The Thirteenth House (Twelve Houses) (9 page)

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Authors: Sharon Shinn

BOOK: The Thirteenth House (Twelve Houses)
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“It is all of a piece,” Romar said. “The realm is in discord. Change is at hand and everyone wants to influence what the new kingdom will look like. We may yet see more factions emerge before Amalie is on the throne.”
 
Kirra dropped her hands to stare at him. “Change is at hand,” she repeated. “But why is everyone so certain that Baryn is ready to die? He’s only sixty-five.”
 
“His father died before he was sixty,” Romar said gently. “As did his uncles and his grandfather. Trust Halchon Gisseltess to know that. He would be an unusual man of his line to live even another five years.”
 
Kirra bit her lip. She hadn’t had that particular statistic; she wondered if Senneth knew it. She turned her head to look at Romar more closely. He was sitting next to her on the ground, so he sat in profile to her, the shape of his head illuminated by sunlight now for the first time since this journey had begun. He had pulled his matted hair back to tie it in a ponytail, so the angles of his cheeks were exposed; the stubbled line of his jaw seemed to set even as she watched. Not only a handsome face, but a strong one. No soft, indulged, pretty-boy lordling was Romar Brendyn of Merrenstow.
 
“You have been given a hard task,” she commented in a low voice. “If Baryn dies, you will be the one to usher in a new era. With all these foes arrayed against you.”
 
He smiled a little. “I will stand at Princess Amalie’s side as she ushers in that new era,” he corrected.
 
“She’s a child.”
 
“Eighteen now.”
 
Kirra shook her head. “Eighteen is only seven years behind me, and I know that I would not even have been ready to rule Danalustrous at that time. I doubt I would be ready now. This burden will fall on you.”
 
Romar stared before him a while longer, completely motionless, while Kirra watched him. Then he gave a small shrug. “If the king dies. If war comes. If diplomacy fails. We are not yet at a dire crossroads, though darkness looms in many directions. None of these terrible things may come to pass.”
 
“Still,” she said. “You are a brave man to answer the king’s call for a regent.”
 
He smiled. “Amalie is my sister’s daughter. I would protect her with my life even if the king had not given me such a charge. The rest of it, all the political maneuvering, that makes the job more challenging, I admit—but I would have had some part of the job regardless. I am just as happy that he has given me ultimate authority.”
 
“He may have written your death warrant,” Kirra said.
 
Romar laughed and shook his head. “No,” he said. “I will be more careful from now on. I will not be taken a second time.”
 
Kirra fought back a yawn. “Well, if we want to make sure you are not taken again today, we must be on the move again soon,” she said. “Which means, first we must sleep.” She glanced around the camp, suddenly aware that she and Romar had been the only two conversing for quite some time. Cammon and Justin were asleep already, stretched out side by side on the ground. Donnal sat a few yards away, ears up, nose twitching, scenting the wind that blew in fitfully from the north. Guarding their back trail.
 
“Donnal must have taken first watch,” Kirra said, a little unnerved that all this had been decided around her while she had been oblivious, deep in conversation with Romar. “I assume he knows when to wake Cammon or Justin. You and I should merely sleep.”
 
Romar nodded. “I am too tired even to protest. Wake me when it is time to move on.”
 
Kirra tried to smother a yawn and let herself fall back, right there on the ground, with nothing but a light cloak between her and the grass. “Someone will,” she said drowsily. “Sooner than you’d like.”
 
CHAPTER
5
 
W
HEN she woke, the warmth of Donnal’s body was at her back, but everyone else in camp was astir. The sun was high and remote; the cool spring air was sticky with humidity. She sat up and pushed her hair back over her shoulders, feeling irritable, dirty, and far from rested.
 
“My clothes are damp,” she said with a touch of petulance. “The ground was a lot wetter than it looked.”
 
Justin gave her a quick, unsympathetic look. “Better get yourself something to eat. We ride out in ten minutes,” he said.
 
She shoved herself to her feet. “Thanks for the generous warning,” she grumbled, as she took off for a little privacy.
 
Her usual sunny temperament had reasserted itself by the time they were on the move again. She had always been able to make do with minimum amounts of water to freshen up her hair and face, and she had always been able to manufacture clean clothes out of soiled ones. Justin must have lent Romar a razor, because the regent was clean shaven for the first time since they had found him, and he, too, managed to improve his appearance before they took off. Justin always looked presentable, in a rough and dangerous sort of way, and Cammon never did, so nothing had changed there. And naturally, the wolf had not bothered with a toilette at all.
 
They were heading southeast at a deliberate pace through countryside that was rocky, uneven and sparsely covered with low brush and spindly trees. Justin was in the lead; Cammon was in the back to pick up any intimation of pursuit. Donnal was roaming, though he came back periodically to pace alongside Justin as if waiting for the Rider to issue him orders. Not much love lost between those two, either, though Justin had a grudging respect for Donnal’s fighting and scouting abilities. They worked together like jealous brothers, understanding each other even when their dislike was at its strongest.
 
Kirra rode alongside Romar and had a grand time of it. They had been successful in their mission; they were out of danger; and she was the lone woman in a crew of men, the most handsome of the four riding at her side. She could not help but enjoy herself hugely.
 
“So, you promised to tell me the tale of your adventures,” Romar said shortly after they set out. “The story of what turned the silly and superficial serramarra into a cold killer in service to the king.”
 
“I don’t think the transformation was quite that dramatic,” she said with a laugh. “But it certainly was an adventure.”
 
She spent the next hour or so giving him the colorful details of her trek across Gillengaria last winter with Cammon, Justin, Donnal, Tayse, and Senneth. He was familiar with the general outline, of course, because the king had shared the story with him. He knew that Halchon Gisseltess had told Senneth to her face that he wanted to be named heir to the throne. He knew that Halchon’s sister, Coralinda, had styled herself the head of a devout order known as Daughters of the Pale Mother, and that she was sending her novices out to proselytize for that revived religion. He knew that mystics had been prosecuted and murdered throughout lands held by many of the southern Houses. But he hadn’t heard the tales of their exploits in Dormas, Neft, and Lochau—or the story of Tayse’s capture and rescue from the Lumanen Convent—or confirmation of the rumor that Halchon Gisseltess wanted to wed Senneth Brassenthwaite before he took over the throne of Gillengaria.
 
“But he’s married,” Romar exclaimed.
 
“He seems to not consider that an obstacle,” Kirra said.
 
“It would be a good match. For him, I mean—for a man bent on taking over the throne. Brassenthwaite and Gisseltess—at least six of the other Houses would follow their combined lead. I applaud him for his strategy even as I hate him for his treason.”
 
“No need to worry,” Kirra said. “Senneth will never marry him.”
 
“Her brother Kiernan had better be looking for another match for her,” Romar said. They had effortlessly slipped into one of the favorite pastimes of the aristocracy: plotting bloodlines and alliances. “What about Rappengrass? Ariane seems most loyal to the king. That strengthens the crown in the southern region and gives Rayson Fortunalt a reason to think twice before joining a rebellion.”
 
“I think only one of Ariane’s sons is unmarried, and he’s almost ten years younger than Senneth.”
 
Romar made a dismissive sound. “What does that matter when there’s a kingdom to secure? But if not Rappengrass, then Nocklyn, perhaps. I know that Els has only got the one child, a girl, but I think his brother was widowed a year or so ago. Senneth could marry there.”
 
Kirra laughed. “Actually, I fear there is little chance Senneth will marry to oblige her king,” she said. “Regrettable but true. She’s found love in a less—conventional—place, and I doubt either Kiernan or Baryn will persuade her to give it up.”
 
Romar looked instantly intrigued. “Really? A mésalliance? With whom? Kiernan must be beside himself.”
 
“Kiernan lost all hope of influencing Senneth when he allowed their father to turn her out the door when she was seventeen,” Kirra said. “He’s lucky she’s willing to attempt reconciliation now.”
 
“Yes, no doubt,” Romar said. “Who’s she lost her heart to?”
 
Kirra bubbled with laughter. “A King’s Rider. Tayse. He rode with her to Brassenthwaite a couple of months ago and I’m dying to hear how the journey went.”
 
Romar appeared to be completely dumbfounded. “Senneth Brassenthwaite in love with a
King’s Rider
? Surely not. Never. I won’t believe it. There’s—there are standards to uphold, even among the most wayward of the serramarra. She can’t be considering marrying him, can she?”
 
Kirra pulled her horse to a halt, and Romar, after continuing on for a few paces, reined back around to face her. She was suffused with fury. “You know, I hate the smug, suspicious,
stupid
aristocrats who believe an accident of birth makes them better than all of the
ordinary
people in the realm. I hate that sense of privilege and entitlement and outright
arrogance
that makes people like you believe someone else isn’t as good as you are, not fit to touch your hand, or—Bright Lady forbid it!—the hand of your wife or daughter or sister—”
 
Romar, incredibly, was laughing. He flung up a hand to stem her tirade. “I was only joking,” he said. “I think it’s marvelous.”
 
She was so angry that it took a moment for his words to register. “You’re so—What did you say? And it’s not funny. I don’t know why you’re laughing—”
 
Ahead of her, she could see Justin had turned around to see what the holdup was, while Cammon was no doubt just a few yards behind and greatly entertained by what he could pick up of the argument. Kirra kneed her horse forward and battled back her rage.
 
“I was joking,” Romar repeated. “I don’t feel that way at all. Frankly, I think the bloodlines could stand a little mixing up. Though, it’s true, it’s rare that a serramarra would mate with a soldier, even a high-ranking one, or someone else of a lower class—say, a household servant. In fact, the only instance I can recall is when Kallie Fortunalt ran off with her husband’s steward, and you know that affair didn’t end up so well.”
 
Kirra took a couple of deep breaths to dispel the lingering effects of anger. In the calmest voice she could muster, she asked, “What happened to them? I was only seventeen when the story came down, and my stepmother wouldn’t tell us the details. And my father never bothered with gossip of that sort.”
 
“Rayson won’t talk about it—she was his mother, you know. The story at the time was that Reynold hunted them down and had them killed. For the dishonor to the name. But I’ve always wondered about that. It’s just the story Reynold would have put out, even if he’d never been able to track them down. I like to think they escaped on one of the small ships you can always find in Forten City and took off for foreign lands, where they built themselves a small house and settled down to live happily for the rest of their lives. Certainly anyone who’d been married to Reynold Fortunalt deserved such an ending.”
 
That made Kirra laugh, and her good humor was almost completely restored. “Right about now you’re thinking I need to apologize for my outburst,” she said.
 
“No. Now I’m thinking I should apologize for seeming to be the kind of person you despise.”
 
He said it so seriously that she was caught completely off guard. “I despise the type,” she said. “I don’t know you well enough to know exactly where you don’t fit the mold. From the outside,” she added with a small laugh, “you seem to embody it.”
 
“What, privileged, pompous, and stupid?” he said, grinning. “Thanks for the compliment.”
 
“Privileged, intelligent, pure-blood, related to the royal house, blessed with royal favor, most likely to benefit greatly from maintenance of all current conditions.”
 
He gave her a quick sideways look from those deep brown eyes. “And in what way does this description not also fit you?”

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