Fortune and Fate

by Sharon Shinn

  He pivoted just enough to watch her as she moved. “I’m trying to.”

  “As long as I live, I must turn my fighting ability to some kind of good. It is not enough to atone for what I have done wrong, but it improves the world by a small amount. And I will continue, day by day, trying to make up for that other loss, by using my sword to fight for anyone who needs protecting.” She came to a sudden halt and swung around to face him. “But if I die in any of those attempts, that will be a relief to me. I don’t really care about living. I only care about using what life I have left in a way that matters, at least a little.”

  “You’re right,” he said solemnly. “With an attitude like that, it’s a surprise you aren’t already dead.”

  “It will be hard to kill me. You don’t really understand how good I am.”

  “And what kind of woman is such a skilled warrior that she is almost impossible to defeat?” he asked. “I think perhaps I shouldn’t be asking for your true name, but your true profession. What position did you hold before, Wen, in whose household?”

  She caught her breath. Just by knowing to pose the question, he would be able to deduce the answer. Perhaps he had known the answer all along—and perhaps it didn’t matter. She was running from her own memories of Ghosenhall. What other people thought of her could hardly weigh her down more than those regrets.

  Still, she did not reply aloud, but watched him with a wary gaze.

  He nodded once, shortly, as if coming to an inevitable conclusion. “You’re a Rider, aren’t you? In service to Amalie.”

  “No,” she said sharply. “I never swore my fealty to the queen.”

  “You must have been present when Baryn died.”

  She wheeled away from him, for it hurt to hear the words said aloud, hurt even to hear the king’s name. “We were all there that day,” she said, her voice very soft. “Assassins slipped over the palace walls—hundreds of them. Fifty Riders and assorted mystics held them off until the city guard could arrive. You never saw such slaughter in such a small space. You never saw soldiers fight so hard. Princess Amalie was spared. Queen Valri was spared. But the Rider Tir was killed, and Baryn after him, his body crumpling on top of Tir’s. You could not tell their blood apart as it pooled there on the floor. That is the way a Rider should die.”

  She swung back to face him. She felt heavy, lost, oppressed with an old grief that never seemed to lose its sharpness. “Do you think Tayse would still be alive if the king was dead? Would Justin? No. Hammond fell guarding the princess, and only magic kept him alive long enough to recover. Four other Riders died that day. I should have, but I did not. I would not swear my oath to Amalie because I could not be trusted to keep her safe. Maybe you should not trust me with Karryn’s life, either. I’m hard to kill, but death is not afraid to follow in my wake.”

  There was nothing more to be said. She shrugged, squared her shoulders, and headed for the door. But the geography of the room placed him closer to it, and, moving with surprising swiftness, he beat her to the exit. “Wen,” he said, putting his back to the door. He lifted his hands as if to place them on her shoulders and physically restrain her. “You cannot leave while you’re so distraught.”

  She was tempted to shove him aside so hard that he would have a better idea of her strength, but she halted a few steps away, not close enough for him to touch. “This is how I feel all day, every day,” she said bitterly. “This minute is no different, except that you can see it.”

  “That’s not true,” he said softly. “I have watched you, you know. It was always obvious you were a soul in torment, but here at Fortune you seemed to have found a measure of peace. I am sorry that by my clumsy questioning I have wrought you up to a frenzy. That was not my intention. But I am not sorry to have learned the story behind your mask. Some of it I had guessed, and none of it surprises me. But it is a sad story even so, and I do not want to see you drown in it.”

  Half of what he said made no sense to her, but behind the flowery phrases she could read his real concern. “You don’t have to worry that I will kill myself in the night because I have been made so wretched by this conversation,” she said, her mouth twisting in what was almost a smile.

  “That is only one of the things I fear,” he said. “I am also afraid that you will slip away under cover of darkness, leaving us all behind because one of us now knows your secret.”

  It had been topmost in her thoughts, of course, the idea of abandoning Fortune and all its inhabitants. Her bones were all jangling; she thought she would not be able to sit still for a full day. It would be so much easier to run away, to expend her despair in motion. “I have not forgotten, even if you have, that my second month of service is up today,” she said through stiff lips. “This conversation just makes it even clearer that it is time for me to go.”

  “But not tonight—not even this week,” he said. “Karryn still needs you. We have a ball to give in two days, don’t you remember? The house will be full of strangers, and you are the only one who knows how to be truly watchful. You cannot walk away from us before then.”

  It was strange, she thought, how it was possible for her to passionately believe two contradictory things at the same time: that she could not be trusted to keep anyone safe, and that she was the only one good enough to reliably defend the House. I would disappear tonight, she told herself, if not for this wretched ball. I cannot leave Karryn so much at risk. I will stay for the dance, and then I will go.

  She made her voice frosty. “Of course I would not desert you at such a time,” she said. “But I can make no promises beyond that event. It is time for me to be moving on. I have been here too long.”

  “Have you?” he murmured. “I think you have not been here nearly long enough. Let us negotiate again once the event is over. Swear to me you will not leave without giving me a chance to convince you to stay.”

  She did not want to make such a vow, but his face was set. She did not think he would let her through the door without an argument or an act of physical aggression, and she was suddenly too weary to contemplate either.

  “All right,” she said ungraciously. “I will let you know when I am about to leave. But in return you must make me a promise.”

  “And that is?”

  “Don’t call me Wen in front of the others.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You think Karryn and Serephette are conversant with all the names of the Riders who used to serve the king?”

  She shook her head. “Not them, perhaps, but Orson and Eggles and some of the guards might recognize the name. Most soldiers idolize the Riders.”

  “Orson and Eggles might well have guessed your identity before this.”

  “Maybe. But it makes it easier for everyone if they don’t have to know for sure.”

  “Then, Willawendiss, I agree to refer to you only by your common name when anyone is near enough to hear.”

  She almost smiled. “And don’t call me Willawendiss.”

  “Ah, now, that is a promise I’m afraid I cannot make. The name is too sonorous and charming and inappropriate to be forsworn.”

  She rolled her eyes and then gave a ghost of a laugh. “You’re the strangest man,” she said. “Half the time I don’t understand the things you say, and most of the time I don’t understand what you’re thinking.”

  He surveyed her with a small smile. “Don’t you?” he said. “And yet I have never thought of myself as particularly opaque. I can be explicit, I suppose. I do not wish you to leave. I do not wish you to be grieving over a tragic but absolutely unavoidable incident in your past. I want you to be happy and at peace—and at Fortune. Is that plain enough?”

  She nodded, but she felt a certain wariness come over her expression. “Most employers wouldn’t care so much about one of their staff or servants.”

  Now his expression was grave. “Friends do, however,” he said. “And I thought we had achieved a measure of friendship.”

  He had said virtually the same thing two we
eks ago, and yet tonight it made her feel peculiar to hear the words again. Peculiar and yet delighted, filled with a buzzing warmth. Strange how that warmth served to combat the cold despair that had flooded her as she once more relived her memories of Baryn’s death. “Friends of a sort,” she amended, for true friendship was forged between equals, and they would never be that.

  He was amused again. “Very well. So as almost-friends, we have managed a pact. I have promised not to give you away and you have promised not to leave without notice. I have expressed concern for your well-being and you have promised to care for yourself. I suppose those are the only pledges we need to make for tonight, at least.”

  “Then I am free to go?” she asked, for he still blocked the door.

  He moved aside. “Free to go from this room,” he said, smiling slightly. “But not much farther.”

  She was able to return the smile. “I won’t stray past the hedge.”

  “Then goodnight, Willawendiss. May your dreams be peaceful.”

  She nodded, said nothing more, and paced out of the room. But she didn’t think peaceful would describe any of her thoughts for the rest of the evening.

  Chapter 25

  TWO DAYS LATER, IT WAS TIME TO HOLD A BALL. THERE was so much cooking to be done that Ginny was called up from the barracks to help in the main house, so Orson and Eggles took over kitchen chores for the soldiers, to universal complaining. But the grumbling was almost rote. All the guards were alert and engaged, excited to be taking part in this event that would be a true test of their skills and how well they had come together as a company.

  Wen was fairly certain they would pass that test without a misstep. She had laid out precise instructions about who was to patrol where at what hour during the day, and the soldiers met every checkpoint. Things would get trickier as the guests began pulling into the yard that night, but Wen felt fairly confident that she had set up safeguards that would see them all through the evening unscathed.

  It was clear to her that this ball was even more a test for herself than her men. Ever since the harrowing conversation with Jasper Paladar, she had been edgy and unable to settle. All her instincts were at war, all her desires in conflict. Half of her wanted to flee this house, these responsibilities, the quiet regard of a certain noble scholar; half of her felt twisted with protest at the thought of leaving any one of them behind. Karryn was still so young, so prone to idiotic mistakes—how could Wen let her fend for herself, knowing the kind of trouble she might stumble into? And the twenty men and women of the House guard were showing such promise, such progress, and yet they were still so raw. There was so much more to teach them before they would truly function as a flawless unit.

  And Jasper Paladar. Who knew her true name and had learned her most bitter secret. Who had wished her peace and called himself her friend. Who made her feel, when she was with him, like she was complex, intriguing, and valuable.

  It was dangerous to believe such things were true. Dangerous to need someone else’s affection and approbation. Dangerous to be so grateful that someone, anyone, cared if she lived or died. That way lay vulnerability and weakness, and Wen needed to armor herself in strength.

  But she did not know how easily she would be able to tear herself away from Fortune, Karryn Fortunalt, and Jasper Paladar.

  She told herself she would not think about her dilemma again until tomorrow morning. Today she had a ball to oversee.

  She had given each guard his or her own commission to carry out once the festivities began. Eggles and Moss had been assigned to Karryn—they would know where she was every single minute, even if she slipped outside to tryst in the garden with Ryne. Four guards would be at the gate; twelve would patrol the grounds in a random, ceaseless pattern. Wen and Davey would be loose inside the house from the minute the first visitor arrived. Davey would stick close to the dining hall and the ballroom, but Wen would roam the corridors, trusting chance and instinct to guide her to any spot where there might be trouble. Twenty was a small number for such a concentrated initiative, but there had been only fifty Riders to patrol the palace at Ghosenhall.

  Of course, these guards weren’t Riders. But they would still fight for their charges with every ounce of their strength.

  Accordingly, when the first carriage rolled through the gate in the hedge, all twenty guards were dressed in their best uniforms and ready at their stations. Wen thought the soldiers might be almost as excited as Karryn.

  The Coverroes were the first to arrive, but Katlin and Edwin Seiles were right behind them, and soon enough the house was full. Wen peeked into the dining hall from time to time, to see Moss and Eggles standing at rigid attention on either side of the room, their eyes busily engaged in watching the diners. She stepped back into the kitchen, wheedled a scrap of meat from Ginny, and ducked outside to circle the house. No late arrivals galloping up the drive. No one scaling the walls, intent on breaking in through an upper-story window. She jogged to the gate, to confirm that all was quiet, then reentered the house through the main door, to rove the hallways and listen for anything out of the ordinary.

  All indications were that Karryn’s party was going smoothly.

  Wen was in the hallway watching as the dinner ended and the guests slowly made the transition to the ballroom. This was a part of the house Wen had rarely been in until earlier in the week, when decorating began in earnest. From the complaints she’d overheard from the servants, the room had been closed up for so long that it was inches deep in dust, and every bit of crystal hanging from the chandeliers and the sconces had had to be taken down and wiped by hand. But now it looked sparkling and magical, filled with hundreds of candles and thousands of sweet-scented flower blossoms—all white to represent the pearl of Fortunalt. A murmur of approval went up from the guests as they stepped into the room and began scattering through it like jewels pouring from a spilled coffer.

  Wen checked to make sure Moss and Eggles had followed Karryn into the room—yes—and then she began making her own unobtrusive circuit. The orchestra scraped through a brief disharmonic warm-up, but quickly enough offered the first skirling notes of an actual number. Wen paused to see who was partnering Karryn for the first dance. She was surprised and pleased to see Jasper, not Ryne, leading the serramarra to the dance floor.

  They made a handsome pair. Karryn wore a gown of very dark red with great slashed sleeves that revealed a weave of pristine white. The crisscrosses of white fabric were repeated in a wide band around her waist, making her look much tinier than Wen knew her to be. Around her throat she wore a collar of pearls from which a single large pearl dangled, encircled by garnets to match her dress. She was both striking and vivid, and she was so happy that she was also beautiful.

  Jasper, of course, was much more soberly dressed, in black with a bit of red trim. But his cufflinks were pearl, and so were the buttons on his waistcoat. His beard and his hair had been freshly trimmed, and their black-and-gray colors perfectly suited his severe attire. If he had not been smiling down at Karryn so affectionately, he might have seemed solemn indeed. He said something that made her laugh, and then they glided smoothly into the dance.

  Wen supposed it was a waltz; she didn’t know much about such things. At any rate, they were half-embraced as they moved with perfect timing through the deliberate rhythms of the music. All around them, other couples slipped onto the dance floor and mimicked those graceful movements. Ryne Coravann with Serephette Fortunalt. Coren Bauler with Lindy Coverroe. Edwin Seiles with his wife. Paired off, swirling around the room, the very embodiment of style and elegance.

  Wen watched for the first dance only, then slipped out a side door. Time to check the rest of the house again.

  For the next two hours, that was the routine she followed. Roam the house, upstairs and down, moving quiet as a raelynx through the empty corridors, and surprising more than one servant girl into nearly dropping her burden. Duck outside to circle the building and ascertain that it had not been breached. Return to th
e ballroom long enough to make sure no mischief had unfolded while she was not watching—and, just incidentally, note who was dancing with Karryn.

  Sometimes, note who was dancing with Jasper.