Mystic and Rider (Twelve Houses) (11 page)

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Authors: Sharon Shinn

BOOK: Mystic and Rider (Twelve Houses)
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“What did you do?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking.
She looked at him, nothing to read in her gray eyes. “Hard to explain,” she said. “Think of it as cauterizing every muscle, every vein, and fusing them together with fire.”
Donnal gasped. “That’s what it felt like.”
Tayse nodded, though he didn’t really understand. His attention went to Justin, still kneeling on the other side of Donnal’s body. Tayse said evenly, “That wound wasn’t caused by a practice blade.”
Justin’s expression set. “He didn’t want to use one.”
“Rule of the camp,” Tayse said. “Practice blades—unless you want to fight with me.”
He caught Senneth’s quick, interested look, but he kept his gaze focused on Justin. Just enough threat in his voice, his words, his expression, to make Justin back down.
“I’m sorry,” Justin said, dropping his eyes. “Practice blades next time.”
Tayse stood up, Justin following suit. “And there should be a next time,” Tayse said. “For Donnal, Cammon, Senneth. We appear to be riding into enemy territory. We all need to keep our skills sharp.”
Senneth rose also, making room for Kirra, who came over with lotions and cloths to bind the hurt man’s wounds. “Though you will find, if we are ever attacked, that those of us with some magical ability can fight in our own ways,” Senneth said with a touch of humor.
Tayse gave her an ironic nod. “I would be interested to see those skills deployed,” he said. “It is almost enough to make me hope for combat.”
By now it was dark, cold, and getting late. He went back to the little brook to fetch water while the others put a meal together. They ate in relative silence—Justin brooding, Donnal hurting, Kirra watching Donnal, Tayse watching Senneth, Senneth lost in her own thoughts, and Cammon sensitive enough to the moods of the others to keep entirely still. It was almost a relief when they all sought their beds. Tayse listened for a moment to the sounds of breathing around him, and then allowed himself to fall immediately asleep.
He woke a few hours later, as he had trained himself to do, and listened again for a few moments. Only a few night sounds—a wayfaring breeze shaking dry tree limbs together, the hoot and call of predators, the rustle of small creatures fleeing. Closer in, the sound of the fire snapping—someone else must have woken before he had and added more wood.
He slipped quietly to his feet, pulled on his boots, and soundlessly left the camp. The minute he was beyond the pale circle of firelight, he was assaulted by cold so intense that he felt the hairs inside his nose freeze up. He made the circuit anyway, a complete journey around the camp from fifty yards away, pausing every few feet to listen to the sounds of the night. He seemed to be the only alien presence in the vicinity; there was no scent or feel of danger anywhere he turned.
He returned to camp as quietly as he had left, by habit doing a visual check of the five sleeping bodies. His eyes came to rest on Senneth, to find she was awake and watching him. On impulse, he picked his way between the other motionless forms and came to a crouch beside her.
“Why are you awake?” he asked in a low voice.
“Why are you?” she replied.
He jerked his head to indicate the land around them. “Walking the perimeter.”
“Do you do that every night?”
“Just about.”
“I haven’t noticed.”
“You’ve been sleeping. Why not tonight?”
“I wanted to check on Donnal,” she said. “But he seems fine. I suppose you didn’t find any hazards in the woods beyond?”
A slight smile for that. “Cold,” he said. “Much colder than it is right here. I wonder why that is.”
“Well, there’s the fire,” she said.
He nodded slowly. “And there’s you.”
A real smile from her, dazzling by firelight. “It’s true,” she said with assumed modesty, “that I can create some heat that extends beyond the borders of my body.”
“How did you do that?” he asked abruptly. “With Donnal? How can your touch cauterize a wound?”
“You haven’t been paying attention,” she said. “I have the gift of fire. I can cause it, I can fan it, I can control it, I can give it away. I could burn a city to the ground.”
He considered. “How big a city?”
That smile again. “How big a city do you want to see burn?”
“Have you ever?”
The smile widened. “No.”
“What would make you do it?”
The smile faded. “What would make
you
go to war?”
Now his eyes narrowed; he was as serious as she was. “That’s what you see? War ahead of us?”
She moved her head restlessly on her flat blanket. “I see the possibility of it everywhere. I don’t know if it will come to that.”
“And if it does? Who will you war with? Where will you make a stand?”
“It depends on where the lines are drawn,” she said softly. “But I have always been loyal to my king.”
“And he trusts you, or so it seems,” Tayse said. He could tell that his voice sounded hard, quietly though he spoke. “He would perhaps be glad to harness the energy that can set cities on fire.”
“Or worse,” she said.
He was silent a moment, still watching her, wondering what she meant by that or if it was just to goad him, wondering, as always, what her full story was. “Does it hurt?” he found himself asking.
“Does what hurt?”
“When you use that power. When you healed Donnal. When you”—he gestured—“keep the fire burning all night without adding another log to the flames.”
She shook her head slowly against the blanket. “No. It is always there, that heat, pouring out of me.”
“Is your skin hot to the touch?” he said curiously.
She did not answer at first. With one hand, she pulled down the collar of her soft shirt; with the other, she picked up his own hand, resting on his folded knee. He was so surprised he did not resist as she pushed his palm down right where her neck joined her shoulder. For a moment, he was just conscious of the smoothness of her skin, tender as a child’s—then he was aware of the heat rising up from her body. He was enveloped in heat, drowning in heat, rich as scented bathwater and just as pleasurable. For a moment he caught himself wondering what it might feel like to lay his body the full length of hers and absorb that warmth with every inch of his own skin.
Then he pulled his hand away and abruptly rose to his feet. She was smiling as she drew her blankets back up to her chin. “Good night, Tayse,” she said. “I don’t think you’ll be cold again.”
He returned to his own bedroll, lying wakeful for a long while. But he was a soldier; he could summon sleep in the middle of a battlefield. He shut his eyes and forced himself to sleep, and he didn’t wake again till morning. By then the strange experience seemed surreal enough, unlikely enough, that he was almost able to convince himself that it had been a dream. Except he was not the sort of man who dreamed.
CHAPTER 7
 
I
T was Kirra’s idea to ride into Forten City and throw a party. Senneth looked at her and said, “Why did I ever invite you on this journey?”
Kirra laughed. “Because you needed entrée to all the great Houses of Gillengaria—and you wanted my irrepressible sense of adventure.”
They were sitting around a campfire about a day’s ride from the main city of Fortunalt, and Senneth for one was looking forward to the idea of settling into a hotel and coming to rest for a few days. She was also intent on strolling the streets of the sea-port and overhearing whatever news was to be had. But she had not planned on being particularly visible during this visit.
“Why do it?” Tayse asked, as always striking straight down toward the truth. “And why not do it?”
Kirra turned to him. “We might hear gossip that we’d never hear skulking about with shop owners and blacksmiths. We wouldn’t deal with the Fortunalt family this time—it would be strictly Thirteenth House.”
Justin looked up from across the fire. Anything that remotely involved class distinctions instantly caught his attention.
“What?”
he demanded.
“Thirteenth House,” Kirra said, tilting her nose up to take an aristocratic pose. “Nobles and gentry who don’t quite have the pure bloodlines of the top families, but who possess wealth and some prestige nonetheless.”
“Most of the lesser gentry are affiliated with one of the Twelve Houses,” Senneth explained. “They provide some fealty to the marlords, and in return they get—favors or protection or a chance to marry their daughters into society. Whatever coin is most precious at the time.”
“And if we had a party,” Kirra said, “they would come and tell us everything Rayson Fortunalt is thinking and doing. We would probably learn more than if we rode onto his estates and asked
him.
”
Tayse was considering Kirra. “But why would they tell you? Particularly if they’re hunting mystics in this part of the world.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t greet them as myself,” she said airily. “I’d go as—let’s see—one of my father’s more indiscreet allies—”
“Erin Sohta,” Donnal suggested with a laugh. He was lounging close to the fire, looking tired, but he had managed to keep up with them the past two days. Senneth was pleased to note that his wound had healed as quickly as she had expected; he had even begun practicing with Justin again.
Kirra smiled back at him. “Yes, Erin Sohta. She has quite an extensive property on the southeastern border of Danalustrous, and she considers herself one of my father’s closest advisors. He can’t stand her, of course,” Kirra added, “but
she
doesn’t know that.”
“But what if Erin herself is in Fortunalt just now?” Senneth demanded. She still didn’t like this idea. “It’s not beyond the bounds of possibility.”
“Well, it is, because my father is holding a traditional winter dinner party in about three days and none of his vassals would want to miss it,” Kirra said. “Particularly Erin.”
“But if that’s so, what would make her come to Forten City and throw a party?” Senneth said.
“I’ll think of something,” Kirra promised. “It’s a good idea. You’ll see.”
But as it happened, the necessity did not arise. They rode into Forten City the next day and checked into a small but fashionable inn to find that a social event had already been planned there for the following evening. Two young nobles were getting married, and gentry from a hundred miles around were attending.
“I wouldn’t even have a room for you, since we were all booked, except someone had to leave this morning on account of her mother falling sick,” the proprietor told them when Kirra and Senneth presented themselves at his desk. He looked doubtfully at the attractive Lady Erin and her less attractive but still quite genteel cousin. “Well, I’ve got the room for you two ladies. Your men’ll have to sleep in the stables, if that’s all right with you.”
“They won’t mind at all,” Kirra said blithely, and Senneth had to hide a smile. “But what about my wolfhound? Can he stay in the room with us? I feel so much—safer—when he’s near.”
Wolfhound?
Senneth wondered, but the innkeeper was already nodding. “Oh yes, many of our guests bring their pets in with them,” he said, beaming. “We’re quite partial to dogs here.”
Kirra was busy signing her name on the register and counting out gold coins. “So who’s getting married?” she asked casually.
“Katlin Dormer and Edwin Seiles,” the proprietor replied.
Kirra looked up, pen slack in her hand. “No! But I know Katlin! She was visiting at my father’s—oh, five years ago, maybe—and we were quite friendly! Oh, this is wonderful! Is there any way I can go to her mother’s room and give them my congratulations? Sindra,” she added, turning to Senneth, “you’ll have to go out this afternoon and find a gift for me. Something very pretty—you’ll know just what’s right.”
“Of course, Cousin,” Senneth murmured.
“There!” Kirra said, signing her name with a flourish. Even her handwriting looked different, Senneth thought, while her sharp, pointed face and tangled black curls made her completely unrecognizable. “Let’s go up to our room, shall we?”

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