by Sharon Shinn
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Ace Books by Sharon Shinn
MYSTIC AND RIDER
THE THIRTEENTH HOUSE
DARK MOON DEFENDER
READER AND RAELYNX
FORTUNE AND FATE
ARCHANGEL
JOVAH’S ANGEL
THE ALLELUIA FILES
ANGELICA
ANGEL-SEEKER
WRAPT IN CRYSTAL
THE SHAPE-CHANGER’S WIFE
HEART OF GOLD
SUMMERS AT CASTLE AUBURN
JENNA STARBORN
Viking / Firebird Books by Sharon Shinn
THE SAFE-KEEPER’S SECRET
THE TRUTH-TELLER’S TALE
THE DREAM-MAKER’S MAGIC
GENERAL WINSTON’S DAUGHTER
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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This is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2008 by Sharon Shinn.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
eISBN : 978-1-440-60237-5
I. Title.
PS3569.H499F67 2008
813’ .54—dc22
2008031818
http://us.penguingroup.com
To Matt,
who’s read my manuscripts by flashlight
on the long drives to Chicago,
and who particularly liked this one;
And to the rest of his family,
Shari, Rich, and Jessica,
my eternal houseguests.
Gillengaria
Chapter 1
KARRYN WAS SO GRATEFUL TO STEP OUT OF THE COACH that her legs practically buckled under her as her feet touched the ground. Only Tover’s hard hold on her arm kept her more or less upright. He hauled her through a muddy yard and toward the open door of a rather rundown tavern. Stumbling along behind him, Karryn glanced around, trying to get a sense of where they might be. The land was level and sparsely decorated with trees, so they might still be in northwestern Fortunalt. They had traveled fast, but she didn’t think they had been on the road long enough to make it to Rappengrass.
But it was unlikely Tover planned to take her to Rappengrass anyway, she thought, as she tripped along behind him through the inn’s yard. He knew a search party would have set out after them almost immediately; he would want to find the quickest and most convenient place to hole up, and that meant staying within the Fortunalt borders. She shuddered. They had been traveling since about noon yesterday, and every hour had been utterly miserable, but she had felt relatively safe as long as they were on the move. Tover had shown no disposition to ravish her in the uncomfortable confines of the coach. But once they took refuge someplace with a room and a bed . . .
Fresh panic swept through her. Did Tover plan to book accommodations here, wherever here was? She cast another glance behind her as Tover jerked her closer to the door. A half dozen other vehicles had come to rest inside the muddy yard. Some of the drivers were changing horses, but others appeared to merely be breaking their journey long enough to take a meal. Karryn hadn’t been able to see much through the coach windows, but it had been clear that they were in a particularly desolate stretch of countryside, and this might be the only posting station for miles. A few saddled horses were also tied up outside the inn, munching on oats while their riders apparently ate breakfast inside.
Karryn’s spirits rose a little. If there were many people in the taproom, she could cry out for help. Someone might recognize her or at least be willing to come to her assistance. She would have to be careful—she needed a matron traveling with her children, or sober and liveried soldiers from some nobleman’s house guard. She did not want to fall into the hands of some skilled swordsman who would save her from Tover and then turn out to be worse. Her mother had long terrified her with stories of bandits who would kidnap little girls and torture them in ways so grotesque that Serephette had not even been able to describe them. Only now, at the age of sixteen, did Karryn understand that her mother had probably been referring to rape, not dismemberment and slow death. Though rape, should it come, would be bad enough—even if it were not at the hands of some land-less mercenary.
For Tover Banlish was a serlord’s son who hoped to marry his way to fortune by eloping with a serramarra. Karryn had refused his clumsy offer a little too forcefully, and he had decided to take matters into his own hands.
At the door to the tavern he suddenly yanked her around to face him, leaning forward and speaking in a menacing whisper.
“Don’t try to cause trouble inside,” he hissed. If he hadn’t been scowling, and if she hadn’t hated him, she might have thought he was attractive, for he had pleasant features framed by fine brown hair. But his blue eyes were icy and every line of his body tensed with threat. “If you so much as try to speak to anyone, I swear I’ll t
hrottle you and declare you’ve fainted. And if you misbehave here, I won’t let you out of the coach again until we’ve reached our destination.”
She wanted to spit in his face, but she was desperate to get inside, relieve herself, and eat something. They had only stopped four times since they started out. She was almost as mad from discomfort as she was from fear.
“You must allow me access to a chamber pot, or I’ll soil the interior of your coach,” she said.
He leaned even closer, sneered even more. “I’ll take you myself to whatever room provides such an amenity,” he said. “Just remember. Be good—or be sorry.”
He waited for her affirmative. She hesitated, because she hated him so much; she wanted to step inside that doorway and start screaming hysterically. But fear dominated her even more than hatred did. She did not want to risk losing the opportunity to take advantage of whatever amenities this place offered.
So she nodded once, sharply. He pushed open the door and pulled her into the taproom, where again she almost fainted at the welcome warmth of the air and the delicious scents coming from the kitchen. She must have closed her eyes. When she opened them, a ragged-looking girl was approaching and waving them toward an unoccupied table.
“I suppose you want breakfast?” she was saying.
“Yes,” Tover replied. “Eggs and sausage for us and our driver. Ale for my driver and me, and milk for my sister. But first—is there a place my sister can have a moment’s privacy? We’ve been in the coach for hours.”
The girl pointed down a narrow hallway. “I’ll put in your order,” she said, and turned away.
The “privacy” accommodations were smelly but infinitely better than a bush on the side of the road, and Karryn used the pitcher of chilly water to wash her face as well as her hands. No mirror in the small room, but she supposed that was just as well. She could only imagine how she looked, with her thick dark hair in unmanageable tangles and her green gown irretrievably wrinkled. Her face, usually rather ruddy of complexion, was no doubt pinched and a little pale. All in all, she probably looked as mad as Tover would claim she was if she began to throw any kind of tantrum.
She rejoined him and followed him to the table, casting surreptitious glances around the taproom as she went. Her heart sank. None of the occupants looked likely to offer her aid. At one table sat two ancient women accompanied by a granddaughter or a paid companion. At another table was a boisterous family, four shrieking children and their young and hapless parents. One solitary traveler sat up near the bar, a stocky, rather short, brown-haired man—or perhaps it was a woman—eating breakfast with a single-minded attention. A few rather villainous-looking men sat together or apart, some talking, some dicing, some looking morosely out the window.
No rescue to be hoped for from any quarter.
The unkempt barmaid approached their table bearing three large, steaming platters, and Karryn felt her stomach turn over. Food, that was what she needed. Once she ate something, she would be able to think more clearly. She would be able to figure out a plan.
She was forking up her second bite when they were joined by the driver, who pulled up a seat next to Tover. He was big, bald, and burly, with enormous hands. He had spoken very little so far on this journey, and not at all to Karryn, but she was more afraid of him than she was of Tover. There was something wicked about the way he watched her with his slitted black eyes. He wore so many weapons on his belt that he jangled every time he moved.
“Rear mare’s thrown a shoe,” he said to Tover as he reached for his glass of ale. “Take another thirty minutes before the smith here can get to her.”
Tover looked annoyed, then he nodded. “All right. Did you have the whole team unhitched and fed?”
The driver nodded. “How much farther do you want to go today? We’ll need to change the horses before long.”
“We have another fifty miles to cover, mostly on back roads.”
The driver nodded again. “You’re going to have to take the reins, then, because I’m about dead. Unless you want to stop here for a few hours and let me sleep.”
Tover glanced around the room. “Not here. Too well-traveled.”
The driver looked over at Karryn and gave her a leering smile. She shrank back into her chair, trying to make herself too small to merit his attention. “Think her prissy uncle’s going to be riding after her to make a daring rescue?” he said with a sneer.
Tover snorted. “Jasper Paladar couldn’t rescue a cat from a garbage pail,” he replied. “Still. There are guards in Forten City who were loyal to Rayson Fortunalt. Paladar could round them up to come riding after Rayson’s daughter.”
The guard was still smiling at Karryn. “Think your uncle Jasper’s going to come after you anytime soon?” he asked in a crooning voice. “Come riding up on a big old stallion like some storybook hero?”
Without thinking, Karryn snatched up the salt cellar from the middle of the table, intending to fling it in the driver’s smug face. Tover’s palm slammed down over her wrist, pinning her hand to the table and nearly breaking the bones.
“I warned you to behave,” he said icily into her ear. “You’re a serramarra—show some decorum.”
She was trying not to whimper, but his hold was so painful that it was hard to swallow the sound. She stared down at the scarred table, despising both of them.
“Look at me,” Tover said in a slightly louder voice. “Serra—look at me.” He pressed down on her wrist even more heavily. She smothered a yelp and looked up. He was staring at her with those cold blue eyes, and for the moment he looked even more dangerous than his companion.
“You will not throw things at Darvis,” Tover said in a slow, deliberate voice. “You will not do anything to draw attention to yourself. Or I will rent a room here for the day and effectively make you my wife in this very inn. If you do not behave very, very well, that is exactly what will happen. Do you understand? Is that what you want?”
Between the pain and the fear, Karryn almost could not draw breath. She stared up at him; nothing registered but his face. Outside the outline of his cheekbones and earlobes there was only formless white space—nothing. No humanity, no hope, no rescue. She nodded.
“No,” she choked out. “Please. Not here. Let us travel on.”
Now Tover lifted one finger to stroke her cheek. “You hear that, Darvis? The serramarra is not impressed by the squalid accommodations of roadside inns. She wants the luxury and comfort of Banlish Manor.”
She could hear the grin still in Darvis’s voice. “I think you’re missing a bet if you leave here too soon.”
“And I say I shall take this opportunity to prove to my lady how very gracious I can be.” Tover relaxed his grip on her imprisoned hand and almost gently lifted her fingers to his mouth. He pressed a real kiss on the back of her hand. “Remember, if you will, how hard I strove to please you.”
“Pardon me for interrupting,” said a dry voice just a few steps away.
All three of them nearly jumped out of their seats, for not even Darvis had seen the newcomer approaching. Karryn felt a sudden wild leap of hope—A stranger, come to rescue me?—that instantly died away. This small, unprepossessing person was the individual she had spotted when they first walked in, the one sitting up at the bar eating a hearty breakfast. Close up, it was clear the stranger was female, though dressed in the trousers and tight-fitting jacket usually worn by men who were soldiers. Like those men, she also sported a sword and a couple of knives in her belt, though she possessed nowhere near as many weapons as Darvis.
“Ye-es?” Tover said in his haughtiest voice, drawing the word out into multiple syllables. It was his way of conveying without words the fact that he was a devvaser, the son of a serlord, and this anonymous creature was less than nobody.
The short woman completely ignored him. All her attention was on Karryn. “I just wanted to let you know something, my lady,” she said in a quiet voice. “If your husband is abusing you, I can help you get f
ree of him and take you someplace safe.”
“Leave us, you insolent scum!” Tover snapped as Darvis leapt to his feet so fast his chair toppled to the floor. Karryn didn’t even have to hear the whine of weapons to know the driver had drawn a blade. Tover’s fingers tightened alarmingly around Karryn’s wrist.
The soldier woman was completely unimpressed. She still kept her gaze locked on Karryn’s, and there was a steady message in her dark brown eyes. Trust me. I can help you. “I have a horse out front,” she said. “We can ride away from your husband right now.”
