by Sharon Shinn
“That’s too low. Change it back,” she commanded, but Kirra shook her head.
“I won’t. Go up there and flirt with somebody. Give Tayse something to worry about.”
Senneth tugged futilely at the neckline, which left her feeling ridiculously exposed. “You’re the most wretched girl!” she exclaimed. “I don’t have time or I’d put on a different dress.”
“And I’d change that one, too. Go! Have a lovely dinner.”
Naturally, the meal was not lovely, but it wasn’t dreadful, either. Senneth actually ended up being pleased that she had attended, because Ryne Coravann was there with his sister, Lauren. Ryne, of course, was courting Amalie and sat next to her for the meal. He was tall and dark, neither as bulky nor as sensible as his father. Senneth scarcely knew him, but she liked Lauren, and she made it a point to approach the Coravann serramarra as they gathered in the salon after the meal.
“So you have accompanied your brother as he makes his bow to the princess,” Senneth greeted her. “Do you find it odd? I was with my brother Will last year as he paid court to Casserah Danalustrous, and it was a most peculiar experience.”
Lauren smiled. She was as dark as Ryne and just as attractive, but had a much greater air of self-possession. “I cannot think Amalie will choose him from all her suitors,” Lauren said. “He’s very wild. But my father wanted him to come, and I jumped at the chance to visit the royal city.”
“How are your Lirren relatives?” Senneth asked, for Lauren and Ryne were the rarest of creatures: products of a marriage between a Lirren woman and a Gillengaria man.
“Some of them were arriving just as we left,” said Lauren, “and with a most incredible tale! Perhaps you’d heard that two of my cousins were novices at the Lumanen Convent?”
“I did know that.”
“And one of them has run away with a King’s Rider! They are actually married, he said. Do you know how unlikely that is?”
“I lived in the Lirrenlands for a few years. I know,” Senneth said, amused. “But I cannot help but think this is an excellent match. I know the Rider, and I met the girl.”
“That’s more than I’ve ever done. I’ve met many of my Lirren relatives, but the younger women rarely travel across the mountains, and I‘ve never seen these two,” Lauren said.
“I have been wondering,” Senneth said, “how Coralinda Gisseltess took the news? I know she could not have been happy that one of her novices fled the convent. And I know your father holds her in high regard. So, I thought perhaps you might have heard something.”
For a moment, Lauren’s serene face looked troubled. “She came to Coravann Keep just a week or two ago,” she said. “The tale came up. You could tell she was trying to control her temper, but she was still enraged. This girl was a mystic, apparently, and Coralinda had wanted to exorcise the magic from her veins. She did not say how. But the girl eluded her and escaped the convent—Again, Coralinda did not elaborate. I watched her hands as she told the tale. They were clenched so hard I thought her bones must hurt.”
“I believe Coralinda was at the Keep last summer when your father held his ball,” Senneth said, her voice neutral. “Does she visit you often?”
Lauren had smoothed her face out, but it was clear she was not entirely at ease. “My father thinks of Coralinda Gisseltess as a devout and reverend lady,” she said slowly. “He worships the Pale Mother himself and has always worn a moonstone pendant. My father would never harm a mystic—my father in general is the most gentle of men—and he does not seem to believe that Coralinda Gisseltess offers any real threat to anyone, mystics included.”
This was interesting. “And you do?”
Lauren raised her dark eyes to Senneth’s face. “I hear the rumors, serra. About how she sends her men out to murder mystics in their beds. I do not like her. I do not trust her. I believe she is capable of doing exactly what they say.”
Senneth nodded. “And I know she is. Last fall, the king sent a Rider to spy on the convent, and that Rider followed Coralinda’s men as they rode to the houses where mystics lay. Her soldiers burned those houses to the ground. She wants to rid the realm of mystics, and she will stop at nothing until they are all dead.”
Senneth paused and glanced over at Ryne Coravann, who was standing beside the regent, a glass of wine in his hand. He had apparently already had a few drinks, for his handsome face was flushed and he was laughing immoderately. And Romar Brendyn was not a particularly amusing man.
“Halchon Gisseltess, on the other hand, wants to rid the realm of Baryn and his heirs,” Senneth added slowly. “I am not sure it is in your best interests to promote a match between the princess and your brother. I believe Halchon Gisseltess wants to take the country to war in order to win the throne for himself. Anyone who marries Amalie is likely to find himself facing down an assassin before the year is out.”
“My father does not believe war will come,” the girl said.
Senneth returned her attention to Lauren. In a deliberate voice, she replied, “Your father is wrong.”
BARYN wanted Senneth’s attendance the following morning—more to trade gossip than anything else, she realized. “What about Ryne Coravann? What do you think?” he asked as they settled in his untidy blue study and sipped hot tea.
Senneth eyed him over the rim of her cup. He looked worn and weary today, she thought. His flyaway gray hair was particularly unkempt this morning, and he had dressed himself in what had to be his oldest and most comfortable clothes. Still, his eyes were bright and sharp, and he waited with eager interest for her reply.
“I think he’s immature and hardly fit for marriage with anyone, if what you want is a proper husband for your daughter,” she replied bluntly. “If all you’re looking for is a bloodline that will satisfy the marlords, he might do. But I cannot imagine he will bring Amalie anything but heartache if she were ever to try to love him.”
He seemed neither offended nor alarmed. “I would like to say that love is unimportant, but you have proven in the most flamboyant way that you believe it is the card that trumps all others,” he said, his tone mild. “Perhaps I should be looking for advice from other quarters.”
She smiled. “Perhaps you should.”
“What do you think of Toland Storian? For he will be coming soon to pay court to my daughter.”
She almost spit out a mouthful of tea. “I hate him. And so does Amalie. He’s boorish and arrogant, and we had ample opportunity to observe that for ourselves last summer.”
The king was amused. “Yes—I believe there was some incident when you set him on fire?”
“Kirra arranged that,” she said hastily. “She provoked him on purpose. He behaved badly, and I had to protect Amalie.”
“In truth, I am not eager to see her wed Ryne Coravann or Toland Storian,” he said. “Let us see what our choices are after all the young men have come courting.”
She blew on her tea. “Do you have a favorite?”
He shrugged. “I would like to see her marry a man from Brassenthwaite or Rappengrass or Danalustrous,” he said. “A nobleman, of course, but not necessarily a serramar. Someone intelligent and kind, who would allow himself to be influenced by Romar.”
“Well, intelligent, kind, and easily dominated are not words that typically describe the men of Brassenthwaite, but I’ll ask my brother Kiernan to look around,” Senneth said dryly. “There must be some Thirteenth House lords lurking about who would be happy to see their sons marry into royalty.”
Baryn tapped the fingers of one hand against his cheek. “There has been more talk,” he said. “Of changes to the aristocracy. Soon there may be no Thirteenth House at all.”
The noble-born lords and ladies who were not purebred enough to belong to one of the Twelve Houses were all lumped under the rather derisive name of the Thirteenth House. During the past year, some of these lesser nobles had begun to agitate for more power and prestige—including a clear title to the lands they held in trust for the marlo
rds. Many of these vassals had come to Ghosenhall to negotiate in good faith with Baryn. Others had tried to capitalize on the general unrest in the kingdom. Indeed, last year a few rebel lords had attempted more than once to murder the regent.
“What will you do with all the lesser lords, then?” Senneth asked. “Gift them their properties outright? Would you want to see Eighteen Houses, instead of Twelve? I am no apologist for the aristocracy, but even I find it hard to say such a phrase. Eighteen Houses. Twenty-four. There is no poetry to either.”
He smiled at her a little absently. “Another kind of title altogether, perhaps,” he said. “We might have both the Twelve Houses and the Twelve Manors. That is pretty enough, don’t you think?”
“Very nice. And can you find a property in each of the twelve regions that the marlords would be willing to give up? And would the lords of these manors be satisfied with their new status, or will they want full parity with the marlords?”
“I haven’t worked it all out yet,” he admitted. “But I believe we might take small steps to change our world, and so perhaps avert a war.”
She lifted her eyes and gave him a hard, comprehensive look. “And do you truly think any measures are sufficient to do that?”
He glanced away, for a long time merely looking out the window. Another gray day, though at least there was no rain to contend with this morning. Then he sighed and shook his head, glancing back at her. His face was sad. “No,” he said. “But I must do everything in my power to try.”
TWO days later, Cammon slipped down to the cottage just in time to eat lunch with Kirra and Senneth. “Justin and Ellynor will be here tomorrow,” he told them.
“Early or late?” Kirra demanded. “Do we have the day to work, or must we finish everything today?”
“I don’t know. If I were you, I’d finish up today.”
“Better finish up by this afternoon,” Senneth reminded her. “You promised Baryn you would attend the dinner tonight.”
Kirra cursed and then laughed. “Well, we’re almost done. Let’s go over now. What have Tayse and the other Riders cooked up?”
“I believe it involves pelting them with flowers and fruit as they ride up to the cottage for the first time, and then creating a great deal of noise outside their bedroom window in the middle of their first night here.”
Kirra grinned. “Everybody loves newlyweds.”
Cammon gulped down his meal and then went off to fence with Tayse, while Kirra and Senneth returned to the house set aside for Justin. It was tiny, a mirror image of the one Senneth shared with Tayse—merely one main room that opened into a small kitchen, with a single door leading to a cramped bedroom. Little more than basic privacy and a place to sit before the fire. But Senneth and Kirra had outfitted it with a new bed and several small storage chests, as well as chairs in the main room and dishes for the kitchen. Rugs on the floor to keep out the chill, curtains at the windows to keep out the curious. They had made Cammon and Donnal haul in wood, which was stacked before the fireplace, and Kirra had filched bread and cheese from the palace kitchen.
“What are those?” Senneth said, pointing at a row of terra-cotta planters holding a wilted assortment of scrubby plants. “Those are ugly.”
“Give me a minute,” Kirra said, and skimmed her hands over the bare, prickly branches. Instantly, the withered leaves turned green; the dried and folded petals were rouged with red.
“Very pretty,” Senneth said. “One would almost think you had the gift of growing things.”
“No—they’re altered, not coaxed,” Kirra said.
Senneth glanced around. “I would start a fire in the grate, but who knows how long it will be before they arrive? But I hate to have them come in to a cold house.” She leaned her hand against the wall, and the temperature in the rooms began to rise. “Perhaps just a little magic in the stone,” she said. “I’ll add another touch of heat before we go to bed.”
Kirra edged toward the door, pausing to survey the entire scene with a look of satisfaction. Warm, colorful, cozy, the front room had a most inviting feel. “Who wouldn’t want to live in such a welcoming place?” she said. “I hope Ellynor is happy here, so far from her family.”
Senneth followed her out the door. “Funny—I’m always happiest when my family is farthest away.”
“And I when I am either setting out to see them or preparing to leave,” Kirra said.
“But then, we’re unnatural.”
“Mystics,” Kirra said darkly. “Never just like everybody else.”
CHAPTER
10
THE formal dinner went well enough, though it was as dull to Senneth as most such events were. The regent and his wife were not in attendance, and consequently Kirra was in high spirits. She spent most of the meal attempting to catch Cammon’s eye and make him laugh, though he tried hard to hang on to his always precarious dignity. The rest of the time she flirted so boldly with the Fortunalt lord seated to her left that he followed her out of the dining room literally begging to see her again.
“Incorrigible,” Senneth murmured to Cammon on her way out the door. “Any news on Justin?”
“Tomorrow morning, I think. Depending on where he spends the night.”
“Come down early to help us greet him.”
“I will.”
Kirra had a similar plan, it turned out, for she and Donnal showed up at Senneth’s cottage a couple hours later. “Feed us, house us,” Kirra said, pushing past Senneth through the door. Donnal at least sent her an apologetic glance as he stepped inside.
“Why don’t you camp outside, like some of the Riders are doing?” Senneth said, leaving the door open suggestively. “See? Tayse and Wen and Coeval and a few others have stationed themselves all around the barracks and halfway to the gate. They have pots and pans and all sorts of noisy items with which to greet our young lovers. Why don’t you stay outside with them?”
“Too cold and nasty,” Kirra said. “It’s going to rain.”
“We’ll sleep on the floor again,” Donnal offered.
Kirra yawned. “You can. If Tayse is outside, I’m sleeping in the bed with Senneth.”
“Not that you were invited.”
“True friends never turn you out, no matter how inconvenient your arrival,” Kirra said, wandering to the kitchen. “Heat some water for me, could you? I want something warm to drink.”
Senneth grumbled some more, but in truth she had expected them and was a little surprised that Cammon hadn’t showed up as well. She poured a mug of cold water, set it to boiling with the touch of her hand, and pointed to the crock containing tea leaves. “But I’m going to bed,” she said. “I want to be up early enough to greet them.”
They all settled in quickly, though Senneth briefly found it strange to have Kirra’s light form beside her instead of Tayse’s darker, heavier one. She and Kirra had shared rooms and beds across half of Gillengaria, and there had been a time Senneth never expected to take a lover, let alone a husband, so it should not seem so foreign not to have him next to her; and yet it was. She and Tayse had not slept apart since their wedding. They had scarcely spent a day apart since they met. Even when he hated her, as he had at first, he had watched over her.
Not that she was in danger, here in the well-guarded confines of the king’s palace, two mystics in her house and almost fifty Riders within call. Not that Tayse could not be at her side in a minute if she should have need of him. Still. The fact that he was not sleeping close enough for her to touch him with her hand made it hard, at first, for her to sleep at all.
Dawn came, pink-and-white as a porcelain doll, and the three of them rose and dressed with practiced efficiency. Through the windows, Senneth could see frost laying a white-gold gilding over the hard earth and the winter vegetation. Tayse and Wen were already astir, striding down from the general direction of the palace, their hands full of copper pots and big wooden spoons. Their breath showed misty in the cold air. A half dozen other Riders had congregated a
round the small cottage, either leaning against the walls or making themselves comfortable on the ground. They all looked as if they had rested well and been up for hours.
“Everyone’s on the move,” Senneth said, letting the curtain fall. “Let’s go see if there’s any news.”
She almost screamed as she opened the door, for Cammon stood just outside, hand raised to knock. “You’ve been up for an hour,” he complained. “What’s taking you so long?”
Senneth brushed by him and spoke over her shoulder to Kirra and Donnal, laughing behind her. “Someone turn into a wild animal and kill him for me.”
They intersected with Tayse while Wen went off to join the others. “Cold night?” Kirra asked him brightly. “Nice and warm inside your little cabin.”
He gave her a lurking half-smile. “A Rider never notices the weather,” he said.
“Well, a mystic does.” Kirra rubbed her hands briskly over her upper arms and then frowned at Cammon. “So? When are they going to get here?”
Senneth thought Cammon looked the slightest bit uneasy—the expression Cammon always wore when he was trying to keep silent about something. “Well—”
Just then the door to the cottage opened, and Justin stepped outside.
He was dressed in a loose shirt and a pair of breeches that he might have pulled on as he rolled out of bed, and his sandy hair was tousled with sleep. He stretched his arms overhead, manufacturing a big yawn, and then gave a mock start as he noticed the welcoming party. “Oh! Company! I don’t know that we’re actually ready to receive guests yet, but—”
That was all the further he got. Kirra shrieked, and the whole contingent descended on him in a fury of noise and shouting. The Riders shoved each other aside, one after the other, to beat him on the back or take him in a rough embrace. Kirra actually kissed him and then pushed past him to enter the cottage, calling, “Ellynor? Are you in here?”
Senneth was left staring at Cammon. Who stared back, a stupid grin on his face.
