Fortune and Fate (Twelve Houses)

by Sharon Shinn

  “Maid for the serra,” the soldier gave as his concise explanation of Wen’s presence. “Supposed to let her in.”

  One of the upstairs guards came slowly to his feet, giving Wen a comprehensive examination accompanied by a knowing smile. The other guard was too absorbed in plotting his cruxanno strategy to do more than spare Wen a cursory look. He was obviously too stupid to recognize a threat when he saw one, but the standing guard, although he misread Wen, had at least taken the trouble to assess her. He would be the more dangerous one. He would be the one to disarm first.

  “Another lovely lady come to help us pass the time,” said the guard who’d looked her over. “What’s your name?”

  “My name is none of your business,” Wen said rudely, tossing her head. “Just let me in so I can see to my job.”

  He produced a key and dangled it before her. “You know once you go in there, I got to lock the door behind you,” he said in a teasing voice. “You’ll have to be nice to me if you want me to let you leave.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Wen said. “Can I go in now? Please? Is that nice enough for you?”

  “Nice enough to get in, not nice enough to get out,” he said with a grin, and unlocked the door.

  He stepped in a pace ahead of Wen, blocking her view somewhat, but she glanced swiftly around the room. It was just as she remembered from that last visit—full of white furniture and blue accents and as much light as the small windows allowed. She heard Karryn before she could see her, sounding as if she sat up quickly from a supine posture on the bed.

  “Who’s there? What do you want?” Karryn demanded. Her voice was icy, though Wen could detect a tremor that Karryn was clearly trying to conceal.

  “Lady Demaray sent you a maid so you don’t have to be afraid that me and the others’ll help you bathe,” the soldier said with a laugh. “Ain’t that thoughtful of her, now?”

  “I don’t want any of Lady Demaray’s thoughtfulness, thank you very much,” Karryn said. “You can send her away.”

  “Well, she’s here and I think she’s staying,” the soldier said, moving aside and gesturing Wen forward.

  Wen instantly dropped into a deep curtsey, her head down. The sweet gods knew this was the most dangerous moment of all. If Karyn gasped with astonishment when she recognized Wen’s face—if she called Wen by name—the guards would instantly realize something was wrong. It would be a matter of seconds before they would all be in a bloody fight that none of them might survive.

  Chapter 38

  WEN HELD HER CURTSEY LONG ENOUGH TO TAKE A DEEP breath and figure out just where she would strike the guard if he made a sudden move toward her. Speaking in a subdued voice, she said, “I promise to serve you well, serra,” and lifted her head to gaze at Karryn.

  Karryn’s face was a mask of coldness. “You could serve me best by going directly back to Fortune and telling my uncle where I am.”

  For a split second, Wen thought Karryn actually had not recognized her. But Karryn’s gaze was unwavering on Wen’s face and her eyes showed a flare of excitement.

  The guard didn’t notice. “I don’t think anyone’s going back to Fortune anytime soon,” he said. “You two behave real good, now, and maybe there will be a little supper later.” Laughing, he shut and locked the door.

  Wen put her finger to her lips to enjoin Karryn’s silence, but Karryn couldn’t maintain her stony expression a second longer. She mouthed, “Willa!” and flew across the room to throw her arms around Wen. Wen could feel the girl’s body shaking with tears and terror. She made shushing sounds and stroked the tangled hair as Karryn clung to her.

  A moment only, then Karryn pulled away. “How did you find me?” she breathed. “How did you know?”

  “It took us a while to piece it together,” Wen admitted in an under-voice. “Demaray told us you’d disappeared from your room, and at first we thought you’d run away—”

  “Demaray!” Karryn exclaimed, even her whisper filled with loathing. “Willa, she kidnapped me! But she told you I had run away? Why would I do that?”

  “We found a little token under your pillow,” Wen said, watching Karryn’s face. “Coravann colors.”

  “You thought I had run off with Ryne?” Karryn was aghast.

  “Well,” said Wen, trying not to smile, “I was deeply disappointed. I had been so sure you were more sensible now.”

  “Oh, Jasper and my mother must have been so upset! Willa, I would never run away like that! Not now! Not when I understand—” She shook her head.

  “But Demaray made a very good case,” Wen said. “She showed us your room, where we found no sign of a struggle. What happened? Were you sleeping when soldiers came for you?”

  “I was sleeping, but Demaray is the one who came in,” Karryn said in a bitter voice. “She said a messenger had come from Fortune needing to see me right away. So, of course, I hurried downstairs, but there was no messenger. Only a couple of soldiers. I didn’t have time to scream,” she added. “I knew you must be just outside, and if I could only make enough noise—but they put a cloth over my mouth and tied my hands, and then they carried me somewhere. Then a few hours later they put me in a coach and brought me here. They brought my clothes along, too, or I’d still be in my nightshirt. I’ve been going crazy, sitting here, wondering what would happen next. I knew you must be worried about me—but I thought you would have no idea where I was—”

  “It took us longer to figure it out than it should have,” Wen said. “For which I’m sorry. I should never have gone chasing after Ryne without searching the house first. But she seemed so sure—”

  “But why would Demaray do this to me?” Karryn said. “I don’t understand.”

  “We’re only guessing,” Wen said. “She’s been angling to have Lindy married off to Deloden Maller’s son—”

  “Lindy hates him!”

  “But he inherits Fortune after you,” Wen said. “And once you’re dead—”

  Karryn’s sudden change in expression made Wen snap her mouth shut mid-sentence. She’d never seen such controlled rage on Karryn’s girlish face. “She would murder me for a title,” she said in a flat and furious voice. “After all this time of pretending to be my friend.”

  Wen nodded. “We believe she sent the men to kill you on the road from the Flyten house. She knew you were going there, after all—it would have been easy for her to set the trap.”

  “Why am I not dead now? Since she has had several hours to kill me.”

  “Money,” Wen said. “We got a ransom note before I left. She seems to have beggared herself in the pursuit of high status. Once your uncle pays the demand, though, I expect your life span to be very short.” She smiled. “Or, well, it would have been, except we’re here.”

  Some of the rage faded from Karryn’s face. “Who accompanied you?”

  The question pleased Wen, and she reeled off the names. “Then Justin came riding up with Senneth, because Cammon had sensed you were in trouble,” Wen finished up. “So we have a Rider on our side, which will be very handy. Oh, and Ryne insisted on coming, too.”

  That surprised Karryn more than anything Wen had said so far. Surprised her and pleased her. “Ryne? Is here? To rescue me?”

  “Using some of his Lirren magic to help, as a matter of fact,” Wen said. “I don’t know yet if he’ll be an asset or a hindrance, but there was no keeping him in Forten City, so here he is.”

  Karryn took a deep breath. “What do we do next? Were you able to smuggle a sword in with you?”

  Wen laughed silently. “I was not. But I know how to get one.”

  She quickly outlined the plan. Karryn immediately went to her little valise and pulled out a length of cherry-red ribbon. “You can hang that out of the window,” she said. “That will be easy to see.”

  Together they moved to the bank of tall, slitted windows set into the wall. Bryce hadn’t been able to tell which room was Karryn’s, so Wen had made sure that the Fortunalt guards were watching all
of the upper-story windows. She waited until the next pair of Demaray’s guards sauntered past, then she dangled the ribbon outside, letting it flutter in the light breeze. Not too long—she didn’t know how quickly the next patrol would round the corner.

  Now they would have to wait until someone fetched Moss, and the next set of guards strolled by.

  It was about ten minutes before she heard footsteps and low voices below, and two more hired soldiers stepped into view. One made a remark and the other laughed. But their eyes were busy checking out the woods surrounding them, and their hands never strayed far from their hilts. Wen stood motionless at the window and watched them pass.

  The instant they were out of sight, she trained her eyes on the patch of undergrowth visible from her vantage point. Slowly, jerkily, sifting itself out of the thicket of interwoven branches, a long, slim shape lifted above the woods and wobbled through unsupported air straight toward the narrow window. There was a minor clatter as the metal bumped against the stone of the wall, and it was quickly clear that it would take a masterful hand to guide the sword through the constricted opening. Wen shot her hand out, closed it on the hilt, and pulled the weapon inside. She felt a slight frisson of magic wash over her wrist and dissipate.

  Karryn gave a muffled crow of triumph and clapped her hands together soundlessly. Wen grinned. “One of the best days of my life was when I invited that woman to sign on,” she said.

  Karryn was peering out the window. “Here comes something else. Smaller. Oh, I think it’s your knife.”

  Sure enough, the slim little dagger came dancing up to the window next, and Wen grabbed it as soon as it was close enough. She looked at Karryn. “It never occurred to me,” she said. “But you might as well be armed, too. You might surprise them a little.”

  Karryn glowed with a surge of bloodlust. “Oh, yes! See if Moss can send me a sword, too.”

  So Wen flicked the red ribbon out the window again once the way was clear, hoping that Moss would guess why she wanted the extra weapon. They had to wait while another patrol went by, but, gods and goddesses, here it came, a delicate, deadly short sword that Wen recognized as Moss’s favorite secondary weapon. Karryn took it from Wen’s hands with every evidence of delight.

  “Now what?” the serramarra demanded.

  “Now we give them a few moments to get into position to attack,” Wen said. “I told them to move when they heard you shriek. I suppose you can produce a nice terrified scream, can’t you?”

  Karryn nodded eagerly. “I’ve been wanting to scream since Demaray woke me up this morning,” she said. “You just wait and see how loud I can be.”

  It was all Wen could do not to burst into laughter. She was suddenly flooded with the purest euphoria—part of it was battle adrenaline, she knew, and part of it was overwhelming relief at finding Karryn alive and whole.

  And part of it was the strangest, most inappropriate belief that life was good, that she was where she was supposed to be, surrounded by people she trusted absolutely, about to fight for an entirely worthwhile cause. Layered beneath it all was the conviction that she was the champion, she was the key, the unexpected stroke of good luck.

  “Stand a little way back from the door—hold your arm so no one will see your weapon,” Wen whispered, setting herself in position. “Ready? Raise your voice.”

  Karryn loosed the most dramatic screech Wen had ever heard, high-pitched, hysterical, and very loud. Wen widened her eyes in astonishment, trying not to laugh, and heard the guards outside scramble to their feet and start pounding on the door.

  “Serra! What’s wrong?” one of them called, but Karryn only screamed again, the sound even more agonized. Wen heard the scrape of the key in the lock.

  The door burst open and both men came barreling through. They had their swords ready, but neither was really expecting an attack. Wen swept her blade in a roundhouse swing that caught the lead soldier hard in the chest. Not enough to kill him, but surely enough to stop him for a while. He grunted, gasped, and went down, clutching his torso.

  Unfortunately, he was the stupid one. His smarter companion instantly grasped the situation and leapt for Wen, his sword already flashing. Wen parried easily, pretty sure she could win any one-on-one battle, but keeping a wary eye on the wounded man and an ear cocked for commotion down the hall.

  “Karryn!” she called. “Close the door! Lock it if you can!”

  Her opponent growled and lunged for her, a blow that was harder to deflect. He had a lot of power, and it was fueled by rage. She skipped backward, hampered more than she’d expected by the limitations of the dress, and he came after her, raining blows. She fended him off, waiting for an opening, watching for a weakness.

  From downstairs came a sudden uproar—voices shouting, furniture smashing, swords engaging—so at least some of the Fortunalt guards were in the house. Could be good, could be bad, depending on the balance of the numbers. Karryn, Wen was able to see, had snaked the key from the hurt guard and locked the bedroom door from the inside. Good girl.

  But, oh no, the wounded guard was pushing himself to his feet. His shirt was covered with blood, but he still had his sword in his fist—he might not have been as disabled as Wen had hoped. She must finish off this one before the second one recovered.

  Accordingly, she went on the attack, slicing through the soldier’s guard, nicking his shoulder, his arm, his stomach. He was quick, though; he pulled back each time before she could do real damage. Better than she’d thought he would be. She still had the edge, but a man like this could get lucky, could land a crippling blow—and if she tripped one more time in these damned skirts—

  Her opponent raised his sword for a hard overhanded blow just as the second soldier lurched over to stand beside him. No time for finesse. Wen spun aside as the blade descended, felt it glance along her left shoulder and tear through the muscles of her left arm, and then she spun back. He hadn’t recovered from the effort of the swing. She drove straight forward, burying the point of her sword in his heart. He cried out, coughed, gasped, and fell.

  Wen whirled to face the second danger and found the wounded guard groaning facedown on the floor. Karryn was standing over him, the bloodied blade in her hand and a fierce expression on her face. Her dress was splattered with red.

  “Serra!” Wen exclaimed. “I’m impressed!”

  Karryn gazed at her, her face alight with excitement and horror. “He was coming after you! I wanted to stop him.”

  “And stop him you did.”

  Karryn stared down at the soldier, writhing on the floor. “Is he—will he die?”

  “He might,” Wen said. “I’m not staying to nurse him.”

  Karryn nodded, but before she could say anything, there was a furious pounding at the door. “Wen! Serra!” came Justin’s voice. “Are you in there? The house is ours.”

  “We’re here! We’re safe!” Wen called back. “Give us a moment—we’ve locked ourselves in.”

  Karryn flew to the door and quickly turned the key. An instant later Justin and Orson were muscling through. Ryne was right behind them. Justin gave the room one comprehensive look—just in case enemies were still lurking, just in case Wen had been forced to lie—but Ryne leapt straight over the bodies to fling his arms around Karryn. Karryn, Wen noted with interest, melted into his embrace, her ferocity vanishing in a sudden splash of tears.

  Justin relaxed, though he still didn’t sheathe his sword. “What happened?” Wen asked.

  “As planned,” Orson said. “The serramar slipped into the house while you were introducing yourself. Opened the windows to the library and four of us managed to get inside. The rest were in place to take on the soldiers on patrol. Then it was just a matter of waiting for the right moment. Serra Karryn,” he said, turning to address her, “you could take up a position on the stage. I’ve never heard such a convincing scream. We actually thought you were being murdered.”