The Thirteenth House (Twelve Houses) (74 page)

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Authors: Sharon Shinn

BOOK: The Thirteenth House (Twelve Houses)
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“I’m sure Senneth told you of my misadventures last night,” she said. “Traitors uncovered and murders averted. I’m very glad I was there in your place.”
 
“She told me all of it,” he said, his voice more intense than hers, though he too was working to maintain a pleasant expression in case anyone was watching them. Since everyone was watching them. “I am so sorry you had to learn of your uncle’s treachery this way. I understand he spent the whole ride back begging Tayse to allow him an audience with you this morning.”
 
“I do not wish to speak with him,” she said. She was glad he had already been bundled into the empty coach so she didn’t even have to see him one last time. “Maybe some of my hurt and anger will have dissipated by the time I arrive in Ghosenhall, and I can beg the king for clemency on his behalf. But I don’t think so.”
 
“He doesn’t deserve clemency. He tried to kill you.”
 
“He tried to kill
you
,” she corrected. “A greater crime in my eyes.”
 
“How long before you will be in the royal city?” he asked.
 
“We will leave here when Ariane’s granddaughter is healed. Another three or four days, I think. Four of us traveling by horseback should make better time than your big group. We will be there only a day or two after you, I would expect.”
 
“Travel safely,” he said, taking her hand again. “You carry precious cargo.”
 
She laughed. “A few changes of clothing and a pair of shoes?”
 
“My heart.” With his free hand, he trailed his fingers across her cheek, then made a fist and touched his chest. “Until Ghosenhall,” he said and released her. Swinging to the back of his horse, he nodded at her and trotted over to join the others.
 
She was left trying not to stare and trying not to cry. It was a relief when the caravan finally got under way and she was left in the relative quiet—and loneliness—of Rappen Manor.
 
THE next four days were strange, but blessedly peaceful. Kirra spent much of her time sleeping, making up for all the hours of lost rest on the road. Even when she was awake, she sometimes spent hours lounging in her room, reading old romances Ariane lent her. Naturally, she visited the sickroom every day, to find Lyrie frisking about the room, playful as a puppy.
 
“She looks well, but there’s still a trace of blood in her stool, and that has to be all gone before she’s considered healed,” Marco told her that second day. “If you don’t mind staying a little longer—”
 
Kirra shook her head. “I knew when I began this I would need to linger through the whole recovery. I’m content.”
 
One afternoon, she and Darryn took a pack of dogs and went out hunting. They rode past what Kirra thought had to be the limits of Ariane’s property and spent so much time talking that they bagged very little game. But the exercise and the undemanding companionship did her good. When they returned, she was relaxed, windblown, sunburned, and exhausted.
 
“You don’t look much like a serramarra,” Darryn commented as he handed her down from the saddle. “You look more like an urchin.”
 
“Even when I look like a serramarra, I have a tendency to behave like an urchin,” she told him. “This is closer to my true appearance.”
 
That night after dinner, Ariane commented in a grossly un-subtle fashion on the friendship between Kirra and Darryn. “Thank you for entertaining my son,” she said. “He is so delightful in your company.”
 
“Darryn is always delightful.”
 
“I wish you would marry him.”
 
Kirra laughed out loud, not at the suggestion but at its boldness. “If I ever feel like marrying, I will keep that in mind.”
 
Ariane waved a hand. “You could live here. Or at Danalustrous. Or split your time between Houses. Whatever made you happy.”
 
“It tends to make me happiest to be free to roam wherever I want.”
 
“Surely you’ll get tired of that life sometime. And it’s time Darryn was married.”
 
Kirra stopped laughing. “You’re serious.”
 
“Yes.”
 
Kirra thought of all the reasons she didn’t want to marry. Not now, not Darryn, maybe not ever, not anyone. There was a man she loved, and she could not have him, and she was not willing to compromise.
 
Two men,
her heart said,
and you cannot have either of them.
She shook her head as if to silence some small, whispering voice.
 
“I am not, at the moment, feeling particularly marriageable,” she said finally. “And that is no reflection on you, your son, or your House. I think you’d best look elsewhere for Darryn’s bride.”
 
It was easier, much easier, to spend her evenings with Justin and Cammon, who expected nothing from her, not charm, not a blood alliance, not even rational conversation. The two men had continued bunking in the bedroom down the hall, though it had really been an acceptable billet for soldiers only when they had been required to guard the princess. But most of the manor was empty, since all of the summer guests were gone, and Ariane didn’t care, and so they stayed.
 
During their days, she learned, Justin and Cammon spent most of their time working out in the training yard with Rappengrass men. In the evenings, they either diced in the barracks or came back to their rooms to play cards with Kirra. Melly resisted being drawn into their circle, repeating that it wasn’t right for serramarra to be socializing with servants, but Justin and Cammon wore her down. So she joined them if the hour wasn’t too late, and learned from Justin the card games she didn’t know, and soon she was beating them all pretty handily.
 
“I think Melly likes our Cammon quite a bit,” Kirra murmured to Justin one night when the other two were engaged in an animated argument about the best way to play a particular hand. “Maybe they’ll make a match of it. What do you think?”
 
He gave her a sardonic look. “I think Cammon’s like the rest of us,” he said.
 
“The rest of who? The Riders? The general population?”
 
“Us. The six of us,” he clarified. “He’ll fall in love where it’s most extreme, and where his chances of success are least assured.”
 
The words made her go blank with shock—because Justin had said them, and because they were true. The four of them who had admitted to love so far had not chosen the objects of their affection with an eye toward happy endings. “Tayse and Senneth,” she objected faintly.
 
He nodded. “Who could have predicted they’d be able to pull it off? If you heard the tale in the barracks one night, you’d be thinking it would turn out another way.”
 
She glanced over at Cammon again, who had spread all the cards on the floor and seemed to be giving Melly some kind of lesson in mathematics. “He’s only nineteen. He’s too young to fall in love anyway, with someone suitable or unsuitable.”
 
“When he does, I’m telling you, it will make the rest of us look like we weren’t even trying.”
 
 
 
RESTFUL as the interlude at Rappen Manor was, pleasant as the days were, Kirra almost fell on her knees to thank the Wild Mother the day that Marco proclaimed his daughter cured.
 
“We even had the groom come in to look her over—he’s the one who cares for the dogs, you know, as well as the horses. He said he wouldn’t have thought she’d ever been sick if I hadn’t told him,” Marco reported. “And she seems so strong, and she looks so healthy. I think it’s time.”
 
“I think it’s time, too,” Kirra said.
 
For the day the magic was to be reversed, the same people gathered in Lyrie’s room who had gathered when the magic was introduced—Ariane, Bella, Marco, Kirra, Cammon, and Lyrie herself. Today all the curtains were drawn back and the windows were opened. The heavy scents of late summer curled over the sill and settled on the floor like rose petals. Kirra had knelt on the rug, Cammon standing fast behind her. Lyrie was bounding around the room with such energy that it was actually hard to catch her attention. When Marco chased her, she took off across the floor, glancing back to see if he was following.
 
“She thinks it’s a game,” Kirra said.
 
Marco was exasperated. “She won’t even sit still long enough for me to explain!”
 
Cammon bent down, snapping his fingers. “Lyrie. Lyrie. Over here. Kirra and I need to work with you.”
 
Something in his voice snagged her interest—or, who could tell? He seemed to have a gift of communicating with animals, so perhaps he was using some wordless mental speech. In any case, she responded instantly, trotting over to sniff his outstretched hand.
 
“Sit down for a minute,” he said, still in that hypnotic voice. “We’re going to transform you back to your human shape. Right now. We need you to concentrate. It’s going to feel strange. But everything will be fine.”
 
Lyrie promptly sat back on her haunches and watched them both with bright, eager eyes.
 
Kirra tossed him a look from over her shoulder. “You’re spooky sometimes.”
 
“What? What did I do?”
 
She ignored him, focusing on Lyrie instead, placing her hands on the spaniel’s head. She knew the instant Cammon wrapped his fingers around the lioness charm, because she could feel magic thrum through her joints and muscles. Even her hair felt alive with it; she felt her golden curls tighten with energy.
 
“Lyrie,” she said and the dog’s dark eyes met hers. But it wasn’t a dog Kirra was remembering, it was a little girl, with a broad, thoughtful face and her grandmother’s strength of purpose. Kirra had seen her wan and weak, but she was pretty sure this was a girl who knew how to laugh, who could fling herself through the house with noise and excitement. A girl who could face death, who could endure magic, and not give in to fear.
 
This time, Kirra saw the transformation, as deliberate as most of her own. The pointed face softened and grew rounder between Kirra’s hands; the dark fur lightened and smoothed out. The shoulders bulked up, the knees developed a bend. Lyrie stretched, and folded in, and pulled herself out of her own shadow—and there she was, a girl sitting on the floor, pink-cheeked and clear-eyed, bursting with health and vigor.
 
Bella breathed a prayer and broke down sobbing, stumbling into her mother’s arms. But Marco gave a shout and dove for the floor, enveloping Lyrie in a ferocious hug. “Papa! Papa! I’m me again!” Lyrie squealed as they rolled together in an exuberant ball across the floor. “Did you see? It’s me!”
 
Bella broke from Ariane’s embrace and dropped to the floor, her arms outstretched and her face wet with tears, and Lyrie scrambled over on her hands and knees. “Mama! Look at me! And I’m
well
! I can tell, I feel so good! Look at me!”
 
Kirra could feel herself smiling so brightly that her face hurt, and this despite the fact that she was crying a little, too. Ariane just looked at her and shook her head, tears pouring down her own cheeks.
I cannot express my emotions,
that’s what that headshake meant. Kirra felt much the same way.
 
She thought it was time to give the family some privacy to revel in their joy, but there was one coda to perform before this episode was over. “Lyrie,” she called. “Let me just check you one more time. I’ll be able to tell if the fever is completely gone from your body.”
 
Instantly, Lyrie came to stand before her, her parents on either side of her, unwilling to let go. Bella’s face was pinched with a renewed fear—could the gift be revoked?—but Marco emanated happiness. He had witnessed magic, and he would forever after be a true believer.
 
Lyrie herself looked happy but calm, at ease with miracles.
This one will be hard to overawe in the future,
Kirra thought.
This one will keep her head no matter what turmoil goes on around her.
Lyrie smiled trustingly up at Kirra. “Thank you, serra,” she said very politely. “For saving my life.”
 
Kirra had to laugh. “And did you enjoy being a puppy for the past ten days?”
 
“Oh, yes! It was so much fun. But I’m glad to be a girl again.”
 
“That’s how I always feel,” Kirra replied. She laid her palms against Lyrie’s cheeks, innocent of fever. She touched the girl’s arms, chest, hips, knees, back, looking for lurking infections. Nothing. All the organs clear, no bones under siege. The blood ran through the unspoiled veins like laughing rapids.
 
Kirra dropped her hands and gave the whole family an encouraging smile. “Cured,” she said. “She has defeated the fever.”

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