Fortune and Fate (Twelve Houses)

by Sharon Shinn

  “Demaray Coverroe,” Senneth said instantly. “I don’t like her, either.”

  “Cammon is considering whether he ought to attend.”

  “He most certainly should not,” Senneth said. “Because then Coren Bauler and every other Thirteenth House pretender will vie for Cammon’s presence at his house, and we will be put to incredible shifts to keep him safe in all those venues, and we won’t be out of here for a decade at least.”

  “Have Cammon and Jasper Paladar settled all the issues they had to discuss?”

  “On the first or second day we were here, I would imagine,” Senneth said. “Cammon mentioned his idea about assembling a force of guards from all the southern Houses, augmented with royal soldiers, and Jasper seemed agreeable to it. Of course, it probably helped that he knew Nate and Ariane had already approved such a plan,” she added cynically. “He might have resisted a little otherwise, not wanting Fortunalt to appear weak.”

  “Did he consult the serramarra’s opinion?”

  “Cammon or Jasper?” Senneth said. “Because she and Cammon have been practically inseparable since he arrived, and Cammon’s wanted her at every conference.”

  “And Jasper didn’t mind?”

  “It pleased him, I think,” Senneth said reflectively. “He doesn’t strike me as an ambitious man. Competent, yes, and unflinchingly honest. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he is counting the days until he can turn the House over to Karryn. So every time she makes a decision on her own, he feels he is closer to his goal.”

  “Has Cammon achieved his goal, do you think?” Tayse asked.

  She looked over at him, surprised. It was night, and she was already curled up in bed. He had just returned from an informal circuit of the grounds and was slowly pulling off his jacket, his sash, his boots. “What goal?” she said.

  “Whatever reason he had for making this trip. Was it really to tour the southern lands and try to determine how safe they would be for Amalie to visit? Was it to gain some consensus from the Twelve House overseers about putting together a mixed force to patrol the borders? Or was it to find Wen?”

  She sat up straighter in bed. “Surely not even Cammon would believe such a long and expensive journey could be justified by the idea of finding one lost soul?”

  “I actually think it’s the only sort of prize Cammon really thinks is worthwhile.”

  “But—but—all this time—and all these people! Nine Riders and seventy guards! The dinners, the bills at the inns! All to locate a missing woman?”

  Tayse sat on the edge of the bed. “He’d pour all those resources and more into finding you if you tried to disappear.”

  She stared at him. “How did he discover where she was?”

  Tayse shook his head. “I think he always knew. From the day she left. I think he’s kept track of her this whole time.”

  “But why look for her now?”

  “He must have decided she was ready to be found,” he said, blowing out the last candle and sliding under the covers next to her. “It seems he was right.”

  Senneth nestled against him in the dark. “I thought you said she doesn’t want to come back to Ghosenhall.”

  “She doesn’t want to be a Rider again,” Tayse said. “But she’s ready to remember that she was a Rider once. That might be all the healing she’ll be able to do. But Cammon knew that it was enough.”

  TO Senneth’s great delight, the next morning she learned that Cammon had engaged in one of his spectral conversations with Amalie, and the queen had made it clear that she wanted him to begin making his way home. So they would not be staying for Demaray Coverroe’s party that evening—in fact, once they had made their good-byes to their host and hostesses, they would be on their way.

  The farewells, of course, took forever, and naturally every single Rider had to whisper a private message to Wen, which delayed them still more. So it was close to noon before they actually set out. Through some indefinable magic, all the residents of Forten City had learned that the royal consort was leaving, so every crone, every mother, every pickpocket, every vendor, had joined together to create an impassable throng of humanity along the boulevards. Senneth despaired of getting beyond the city limits before sunset, so she was relieved when they managed to break free of town before the afternoon was too far advanced.

  Of course, the main northwest road passed through fairly well-populated territory, and for the remainder of the day they found enthusiastic subjects gathered at every crossroads that intersected their route. By the time they gave it up and asked for rooms at a modest inn in a small town whose entire population had turned out to greet Cammon, Senneth estimated they had made so little progress that a couple hours’ hard riding would see them back at Fortune.

  “At this rate, Ellynor will be back in Ghosenhall before I am, and she was supposed to stay in the Lirrens for two months after I left,” Justin observed.

  “Ceribel will be a woman grown, married with children of her own, before you ever see her again,” Senneth said gloomily.

  He just grinned. “Well, I suppose when Cammon and Amalie make this trip together it’ll be worse,” he said. “I’ll just have to bring Ellynor and Ceribel with me next time.”

  Senneth sighed. No doubt he was right; and no doubt she would be on that trip as well.

  She didn’t bother to rise early, certain that Cammon would be tarrying in the taproom to kiss babies and shake the hands of smiling laborers. But she was surprised, when she wended her way downstairs with her baggage in her hand, to find Cammon conferring with Justin, his boyish face concerned.

  “Justin—Senneth—I think the two of you should go back to Fortune,” he said. “Catch up with us later when you can. I feel safe traveling on with only eight Riders.”

  “What’s wrong?” Senneth demanded.

  It was Justin who answered. “She needs us.”

  For a moment, Senneth thought he meant Karryn, and Cammon instantly began saying something about the serramarra. But a second later Senneth realized that Justin was buckling on his sword and checking his weapons for another reason.

  Wen required his assistance.

  Chapter 35

  AFTER WHAT HAD SURELY BEEN THE NONSTOP GAIETY surrounding Cammon’s visit, Wen would have thought all the nobles in Fortunalt would have wanted to slink back to their own private estates and spend the next few weeks in undisturbed solitude. Apparently not. The very day that Cammon set off for Ghosenhall, Demaray Coverroe had scheduled yet another social event, this one designed to celebrate Lindy’s birthday. It would be a smaller and more intimate dinner than some of the elaborate affairs that had been orchestrated to impress the royal consort, so Wen gathered. Karryn, as Lindy’s closest friend, would be spending the night.

  Which meant Wen would be spending the night at the Coverroe house as well.

  So much for her plans of spending another delightful evening in Jasper Paladar’s bed, as she had every night since she returned from Forten City.

  Wen chose Moss, Eggles, and Malton to join her at the Coverroe house. She thought it would be useful to have another woman in the guard detail in case it was necessary to burst into a room of sleeping girls. Although she supposed if that much danger threatened, not even shrieking young women would care if armed soldiers saw them in their nightclothes.

  The Coverroe guards were by now quite familiar with the Fortune contingent and unsurprised to learn that Karryn’s people would be staying overnight. “We’ll clear out a couple of bunks for you,” the captain said. “I suppose you’ll sleep in shifts.”

  Wen and Eggles were circling the gaudy house, checking everything over, as the other guests began to arrive. Wen was standing back in the shadows when a solitary horseman trotted in on an edgy mount and carelessly tossed his reins to one of the Coverroe grooms.

  Ryne Coravann, of course. He was worse than Cammon, Wen thought irritably. Wasn’t he ever going to go home?

  He didn’t notice her and strode right into the house. Wen ima
gined she heard feminine cries of welcome as he poked his handsome face into whatever salon was serving as tonight’s gathering place.

  Once the handful of guests had arrived, the night became very peaceful. Pacing around the property in the warm dark, Wen caught very little hint of revelry from inside. Now and then she heard a light laugh drift out from an open window, or a few snatches of excited conversation, but for the most part, the birthday celebration appeared to be a tame and lighthearted affair.

  Her own exertions over the past few days had left Wen more tired than she liked to admit, so she opted to sleep first and take a later watch. Eggles and Moss took the early patrol. The bunks in the small barracks were narrower and much less comfortable than the beds provided to the Fortunalt guards. Wen thought that Demaray Coverroe was just the type of woman to spend all her money on extravagant gold doors and none on practical items of real value. Or maybe she lavished funds on herself and her daughter, and let those who served her make do with scraps.

  But Wen had bivouacked in worse conditions, and she easily fell asleep to the sounds of Demaray’s guards snoring. Of course, she slept with her knife still in place on her ankle sheath and another short blade under her pillow. But there was no need for either. She woke a couple of hours after midnight feeling moderately rested. A few ablutions, a hand through her hair, a tug at her vest to shift it back in place, and she was ready to take her watch.

  Malton joined her at the door and they headed out onto the grounds, a little trickier to navigate in the dead of night. But Wen knew the layout well enough to place her feet with a fair degree of certainty. Malton tripped once, and cursed under his breath, but other than that they encountered no obstacles.

  Eggles and Moss were awaiting them at the front gate. “We just walked the perimeter,” Moss greeted them in a low voice. “No trouble.”

  Wen nodded. “Get some rest.”

  Malton made a rude noise. “If you can. Hardest mattress I’ve ever laid on.”

  The veteran Eggles gave Wen a brief smile. She was sure he, too, had slept on worse. “When do you want us up again?” he asked.

  “The servants will probably rise in three or four hours, but I can’t imagine Karryn will be up much before noon,” Wen said. “Sleep five or six hours, then come find us.”

  Moss and Eggles departed. Wen and Malton agreed on a patrol pattern and split up to rove separately for the next couple of hours, meeting at predetermined intervals to compare notes. Malton was yawning every time she saw him, which Wen didn’t like, but he was able to rattle off his impressions of noises from the street and sounds from the house, so she was fairly sure he was paying close attention.

  As for herself, she rather enjoyed the nighttime patrol. She liked the incomplete silence, the eerie way that sound carried, the ominous, portentous sense that anything could happen without a second’s warning. She had trained herself to listen harder at night, relying less on sight and more on hearing; she had also taught herself to sift the breeze for stray scents. She had once detected the presence of an intruder by the smell of onions on his breath.

  Dawn whitened the eastern sky, and there were immediately signs of life in the Coverroe residence. Sounds drifted out first—the rattle of pots, the murmur of conversation—and then came the scents of baking bread and frying meat. The sun hadn’t even completely broken the horizon line when Wen saw a gaggle of servant girls emerge from the kitchen and head for the gate, caps on their heads and baskets over their arms. Off to market for the day’s supply of produce, Wen supposed. She counted seven girls, who were joined at the gate by a single footman, sent out to run errands of his own. Two of the girls instantly fell in step on either side of the young man, casting him flirtatious glances. Wen grinned. The oldest story in the world, retold among the Coverroe staff.

  Another hour and the activity became even more brisk. More footmen stepped out of the front door and began sweeping the porch and the walk. Gardeners appeared, bending over lush flower beds. Four servant girls returned from market, weighed down with purchases. An upstairs window opened and someone shook out a rug. Half of the Coverroe guards emerged from the barracks and began their first sleepy circuit of the yard.

  By about nine in the morning, Moss and Eggles had made their appearance, wheedled food from the cook, and brought their spoils to Wen and Malton. “Any sign of the serra?” Eggles asked, but didn’t look too surprised at Wen’s shake of the head.

  “Do you want us to patrol or work out?” Moss said.

  “Might as well work out,” Wen said. “Their training yard is small, but it’s adequate for a day.”

  An hour later, winded and covered in light sweat, Eggles and Moss checked back with Wen. Malton had returned to the kitchen door to beg for more bread. He was a big man and it took a lot to abate his hunger.

  “I don’t suppose Karryn’s made an appearance,” Eggles said.

  Wen sighed. “Maybe she plans to move in with Lindy.”

  Moss was trying not to yawn. “If that’s so, I’ll have to quit. I don’t like the Coverroe house. I don’t like the barracks, I don’t like the lax attitude of the guards, I don’t think the food is very good, and—well, I don’t like it.”

  “Same here,” Eggles agreed.

  Wen was distracted by the sight of the front door opening again. Not a footman this time—but not Karryn, either. It was Demaray Coverroe, followed closely by Lindy, and both of them looked upset. Lindy, in fact, looked terrified.

  “Something’s wrong,” Wen said shortly, and strode across the lawn. Eggles followed her, and Moss ran to get Malton.

  Demaray Coverroe spotted them when they were twenty yards away. She clutched a shawl more tightly around her shoulders and actually ran across the yard in their direction. Wen felt her stomach harden and all her muscles burn with readiness.

  “Captain—she’s gone,” Demaray panted, almost tripping over the hem of her gown in her haste to get close enough to speak.

  Wen had expected something else—Karryn has fallen ill, Karryn has slipped and injured herself, even Karryn has been attacked by a mad servant in the middle of the night—so at first the words made no sense. “Gone? Where did she go?”

  Demaray shook her head so vigorously her fair curls bounced. She looked like she had been up a couple of hours and had dressed with her usual care, but Lindy, who stumbled up beside her mother at that moment, appeared to have just now risen from her bed. She was wearing a long, heavily embroidered robe over a gauzy nightshirt, and her hair was wildly disordered from sleep.

  “I don’t know!” Demaray exclaimed. “I don’t know where she would have gone or why she would have crept from the house!”

  Wen instantly turned a hard gaze on Lindy. “Tell me,” she said in a fierce voice. “What have you and Karryn been plotting?”

  Lindy had obviously been crying for some time, for her pale skin was blotched and her nose was red. “Nothing! I told my mother! I have no idea why she would have run away in the middle of the night!”

  Wen fastened on that phrase. “That’s when she left? You’re sure of it?”

  Lindy stared at her. “No, I—I just said—it was after two before we got to bed.”

  “Were you sleeping in the same room?”

  “No, she was down the hall. We talked in my room after the party, and then she went out the door and I thought she went to her own room to sleep, but she’s not there—something happened to her—” She dissolved into tears again.

  Wen turned back to Demaray, who was at least calm enough to talk rationally. “Was her bed slept in?”

  Demaray nodded. “Yes. So she spent at least part of the night there.”