The Thirteenth House

by Sharon Shinn

It took a moment for her to realize what he meant, and then she shot him a glance of irritation. He was laughing. She demanded, “Are you, in fact, the sort of man who can be entrusted with a secret?”

  From horseback, he swept her a grand bow. “Serra, I can be trusted with anything you care to bestow on me.”

  She tried not to think of what that list might include—my confidence, my heart—and made her face stern. “Prove yourself first.”

  “That has been my goal since I met you.”

  IT took them two and a half days to make it to Coravann Keep, passing through landscape that was increasingly hilly and harsh. The Keep itself was a dour fortress within view of the Lireth Mountains. Kirra had not remembered how close it was to the Lirrenlands, if you discounted the effort it would take to cross the inhospitable Lireth range. She remembered the strange, cautious men she had seen on the streets of Kianlever Court and thought they might see even more of the Lirrenfolk here at the Keep.

  Although they were not, at first, particularly evident. As if to make up for the grimness of its central feature, the city surrounding Coravann Keep was a joyful little place of small, pretty buildings, wide boulevards, and excessive flowers. Someone had gone to some trouble to anticipate the arrival of their party, for as soon as the procession passed through the city gates they were greeted by cheering crowds lined up on both sides of the main street. Children threw rose petals before the wheels of the lead carriage and young boys climbed each other’s shoulders to watch them pass by. Kirra caught music from a dozen different sources as individual choirs greeted them with snatches of melody. Up and down the double line of the throng, the chants rose up: “Amalie! Amalie! Amalie!”

  “Oh, this is delightful,” Kirra said to Melly as she stretched out the window to see as many of the faces as she could. Up there was a juggler; over there, someone who looked like an acrobat. She could smell meat frying and beer heating up in the sun. “It’s like a fair day. The Festival of Amalie.”

  “I’d be frightened to have so many people calling out to me like that,” Melly said.

  “The princess doesn’t seem to scare too easily.”

  She was not surprised when her carriage halted behind the other two coaches as they came to a stop. “She’s getting out,” Kirra guessed. “So am I, then.”

  Indeed, her feet had barely touched the cobblestones before she saw Amalie, Valri, and Senneth disembark from the lead carriage. Valri looked unhappy about the decision, but as she joined the others, Kirra saw a faint smile on Senneth’s face. They waited until the four Riders dismounted and formed a rectangle of protection around Amalie, then the eight of them moved to the very front of the procession. There was a great cheer when Amalie first stepped into view and waved at the crowd. No one surged close enough to try to touch her, though, no doubt discouraged by the upraised swords held in the Riders’ hands.

  They proceeded through the winding streets of the Keep city, encountering residents at every corner. Amalie and the Riders stayed in the lead, Valri a few paces behind, Senneth and Kirra side by side behind her. Now and then Amalie paused to kneel on the stone road so a little girl could run up and throw a garland over her head. Twice she accepted gifts from boys who darted past the Riders to press something in her hand. No adults approached her; no apparent danger lurked in the open doors and windows of the buildings fronting the road. But Amalie’s guards were ready for it if it were to come. Kirra gradually became aware that she was starting to sweat from a reaction to warmth much greater than the summer day would seem to warrant. Only then did she realize that Senneth was generating waves of heat, her body at a fever pitch to deliver fire if fire was suddenly called for.

  She glanced up and spotted Donnal overhead, gliding above them on outstretched wings. “Hawk,” she said to Senneth with a note of satisfaction.

  Senneth nodded. Her eyes never left Amalie’s back. “Won’t protect her against an arrow,” she said. “I’m hoping Cammon can do that. One cry from him and Tayse hauls her to the ground.”

  “I don’t understand this girl,” Kirra said, “but I’m starting to really like her.”

  A smile for that. “I feel exactly the same way.”

  By the time they finally reached the Keep, Kirra was feeling hot and just a little grumpy. It did not exactly cheer her up to pass between the spiked metal gates and stride up to the fortress itself, built entirely of a charred-looking black stone that had probably been quarried in the Lireth Mountains. Still, the reception at the doors was gratifying. Heffel Coravann was there to greet them, bowing low to Amalie, taking Valri’s hand in a warm clasp, thanking all of them for coming. His servants distributed themselves efficiently among the party, taking charge of luggage, offering to lead travelers to their rooms.

  “Welcome to Coravann!” Heffel called out, turning away from Valri to include the whole lot of them. He was big, somewhat bearlike, somewhat clumsy, with a florid face and dark hair just beginning to gray. A powerful man starting to show his age, Kirra thought. She knew that her father liked him. This made her believe he was much more astute than he might first appear. “I am very glad to have you here.”

  To Kirra’s surprise, Senneth was not entirely pleased at the idea of her attending the Shadow Ball. “It seems dangerous,” Senneth said. “If there are indeed malcontents gathering at these events—”

  “Then I’ll get a firsthand look at them.”

  “They are hardly likely to draw you aside and confide their plans for insurrection,” Senneth retorted.

  “They’re hardly likely to pull me aside to kill me, either.”

  “No, but Romar might not be so safe.”

  “He’ll bring his men.”

  “I wonder if Justin should go with you.”

  “Romar would rather have all the Riders watching Amalie.”

  “I’ll see what Tayse thinks.”

  Tayse didn’t share Senneth’s concerns, or if he did, he considered both Kirra and Romar expendable, because the very next night, Kirra was dressing to attend the Shadow Ball. Melly was horrified that Kirra would waste her time attending such an inferior event and refused to let her wear any of her best gowns, but Kirra thought Casserah looked striking anyway in a dress of muted gold. She wore her ruby pendant and a simple hairstyle and decided she would be the equal of any lady at the gathering.

  She had not really considered the logistics of the trip until she met Romar in the great, gloomy foyer of the Keep and glanced out at the courtyard. Yes, of course; they would need to take a coach to cover the ten or fifteen miles to the estates of Bat Templeson, where the ball was to be held. It was still daylight now, which would cut down on whatever romance the situation might inspire, but it would be well past midnight by the time they were traveling back.

  She hadn’t thought about that. Whether or not Senneth realized it, this might be the real reason the Shadow Ball was not such a good idea.

  “You look lovely,” Romar said, acknowledging her with a bow. “Shall we go?”

  The trip out, at least, was passed in comfortable conversation. They watched the unfolding countryside and commented on any features that caught their eyes—attractive estates, roadside taverns, a field green with some crop neither of them could identify. Behind them on the road Kirra could occasionally catch the sounds of twenty men and horses as Romar’s guards followed. She was surprised to find herself, even so, just a bit nervous about their safety should they actually be attacked on Templeson’s lands. She did not think any soldiers could be matched alongside Tayse and the other Riders. And, after all, Merrenstow men were the ones who had yielded Romar up to abductors on the road to Tilt. No, she did not feel particularly well defended—but then, she was perfectly capable of defending herself.

  It was close to dark by the time they arrived at the Templeson estate, a large, well-built mansion just now overflowing with light and music. Romar helped Kirra from the coach and kept her hand linked through his elbow as they approached the front door, where three men waited.
Two were servants, poised to answer any need; one was their host. Both Kirra and Casserah had actually met Bat Templeson a couple of times, for he had been to Danalustrous. He was a short, good-looking, voluble man who seemed to possess inexhaustible energy. He had always seemed bent on proving himself to be an invaluable ally.

  She imagined nothing could have made him happier than the regent’s appearance at his door.

  “Lord Romar! Such a pleasure to see you! My humble house is most honored by your presence!” His bow would have been acceptable to the king. “Bettany! Come see who has graced our ball.”

  The lady of the house hurried over, a small dark-haired woman who seemed to have energy to match her husband’s. “Lord Romar! We were so pleased to get your note yesterday. Everyone is looking forward to meeting you. Let me take you in and make some introductions.”

  “First, I would like to present my companion,” he said, resisting the lady’s attempt to devour him on the spot.

  Kirra held her hand out to Bat. “You know me, I think, though it has been a while since you were in Danan Hall.”

  “Serra Casserah!” he exclaimed, shaking her hand with great vigor. “No one told me you would be here.”

  “Perhaps Lord Romar omitted me from his note.”

  “Oh, but there are others here who could have spread the word. Erin Sohta is here tonight, and Berric Fann. They did not so much as mention your name!”

  Kirra laughed at that while she mentally reviewed whether she would have to avoid the people she knew. No; there was no disgrace to attending the ball, and neither Erin nor her uncle should have any reason to know that Casserah was safely back at Danan Hall. “I have been traveling casually and choosing events as they suited me,” she said. “They did not know I would attend.”

  “Besides them, do you have friends here? Do you need me to make introductions?”

  “I am able to fend for myself, thank you. You have other guests even now arriving at your door.”

  “Yes—well—look for Bettany if you find yourself at a loss,” he said. “She will match you up with someone you will like.”

  At the moment, however, the lady of the house seemed more determined to promenade around the room with the regent on her arm. Kirra slipped away from the two of them and eased herself into the ballroom alone. She took a moment to glance around at the furnishings and decorations and found them understated and pleasing, all soft hues and summer flowers. The ladies on the dance floor were dressed as exquisitely as any serramarra, and they all wore jeweled pendants sized as if to cover housemarks, which none of them had. She could not help but notice that a high percentage of the pendants were moonstones and that a disproportionate number of the men wore the black-and-silver colors that Coralinda Gisseltess had appropriated as her own. More than a few also sported pieces of jewelry shaped like small red flowers. The crest of Gisseltess. Apparently a few of Halchon’s vassals had chosen to attend the Shadow Ball in Coravann.

  She could hardly start pacing around the ballroom, introducing herself at random, so she looked for one of the people she knew. Erin Sohta was immediately visible half a room away, her dark hair splendidly set off by the Danalustrous red of her gown. She did not spot Berric, and there was no sign of Beatrice, who might not have accompanied him anyway. She was surprised Berric was here; he was not overly social. But perhaps he had some connection with Bat Templeson. Or perhaps he had been in the mood to mingle.

  Before she could cross the room to catch Erin’s attention, she felt a hand on her arm. “Serra Casserah? I didn’t know you were coming here tonight.”

  It was Heffel Coravann’s daughter, a rangy girl with her father’s height and darkness but a rather sharper set of features. “Lauren.” Kirra greeted her with a smile. “I accompanied the regent, who wanted someone to make him look respectable. I didn’t know anyone from the great House would be attending.”

  “My brother and I are both here. My father thinks it is an important gesture of goodwill, and I agree. But my brother is—” She compressed her lips and tried to smooth a look of fury from her face.

  “Your brother is behaving badly,” Kirra guessed. “Drinking too much, perhaps?”

  “Yes! I’m so angry with him I don’t know how I’ll stand to ride home with him tonight.”

  “Worry about that later,” Kirra suggested. “Try to enjoy yourself for now. Introduce me to a few of your father’s favorite lords.”

  So that was pleasant enough, circling through the ballroom in company with someone who was clearly much beloved. It was always a good sign, Kirra thought, when the vassals felt a fondness for the heirs of the House; it generally meant the marlord’s rule had been benevolent. More than one of them used their brief moment in Lauren’s company to bring up a business matter or air a minor complaint, and Kirra was impressed with the girl’s quick and competent answers.

  She was surprised to be introduced to three men and two women who bore a curious resemblance to each other, who were dressed in clothes of very expensive fabric but extremely plain design, and who made almost no attempt at conversation. Both women wore their hair in tight rolls pinned at the base of their skulls; their demure gowns were ornamented by fine brooches set with black opals. Each of the men, dressed in even more somber colors, wore weapons belts hung with knives or swords. They all sized Kirra up with frankly measuring eyes. She could not tell what verdict they passed on her before they gave small bows and walked unceremoniously away.

  “Well!” she exclaimed in an undervoice. “That was very odd.”

  Lauren glanced at her. “Don’t be offended. They don’t like strangers. But they consider it an honor to be invited to these events and assume it would be a great rudeness to refuse, so they make some effort to attend. They will be at my father’s ball in two days as well.”

  “Are they—I’m not sure—are they from the Lirrens?”

  Lauren nodded. “My father has established trading partnerships with a few families on the other side of the mountains. He works very hard at maintaining them because the business is lucrative, but he says no one else is as difficult to deal with and he is always afraid he will make a mistake. It was easier when my mother was alive, of course.”

  Kirra was at a loss. “Because—?”

  “My mother was a Lirren girl.”

  Kirra felt her eyebrows spike. “I thought Lirren girls never married outsiders. I thought if they took a lover from over the mountains, that their fathers and brothers would hunt that man down and kill him.”

  A very small smile came to Lauren’s lips. “Yes. And there’s truth to that. Someday see if you can get my father to recount the tale of my mother’s wooing.”

  “And do you know any of your mother’s relatives?”

  “Many of them, in fact. Uncles, cousins, second cousins—there is a whole vast clan network, but it would take me a day to explain to you how all of them are related.”

  Kirra laughed softly. “And I thought my own family was strange.”

  Lauren was still smiling. “Every family is.”

  They continued their circuit through the room. Those wearing moonstones and Gisseltess heraldry remained aloof as they were introduced to Kirra. Everyone else seemed delighted that another serramarra had attended their gathering. Lauren was pulled into yet another conversation about some tithing problem, and apologized to Kirra with her eyes as the grievance ran long.

  Kirra touched her on the arm. “I see someone I know,” she said, and slipped away.

  Berric was standing by himself near a refreshment table, his heavyset body straining at his fine jacket and waistcoat. His face was drawn into a frown, but he didn’t appear to be focusing his displeasure on anyone or anything in particular. Rather, he looked as if he was mulling over something and was not sure he liked his conclusion. Kirra grinned. Beatrice always claimed Berric was as grouchy as a water-soaked cat, but it was a side he rarely showed to Kirra. He was always pleased to see her, and she was delighted to encounter him in this unlik
ely place.

  She snagged a glass of wine for him and water for herself and held out the wine to him as she approached. “You look deep in distressing thought,” she said gaily. “Perhaps this will clear your mind.”

  His hand automatically reached for the glass, but his face did not, as she expected, miraculously clear. “Serra,” he said in a flat voice. “This is the last place I would have expected to see you.”

  She was so surprised that she nearly dropped the goblet before he could take it from her fingers. She almost exclaimed, “Uncle! What’s the matter?” before she remembered.

  She was not Kirra. She was Casserah.

  Berric and Beatrice hated Casserah.

  She never made mistakes like that. Never.

  She sipped from her water to cover her momentary confusion. “Perhaps you did not know that I have been traveling for the summer season,” she said at last, her voice now as cool as her sister’s would have been. “Part of my father’s plan to renew friendships between Danalustrous and the other great Houses.”