Mystic and Rider (Twelve Houses)

by Sharon Shinn

  The royal palace was situated at the center of town, on a slight rise of ground that allowed it to be seen from almost every corner of the city. It, too, was built of a rusty granite, heavily ornamented by spires and arches and turrets, and it consisted of so many wings and additions that there seemed to be no formal plan to its construction at all. It was situated at the center of a huge compound that was completely encircled by a high wall; the gates were guarded by royal soldiers. Inside the wall were so many fenced gardens and ornamental ponds and graceful follies that it was said even the head groundskeeper could not keep track of them all.

  Senneth could not help it. She loved Ghosenhall, and she particularly loved the palace. If she would ever have any temptation to marry Halchon Gisseltess and pursue the throne, it would be for the pleasure of living here every day of her life.

  As expected, their party was greeted cordially at the gate and instantly waved on through. “Here’s where we part,” Tayse said to the other Riders once they passed into the courtyard. “For I think Justin and I must be present when Kirra makes her report to the king.”

  Cammon pressed forward. “What about the raelynx? Should I stay out here with it?”

  Tayse glanced first at Senneth, who shook her head. “No. All six of us must go in together,” he said.

  “But I’m worried. He’s been caged so long. Is there someplace that we can set it free?”

  Tayse’s friend, one of the older Riders, looked skeptical. “We’ll take it back to the stables with us, but I don’t know about setting it free just yet.”

  “Maybe tonight, then,” Cammon said. “After we’re done with this audience.” He sounded impatient, and everyone listening had to smother a grin. “You can tell me someplace safe that I can let him out for a while. I’ll stay and guard him then.”

  “We’ll figure something out,” Tayse said. “But first we must go in to meet with our king.”

  The other Riders drifted away, waving and calling out farewells. The six of them continued on up the long path of crushed white stone that led to the door of the palace.

  “Couldn’t we get cleaned up first?” Kirra asked. “I don’t feel quite fit for royalty just yet.”

  “We’ll see what Milo says,” Tayse replied.

  “Who?” Cammon said.

  “Milo. He’s the king’s secretary, and he decides who has an audience with King Baryn and who does not. And when.”

  Cammon crowded his horse closer to Tayse’s. For the first time on this long journey, Senneth thought, he looked a little awed. “You aren’t going to leave us, are you?” he asked anxiously. “You’ll be with us when we go in to see the king?”

  Tayse smiled down at him. “I won’t leave you,” he said. And then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he glanced back at Senneth. “Not just yet.”

  As soon as they approached the door, a pack of servants came swarming out. Some lifted their bedrolls and saddlebags from the horses; others helped the women from the saddle; others gathered up the reins and led the horses away.

  One man stood on the threshold, framed by the open door, and waited majestically for them to climb the two flights of quarried marble stairs. He was of medium height and heavyset, mostly bald, and he wore both his elegant clothes and his air of authority with perfect ease.

  “The king has been expecting you,” he said. “He wanted me to direct you to the visitors’ chambers to freshen up, and then escort you immediately to his private rooms. Follow me.”

  And without waiting for a reply, he turned on one well-shod foot and proceeded down the hallway. Justin mouthed the word “Milo” and pointed at his back. The others grinned, nodded, and followed.

  All of them except Cammon had been inside these halls before, so they did not waste much time gaping at the high, fluted ceilings, the expensive tapestries, the life-size statues in marble and gold. But Senneth could not help but smile a little at Cammon’s obvious amazement at the richness of the furnishings and the gorgeous proportions of the architecture. In all of their travels, they had seen nothing like the king’s home.

  “And it’s like this throughout the palace,” she told him, “one hallway more gorgeous than the last. The part I like best is the sun room, which is entirely covered, ceiling and walls, with gold leaf over carved wood relief. Exquisitely beautiful.”

  “What must it be like to live someplace like this? All the time?” he asked, his eyes wide.

  “Oh, you get used to it after a while,” Justin said airily. “It becomes as familiar to you as a poor man’s hut is to him. You don’t even notice the gold and the paintings and the ornamentation after a while.”

  Senneth smiled. “This from a man who lives in the barracks.”

  Justin grinned. “Well, I got used to those quickly enough.”

  They spent twenty minutes in the small, elegant chambers reserved for visitors, doing what they could to improve their appearance. All Kirra had to do was run a comb through her hair and mysteriously change the fabric of her coarse riding dress to a heavy silk, and she looked beautiful. Senneth contented herself with washing off most of the grime of the road, taming her hair with a wet brush, and changing into a clean blouse and skirt. The men washed their faces; Justin and Tayse shaved, and Donnal trimmed his beard. Soon enough they looked as presentable as they were going to manage, and Milo was back in the doorway.

  “The king will see you now.”

  KING Baryn was awaiting them in a small room warmly furnished with plush chairs and accessories of deep, rich colors—a room meant for intimate conversation with close and trusted friends. He turned to face them the instant the door opened, and the smile on his face was genuinely welcoming. Senneth had always thought he looked like he should be a toy maker or a cobbler or a gardener—anything but a king. He was tall and thin, with wispy gray hair that no royal valet had ever been able to style. His face was ruddy and perpetually cheerful; his wire-rimmed glasses always slid far enough down his nose that his brown eyes could peer over them at a world that he seemed to find continually fascinating.

  “Senneth! My dear!” he exclaimed, throwing wide his arms and taking her into an avuncular embrace. “And Kirra! Look at you, the very jewel of Danalustrous. I always think your sister must hate you for your hair.”

  Kirra laughed. “She does.”

  The king turned to shake hands with each of his Riders. “Justin. Tayse. As always, my faith in you is justified.”

  “We had some incidents along the road, which you’ll hear of,” Tayse said.

  The king nodded. “But you’re back, and safe, and your companions are alive.” He came to a halt and tilted his head to one side as he regarded the others. “Now, I don’t believe I know these young men.”

  “Donnal,” Senneth said. “From Danalustrous. Malcolm doesn’t trust anyone, even Riders, to protect his own.”

  “Very wise,” the king approved.

  “And Cammon. We picked him up in Dormas. He’s a mystic.”

  “Excellent! So happy to have you here. Come, come, sit down. As you see, there are drinks and various foodstuffs over on the sideboard. Help yourselves, and then let’s talk.”

  The men hesitated, but Senneth and Kirra, less abashed by royalty, went straight to the buffet and filled their plates. Soon all seven of them were munching on sugared fruit and delicate pastries. They had just chosen their seats and drawn their chairs into an irregular circle when there was a knock on the door.

  “This must be Valri,” the king said happily. “Come in!”

  The woman who entered brought an immediate, appraising silence to the group. She was young—no more than Kirra’s age, Senneth thought, which would make her about forty years younger than her husband—and coldly beautiful. Her skin was a delicate white, her short hair a rich and sultry black; her eyes were the color of spring grass, astonishingly green. She was small and exquisitely formed, and everything about her gave Senneth the impression of a doll—porcelain, exaggerated, perfect, unreal.

 
“You wanted me to join you?” she asked in a neutral voice, glancing around the room.

  “Yes, yes, sit with us,” Baryn said, motioning her in. “You know Senneth and Kirra, I believe.” All the women nodded at each other. “Tayse and Justin, of course. This is Donnal, from Danalustrous, and Cammon from—well, they found him in Dormas, but I feel certain his origin is more exotic than that.”

  “Hello,” Valri said coolly to them all, and took her seat beside the king. She folded her hands in her lap and sat very straight and looked as if she would rather be almost anywhere else in the world.

  “Now,” the king said. “Tell me what you’ve learned.”

  They all looked to Senneth, who had been debating what to say. She had not expected Queen Valri’s presence at this conference, but she supposed it didn’t matter. The king would repeat to her anything they said, anyway, if it was true that he consulted her on all matters of state. A fact which displeased many, especially those who believed she was a mystic . . .

  “I’ll start with our general conclusions, and then go back and tell you the whole story, if you want to hear it,” Senneth said. “It seems clear that some of the southern Houses are arming for war. Gisseltess appears to be the main force behind it, but Fortunalt and Nocklyn are ready to join forces with Halchon. Martin Helven talks like a loyal man, but the country he commands seems more ambivalent. Ariane Rappengrass stands firm as your ally but is surrounded on all sides by potential traitors, so she is not in a very good position to offer you much aid.”

  “I knew some of the Houses were restless—but war—” Baryn said.

  “It might not come to that,” Senneth said quietly. “But if it does, it appears likely a war would be fought on two fronts—the political and the religious. The southern territories are being overrun with Daughters of the Pale Mother, who are preaching a gospel of fidelity to the Silver Lady and an exorcism of all things magic. Mystics in the southern regions are being abused, ostracized, and sometimes killed, and there is a great rash of piety through the major and minor towns. Coralinda Gisseltess has reopened the Lumanen Convent and installed upwards of five hundred acolytes there—and surrounded herself with a formidable guard that appears to be made up of private soldiers from the southern Houses as well as some lesser noblemen. She and her brother Halchon seem to have different motivations but are working together toward a common cause.”

  “Deposing me and putting Halchon on the throne,” Baryn said calmly.

  “Exactly.”

  “And their reasons for such a drastic act?”

  Senneth could not keep herself from sending a quick, troubled glance at the motionless Queen Valri. “The one that would seem likely to carry the most weight with the other nobles is the issue of the succession,” she said. “There are—questions—about Princess Amalie. Halchon and others have spread the idea that, because she is so rarely seen in public, she is not fit to rule. And since you and Queen Valri have no children, if Amalie is indeed unfit—well, they say they worry about the stability of the kingdom.”

  Baryn nodded. “You know the story, I think—or perhaps you do not. Amalie was only a little girl when she and her mother were riding through the marketplace in Ghosenhall. A band of brigands attacked them—ignoring my wife and concentrating almost solely on my daughter. Trying to kill her, kill my little girl. Well, there were Riders accompanying them, so you know the outcome of that encounter—all the outlaws dead, Pella and Amalie safe. But I never did learn who sent the assassins, and I was terrified to risk the incident occurring again. Ever since then, I have kept Amalie confined very closely to the palace grounds—or heavily guarded any time she has gone out in society. It seemed the best way to keep her safe. But perhaps, in some way, I have made her more unsafe. I must think on this.”

  “Sending her out into society may go some way toward mollifying the malcontents,” Senneth said. “But I don’t know if that will be enough. She is very young, and you—forgive me, sire—are aging.”

  “I’m old,” he said with a chuckle.

  “There is some fear that if you were to die suddenly, Amalie would be too young and inexperienced to rule in your place.”

  He tilted his head to one side and regarded Senneth out of his warm eyes. “A regent should be appointed, then, you think? I have been considering just such a move, I confess.”

  Kirra spoke up. “He would have to be someone acceptable to all parties,” she said. “Someone strong enough to keep the Houses in order, but not so arrogant he will not listen to counsel. And someone you trust absolutely.”

  Baryn glanced at his wife; she shrugged infinitesimally, then nodded. “The man I have in mind is Amalie’s uncle Romar,” the king said. “Do you think he meets your criteria?”

  “Lord Romar of Merrenstow,” Kirra said consideringly. “I’ve only met him a few times, but I know my father holds him in high esteem—and my father, you know, dislikes almost everyone.”

  The king smiled. “Yes, that’s what I enjoy so much about Malcolm—his impartial distrust of the entire population. Well, Romar is here visiting, in fact—you shall see him again at dinner and tell me what you think.”

  “The fact that he is a blood relation to Amalie is definitely in his favor,” Kirra said, still mulling it over. “And while he is Twelfth House, he is not serramar to Merrenstow, which also is to his advantage—he will be seen as less ambitious, I think. If his character is sound and his personal charm sufficient, I think he would be a good choice.”

  “So we have disposed of the problem of the succession,” the king said lightly. “For what other reasons might Halchon and his friends turn against me?”

  “Magic,” Senneth said bluntly. “Coralinda and her acolytes are spreading the message that mystics are profane and dangerous. You are regarded as a king who is most tolerant of magic—and you will have to expect that people will discover you have employed my services, at least for this mission. It is known that you welcome mystics into Ghosenhall—it is known that Malcolm Danalustrous is one of your staunchest allies, and that his own daughter is a sorceress. I think if you do not publicly renounce magic, even if you secure the succession you may still have a war on your hands.”

  “But if I renounce magic, I have a war on my hands anyway,” the king said, “because Malcolm will certainly turn against me, and Kianlever may as well.”

  “Exactly,” Kirra said. “We were trying to guess where the alliances would fall if magic became the divisive issue. I can’t promise that the numbers are even, but certainly it would not just be you and my father against the other eleven Houses.”

  “Is Halchon capable of rebelling over magic even if the succession is secure?” the king asked. “Fomenting discontent merely because it serves his purposes, and not because he truly worries about the stability of the realm?”

  “You know Halchon,” Senneth said. “I think you can answer that for yourself. He has offered you a chance to buy his loyalty, however.”

  “I can hardly wait to hear his terms.”

  “Name him heir. He says he will then work with you to ensure a smooth transition from your reign to his.”

  “Halchon Gisseltess my heir!” the king exclaimed, even his mild voice betraying indignation. “His arrogance astounds me. And why would he think all Twelve Houses would willingly accept him as monarch after me?”

  Senneth became aware of the weight of many sets of eyes trained on her. She glanced quickly around the room to see Kirra, Tayse, Justin, Cammon, Donnal, all watching her. She scowled and looked down at her hands.

  Kirra spoke. “As to that, sire, he has a plan. He thinks if he—frees himself—of the encumbrance of his current wife, he can make a strategic alliance with a new bride and unite the northern and southern Houses.”

  Baryn looked intrigued by the politics, as if momentarily forgetting how closely they involved him. “Really? And where would he plan to marry?”

  “Brassenthwaite,” Kirra said baldly.

  A long moment of awkward
silence as the king ran through the possibilities and came to the inevitable conclusion. “Senneth?” he asked. Senneth nodded reluctantly. The king broke into a broad smile. “Really, did he ask you for your hand again? I hope that this time you did not turn him down in such a dramatic fashion.”

  “No, my refusal was fairly spectacular,” she said ruefully. “But he said he would not despair.”

  “No, indeed, he must pursue you most diligently! It is his best chance at a coup, I think.”

  “I would not—I hope you don’t think—Halchon Gisseltess—”

  The king laughed merrily. Senneth could not help noticing that Queen Valri did not look amused in the slightest. “Oh, Senneth, I would as soon expect Tayse to knife me in the back as I would expect you to act in any way that would endanger me,” he said. “Even if you didn’t hate Halchon Gisseltess with all your heart, you wouldn’t marry him to advance his claim to the throne.”

  Queen Valri spoke in her low, controlled voice. “Yet if Senneth thought such a move might prevent a war, she might be excused for acting in a way that seemed noble.” Her voice did not make it sound as if such actions would seem noble to her.

  “I will never marry Halchon Gisseltess,” Senneth said flatly. “If I were going to betray my king, I would find some other way to do it.”

  “In any case, Senneth’s a mystic. If he marries her, he has to placate the whole faction of fanatics he’s roused to war,” the king said. “He just might find himself in a bind there.”