The Thirteenth House

by Sharon Shinn

  She turned away and excused herself repeatedly as she cut through the crowd, back toward the formal doorway. Naturally, the one person she encountered was the person she least wanted to see—Justin, on his way to guard the salon while Amalie sat inside it. His face wore its usual expression of scorn and fierceness, carefully cultivated to show he was dangerous and unimpressed by nobility. When he caught sight of her, his face momentarily darkened—more scornful, more ferocious—and she read anger and condemnation in his eyes. He knew, if Romar Brendyn did not, that Donnal had left. And why.

  But something on her own face snagged his attention, and his expression changed, became suddenly alert and inquiring. He caught her arm as she would have stalked right by him.

  “Are you all right?” he demanded.

  She shook herself free. “Fine.”

  “Should I get Senneth?”

  “I’m fine. I’m going to my room. I’m tired.”

  He said nothing else for a moment, merely watched her. She thought she could see him considering and then rejecting any number of other comments, everything from abuse for her stupidity to sympathy for her pain. Finally, he said, “Cammon’s in our room. Just down the hall from yours. If you need someone.”

  This was meant to be kindness, she knew, and she was almost undone by it. “Thank you,” she whispered, because the tears had made her throat close up and she could not speak normally. “I just want to be by myself.”

  He nodded and stood aside to let her pass. She practically ran up the stairs and down the hall to her room, flinging herself on her bed. She had wept hysterically for maybe ten minutes before she felt Melly’s soft hand on her shoulder. It had not occurred to her that someone else would be in the room, and she struggled to sit up, to compose herself. But she could not do it. Melly wiped her face with a damp cloth and murmured something inarticulate and soothing, and Kirra just gave up. She turned her face back into the pillow and sobbed herself to sleep.

  KIRRA woke late and reluctantly, and then only because someone was calling her. “Serra. Serra. There is a message from the marlady. Serra, you cannot sleep all day.”

  She rolled over on the mattress to try to locate the voice, reorient herself to her surroundings. Dark hair on her pillow, a worried young woman bending over her, bright light streaming in through unfamiliar windows. She was Casserah, this was Rappengrass, and it had to be past noon. Bright Mother blind me, she thought, and sat up.

  “What time is it? Is something wrong?”

  “Everyone else has just gone down to lunch. Nothing’s wrong. You’ve gotten a note from the marlady, who would like to see you. I didn’t know—I didn’t want to wake you but—Are you sick? Serra Senneth said I should let you sleep as long as I could.”

  Kirra dangled her legs over the side of the bed, then sat there a moment, assessing. How did she feel? Rested; that was a nice change. A little foggy from too much sleep, but that would surely pass. There was a lurking sadness in her heart, hiding in a dark vaulted chamber and unwilling to be examined too closely, but she could breathe. That was another nice change.

  “So, Senneth has come by this morning?”

  Melly nodded. “And Cammon. And two of the Riders.”

  Kirra could not help smiling at that. The very act of smiling eased some of her pain, which made her realize just how much pain she still was feeling. Hell and damnation. “What does Ariane want?”

  “She didn’t say. Just that she would like a private audience with you. Today.”

  “I suppose I’d better get dressed then.”

  “Are you hungry? I had some food brought up.”

  Kirra checked again, but couldn’t find hunger among her range of wants. Still, she supposed she should eat something before she met with Ariane. “Yes, thank you,” she said, summoning a smile. “You are very good to me.”

  “That’s not hard,” Melly said, turning away to fetch the tray. “You’re very easy to care for.”

  IT was not quite an hour before Kirra was dressed, fed, reasonably focused, and on her way to see Ariane. As a servant led her through the ornate halls of Rappen Manor, Kirra could not help but notice Rappengrass soldiers everywhere. They were visible out every window that overlooked the lawns, training or lounging; the room where she was finally taken was guarded by six men, all grim-faced and heavily armed. So it had been several months ago when Kirra had come here last, shaped as herself, Senneth at her side. Ariane Rappengrass clearly was taking no chances with her own safety—or that of her guests.

  The heavy door was opened by Ariane’s steward, a cadaverous, humorless man who had always had a fondness for Kirra. “Serra Casserah,” he said and waved her inside.

  Ariane was standing across the room, just beside a wide desk. The whole chamber was furnished in deep colors, maroon and bronze and purple, the somber effect somewhat mitigated by the glorious sunshine pouring in from three high windows. Ariane herself looked just as serious as her furnishings, with her severe hairstyle, the grave expression on her broad features, and the black color of her dress.

  “Thank you, Ralf. You may go,” she said, dismissing her steward as she came around the desk toward Kirra. A smile lightened her face somewhat; she took Kirra’s hands and studied her a moment. “Casserah. It has been a long time since I’ve seen you. I cannot believe you are twenty-one already. I think of you still as a thin and somewhat clumsy sixteen. You have become so poised.”

  Not everyone in the nobility liked Ariane Rappengrass, but everyone in House Danalustrous did, so Kirra allowed herself to smile warmly in return. “I resent being told you ever thought I appeared clumsy,” she replied. “I assure you, even when I was at my most awkward, I considered myself quite adroit. I suppose, when I am thirty, I will look back with dismay at the gaucherie I display now.”

  “I doubt it,” Ariane said. “From everything I hear, you are very polished.”

  Kirra laughed. “Has Darryn been telling tales of me?”

  Ariane drew her over to an embroidered crimson sofa and they sat. “Oh, Darryn is filled with admiration for both you and your sister. He said that Kirra has better hair but you have better insults.”

  Kirra choked and then laughed aloud. “And I thought I was always so kind to him! I’ll have to treat him to real disdain during this visit so he can see me at my best.”

  “Yes, do that. It will please him so much.”

  There was a polite knock on the door and a servant entered with a tray of refreshments. Neither of them spoke until the food had been arranged on a small table and the servant had withdrawn again.

  “So, I am wondering what you’ve learned on this jaunt across Gillengaria,” Ariane said, pouring tea and handing a cup to Kirra. When Kirra was silent, Ariane looked up with a smile. “Is that too blunt? Surely I cannot be wrong in thinking your father sent you on the circuit to gather information about the state of the realm.”

  Kirra sipped at the tea, which was really too hot to drink. She wasn’t sure how to answer. “My sister came back from her travels earlier this year, full of dire warnings about rebellions being plotted in the south. My father is not sure how much turmoil is real, how much is just—posturing—by the southern Houses.”

  “My own guess is that there is a very real chance for war,” Ariane said flatly. “And that I sit in the middle of a combat zone.”

  Kirra nodded. “So my sister said. And she was anxious to hear my father say aloud that he would support the crown if the Houses divided.”

  Ariane looked at her sharply. “And he would not say so? Surely Malcolm would never side with rebels! Particularly rebels led by Halchon Gisseltess.”

  Kirra drank a little more tea. “My father would—no. He would never rise against the king. But he might do everything in his power to hold back from a war. I believe he would stay neutral if he could.”

  “He can’t,” Ariane said.

  “He thinks he can.”

  Ariane replaced her cup on the table as if she was afraid she might spill i
t if she held it much longer. “So Malcolm would desert us,” she said, clearly angry. “I thought we could count on Danalustrous.”

  “War is not here yet,” Kirra said gently. “He may have a different answer if it arrives.”

  The marlady gave her another keen look. “And you? Now that you have been named heir to Danalustrous? What if war came while you were installed in Danan Hall?”

  Harder and harder to answer this as Casserah would. “You know that I seldom stir beyond my own borders. Danalustrous is first and foremost in my heart, and I would do anything in my power to keep it safe. But I have to admit, I do not think Danalustrous would be safe if the rest of the world was rent by war. I think sides would have to be chosen. And I would never, under any scenario you could devise, choose to cast my lot with Halchon Gisseltess.” Kirra drained the teacup and set it down. “And neither would my father,” she added. “If he takes sides, he will fight for Baryn. With you. With Brassenthwaite.”

  “Yes, and with who else?” Ariane said with a certain grimness. “Did you happen to pick up any clues about Nocklyn and Coravann and Kianlever while you were journeying across the continent? For I am sure Fortunalt is against us. I wonder just how alone we will stand.”

  “I have no specific knowledge,” Kirra said, since she didn’t think she was authorized to repeat Sabina Gisseltess’s whispered words to Senneth. If they were even true. If the woman even knew who was allied with her husband and who was not. “I can tell you my impressions. Heffel Coravann feels much like my father does—he wants to stay neutral, and he seems to think he can. Eloise Kianlever would declare herself for the king—but some of her vassals could be convinced to put their loyalty elsewhere, and she may well have an uprising on her hands. Nocklyn would appear to be wholly given over to the Gisseltess connection—and yet Els is still alive, and Mayva was not happy at the chaos that churned in her house when Halchon Gisseltess came to call.”

  “Yes, Darryn told me the whole tale,” Ariane replied. She sounded astonished still. “That Halchon had the nerve to travel when Baryn had confined him to his estates! Well, that alone should tell us the caliber of the man. I believe there is nothing he would stop at.”

  “I believe you’re right. He spoke quite nakedly of his ambition when he confronted Senneth earlier this year. Have you heard that tale as well?” When Ariane shook her head, Kirra told the story. “Senneth and Kirra met him in Lochau recently. He all but came out and said he was ready to wrest the throne from Baryn’s hands, for Baryn is old and weak and has only one rather questionable heir. He also told Senneth he would be willing to forgo a war if Baryn would name him heir instead—”

  “He would never repudiate Amalie that way!”

  Kirra nodded. “And he thought the other eleven Houses would agree to this plan if he, Halchon, discarded his current wife and took a more politically powerful woman as his bride.” She waited expectantly.

  Ariane was staring. “No. Did he—did he mean Senneth? She despises him! Oh, terrible as it is, I almost wish I’d been in the room to hear him make that proposal to her! What did she say?”

  “I forget the exact words—or maybe Kirra never told me,” she added hastily. “Something along the lines of she’d rather see him dead. In any case, I don’t think that should be a contingency you consider as a real possibility. She’ll never marry him. But that isn’t going to keep him from pursuing the throne.”

  Ariane sighed and passed a hand over her strong features. For a moment, she slumped on the sofa and appeared much more like a tired old woman than a formidable marlady. “And so we come back to war,” she said, and dropped her hand. “As does every conversation I have these days.”

  “We could talk of something else,” Kirra said, because she thought Casserah would have. “Family and friends, for instance. I have met two of your sons during my most recent travels and I liked them both a great deal. How are your other children? And grandchildren? We could spend the next hour discussing them.”

  Ariane sighed again and looked even more tired. “Unfortunately, we could,” she said. She glanced at Kirra, then stared blindly out the window at the bright sunlight. “I am most happy that you have come to Rappengrass, for I don’t believe I’ve ever had the chance to entertain you at Rappen Manor before, but I have to say, I was wishing Kirra would come as well. I would ask her—” She spread her hands and said nothing more.

  Kirra waited till the silence had stretched out a few moments. “She was here a few months ago and you asked for nothing.”

  “A few months ago my granddaughter had not fallen ill with red-horse fever. Now—now she is so sick they think she will die within the month. I am talking to you of uprisings and loyalties, but half my heart does not care at all if war comes to Gillengaria. Half my heart is up in that sickroom with Lyrie. I would sacrifice Baryn, I would sacrifice Rappengrass itself, to keep her alive.”

  Kirra felt a bolt of melancholy strike dead center into her heart, already tender with losses of its own. “Red-horse fever,” she said. “I’ve heard of that. It’s—they say it cannot be cured.”

  Ariane nodded. She was looking down at her hands. “That’s what they say. I’ve had all kinds of healers in—mystics and physicians—those trained in magic and those trained in science. No one has been able to do anything for her except ease her pain for a day or two. I thought that Kirra—well, she’s the best healer I’ve ever seen. I thought maybe she could do something that the others could not.”

  Now Kirra was the one to sit for a minute in silence. She already knew she had no antidote for this particular illness; she already knew she could not rout this poison with her hands. It was pointless to speculate, to wonder how she might insert herself into the sickroom, to hope that this time, with this child, her magic might be more powerful than death. It was stupid to think she could defeat someone else’s despair even though she could not defeat her own.

  “Casserah?” Ariane asked. “What did I say? I’m sorry—I did not mean to offend you. Of course I am happy that you are here. I was not saying that I preferred your sister. I was just—”

  Impulsively, Kirra took hold of the marlady’s hands. “Ariane—I believe I can trust you. And the secret is not so terrible, really. It is just that I have been keeping it for many weeks now and had had no thought of revealing it, even to you.”

  Ariane looked wholly bewildered. “But—what secret? Casserah, you do not have to tell me anything that you—”

  Kirra squeezed her hands more tightly. “Kirra. I’m Kirra. I have traveled the circuit pretending to be my sister because my father thought Casserah should meet all the nobles. But she refused to leave Danalustrous, so I agreed to a masquerade of sorts—”

  “You’re Kirra?” Ariane repeated, holding on to the one piece of information in that tumbling speech that made any sense to her. “But you—oh, this is just like you, it really is.”

  Kirra laughed, and dropped the other woman’s hands. “Yes. But I don’t see any reason—I mean, by now I’ve met everyone Casserah was supposed to impress—why can’t I be Kirra from today on? We’ll say Casserah was called back home. A message from my father. I have come to take her place during the final ball of the summer season. You will not be offended. And I can throw off a disguise that, truthfully, has become a bit difficult to maintain.”

  Ariane still looked slightly dazed. “But you—why would you do this? I mean, I’m happy to have whichever sister from Danalustrous chooses to grace my court, but—”

  “Because I do not dare pretend Casserah has any magic,” Kirra said, entirely sober now. “The fact that I am a mystic has done my father much harm—or would have, if he cared for anyone’s opinion but his own. I cannot let there be even the slightest suspicion that Casserah also carries such a taint. I cannot go to that sickroom as my sister and touch that child and bring even a small measure of relief to her body. I can’t do it. If I want to go to her, I have to go as myself. And Ariane, I don’t know if there is anything at all I can do
for her, but I want to try.”

  Ariane was trying not to cry. It was shocking to see tears on that strong, imperturbable face. “If you could do anything—anything at all—I would be so grateful—”

  Kirra rose to her feet. “Give me an hour or two. It will take me that long to leave the Manor as Casserah and return as Kirra.”

  Ariane stood beside her, looking just a little shaky. “No one would even have to see you leave,” she said. “None of the guards is watching for stray nobility on the way out of the gates. But you will have to come through the checkpoints like any other visitor or someone will grow suspicious.”

  Kirra smiled, then leaned in quickly and kissed the older woman on the cheek. “I can manage this,” she said. “Be ready to receive me again in a couple of hours.”

  SO it was that, solitary and on horseback, Casserah Danalustrous slipped out of the gates of Rappen Manor, and Kirra Danalustrous rode in. No one had stopped or questioned Casserah, who had been plainly dressed and not particularly notable; but Kirra had to explain to five different guards who she was and why she had chosen to visit. A half dozen nobles, coming and going on their own pursuits, witnessed her arrival. Those who knew her waved and called out greetings. Those who didn’t looked curious and pleased when they learned that Malcolm Danalustrous’s wildest daughter had chosen to come to Rappengrass for the summer ball.