Dark Moon Defender (Twelve Houses)

by Sharon Shinn

  The guards did not pause as they crossed into the city proper, though they had to make their way more slowly through the crowded streets. Even Ellynor could tell that some parts of town were more respectable than others, for they moved past buildings that had a slovenly look, dirty and ill-kept, and into districts where the storefronts were neat, the window boxes weeded, the doors covered in fresh paint.

  Eventually they climbed a rather steep hill and came to a halt. They were outside an elegant three-story building located on about an acre of land enclosed by a wrought-iron fence. One of the guards helped the Lestra from the saddle. The other women dismounted without assistance, then the guards gathered up the horses. “Come for us tomorrow around noon,” the Lestra directed. “We will know then if we want to leave or stay another day.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Darris pulled back the iron gate and the Lestra strode in, the others trailing behind her. The wide front door had already been opened, and servants were bowing low, some of them touching their fists to their right shoulders. The Lestra swept by them as if they were invisible. Feeling just as invisible themselves, Astira and Ellynor followed Darris inside, then craned their necks to take in the opulence of the furnishings. Lush carpets, gold statuettes, high ceilings, stained glass. Certainly richer than Ellynor was used to, either at the convent or back home.

  They were quickly ushered into a large parlor that was littered with chairs and sofas and small tables. An elegant, middle-aged, dark-haired woman rose to meet them, holding her hands out to take the Lestra’s in a warm clasp.

  “Coralinda! So good of you to come. You’re looking well.”

  “Thank you, Jenetta. The goddess watches over me.”

  “Are you tired? Are you hungry? Would you like to eat or rest awhile?”

  “We can do that later. Take me to your mother first, since her situation is so grave.”

  The woman swept a doubtful look over the rest of the entourage. “All of you?”

  “Yes. We shall take the night watch in shifts, so they should all meet her now.”

  “Follow me.”

  Another parade through the lovely house, this time up a curving staircase whose walls were hung with formal portraits of rather grim men and women. Down a hall, past a few closed doors, and then into a chamber that was obviously a sickroom. There was the odor, for one thing, of bitter herbs and fevered flesh. There was the low light. There was the sticklike woman on the wide bed, a smothering of covers concealing everything except her head. Her nose was prominent and sharp, her hair loose and gray; everything else about her was vague and indeterminate. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was so shallow it did not disturb the blankets over her chest.

  “We shall pray for her,” the Lestra announced. “And then we shall stay with her, one of us, from now until she dies.”

  Their hostess flinched at the uncompromising word. “The doctor said it could be as early as tonight, but he did not think it would be more than another three days.”

  The Lestra nodded. “We shall stay that long, if that is the case.”

  She made a motion with her hand, and the Daughters arranged themselves around the bed. Darris and the Lestra stood on either side of the woman, near her head, the novices at her feet. Together they chanted the prayers that asked the Pale Mother’s mercy upon this woman, that begged the Silver Lady to gather this soul into her own bright radiance and add its light to hers. Take her gently. Turn her sacrifice to glory. May her face shine beside yours from the wide circle of the moon.

  Ellynor itched to come close enough to lay her fingers on the old woman’s forehead, to stroke her hands, now buried under the covers. Back in the Lirrens, everyone wanted Ellynor nearby if there was illness in the house. But she had to be able to touch her patients to gauge what was wrong and if she could help them. This old woman was so frail and so ancient that it might be merely age that was shutting her body down, in which case there was nothing Ellynor would be able to do. But if there was a disease, a fever, a rebellion in the blood— well, it was possible Ellynor would be able to make her well, or at least ease her transition from this life to the next.

  But there was no chance to touch the old woman, even to lean forward and lay a hand across the covered feet. The Lestra concluded the prayers and turned to look at her hostess. “Very well,” she said. “Darris will stay with your mother for a few hours, then I will, and then my novices will take the night hours at her side. Feed us, let us get some rest, and we will do what we can.”

  WITHIN half an hour, Astira and Ellynor were curled up in a small bedroom on the third story, having eaten a quick meal in the dining hall. They were supposed to be sleeping, of course, but they were both too excited by the strangeness of their circumstances to be able to settle down. First they discussed the journey itself, then the sights that had caught their eyes as they moved through Neft, before turning their attention to their current situation.

  “So why are we here?” Ellynor wanted to know. “I didn’t think the Lestra went to private houses to perform sacred rituals—or sent her novices in to watch over the dying.”

  Astira was sitting up in the bed they shared, her arms locked around her updrawn knees. The room was dark except for the light of a single candle set in the window. “Usually not,” she agreed. “But Jenetta Gisseltess is a cousin of the Lestra—and she married into money. She is constantly donatingfunds to the convent, so there is every reason for the Lestra to show her special attention.”

  “She looks noble.”

  “Jenetta? Yes, but only Thirteenth House. Like me.”

  “I don’t understand what that means,” Ellynor said.

  “There are twelve great Houses in Gillengaria,” Astira said patiently. She had explained this more than once before. “The owners—the marlords—possess most of the property that’s worth having, and when they die, they pass it on to their sons and daughters. The serramar and the serramarra. But they own so much land that they can’t really control or cultivate it all, so they each have vassals—highborn lords and ladies who hold properties in trust for the marlords. Many of them are second cousins of the marlords, or seventh sons of sixth sons—nobles, with noble blood, just not the highest connections. They’re referred to as the Thirteenth House, no matter which of the Twelve Houses they hold allegiance to. It doesn’t tell you where they’re from, it just tells you their status.” She shrugged. “They’re good, but not good enough. Or I guess I should say we’re not good enough.”

  “And Gisseltess? That’s the name of one of these Twelve Houses?”

  Astira giggled. “Yes, silly! One of the most powerful.”

  “And the Lestra? She’s from Gisseltess?”

  “Yes. If she was not the Lestra, you would properly call her serra Coralinda. Her brother is marlord Halchon.” Astira gave an exaggerated shiver. “Have you ever met him? He’s a little frightening. Very intense. The way the Lestra is, only—only— with him you think it could turn to violence. I don’t like him much. Fortunately, he doesn’t come to the convent often.”

  “It’s all very confusing. We don’t have titles and nobles among the Lirrens.”

  “No, you just have these complex arrangements of kin! No one could keep track of such things!”

  Ellynor was surprised. “It’s very easy. There are individual families, and they band together to make up a sebahta, or a clan, and a number of clans make up the sebahta-ris—”

  Astira flung up a hand. “No, please, I won’t be able to keep it straight. Everyone was so astonished when you and Rosurie came to live at the convent. I don’t believe any of us had ever met a Lirren girl before.”

  “I never thought to travel across the Lireth Mountains,” Ellynor said.

  Astira unwound her hands and stretched out on the bed, yawning a little. “And why did you? Because Rosurie fell in love with some boy, is that it?”

  Ellynor laughed and lay down beside her, though she wasn’t at all sleepy. “A boy from the Bramlis seba
hta, yes.”

  “Is it true that Rosurie’s father would have killed him if he’d caught them together?”

  “No, but it might have started a clan war.”

  “What’s that?”

  It was difficult to explain. “It’s when—when all the families of the sebahta-ris declare hostility on the families of another sebahta-ris, and if members of one family see members of another somewhere, they’ll start fighting. Brutal fights, bloody—a lot of people die. You never want to be the clan that’s overmatched, so if anyone in your family needs to travel, he takes five or ten brothers or cousins with him to defend him on the road. It’s stupid and it’s pointless and it can go on for years,” Ellynor added bitterly. “All the young men dying, all their friends swearing revenge. Rosurie’s father wanted to do anything to prevent another clan war. That’s why he agreed to send her away.”

  Astira had lifted her head and was now supporting it with her hand, clearly fascinated. “But that’s so—so exotic!” she exclaimed. “People taking up arms against each other and, what, dueling in the streets if they happen to encounter each other in the town square?”

  “There are no town squares. There are no towns. But there is a great deal of travel on a few essential roads, and the battles are most likely to occur on one of these journeys.” Ellynor stretched her arms over her head. “Oh, you’re right, it is complicated! There are some sebahta that almost always stay neutral, and they try to mediate disputes. There are some families that live close to the roads, and they want to avoid having their own young men get swept up in other people’s battles, and so they will post watchers on the road and try to make sure warring sebahta don’t accidentally meet. But there are some men who are always ready to fight. Who are always looking for the stranger’s insult or the dangerous pathway. The Lirren men are proud of their ability with knives and swords—and bare hands. Even when times are peaceful, they fight each other, just to keep their skills sharp.”

  “Even the men in your family?”

  Ellynor laughed. “Especially the men in my family! Not my father so much now, though my mother says he was always quarrelsome when they were younger. But my brothers— Hayden and Torrin—oh, they would fight anybody with hardly an excuse. Torrin especially. He is two years older than I am and just stuffed with pride. No one has ever beaten him, either friend or enemy. He is too good.”

  “I can’t imagine having brothers like that. They sound dreadful.”

  Ellynor laughed, though the sound was half a sigh. “Oh, in their way, they are wonderful. They both love me very much, though their love is smothering sometimes. I don’t think I’ve ever talked to a boy without Hayden and Torrin watching, ready to strangle the poor man if he said something too familiar or tried to take my hand. And if he tried to kiss me—! Some man from the Cohfen sebahta did kiss me one feast night, and I thought Torrin would tear the head from his body. Hayden stopped him, but only because he was Cohfen, and not someone we wanted to fight with.”

  “I heard something once about the Lirrenfolk,” Astira said. “That the women aren’t allowed to marry anyone except Lirren men. Is that true?”

  Ellynor nodded, ruffling her hair against the pillow. She had unbound it and combed it out after their ride. She’d need to braid it or put it in its customary knot before taking her turn at the old woman’s bedside. “It’s true,” she said, lowering her voice even more. “If a girl tries to marry outside the Lirrens, her lover will be challenged to a duel to the death. Anyone in the sebahta-ris—her father, her brothers, her cousins—whoever is the best fighter can do battle on her behalf, but the lover must fight for himself. And they fight until one of them is dead.”

  “That’s terrible!” Astira exclaimed.

  Ellynor nodded again. “I know. You can guess that not too many Lirren girls are willing to risk it. For which one of them would you want to see bleeding his life away? You understand, the families are very close. The ties of affection are so strong, and not just between blood relatives, but between everyone in the sebahta. What kind of girl would put her father or her brother at risk? And yet, how could she stand to see her lover cut down? Wouldn’t she just rather give him up? Wouldn’t she just tell him, the very first time he showed her any affection, ‘Go away. I’m not interested in you’? Better that than to someday fall in love with him, and have to choose between giving him up or seeing him dead.”

  “That’s even more terrible,” Astira said. “I would despise anyone who put me in a position like that. I would hate my father to think he would force me to make such a dreadful decision.”

  Ellynor shrugged in the dark. “Well, there are not so many strangers who come traveling through the Lirrens,” she said. “A few merchants—now and then some of the king’s soldiers—and every once in a while, sailors from Arberharst and Sovenfeld. But mostly the men we see are the men of our families and of the sebahta-ris. We don’t have many chances to ruin our lives by falling in love with forbidden men.”

  Astira leaned closer. “There are the men of the Lestra’s guard,” she whispered. “You might fall in love with one of them.”

  Ellynor laughed. “And they’re forbidden, too, but by the Lestra herself! No, thank you, I’m not looking to fall in love with anyone just now. I just want to be a good Daughter, serve the goddess, watch over my cousin, and make my family proud.”

  Astira yawned again. “I just want to sleep for an hour or two before it is my turn to watch the old woman,” she said.

  “Then close your eyes. I’m sure we’re both so tired that we’ll fall asleep right away.”

  Indeed, Astira slept almost immediately, but Ellynor was wide awake. The moon had been an even thinner crescent tonight, only a few days away from dark, and the Black Mother had almost complete dominion over the night sky. Ellynor’s very favorite time. She crept from the bed and went to lean out the window, resting her arms on the sill next to the candle. A deep inhalation brought her the mixed scents of ripe gourds in the gardens and turning leaves on the nearest trees. Almost autumn. Soon to be winter. The best time of year.

  She was still awake when a servant knocked and quietly entered. “One of you is wanted in the sickroom,” the girl informed Ellynor.

  She glanced at the bed, but Astira’s eyes were closed and her breathing was soft and regular. “I’ll go,” Ellynor said, catching up her hair in one quick twist. “Give me a moment to put on my robe.”

  A FEW minutes later, Ellynor was ushered into the sickroom. The Lestra stood there still, a dark shape bowed over the broad bed. She looked up when Ellynor entered.

  “She is breathing still, but her lungs draw poorly,” the Lestra said in her deep, musical voice. “I don’t think it will be much longer now. Are you afraid to be alone if death comes into the room?”

  “No,” Ellynor said. “I’ve been present for such visits before. But who should I call if it happens?”

  “Jenetta told me there will be a servant just down the hall. Make use of her. And send her to fetch your sister novice after you have watched a few hours.”

  “I will. Thank you, my lady.” Ellynor inclined her head as the Lestra passed her and left the room. She waited till the door clicked shut behind her.

  Alone with the dying woman.

  Ellynor pulled a chair up next to the bed but did not immediately sit, just leaned over and examined the patient’s face. So thin, so pale, with breath so slow and labored that indeed it seemed each one might be her last. Again, Ellynor wondered: Was it age or illness that had brought her down?

  She placed her hands carefully, lightly, along the woman’s sunken cheekbones, stroked her palms down the flat covers across the woman’s slight bosom. Fever in the noblewoman’s skin, a rattling congestion in her chest. The stomach and bowels were functioning, as far as Ellynor could tell.