The Thirteenth House

by Sharon Shinn

  He laughed. “No part of this enterprise seems safe, but I will try to proceed with some care,” he promised. “Thank you, Kirra Danalustrous. It is very possible you have saved my life.”

  “Don’t thank me too soon,” she said. “You’re not free yet.”

  He surprised her by taking her hand and bowing over it very low, though he did not kiss her fingers as a courtlier man might have. “Then I shall thank you merely for the intention,” he said, straightening up. By the dim light, his face looked very serious. “It is what we should all be judged on, anyway.”

  Ridiculous; she really didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to shrivel down to mouse size and scamper down the halls, away from him. But she would see him tomorrow, unless everything went unthinkably awry. No need to linger now.

  “Till tomorrow,” she said. “Try to be patient.”

  She let herself collapse, like a dress cut from the laundry line, turning a thing that was full and round and vivid into something small and uninteresting. She could feel Romar’s eyes on her, or she thought she could, as she ducked under the low iron of the grille and skittered with her tiny claws down the uneven stone floor.

  “Be careful, Kirra,” Romar called after her, but she did not look back. She did not change herself into a woman again to make a more dignified good-bye from this side of the door; she did not even don her calico colors and slink along as a cat. Her small heart was beating hard enough as it was. She would not give it something else to contend with.

  DONNAL was furious when he flung the door open, probably three hours after she’d left. “Where have you been?” he demanded, addressing his scold to the brown rat who scurried in after scratching timidly at the door. “I’ve been thinking you were dead this past hour or more.”

  Kirra pushed herself up on her hind legs and stretched her curled hands toward the ceiling, feeling her body bulk up and lengthen. She took in what details she could while a slight opalescence hazed her eyes during transformation. Cammon and Justin had been slumbering on the hearth, wrapped in their blankets, but they had stirred when Donnal greeted her and now they were yawning and trying to wake up. Donnal, who had looked like Kirra when he opened the door, was now himself—a slim, dark-haired man with a neat beard and watchful, sober eyes. The fact that he still wore a maid’s simple gown meant he was ready at any second to resume his disguise.

  “It must have been harder to find Romar than you thought,” Justin said. He didn’t sound as if he had been too worried.

  Nor did Cammon, who yawned again though he fought to keep his mouth closed. “I told you she wasn’t in any trouble,” Cammon said, addressing Donnal for what was probably the hundredth time.

  “It shouldn’t have taken that long,” Donnal said grimly. “What else were you doing?”

  She grinned at him, at all of them, and perched on the edge of the bed. Donnal stood beside her, very still in his gray gown; the other two sat relaxed before the fire.

  “First, I talked to Lord Romar,” she said. “Explained who I was, why we’re here, and came up with a sort of plan for getting him out. His window overlooks the western view of the mansion—”

  “Stables to that side,” Justin said. He had, of course, memorized every detail of the grounds as they rode up. It was the sort of thing a Rider did automatically. “Line of trees, too. That could be a place for us to hide and wait for him.”

  Kirra nodded. It was a sad day when she and Justin followed a similar thought process. “Exactly. His window is too visible for him to attempt to escape before dark, but we can be in place long before then. I made him a rope, changed the bars on his window, and fashioned a knife for him out of a hairpin. He should be ready to leave.”

  “So that took maybe an hour—” Donnal began.

  “And when I left him, I went exploring,” Kirra continued. She ignored Donnal’s soft exclamation. “Lord Romar had no idea who his attackers were, and we haven’t seen any clues since we’ve been here. So I thought I’d go look.”

  “You crept into their bedrooms?” Cammon asked, clearly impressed. “As a cat? No, you couldn’t fit under the doors.”

  “Mouse, spider, bat, I took a few different shapes to navigate the corridors,” Kirra said, while Donnal’s frown grew blacker. “And I visited a few empty bedrooms before I found our kidnappers.”

  “Did you recognize them?” Justin asked.

  “There were two that I’m sure I’ve seen before, though I honestly couldn’t tell you their names. One’s a Gisseltess man—no surprise there—but not Twelfth House. A third or fourth cousin of Halchon Gisseltess. Very unpleasant man. The other was a Tilt vassal who’s got a place on the southern edge of Tilt lands, so I don’t think this is his property. The third one—” She spread her hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before. Heavyset and balding. I couldn’t tell much else while he was sleeping.”

  “Not much to go on,” Justin said.

  “No. But worth knowing all the same.”

  Donnal shook his head. “Too much of a risk. If you were going to do something like that, you should have come back to get me.”

  “I’m fine. I survived. But I admit I’m exhausted now.”

  “So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Justin asked. He was always the one who wanted to know what would happen next, what strategy would be in play. Cammon was just happy to be included in any adventure, and Donnal was content merely to follow Kirra’s headlong lead. Usually. Until he became worried and overprotective. Her father had charged Donnal with the task of guarding her, but still. His close attention could sometimes be a nuisance.

  “I have to sleep,” Kirra said. “I expect the servants will be by in the morning to check on me. Tell them I had a restless night, but that my fever broke sometime near dawn. You expect that I will feel well enough to travel by early afternoon.”

  “That’s not entirely believable,” Cammon said. “Most people would lie in bed another day or two.”

  Kirra grinned. “Ah, but I’m a difficult and intractable woman, and you’ve long ago given up trying to talk any sense into me,” she said. “They’ll be so relieved to see us go, they won’t argue.”

  Justin was frowning. “Still. I wonder if our leaving will put Lord Romar in danger. Let’s assume they were considering killing him, and our arrival put that plan on hold. Our departure might be their signal to go ahead with the execution.”

  “Why capture him just to kill him?” Kirra objected. “Why not simply murder him on the road?”

  “Many an outlaw before this has found a dead body more convenient than a live hostage,” Justin countered. “They might not have thought this whole thing through to the end. Or they might have been spooked by our sudden arrival here and wonder who else might show up at their door before they’ve determined what to do with their prisoner. I hate to leave Lord Romar here—if our presence is all that’s keeping him alive.”

  “But we can’t very well wait to leave till nightfall,” Donnal said. “That would seem very odd. Especially with a sick woman in our midst.”

  “All right, then, we’ll leave in the afternoon as planned,” Kirra said, thinking rapidly. “But Donnal will tell the housekeeper and the butler and whoever appears to see us off that he thinks I am weaker than I will admit. Tell them that we might not get very far on the road before we have to turn around and come back. If they’re expecting us to reappear, they won’t have the nerve to kill Romar.”

  Justin nodded. “That should do it. And if you can manage to look both ill and ill-tempered as we leave tomorrow, they won’t know what to expect from us next.”

  Donnal scowled, but Kirra was grinning. “I think my acting skills can encompass such a role,” she said. She yawned and stretched. “Silver hell, but I’m tired. Try not to wake me up tomorrow till noon or later—unless something important happens.”

  Justin snorted. “What makes you think we’ll be awake by noon?”

  She ignored him. It took only a few short pulls to undress as
far as she was going to in a room full of men on a night when she might have to flee at a moment’s notice. Within minutes, she was under the covers, drowsing against the pillow.

  Donnal waited until she was settled, then curled himself around her, fitting his front to her back, adding his welcome warmth to the rather thinly furnished bed. They had slept so most nights of the hundreds, the thousands, they had traveled together, though Donnal frequently was in animal shape and thus even warmer. Now, formed like a woman again, he generated less heat than she was accustomed to, and she felt herself shiver a little in the chill of the room.

  “You take too many chances, serra,” Donnal whispered, his voice so low that not even Cammon would be able to hear it, and Cammon heard everything. “You are too valuable to lose.”

  “You won’t lose me,” she whispered back.

  He didn’t answer; he didn’t have to. She knew what he was thinking. Someday I will. She was a serramarra of the Twelve Houses. He was the illegitimate son of a tenant farmer. Even if she didn’t die in some ill-conceived pass through dangerous territory, there were so many ways he could lose her. Till then, she knew, Donnal was hers, heart and soul, to do with as she chose. Since she could neither rebuff him nor reassure him, she merely closed her eyes. Sleep claimed her while she was still wriggling on the bed trying to get entirely comfortable.

  CHAPTER 4

  THE housekeeper actually seemed concerned that Kirra was not well enough to travel, but the butler was happy to see them go. He didn’t say so, of course, but he offered them fresh canteens of water and warned them that the northern road was generally impassable after this much rain. “But you’ve got a nice clear day for travel,” he told the travelers as he waited with them on the front walkway while the soldiers-cum-ostlers brought their horses around. “You should make excellent time.”

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” Kirra told him, handing him a coin.

  “But, serra . . . you were so sick yesterday—” Donnal began.

  “If we stayed another night,” Cammon added.

  “I’m fine,” Kirra snapped.

  “What if you fall ill upon the road?” Donnal demanded. “We may have to return here.”

  “I am most certain that will not be the case,” she said. She smiled at the butler and scowled at her servants. “I’m fine,” she repeated.

  “Of course, serra,” Donnal said. But the look he gave to the butler said something else entirely.

  She mounted her horse somewhat shakily but managed to ride out at a pretty good clip. Her strength returned amazingly fast as soon as they were out of sight of the mansion, and they covered another five miles before reining in.

  “Long wait till dark,” Justin said, slipping from the saddle to look around and make sure they were safe during this particular rest stop. “I’ll take the watch if anyone else wants to sleep.”

  At first, no one slept. Donnal hunted and returned with fresh meat, so they had a better dinner than they’d had the past two nights. Justin and Cammon practiced swordplay, and Kirra was interested to see that they both used metal blades. On the road last winter, Tayse had insisted they use wooden practice swords. Either Justin was getting careless—an impossibility—or Cammon was getting better.

  “I thought you were studying with the mystics in Ghosenhall,” she said to Cammon when they took a break. “How’d you get better at fighting?”

  Cammon wiped his mouth with his sleeve and grinned down at her. Bright Lady, he looked as much like an urchin today as he had when they found him almost six months ago, serving out a sentence of indenture at a lowlife tavern in Dormas. “I train with the Riders once a week,” he said. “Well, not all the Riders. Justin and his friends. I’m not good enough to train with them, but Justin makes them practice with me.”

  Justin took the water bottle from Cammon and downed half of it with a swallow. “Mystic with a sword,” he commented. “Makes your blood run cold, doesn’t it?”

  “But then, all mystics give you a chill, don’t they, Justin?” Kirra replied in a dulcet voice.

  Justin laughed. Cammon grinned. “He’s become a lot more tolerant,” Cammon said. “Not just of us. The other day in Ghosenhall there was a girl doing magic tricks in a city park. Justin went up and watched and even said she was pretty good.”

  “Was it real magic or trickery?” Kirra asked.

  “Real magic. Changing small objects to other objects—rocks to coins, that sort of thing. She wasn’t very powerful. She couldn’t do much. But the crowd liked her.” Cammon glanced at the Rider. “Justin even gave her a copper.”

  Kirra put her hand to her heart. “My hero.”

  Justin rested his sword point-down and shook back his sandy hair, damp with exertion. “Anyway, I’ve been giving Cammon lessons. He’s always been good at defense, so we’re working on attack. But he doesn’t really have the heart for it.”

  Kirra let her gaze wander over Cammon. How old was he now, nineteen? Beefing up a little since he’d come under their care, but still thin, shabby, all sharp angles and flyaway hair and wide, wise eyes. He had nothing in the world except his friendships with this oddly assorted group and a strange mental power that none of them quite understood. Senneth had set him up with teachers who could hone his skills, but Kirra could imagine no situation in which he would turn those abilities toward hurting anyone else. No, Cammon was not a killer.

  “Well, as long as he’s good enough to keep himself alive, that’s all we really care about,” Kirra said. “And as long as you’re around, he doesn’t even have to worry about that.”

  Justin laughed again and swung his sword up. Cammon dropped back into a defensive crouch, and the battle went on. Kirra stretched out before the small fire, deciding she had enough time to take a short nap before the evening festivities began. “Wake me when it’s dark,” she said, and closed her eyes.

  A FEW hours later, the moon was up and they were all in place. Donnal had taken wolf shape and was prowling the grounds of the mansion. He would raise the alarm if anything went amiss during Romar’s escape—and he would be the first line of attack if one of the soldiers tried to stop the regent. Justin was positioned just behind the windbreak of trees, holding Donnal’s horse for Romar to ride. Cammon and Kirra were almost at the main road, watching to make sure no other untimely arrivals came cantering up at this crucial hour. All of them were poised to gallop out.

  “He’s climbing down,” Cammon whispered suddenly. “No one else in the house is moving.”

  “Both soldiers in the stables?”

  “I think so. Wouldn’t swear to it, but I think they’re sleeping. He’s the only one in motion.”

  A long, tense silence, and then Cammon said, “I think he’s on the ground. He’s moving faster, at any rate, probably running. He’s—” A short pause. “You probably should have told him about Donnal.”

  “Damn. Well, I did—I mean, I said he was a shiftling, but I didn’t mention that he might be roaming around—is Lord Romar afraid?”

  A very faint laugh for that. “Well, he’s certainly aware of all the potential hazards, and a wolf pacing alongside him seems to have added to his tension, but he’s still running. He’s—ah. He’s with Justin.” Cammon looked over at her and grinned by moonlight. Kirra had no doubt at all that he could see her face perfectly plainly, or as well as he needed to in order to read every thought in her head. “Justin on one side of him, Donnal on the other,” he said. “I’d call him safe.”

  Kirra nodded briefly and swung her horse around, ready to fall in with the others as soon as they charged into view. Cammon brought his mount alongside hers, but kept his head half turned as if to listen to the conversation of those behind him. The night was so still that Kirra could catch the thrum of hoofbeats before she could glimpse the riders. Donnal loped up beside her a moment or two before the horses appeared, his mouth half open in a lupine grin, and she nodded at him but said nothing. He trotted up to the road, nose down as if to scent for trouble.
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  The hoofbeats grew louder and there they were, both men bent forward in their saddles, traveling fast. Justin swept his arm up in an arc and then pointed forward, but Kirra and Cammon were already in motion. In a tight, fast-moving group, they all raced for the road and kept riding.

  IT was dawn before Justin felt they were safe enough to call a halt. They had not traveled at that breakneck pace the whole time; indeed, they had not even stuck to the main road for more than an hour or two. Kirra had been content to let Justin plan this part of the trip because he was the campaigner, after all, but she essentially agreed with his strategy. Speed and distance for the first part of the escape, then stealth and misdirection. Hard to know how long they might be pursued, but it would be more difficult to find them if they took cross-country ways with no discernible track.