Fortune and Fate

by Sharon Shinn

  He dropped a kiss on her mouth and smiled down at her. “A day of much terror and celebration,” he said. “I am glad I did not know at dawn what midnight would bring.”

  “It is the sort of day I have trained for all my life,” she said. “And the sort of day I hoped would never come. Thank all the sullen gods that it has turned out like it did.”

  He freed one hand to push at the short tendrils of hair that had gathered around her face. “And here I was convinced you would be berating yourself for your part in how the drama unfolded,” he said.

  “There was some of that this morning,” she acknowledged. “And I see places along the way where I made mistakes. But on the whole I am pleased with what I was able to accomplish, and what resources I was able to assemble, and how the troops I trained performed. I am—I am happy with myself today.”

  He kissed her again. “Well, now,” he said, “let us discuss the consequences of such an unexpected emotion.”

  He did not lead her to the bed, but to a dainty divan covered in blue velvet and gold thread, and they sat there, curled against each other.

  “It has been such a confusing day,” she said, almost whispering the words, nose to nose with him and lacing her right hand with his left one. “Disaster! Betrayal! Reinforcements! Rescue! I think it will be weeks before we sort it all out—and there are still so many people whose fates are uncertain. Demaray must go to Ghosenhall, of course, but what happens to her estate? What happens to Lindy? Serephette seems poised to adopt her, but is that the best course? And then there is Ryne Coravann, whom I have liked but never before trusted. Jasper, he was so steadfast today, so devoted to Karryn. I believe there is a true attachment between them, and I don’t believe you and Serephette should object if he asks her to marry him.”

  He tilted her head up just enough to kiss her, then leaned his forehead against hers again. “All true, all important, and I would happily welcome Ryne Coravann into this House,” he said. “But at the moment, I don’t care about any of that. It is you, Willawendiss, you whom I would inquire after. You saved the serramarra—with your wits and your skill and your faithfulness, you snatched her from death and vanquished her abusers. Your faith in yourself is restored. I rejoice with you even though there is a sadness at my core. How soon will your mended heart be chafing to return to Ghosenhall?”

  She lifted her head to look him directly in the eyes. The gods knew she had never been much of a flirt, preferring to speak plainly about what she wanted, but this was too important to lay out without a little caution. “How soon would you like to see me leave for Ghosenhall?” she asked in turn.

  He toyed with her fingers. “I am committed to Karryn for another five years, as you know,” he said. “And I had always assumed that after she turned twenty-one, or after she married, I would return to my own estates. But I have been thinking. They have fine libraries in the royal city, and renowned scholars. I could sell my property and buy a small place in the city. I would be happy there, I think. Happier still if, from time to time, you would consent to visit me in my lodgings.”

  Wen sat up, for this was not a picture she had ever envisioned. “What are you saying?” she demanded. “That you would follow me to Ghosenhall in five years’ time?”

  He recaptured her hand, for she had pulled it away, and spoke in a soothing voice. “I know we have never looked so deeply into the future,” he said. “I know we have talked in a most tentative fashion, of a night here, a month there, a passion that might wear itself out in the quickest time possible. But I cannot imagine that I will ever grow weary of you—I cannot imagine that a day will ever come when I will not want to know what you are thinking and what you have been doing. I have been trying to devise a solution for how to merge our very different lives, and I think the move to Ghosenhall would do it.”

  She was so dizzy she thought perhaps she had sustained a blow to the head during the fight this afternoon and she just hadn’t realized it till this minute. “You think I will stay here five years and then ask for my place with the Riders again—”

  “No,” he said quickly. “I realize you will want to join your fellows as soon as you can. But perhaps we might compromise a little, you and I? You would agree to stay here a year—maybe two—and I would spend much of the following three years splitting my time between Ghosenhall and Forten City. It would be difficult, I know, and require a great deal of effort on both of our parts, but I am willing to make any number of sacrifices if it means keeping you in my life a little longer—”

  She put a hand to his mouth to stop him. “How much longer?” she said. “Jasper, what are you thinking?”

  He pulled his head back and she let her fingers fall. “As long as you are willing to have me,” he said simply. “I know I am older than you, and I know I am nothing like those men you admire so much—Riders, and soldiers of every type—but Wen, I do not believe any one of them could love you as I do.”

  She was shaking her head. “I’m the one who should be pleading to stay in your life a little longer,” she said. “You are a nobleman of Fortunalt and I am a nameless soldier!”

  “Not true, Willawendiss,” he said with a little smile. “You have a very fine name indeed.”

  She frowned at him. “You know what I mean. Noblemen like you should spend their days with women who are equally noble—and accomplished—and scholarly.”

  “I married a woman who was all those things, and I loved her very much,” Jasper said. “But now I love you very much, different as you are, and I want to spend my time with you.”

  “Don’t you think your daughter would be dismayed to learn of our relationship?”

  “Ah, my daughter is very liberal-minded. It comes from so much reading. She will be utterly delighted by you.”

  Wen was shaking her head again. “Even if that’s true, which I doubt, the other nobles of your rank would be horrified to see you consorting with a guard.”

  “I hardly think I would be looked at with any more horror than Demaray will be for her bad behavior,” he said. “Anyway, the people of Fortunalt expect a few mismatches in their House. Remember I told you that Karryn’s grandmother ran off with her steward? A Thirteenth House lord and a captain of the guard would not be considered nearly as scandalous as that.” He leaned in to kiss her quickly on the mouth. “So what do you think, my dearest Wen? Can I convince you to stay another year, perhaps even two? I will take it month by month if that is what you require, but I do not think I will be able to bear it if you tell me you are preparing to journey to Ghosenhall the minute you can saddle your horse.”

  She threw her arms around his neck and muffled her laughter against his shoulder. “I have been wondering how to tell you that I do not plan to return to Ghosenhall ever,” she mumbled into his shirt. “I have been thinking, ‘He believed it was all very well to bed me when he knew I would be moving on soon, but when he learns that I want to make Fortune my home, he will be anxious and uncertain.’ I thought that—”

  But now he pulled back, urgently, holding her by the shoulders so he could get a good look at her face. “Truly? You have decided to stay here? Why? Why have you forsaken the Riders, who have shown so clearly that they would welcome you back?”

  She made a small gesture, all she could manage with his grip so tight on her shoulders. “It’s not so much that I would turn my back on the Riders as I cannot turn my back on Fortune,” she said. “It has come to be a part of me—all of it—Karryn, and you, and my guards, even Serephette, and now Lindy. You all belong to me. If I tried to leave, I would be lost again. Perhaps I have not been searching for absolution all this time. Perhaps I have just been searching for a home.”

  He was watching her closely, on his face a mix of hope and uncertainty. “I am part of what gives you a sense of home, I hope. But how much of a part? I would be willing to follow you somewhere else—would you be willing to follow me?”

  She returned his regard steadily. “I would,” she said, “but I don’t want to be
made to leave and I don’t think you want to go. You might not realize it yet, but you are bound to this place as much as I am. Even if you followed me to Ghosenhall, half of your heart would be here. We have become entangled in this place, both of us. Neither of us would survive the uprooting very well.”

  A small smile curved his mouth. “Like the hedge around Fortune. Glossy and gorgeous and resilient in the place where it has grown up, but doomed to wither and die if someone tries to transplant it to some more advantageous spot.”

  She laughed and leaned forward to kiss him. “Just like that.”

  He drew her forward to settle against his shoulder and spoke with his mouth against her hair. His deep voice fell instantly into the rhythms of verse:

  I have been used to the beggar’s friendless portion.

  I have been used to the gods’ unstinting wrath.

  What wild chance, what fair or fickle fortune

  Flung you like redemption in my path?

  “I have no idea what you mean by that,” she said. “I just know that I love you and I cannot believe I was lucky enough to find you.”

  “Yes,” he said, “that’s exactly what the poem said.”

  So her days would be delineated now by ballads as well as battles, sonnets as well as swords. There were so many prosaic matters still to settle—from how they might live together to who they might tell—but Wen supposed those were minor details that would work themselves out in time. For now it was enough just to feel this supreme contentment, this ease, this relaxed and sprawling sense of wonder. For now it was enough to see her life taking on this very simple, very solid form—one man’s unwavering silhouette to give shape to the formless future, one man’s voice to make sense of the rushed and unrhymed days.