healer.”
 
He made a sound that might have been a sigh or might have been the faint laugh of hopelessness. He did not bother with social niceties or even address her by her title. “Healers have not done us any good to date.”
 
“No, and I have not had any luck curing this particular disease,” Kirra admitted. “But I might be able to ease her pain a little, if she is indeed feeling pain now.”
 
“Yes. Now, always,” Marco replied. “That would be a blessing, though a short-lived one.”
 
“I have your permission to touch her? Lyrie, is that her name?”
 
Marco stood aside and gestured toward the bed. “As long as you do not hurt Lyrie any more, you may try what you like.”
 
Kirra approached the bed, nodding at Bella, who watched her without making any response. Gingerly, Kirra perched on the mattress, careful not to displace the frail body. Keeping her fingers as gentle as she could, she gripped the thin wrist and felt for the child’s slow pulse.
 
Lyrie opened her eyes and looked straight up at her. Not sleeping after all. Kirra guessed the child was about eleven, though she was so wasted and fragile that it was hard to be certain. Her eyes, huge in her gaunt face, were liquid with pain and the wisdom that came from enduring unendurable things. Her face was as square as Ariane’s. Kirra wondered if she also had Ariane’s strength of character and indomitable spirit.
 
“Hello, Lyrie,” she said softly. “My name is Kirra. I’m a healer. I understand you’ve been sick a long time.”
 
Lyrie did not answer, but her head moved slightly on the pillow.
Yes.
Kirra continued, “I don’t think that I can do anything to make the illness go away, but I might be able to stop the pain for a while. Should I try? Or would you rather I did not?”
 
“Try,” Lyrie whispered. “Please.”
 
“All right. I will.”
 
She tightened her grip on the girl’s wrist and put her other hand on the hot, dry skin at the base of Lyrie’s throat. The covers were down far enough for Kirra to see the diamond-shaped housemark burned into her chest. She could feel the pain coiled along every joint, clustered at every nerve; she could feel the acid heating the blood as it coasted through every vein.
 
Her hand pressed harder on Lyrie’s wrist, turning itself into a sieve, skimming the poisons from the blood. She moved her other hand to press down hard on Lyrie’s heart, as if using her own weight to displace the knots of pain that clogged the girl’s body. Lyrie’s eyes widened, with discomfort or the tingle of magic, Kirra could not tell. She kept up the pressure on the veins, on the chest; she pictured the blood clean, the body exorcised. Lyrie’s hot skin cooled beneath her fingers. Lyrie’s tight mouth loosened in wonder.
 
“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” the girl whispered. “To breathe. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
 
Kirra smiled at her, easing off a little. “Good. Can you make a fist? Do your muscles ache when you try to lift your arm?”
 
Lyrie balled her hand and punched at invisible enemies in the air. “No,” she said, her voice growing stronger. “No, even my shoulder feels fine, and for the past few weeks—”
 
Kirra lifted her hands as Lyrie wriggled and sat up. Behind her, she could hear Bella stirring. Marco had already circled the bed and was standing on the other side, staring at his daughter with cautious delight. Kirra said, “Be careful. You might feel a little dizzy. Magic can have powerful effects.”
 
Lyrie’s face was wreathed with smiles as she settled her back against the pillow. “I don’t care. I’d rather be dizzy. Oh, thank you so much, you—I can’t remember your name—thank you, thank you—”
 
“Kirra,” she supplied, smiling broadly in return. “I don’t know how long the magic will hold. A few days, at least, before the pain comes back, maybe longer—”
 
Someone pushed past her. Bella, flinging herself on the bed. “Baby? You’re feeling better? Baby, look at you! You’re sitting up! Has the pain gone away? Would you like to eat something? Can I hug you? I don’t want to hurt you—”
 
For an answer, Lyrie threw her arms around her mother’s neck. Kirra wasn’t sure which of them started sobbing. She stood up and moved to stand beside Ariane, who was staring at the figures on the bed as if she could not trust her good fortune.
 
“It won’t last,” Kirra told her very quietly. “A few days.”
 
“A day would be good enough,” Ariane replied just as quietly. “I cannot express my gratitude. I have no words.”
 
Marco had come around the bed to join them, leaving his wife to her joyful reunion with his daughter. “You cannot know what this means to us,” he said earnestly to Kirra. “She has not spoken or eaten or allowed us to touch her for two weeks now—”
 
“I have only bought you a day or two—”
 
He put a hand to her shoulder. He was not much taller than she was and he looked her straight in the eye. “I would give up all of Rappengrass for an hour.”
 
“I wish I could do more,” Kirra said.
 
He dropped his hand, turned so he could watch his daughter smiling up at his wife. “No one can. There is no cure. And do you know the stupidest thing, the hardest thing? There
is
a cure. There is an herbal mix that you can feed to dogs and horses, and it will heal them in a week. No matter how sick they are, how far along the disease has progressed. But feed those herbs to people and they die. I know three families who have tried it. Every child has passed within a day.”
 
Kirra stood in the dark sickroom and felt as if she had been seared by lightning.
 
A disease that affected animals and had migrated to humans. A disease that could be treated in animals. Not in humans.
 
But if humans could be transmogrified just long enough for the medicine to take hold—
 
Forbidden. A shape-shifter could not work the magic that would turn a living man or woman into any other creature. The Wild Mother would not allow it. The spells did not exist. Kirra did not know how to do such a thing, even if the act was not the severest transgression she could imagine. It was impossible.
 
But if she could save a life—
 
Forbidden.
 
Folk were already afraid of mystics and their uncontainable powers. If anyone suspected a shiftling had the power to transform
others
into random creatures against their will, no shape-changer would be safe. They would all be stoned in the streets, victims of a not unreasonable fear.
If mystics can change little girls into animals to heal them, they can change all sorts of people into animals to harm them.
Once acquired, such knowledge could not be unlearned—and it was such a tempting piece of knowledge. It would be so easy to turn it from a virtuous cause to a wicked one.
 
But if she could save this girl’s life—
 
Her hand closed on the lion-shaped charm she always carried in her pocket. It felt smooth and warm under her fingers. She thought she could detect a small, buried heartbeat flickering through the striated stone, almost as if it was alive.
 
“Kirra? Kirra? Is something wrong?” Ariane’s voice in her ear, Ariane’s hand on her wrist. “Did you—did it drain too much energy from you to work your magic on Lyrie? Should you sit down? I can get you something to drink.”
 
Kirra shook her head, forced herself to smile. “No. I’m fine. I was just thinking about what Marco said.”
 
Marco, who was also staring at her, looked surprised. “What did I say?”
 
“I was thinking how sad it was that animals could be saved and children could not.”
 
He nodded, his face darkening. “Tragic,” he said. “I am so bitter that I almost cannot speak.”
 
Kirra caught the sound of Lyrie’s laugh, breathless but unmistakable. Bella called to Marco and gestured him over. He excused himself and hurried to the bed.
 
Kirra glanced over at Ariane to find the marlady staring at her. “What are you thinking?” Ariane demanded in a slow voice.
 
Kirra shook her head. “Things I cannot say aloud.”
 
But Ariane was clever—as clever as Malcolm Danalustrous, who understood everything. She had already reviewed Marco’s comment, thought over Kirra’s abilities, and analyzed what might have made Kirra stand there gaping like a half-wit. She knew exactly what Kirra was thinking—and she did not look shocked at all. Instead, she said in a very quiet voice, “Can you do it?”
 
Kirra shook her head. “I don’t know. I never have.”
 
“If you can—”
 
“It is prohibited.”
 
“If you can—then I want you to try.”
 
“Ariane—”
 
“I will beg you, if you want. I will give you anything. You can marry my son and inherit my property. If you can save this girl.”
 
“If I could save her, I would do it without inducements. I don’t know if I can work the spell.”
 
Ariane stared at her another moment. “
Try,
” she breathed.
 
Kirra stood for a moment, utterly motionless. Then she nodded. “Let me see what I can figure out.”
 
 
 
BY an amazing stroke of good fortune, Senneth was back from her outing with the princess and the princess was taking an afternoon nap. Therefore, Senneth was not in Amalie’s room, Coeval informed her kindly, but across the hall with the Riders and “that strange boy.”
 
Better and better and better.
 
Kirra entered the room without knocking and found her luck still holding. No other outsiders present, not even Hammond, just Cammon and Justin and Senneth playing cards and looking bored, Tayse stretched out on the room’s double bed, taking a chance to sleep.
 
“Sen,” Kirra said, locking the door behind her. “I need to talk to you.”
 
Justin glanced at her, glanced back at his cards, and then jerked his head up. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Why are you Kirra?”
 
“Is she still Kirra?” Cammon asked in some relief. “Just make sure someone tells me if she’s ever Casserah again.”
 
“I’ll be Kirra for the rest of the trip,” she said impatiently. “Senneth—”
 
Senneth had come to her feet. Her face was concerned but the posture of her body indicated strength and purpose and determination. It was impossible to feel afraid or defeated when Senneth was in the room. “What’s wrong?”

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