Dark Moon Defender (Twelve Houses)

by Sharon Shinn

  Jassie’s companion had climbed more slowly out of the carriage, and now he stood staring down at the two on the ground. In a moment, he looked back up at Justin, his face grim. “Hunting mystics, are they?” he said in a quiet voice. “Coralinda Gisseltess is going to have to spread a wider net than that if she wants to catch them all.”

  “And I think she is prepared to do so,” Justin said. “You must leave. Now. There is nothing you can do for the folks below. Save yourselves—take this child. Keep going.”

  The man nodded and put his hands on Jassie’s shoulders, pulling her and the boy up and bundling them, still embraced, into the carriage. One foot on the step to climb back in, the man turned around to give Justin a final somber inspection.

  “Who are you?” he asked. “You didn’t come here by chance.”

  Justin shook his head. “I saw the soldiers going by with such stealth, and I was curious. I followed. I never thought to see—to stand by and do nothing—” He shook his head. “It has been a terrible night,” he ended quietly.

  “More terrible than you know,” the man said. “But your part in it at least has brought some brightness. His life saved—and certainly ours.”

  “Not if you linger any longer,” Justin said. “Go.”

  “Tell me your name, at least?”

  “I am in service to the king,” he said, and the man gave a jerky nod and ducked inside the carriage. The coachman and the guards, who all this time had hovered uneasily, resumed their places. In moments the carriage was turned around and back on the road. Justin stood guard at the intersectionuntil the coach was well and truly out of sight—far enough away that the Lestra’s men would not even realize it had come this way.

  He took one last look over his shoulder, where indeed the sky was a hazy yellow from the fire, and then he nudged his horse forward. One turn and he was back on the main road, heading south toward Neft.

  More tired and more wretched than he had ever been in his life.

  He had thought he had a fair grasp on cruelty, understood the passions that could drive a man to violence. There had been times in his life he had been none too picky about the methods he employed to get what he wanted, and he was capable of extreme action if he was fighting to stay alive. But he had never engaged in cold-blooded murder. Could not understand what drove a man to try it—especially when there was no immediate gain. No riches to be had, no feud to settle, no insult to avenge. Just—a desire to eradicate an enemy.

  An enemy who possessed magic. Or tolerated magic. Or loved someone who did.

  Someone who was different. Not a threat, except to a way of life. Offering no harm except a point of view.

  Those people were dangerous in the Lestra’s eyes.

  Justin rode slowly home, wearier by the mile.

  The only solution was to grow even more dangerous to the Lestra than she thought the mystics were. To draw her attention.

  To fight back.

  CHAPTER 9

  SENNETH was sweating and out of breath when Coeval called a halt to their workout. The Rider—a tall, lean man whose black hair had given way only partly to silver— sheathed his sword and gave her an approving nod.

  “Better,” he said. “You’ve been practicing.”

  “Lifting weights,” she said, wiping a sleeve across her face. It was early autumn and cool enough outside that most people were shivering, not sweating. But most people hadn’t just spent an hour in the training yard of the palace trying to prevent Coeval from killing them. “I’m getting stronger, but I’m still not as fast as you are.”

  He gave her a spare smile. “You’ll never be as fast as I am.”

  She laughed. He wasn’t bragging, he was merely telling the truth. She would never be as fast as any of the Riders, although she had nearly defeated one of the younger men a couple of days ago. Her finest moment in the weeks since she had begun regular workouts with the king’s elite. “My goal is to defeat Tayse someday,” she said, a challenge in her voice. “Will I ever achieve it?”

  “No,” he said simply. “There are days that I can, or Hammond, or even Tir, but not two days in succession. You’ll never be that strong.”

  They began walking slowly toward the big building where all their practice gear was housed and where they trained in truly inclement weather. Though Senneth had found herself training outdoors in rain, in sleet, and in biting wind, and the Riders hadn’t seemed to find any of those conditions inclement. “What about Justin?” she asked.

  Coeval nodded. “Justin’s not as good as Tayse, but he will be. When he’s Tayse’s age, no one will be able to touch him.”

  If he lives that long, Senneth wanted to say. A soldier’s life was chancy at best, and if they really did find themselves in a war, the Riders would all be in the heart of it, battling to defend their king. It was a gloomy thought. “Well, I hope he hasn’t realized that,” she said lightly instead. “He’s already too sure of himself.”

  Coeval laughed. A Rider named Janni came jogging up, inviting Coeval to a match, and the older man turned away to spar with her. Senneth continued trudging toward the open door of the great shed.

  Tir was leaning against the outside wall, one foot against the building, arms crossed on his chest. He resembled his son so much that Senneth always had to look again to make sure it wasn’t Tayse standing there, mysteriously aged by twenty years but still powerful, still watchful, still wrapped in an aura of brooding menace.

  Tir had not been interested in the slightest when Tayse told him he had found the woman he loved. But he had paid Senneth some attention when she started working out with the Riders, and from time to time he had offered her a critique of her stance or her swing. His comments always proved to be both accurate and helpful. She knew he didn’t care if she broke his son’s heart. But if she was going to be in any way involved in protecting the king, he wanted her to be invincible.

  “How’d I do?” she asked him now, slowing to a stop.

  He gave his head a quick, negative shake. “You fight like someone with a knife up her sleeve,” he said.

  That made no sense. Every soldier carried a variety of blades; who knew when one might be lost or batted away? “I don’t know what that means,” she said.

  “You don’t care if you lose the first bout. You know you have another weapon. But that’s a dangerous way to fight. It almost always means you will forfeit the first round.”

  He wasn’t talking about weaponry. He was talking about magic. Senneth knew that if her opponent outfenced her, she could drop her sword and call up fire. “You’re right,” she said slowly. “I’ll try to change my attitude.”

  “But your swing is improving,” he said, almost grudgingly. “You’re gaining power.”

  “More to work on.”

  “There always is.”

  She left him in the training yard, dropped her practice sword in its allotted slot, and walked slowly from the training yard to the palace. She had already requested the maids to bring a tub and a few buckets of water to her room, ready to be used whenever she returned from her workout. She didn’t care if the water was cold—she’d bathed in her share of freezing mountain streams during her travels, and, anyway, she could warm it with a touch—but she had to be clean. She had two appointments today, equally important in her eyes. One with the king. One with Tayse’s mother.

  She bathed quickly and changed into more conventional clothes than she usually wore—a simple blue dress that accented her gray eyes and her short, pale, flyaway hair. Sturdy walking shoes, a cloak to ward off the chill, and she was ready to stroll the length of Ghosenhall.

  There was a knock on the door, followed immediately by Tayse’s entrance. It amused her still that he never just walked in, though this suite of rooms could be as truly called his as hers since he slept here almost every night. They had not exactly gotten around to discussing what their long-term living arrangements should be. Senneth was perfectly willing to take up residence in one of the tiny cottages that d
otted the grounds behind the Riders’ barracks, cottages set aside specifically for the few Riders who bothered to marry. But Tayse seemed to feel that a serramarra of the Twelve Houses should be living in a palace and was unwilling to install her in such humble quarters.

  And, of course, they were not married.

  “You look pretty,” he told her.

  She laughed. “I’m trying to look demure.”

  “My mother likes you. You don’t have to try to create an impression.”

  Your mother has no idea what to think of me, Senneth wanted to say. “I think it makes her more comfortable to see me in women’s clothing,” she said. “Instead of my boots and my trousers, with my sword on my hip.”

  He shrugged. “You are what you are.”

  And she is glad that someone loves you, because you never allowed her to love you, Senneth thought. She was still amazed, most days, that he allowed Senneth to do so. “I need to be back within a couple of hours,” she said. “Baryn has asked for a meeting.”

  Tayse opened the door and they stepped into the hall and headed in a leisurely fashion for the stairs. Senneth loved the sensation of walking beside him. She was a tall woman, but he was so big he made her feel almost dainty. Yet he moved with such grace that she always tried to match him, taking smooth, gliding paces and minimizing the noise of her passage.

  “What was my father saying to you as you left the training yard?” he asked.

  She laughed. “He said I fight like a mystic, not a soldier.”

  Tayse thought that over for a minute, reconstructing the probable conversation. “If he’d ever seen how a mystic fights, that would be a compliment,” he said at last.

  “Someday I’ll set him on fire,” she said. “That will make him respect me.”

  He was grinning as they stepped onto the broad porch and down the marble stairs to the courtyard of the palace. “Then he’ll regret any unkind observations he’s made in the past.”

  They talked idly as they crossed the courtyard, saluted the guards at the gate, and set out for Tayse’s mother’s house. Both of them were familiar with the districts of Ghosenhall that were edgy and dangerous, but their route didn’t take them there this day. Instead, they traveled wide avenues lined with pretty stone houses and crossed through small common squares decorated with trees and fountains. The day was cool but fine. Ghosenhall, always a charming city, seemed to preen and glitter in the light.

  Tayse’s mother lived in a modest but well-kept house shoulder to shoulder with almost identical buildings, distinguished mostly by a riotous garden now filled with fading flowers. She was waiting for them at the door, as Senneth imagined she had been waiting since dawn. Nothing made her happier than Tayse’s appearance on her walk.

  “Come in! Come in! Oh, it’s such a beautiful day. Don’t you hate to think it’ll get cold so soon?” she greeted them, throwing her arms around her son. He towered over her and he returned the hug carefully. She was small-boned and short, rather plump now, but Senneth guessed she had been a tiny wisp of a thing when Tir first caught sight of her forty-some years ago. She was still attractive in a very ordinary way, with hair of an indeterminate shade of light brown, and eyes as dark as Tayse’s.

  “Hello, Carryl,” Senneth said when the woman reluctantly let go of her son and turned to her other visitor. She was taken in a rather less enthusiastic embrace, but Carryl smiled at her, too. “Have you been well?”

  “Little aches. I have a cough in the morning. But otherwise I’m very healthy! Come in, sit down. I made a pie, will you eat something?”

  “I love your pie,” Senneth said.

  “We can’t stay very long,” Tayse said, and Senneth wanted to kick him. Carryl’s face fell immediately.

  “Long enough for pie, certainly,” Senneth said, and Carryl brightened again. “We have about an hour, I think.”

  “Oh, good. Then I’ll make some tea as well.”

  She left them in the parlor and bustled off to the kitchen, casting one hopeful glance at Tayse over her shoulder. “Go help her with the tea,” Senneth hissed.

  He looked surprised. “Surely she doesn’t need my help.”

  “It’s your company she wants, not your assistance. You. Five minutes alone with you. Go talk to her.”

  He shrugged and obeyed. Senneth took a seat on one of the overstuffed chairs, leaned her head against the back, and sighed. She was hardly qualified to tutor anyone else in family relations, she thought. Her own parents were dead, bitterly hated by her for years before they went to their graves; she had only the most tenuous relationship with her brothers now. But it was so obvious that Carryl wanted nothing so much as a strong bond with her son, equally obvious that nothing in her life, in her personality, could claim his attention for long. He tried to be kind to her, because Tayse was never deliberately cruel, but nothing about her softness or her longing made an impression on him. He was so completely his father’s child.

  Tir must have loved her once, Senneth thought. He married her. He had several children with her. Did he just grow tired of her? Did the novelty wear off, did the affection grow inconvenient? Tayse had told her that Carryl was the one who moved out of the shared cottage by the barracks, taking her daughters with her, but Senneth was entirely certain that Carryl was the one whose heart was broken. She had fallen in love with this handsome, powerful, dangerous man—she thought she had domesticated him, she thought he would lay that glittering sword at her feet—but she was the one who had been made over. She was the one who had given up all her illusions.

  “You won’t change him,” Carryl had said to Senneth the first time they met. Tayse had left the room with one of his sisters to go inspect some improvement in the back garden. Her voice had not been hostile, but a little wistful. “He’s too much like his father. He will only love you for so long.”

  “I don’t want to change him,” Senneth had replied softly. Which was both the truth and a lie. He had already changed for her. She wanted him to stay exactly the way he was now; she certainly did not want him to change back. “And I will take his love for however long he wants to give it.”

  “Don’t make him your whole world,” Carryl had said, leaning forward and almost whispering in her intensity.

  Too late, Senneth had wanted to say. But she had only smiled and changed the subject.

  Every time she returned to this small, somewhat sad house, the same conversation replayed through her head, the same questions demanded to be answered. Will he only love me for a short time and then grow weary? Will I one day be like Carryl, lonely and grieving, missing one man for the rest of my life? For, once having loved Tayse, I will never be able to love anyone else. My heart has been reshaped to the size of his, and no amount of tugging and stomping will ever force it back to the size it was.

  A small clatter in the hall and then Carryl and Tayse returned, she carrying a tray of desserts and he with the platter of tea things in his hands. Carryl was glowing; that rare few minutes of privacy with her son had been the best gift Senneth could ever have given her. Tayse carefully set the platter down on a fussy ornate table by his mother and then took a seat across from Senneth.

  “You pour out the cups, Senneth, while I cut the pie,” Carryl said. “I like lots of sugar in mine.”

  Senneth poured Tayse’s first, though he didn’t care much for tea and looked ridiculous with the fragile porcelain in his big hands. But he took it from her with a smile and watched her as she prepared another cup for his mother. It didn’t really matter if Senneth was serving tea or practicing her swordplay or lashing out with her hands to conjure up fire, Tayse was always watching her, interested in seeing what she would do next. Since the day she had met him, he had studied her with an unvaried fascination. She paused a moment to return his smile.