Reader and Raelynx (25 page)

Kirra met them in the great foyer while they were still being interrogated by the steward. “Carlo, of course you remember Senneth!” Kirra exclaimed, flinging her arms around first Senneth and then Tayse. “She used to live here! Though, of course, it was a long time ago.”

“Yes, serra, and she and her escort were here last fall,” Carlo replied. He was a thin, precise, well-dressed man who was a little vain about his appearance. “But your father has instructed me to ascertain that everyone who crosses the threshold is, in fact, on the list of expected guests.”

Kirra had taken hold of Senneth’s arm and was pulling her toward the gracious, polished staircase. “Well, both of them are,” she said over her shoulder. She glanced at Tayse. “At least, I think so. Are you going to attend the wedding? Or are you going to spout some nonsense about Riders not being fit to participate in the celebrations of the nobility?”

“No, Tayse is in quite an iconoclastic mood these days,” Senneth said. “Topple the social conventions! Let peasants mingle with princesses! We shall all be equals.”

“I think I’ll need to hear the rest of this story later,” Kirra said, herding them upstairs. “But I’m glad you’re here. I was afraid you’d decide not to come.”

“Well, with the news about ships at Forten City, I wanted to stay in Ghosenhall,” Senneth replied. “But Baryn insisted we come.”

Kirra turned off at the landing on the second floor and tugged Senneth forward again, down the main corridor. The ceiling arched high over their heads and banners fluttered on the walls. Danan Hall was so beautiful and so restful that it scarcely allowed a visitor to entertain thoughts about something as ugly as war.

“Baryn has called in his reserve troops. We’re readying for an onslaught,” Tayse said.

Kirra stopped at a room not far from the stairwell and pushed open the door. The room was decorated in dark maroon shades lightened by accents of pale wood, washed gold, and pale green. “This is where you’ll stay. Isn’t it pretty? I’ve put you in the family wing, so you might stumble over my father or my stepmother when you come and go. But you’re right down the hall from me, which should be convenient. I hope our new egalitarian Tayse isn’t going to insist on sleeping in the stables.”

Grinning, Tayse dropped his saddlebags to the floor beside the bed. “I slept inside the walls at Brassen Court,” he said. “I suppose I can do Danan Hall the same honor.”

Kirra’s laughter pealed out. “And, of course, it
is
an honor to have a Rider staying under our roof again!”

“Who else is here?” Senneth asked. “All the Houses?”

Kirra shook her head, suddenly sober. “My father and Kiernan decided it would be unfair to ask marlords and marladies to leave their own properties when the realm is in such turmoil. Well, can you imagine? Ariane certainly wouldn’t want to desert Rappen Manor at a time like this! So they have sent out announcements proclaiming the wedding will be this day but saying that they have decided upon a private ceremony. That way, no one has to turn them down.”

“Good strategy,” Tayse said.

“Are all my brothers here?”

Kirra shook her head again. “Only Kiernan and Harris. Nate stayed behind. Officially, he is ill, but Kiernan told my father honestly that he wanted to leave one of his brothers in place in case there should be trouble.”

“And that neatly solves the problem of whether or not to bring Sabina Gisseltess with him,” Senneth said. “More excellent strategic thinking!”

“I would not want to match wits with Kiernan,” Kirra confessed. “I like Will so much better!”

“Though Will is not stupid, either,” Senneth warned. “He just doesn’t have Kiernan’s ruthlessness.”

“No, Casserah will supply that,” Kirra said.

“What’s on the schedule? Does something happen tonight?”

“Just a dinner for everyone staying in the manor. The wedding will be tomorrow at noon. There might be a hundred people present—vassals from Brassenthwaite who made the journey, and some of our own lesser lords.”

“So we can leave tomorrow afternoon?” Senneth said. Tayse laughed, but Kirra was horrified.

“Of course you can’t! How rude! There will be another dinner tomorrow night, and of course there will be dancing afterward, and I must see you take a turn around the ballroom in Kiernan’s arms! And then the following day there will be a breakfast, and I think there will be a hunt for those who can’t force themselves to leave, but I would think you could be on your way as soon as the breakfast is over.”

“I want to get back to Ghosenhall with all speed,” Senneth said.

“Did something else happen?”

Tayse didn’t quite laugh. “It’s a long tale,” he said. “Where’s Donnal? I’ll leave Senneth to fill you in.”

Kirra immediately settled herself in the middle of the maroon bedspread. “Yes. Sit down. We have at least an hour before we have to dress for dinner. Tell me everything.”

T
HE
meal was lavish, delicious, and surprisingly informal. Forty people sat at the two long tables, but they were all the most trusted vassals of two friendly Houses, and so there was little pomp, little posturing. Then, too, Senneth reflected, neither Malcolm Danalustrous nor her brother Kiernan had much use for frills or ostentation. If Kiernan had had his way, no doubt he would have seen Will and Casserah married in some hasty ceremony in a back parlor with only a handful of close friends in attendance, and he would have sent them out the door the very next day to go on with the unromantic business of ordinary life.

Much the way Senneth herself had gotten married.

Though it actually
had
been the most romantic evening of her life.

She found herself given the chair next to Malcolm Danalustrous, a high honor. Customarily, a husband and wife were not seated together, so she looked around to see where poor Tayse had landed. Ah—he had been well-placed between Kiernan’s wife, Chelley, who was quite kind and who liked Tayse, and Malcolm’s vassal Erin Sohta. Erin was a silly and fawning sort of woman, but she fancied herself an intimate of the marlord’s and always loved to be granted special privileges. She was just the sort of woman who would be delighted at a chance to be seated next to a King’s Rider at a dinner party and then gossip about it for the next two years.

Heartlessly, Senneth ignored both Tayse and the Brassenthwaite lord sitting on her other side, and talked to her host the entire night. Malcolm was the man she respected most, after the king; his House was the one she would have taken sanctuary in, if she had ever needed it. He was stern, stubborn, willful, fair-minded, and absolutely devoted to the land he owned. Kirra said his veins ran with Danalustrous river water and his heart was made from a curiously animate lump of Danalustrous clay. He had bequeathed his blue eyes, his black hair, his iron will, and his fierce commitment to the land to his daughter Casserah. Neither of them was comfortable to talk to. Both of them were easy to understand. Respect Danalustrous, or be gone.

“Tell me the news,” he said. “Kirra says war is on the doorstep.”

So she repeated everything she had told Kirra—except the parts about Amalie and Cammon, which were more interesting in their way but less important from Malcolm’s point of view. He listened intently, asked sharp questions, and shook his head when she asked if he planned to raise an army for the king.

“I want to close the borders,” he said. “And once my esteemed guests are gone, that is exactly what I plan to do.”

She toyed with her wineglass. “I don’t know how you think you can do that. You have miles of coastline, and you cannot possibly defend every inch. Your soldiers line every road that leads into Danalustrous, I’m assuming, but there are so many places a small troop could creep across the border in stealth! Your boundaries are porous, Malcolm.”

He gave her a faint smile. “And you don’t think I would know if hostile forces came stepping across those boundaries, no matter how secret their approach? You underestimate me, Senneth. I feel every footstep as it falls on Danalustrous soil. I will not be surprised by strangers.”

She sat back in her chair and regarded him with her head tilted to one side. “And do you still believe,” she said in a soft voice, “that Kirra inherited her magic from her
mother
? I have always thought you had some kind of mystical connection to your land. Maybe you’re the one with sorcery. If what you say is true.”

His smiled widened. “If so, then every marlord in Gillengaria, including your brother, has been touched by magic,” he said. “For they all have that same sense of kinship with their property. Talk to Heffel Coravann sometime if you don’t believe me. Talk to Ariane.”

She laughed back at him. “And if that is true, then how ironic it is that so many marlords have joined the campaign to eradicate mystics! My father, for instance. Banished me from Brassen Court when he could have been accused of the very same crime!”

Malcolm nodded. “And did you never wonder why Kiernan wished to reconcile with you after your father died? He had come to understand that he was attuned to Brassenthwaite in a way that could not be explained away by anything other than magic. That he was no different than you were—no, and your father had not been, either.”

“Bright Mother burn me in ashes to the ground,” she swore.

“I don’t expect he’d ever admit it, though,” Malcolm added.

She laughed again. “And I don’t expect I’ll ever ask.”

She did make her way to Kiernan’s side after the meal, though, and found him with her brother Harris. They all exchanged cool but civil greetings. Kiernan had the same sort of stubbornness she had always seen in Malcolm, but less charm and less humor. Still, in the past year she had been forced to admit that his virtues—loyalty, intelligence, and a passion for justice—outweighed most of his flaws, and they had cautiously rebuilt a relationship of sorts. She still had no patience for her brother Nate, and Harris was practically a stranger. But Kiernan she respected, if grudgingly so. He was a powerfully built man with heavy features partially obscured by a neat beard; his eyes betrayed nothing but a watchful shrewdness.

“What’s the news from Ghosenhall?” Kiernan asked.

She gave him the same recital she had given Malcolm, edited a little. He seemed equally unsurprised, though his response was different. “I’ll send troops from Brassenthwaite as soon as I’m back at the Court,” he said. “We’ve been training them against the day they would be needed.”

“Malcolm won’t send his men to battle,” she said.

Kiernan glanced over to where the marlord was making conversation with a Brassenthwaite vassal and her daughter. “Malcolm may change his mind,” he said. “He may decide that he does not like to see his nearest neighbors fighting over scraps of land that lie awfully close to his borders. He may decide Danalustrous’s best hope of remaining strong is making sure Gillengaria itself survives.”

She didn’t need to reply to that, for they were joined just then by the bridal couple. “Casserah,” Senneth said, embracing Kirra’s sister. The presumed excitement of the event didn’t seem to weigh much with Casserah. Her wide-set blue eyes still showed their habitual abstracted expression. Will stood beside her, lanky and smiling, his face familiar to Senneth because it looked so much like her own. “And, Will! I was so afraid I would not be able to make it for the wedding.”

“I was surprised to hear you’d arrived,” Will said, giving her a smile and a hard hug. “I was sure you’d find some excuse for staying away.”

She laughed. “The welfare of the kingdom? Would that have been a good enough reason?”

“Of course it would,” Casserah said, her voice as composed as always. “You didn’t need to come. I would not have been at all offended.”

Senneth couldn’t help grinning. Never anything less than the absolute truth from Casserah. “Then you won’t be offended to learn I do not plan to stay long after the ceremony concludes. I am uneasy being away from Ghosenhall. I think my place is there.”

“Perhaps the bride does not wish to talk of war on the eve of her wedding,” Harris said.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Casserah said. “Talk of whatever you like.”

The group broke up relatively soon after dinner; everyone wanted plenty of time to rest and refresh themselves before the morrow. When Senneth and Tayse returned to their room, they found Donnal there, shaped like a black hound, sleeping in front of the fire.

“Change to human form, and I’ll deal the cards,” Tayse invited him, and so the three of them were deep in a game when Kirra arrived half an hour later.

“Everyone off to bed and the bride settled in for the night,” she said with a sigh, pulling up a chair and motioning Senneth to include her in the next round. “I’m exhausted but I can’t sleep yet.”

Senneth felt her laughter bubble up. “Your sister does not seem to be a nervous bride.”

“No! Cold-blooded as ever. But she and Will deal together extraordinarily well. I think he finds her entertaining, and she considers him useful. I suppose there are worse ways to make a match.”

They played cards, talking idly, until well past midnight, when all of them were finally yawning. “Shall I come dress you in the morning or do you feel able to handle that task yourself?” Kirra asked Senneth on the way out.

“I think I can manage, thank you.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I
N
the morning, the house was filled with all the bustle of a grand event, so Senneth and Tayse didn’t look for much interaction with Kirra. Tayse rose and left the room while she was still half asleep; she was certain he had gone to work out with some of Malcolm’s house guards. But he returned in plenty of time to bathe and change into his Rider regalia—a formal uniform of black and gold, topped by a sash embroidered with the king’s gold lions.

“You look very handsome,” Senneth said. She was wearing a long-sleeved dress of deep blue, embroidered at the cuffs and hem and bodice with a complex border of gold. The necklace Tayse had given her hung just above the neckline, perfectly covering her Brassenthwaite housemark. She had made some effort with her hair, threading blue and gold ribbons through it, and touched up her pale cheeks with a hint of rouge.

“And you, serra. Extremely beautiful.”

“I will be glad when this is over and we can be on our way.”

He grinned, and bowed her out of the room.

The wedding guests were beginning to assemble in a large, formal hall on the first floor. Columns, archways, and topiary had been decorated with intertwined ribbons of Brassenthwaite blue and Danalustrous red, and someone had coaxed red chrysanthemums and blue delphinium to bloom out of season, for vases of the cut flowers were scattered throughout the room. Kiernan and Harris were standing in a group of Brassenthwaite men, holding what looked like a serious conversation. Senneth nodded their way but did not bother to join them. A harpist and a flautist sat in a corner, offering light music; servants circulated with trays of drinks. Sunlight streamed in through the eight huge windows that lined the east side of the room.

“A pretty day to be married,” Tayse observed.

“And then a pretty day to travel,” she replied. He laughed at her silently.

Finally, finally, all the guests had gathered. A small red bird with a black tail swooped in through the high doorway, circled the room once, and landed on one of the beribboned plants. Senneth supposed it was Donnal. He rarely attended even informal dinners at Danan Hall, for he was peasant-born and not comfortable in the company of nobles, but clearly this was an occasion he wanted to observe. She waved and he dipped his head in acknowledgment.

He was the last to arrive. Now the music changed, sending a cue to the bridal party. Malcolm entered with Kirra on one arm and his wife, Jannis, on the other, and strode to the front of the hall where a magistrate stood waiting. Casserah and Will were only a few steps behind. She wore deep red; her dark hair was unbound down her back. Will wore blue with touches of scarlet. He had attached a red blossom to his jacket with a ruby stickpin. Kiernan and Chelley and Harris went to stand beside Will while Malcolm, Jannis, and Kirra arranged themselves around Casserah.

The magistrate raised his hand to quiet the last mutterings of the crowd. He was tall and big-boned, with a shock of white hair and a lined, handsome face. Senneth judged that he had observed pretty much everything the world had to offer. “Those who have chosen to marry step forward. Tell me your names and your stations,” he intoned.

Senneth took a quick sip of breath and glanced up at Tayse. In almost the same words, a magistrate had married them last fall. He smiled down at her and put his hand on the small of her back.

“I am Casserah Danalustrous, serramarra,” the bride said, speaking with utmost confidence. “Daughter of Malcolm and Jannis Danalustrous and heir to all their property.”

“I am Will Brassenthwaite, serramar…”

It was clear that this ceremony was going to take a little longer than the one that had united Tayse and Senneth, so she let her mind wander a bit. Therefore, she was not paying attention when Tayse nudged her and nodded toward the front of the hall. He raised his eyebrows as if to ask what was wrong.

She focused on the wedding party. The cleric was speaking, but Casserah was not attending. She had turned to look at her father and he was staring back at her. After a moment, he nodded, and Casserah faced the magistrate again. Senneth saw her hands ball up at her sides.

Standing next to her sister, Kirra carefully turned her head, searching the crowd for Senneth; her eyes asked a question. Senneth lifted her hands in a gesture that signified ignorance. But the black-tailed songbird had taken wing. He fluttered out the archway and disappeared.

“Something’s happening,” Senneth breathed to Tayse.

He nodded and put his hand surreptitiously to his sword. Most of the men present had buckled on dress swords, if they bothered with weapons at all, but Tayse, as always, was armed as if he might have to go into combat at any moment.

No one else seemed to realize there might be trouble. Even Kiernan looked stolid and just a little bored, his arms crossed on his broad chest, his eyes fixed on his brother while his mind probably was busy calculating tax rates or land yields. The cleric, who was now deep in some kind of homily, continued speaking in a deep and solemn voice.

It was less than ten minutes before Donnal returned, arrowing in through the doorway and straight to Kirra. He landed on her shoulder, which caused one or two people in the audience to murmur and laugh, but Senneth knew he did not have Cammon’s ability to put his thoughts directly into someone’s head. As unobtrusively as possible, Kirra stepped away from the bridal party, the bird still on her shoulder, and ducked into a doorway leading to a servant’s hall.

This
Kiernan noticed. He unfolded his arms and gave Malcolm an inquiring look. And when, a minute later, Kirra hurried back in and headed straight for her father, Kiernan took five long steps over to join her. They stood there briefly, conferring, while the crowd began to mutter and the magistrate’s sonorous voice stuttered to a halt.

“Marlord, is there a problem?” the cleric asked.

Malcolm spoke up calmly. “Finish the ceremony.”

“What’s wrong?” Will asked Casserah.

Malcolm’s voice was a little louder. “Finish the ceremony. Bind them in marriage. Perhaps finish it more quickly than you planned.”

Will appealed to Kiernan, who was still standing beside Malcolm. “What’s wrong?”

At that moment, Senneth heard the thrumming sound of hundreds of booted feet, as if all of Malcolm’s house guards had suddenly been called to formation. They must be outside and some distance away, but there were enough of them that the noise carried. Even farther away there was the silver call of a bugle and a man’s voice raised in what was clearly an order to march out.

“Danan Hall is under siege,” Malcolm said coolly. “Finalize the wedding. Let them speak their vows.”

Now the crowd was alive with agitation, and a few people fled for the door. But Kiernan and Malcolm stood fast, both of them watching the cleric, and Casserah took Will’s hand.

“Yes,” she said, serene as ever. “Finish this.”

“Then—then—” the magistrate stammered, leafing through his book to the final pages. He looked quite pale, and his deep voice was suddenly breathy. “Bound together in friendship, bound together before witnesses, bound together in marriage,” he rattled off. “From this day forward, you will be known to all as husband and wife.”

“That’s done, then,” Kiernan said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, and the whole crowd fell apart.

Kirra spun on one heel, lifted her arms above her head, and collected herself into a dark winged shape. Flinging herself into the air, she skimmed over the heads of the visitors and ducked out the great door. She barely beat Tayse, who had sprinted for the threshold the instant the magistrate’s last words had sounded. Senneth turned to follow but got caught up in the milling crowd. People were crying, reaching out to grab each other, calling out questions, edging for the door, edging back.

Malcolm strode through the mob, Kiernan close at his heels, then turned at the door to address his guests. “You are probably safest if you stay here,” he said. “Those with weapons who wish to use them are welcome to join the defense.” And he disappeared out the door.

A hand caught Senneth’s arm; she turned to find Will and Casserah beside her. “Will you stay or will you fight?” Casserah asked. Senneth was impressed at her iron control. She clearly realized the situation was dangerous but was not about to melt into a puddle of fear.

“Fight,” Senneth said, “though I’m hardly dressed for it.”

“I have a sword in my room,” Will said.

Senneth shook her head. “No. You and Casserah stay here. The point of this whole day was to unite Danalustrous and Brassenthwaite. It’s why Malcolm wanted the ceremony concluded. The two of you must be safe no matter who else falls.”

Will glanced at his new bride. “Do you have any idea who would attack? Has Halchon Gisseltess decided to open his war on Danan Hall?”

Casserah shook her head. “No one crossed the borders. This is local trouble.”

Senneth’s eyes narrowed. So Casserah, like her father, could sense when the boundaries of the land were breached. “Who would wish you so ill on your wedding day?”

“I’m only guessing. But I suspect Thirteenth House lords who have been dissatisfied with the distribution of property.” She thought a moment. “There is one young lord in particular who dislikes me. Chalfrey Mallon. He would be especially glad to see me wounded on what should be my happiest day.”

Senneth felt rage race through her; her temperature was rising, dangerously high. “Cruel and stupid,” she said in a harsh voice. “To try to bring pain where there should be joy.”

“He is cruel and stupid,” Casserah agreed. “And so we have death instead.”

Senneth stalked toward the door, her dark blue dress swirling around her ankles. “Well, Danalustrous and Brassenthwaite defend their own.”

As soon as she was in the hallway, she started running, following the scurry of servants, the sounds of combat. Casserah was right. No foreign force could have gotten this close to the Hall without Malcolm being aware of it. Whoever these invaders were, they had come cloaked in Danalustrous colors. How many troops could such malcontents have raised? Enough to overrun Malcolm’s personal guard?

She burst through the front door and came upon a melee. It was almost impossible to tell who was fighting on what side, since the majority of the combatants were wearing red. But the invaders were on horseback and the defenders mostly on foot, a bad matchup for the Hall. There were terrible sounds of shouting men, screaming horses, clashing blades. She could see Tayse off to her right, unexpectedly mounted—he must have wrenched a horse from one of the assailants. He laid about him with a furious and brutal efficiency, cutting a swath through the oncoming soldiers. A phalanx of soldiers in blue and red waded behind him, emboldened by his charge, dispatching enemies with a righteous fervor.

But there. Near the garden. A line of invaders was weaving through the ornamental hedges, creeping toward the manor as if to slip in the back way and wreak havoc in the halls. Two civil guardsmen spotted them and let out yells as they ran to engage them, but there were already twenty enemies almost at the house.

Senneth flung a hand out, and the whole maze of hedges burst into flames. Two invaders cried out in pain, saw their trousers catch fire, and dropped to the ground. A dozen of their companions broke free of the sizzling shrubbery and headed toward the house at a dead run. Another eight or ten backed up, away from the flames, away from the battle, and watched indecisively.

Senneth snapped her wrist. The first of the oncoming soldiers ignited and screamed in agony. She splayed her hand again and two more men started blazing. Again. Again. Mad with pain and terror, the enemy fighters shrieked and flung themselves to the ground, rolling on the brown grass. The soldiers who had held back now turned on their heels and sped away.

Senneth felt the heat licking through her veins; her eyes were misted with a fine red. She might have been on fire herself, or perhaps it was just fury that consumed her. She swung her attention back to the main fray and ran forward to cast herself into the middle of it, heedless of swinging blades and trampling horses. Who was loyal, who traitorous? When she was sure, she placed her torrid hand on a soldier’s arm, on his back, and heard him scream as his clothes caught fire. Ten men burned as she darted through the grunting, battling squads. Twenty. Thirty.

But more were coming. How many more? How far away were they? She snatched a blade up from a fallen combatant, and hewed her way through the mass of men. Her blue dress was covered in dirt, spattered with blood, ripped at the knees, and,
gods
, was it inconvenient. She hacked and kicked and burned her way through the crowd and finally was clear of the first ring of attackers.

She stood on the outer lawns of Danan Hall, breathing hard, staring around her, wondering where the next assault might come from.

A hawk plummeted from above, talons outstretched. As soon as he touched down, he took Donnal’s shape. His feet were bare and covered with blood.

“How many?” she demanded. “How far away?”

“Maybe a thousand advancing from south and west,” he said, pointing. “The marlord’s reserve soldiers are on the run from the north. But the enemy will arrive first.”

“How many in the marlord’s troops?”

“Easily two thousand. There’s another several thousand that can be summoned, but they’re housed on property a day’s ride from here.”

“How quickly will reinforcements arrive?”

“Maybe an hour.”

“And the advancing troops?”

But she could hear them herself, the thunder of hooves, the shouts of men. “Now,” Donnal whispered just as the first men broke across the horizon line and charged straight for the embattled Hall.

Senneth spun around, flung her arms wide before her, and called up a monstrous wall of flame. It was taller than an oak tree and raced a mile from either side of her; she felt her own skin blister from its roaring heat. At least fifty men cantered through it, unable to pull up their horses in time. They were shrieking in pain, and their mounts snorted and reared and threw them to the ground. Through the wicked crackle of the flames she could hear shouts and cries on the other side, questions flung out, orders issued, orders remanded. One or two more soldiers braved the barrier and came through, livid with fire.