“We have been meek and civilized long enough,” said the heavyset man. “We are almost out of patience.”
“I cannot help you if you do not listen to reason,” Romar said. “I believe your position is legitimate. I believe the king may be moved to deal with you. But I am less likely to take your side if you resort to threats and violence.”
“And would you take our side if you were dead? Eh?” said another voice from the darkness. Even Kirra, with her predator’s eyes, could not determine where the disembodied voice originated. “Would the king take our side if your life was at stake, and the deeds to our property doubled as your ransom?”
Romar’s face, clearly visible by the soft firelight, grew stiff. “I came here in good faith. And now you would threaten me? How does that make me any more eager to espouse your cause?”
There was a muttering of dissent among the gathered men. It was clear some of them were not eager to engage in violence to make a point—but some of them were.
“Maybe, but the king would know we were serious if you were dead!” one of them called out.
The man Kirra took to be one of Mayva’s vassals appeared to be staring past the circle of firelight. “Who said that? Dalwin? Ordway? Don’t talk like that.”
“Sometimes it takes a little blood for a king to know you’re serious,” another man said.
“I don’t want to hear any more talk of bloodshed,” the vassal said. “We agreed to present our petition to the regent and urge him to support us.”
“Some of us did,” a man replied, and again the vassal peered into the dark. Kirra was guessing that some of these men didn’t know each other all that well—that there might be one or two here who were virtual strangers to all the others. In that case, there might be something she could do. . . .
She dropped from her tree limb to the ground while the men continued to argue. She caught Romar’s voice more than once, sounding wholly unafraid, and the vassal’s, and that of the heavyset man, who appeared to favor some kind of radical gesture this very night. She tried to ignore them so she could focus on the chore at hand, unfurling her white wings and stretching them to their full extent. Tipping her head back and craning it toward the heavens. Extending her curved claws into a flatter, fuller footprint.
Shifting her weight. Altering her outlook. Changing her shape.
When she opened her eyes again, she was human and male, dressed in nondescript dark clothing and heavy boots. She eased her way past tree trunks and shadows toward the bright point of the fire, circling around the back of the group so it would seem she was just moving from one place in the gathering to another. She hung back far enough to keep her face out of the light, but shouldered her way between the portly man and someone in court clothes who hadn’t spoken much.
The big man was speaking again. “We have been biddable too long! We have done as we have been told! And we have been shunted aside and treated like common merchants. It is time our bloodlines were acknowledged and our status was established. The king must recognize us—or reckon with us. I say we take this man into our keeping and hold him until the king meets with us.”
Kirra allowed herself to give a cynical little laugh. A few people turned to look in her direction, trying to puzzle out who she was. “You must not have been at Kianlever if you think that’s a good idea,” she said.
She heard someone next to her whisper to his neighbor. “Who is that, Salzton?” His friend replied, “I can’t tell.”
“What does Kianlever have to do with us?” the heavy man demanded.
“Maybe nothing, maybe something. I don’t know who sent armed men into the court to attack the princess and your regent here.” She waved a hand at Romar, who was staring fixedly at the spot where she was standing. Surely he couldn’t see her. Surely no one could. “But the assault lasted fifteen minutes, and when it was over, there were twenty men dead, and none of them was the regent. That mystic woman they’ve got set up walls of fire—fire, inside the ballroom!—and the King’s Riders cut down every last enemy. Out in the garden, so I heard, one of those other damn mystics turned into a wild animal and clawed the face off of one of the men sent to find the regent. You can take Romar Brendyn tonight, and you can put him anywhere you like, but I don’t think he’ll stay there long. And I don’t think you’ll live past the night.”
There was another uneasy mumbling from the crowd. Clearly some of them had heard about—or witnessed—the massacre in Kianlever. She heard someone ask, “And how did he escape from the house in Tilt? No one has ever explained that,” while another voice hissed, “Quiet.”
“I don’t want to draw the attention of Senneth Brassenthwaite,” said the man Kirra thought was Mayva’s vassal.
The big man, still standing in shadow, spoke in a sneering tone. “You won’t. She’s here to protect the princess. She won’t go haring off after missing regents.”
“She would if the princess asked her to,” Kirra said, a shrug in her voice. “The man is Amalie’s uncle. Of course she’ll send her pet mystics after him! Don’t you understand? We are stuck with this man. If we kill him, we lose everything. We have to negotiate.”
“Would you want to negotiate with someone who had just threatened to take your life?” another voice asked. She thought she saw the glint of firelight off of metal. Someone had drawn a sword. “We have no leverage with the regent now.”
“I understand desperation,” Romar said. He still sounded as calm as if he was standing in the king’s courtyard discussing crop rotation with farmers. “But your colleague speaks the truth. My death would not go unavenged. I have more friends than you realize.”
No one else seemed to recognize that as a threat, but Kirra did. She tried to listen to the noises around her, a little distance out from the campfire. If she had been in animal shape, she would have been able to hear better, would have been able to tell by scent if other bodies were approaching, closing in by stealth on this assembly of malcontents. Was that the sound of a booted heel against a buried root? Was that the whine of a blade against its scabbard?
“Will you be our advocate?” the well-dressed lord asked. “Will you take our words to the princess—and the king?”
“I will do what I can,” Romar promised.
“That is not good enough,” someone said, and lunged forward with a blade.
“Colton!” Romar cried, and suddenly the whole scene was a melee. Kirra was not the only one to leap forward to try to knock the sword from the assailant’s hand; the camp was almost perfectly divided between those who threw themselves around Romar to defend him, and those who battled forward to attack. Kirra found herself in the center of the small group surrounding him, her back against his chest as if to make her body a living shield.
“I appreciate the gesture, my friend, but don’t you think you’d be a little more effective if you carried a sword?” came Romar’s voice in her ear. Incredibly, he sounded amused.
“I—I forgot to bring one,” she gasped. Even shape-changing wouldn’t turn her into a warrior. She scarcely even understood the proper grip on the hilt.
“That’s all right. You have other ways to defend me—and yourself,” he said.
Impossibly, he knew who she was.
She did not have to answer, as the darkness was suddenly roiling with a furious motion, and what seemed like fifty men poured into the small clearing. Yes, she’d been right—Romar’s captain and a cohort of his soldiers had followed the regent to this dangerous assignation. They dispatched the dissidents in short order, hampered a little by the darkness and Romar’s insistent shouts of “No killing!” He clamped his left hand around Kirra’s wrist and dragged her with him as he pushed through his line of defenders and over to Colton’s side. In his right hand, he held a sword. He had come to this party a bit more well-prepared than Kirra had expected.
“Who have you caught? What have you found?” Romar demanded as soon as he reached his captain.
“A few of them ran into the woods
and we didn’t go chasing after them,” Colton said. “Too dark and too much chance of ambush. There’s four we caught, and another three that didn’t run. What do you want to do with them?”
The three who hadn’t run were the men in fine clothes and high favor, all of whom looked both subdued and aghast. “My lord, I did not realize that some of my friends felt so—would offer you—my lord, please believe me, not all of the lesser lords are so free with talk of violence,” said Mayva’s vassal. He sounded absolutely appalled. “I realize, if they do not, that we have no hope of winning your favor by such ill-judged antics. I can understand your rage. But I swear to you, many of us would have no part in such bloody dealings.”
“I believe you,” Romar said. “But you must understand that I cannot put myself in the position of begging the king for favors for men who would like to kill me. I must know who among your friends is peaceful, and who is murderous.”
The vassal looked perplexed. “I don’t know. These men I recognize, but of these four only Horace spoke out against you. The big man who talked so wildly, and the other one, the one with the blade—I didn’t know them. I thought they must have come with others who were invited. They were strangers to me.”
Romar towed Kirra into the firelight. Bright Mother blind me, she thought, and kept her face tilted down. “Do you recognize this man?” he asked. “I think he arrived late to the gathering.”
The vassal shook his head. “No. I thought that—no. Do we have spies in our midst? Someone who has gone to some trouble to infiltrate the highest ranks of the Thirteenth House?”
Romar nodded. “It would appear so. You have honest men looking for reform, and opportunists looking to turn your discontent into rebellion. It is hard to tell them all apart.”
Colton had pressed close enough to audit this conversation. “We’ll take these four back to the barracks with us and see what we can find out,” he said casually. Kirra shuddered a little to wonder what methods he might use to discover information.
“Carefully,” Romar told him. “These men have ties to gentry. You might have the head of the Nocklyn guard called in before you start asking questions.”
Colton nodded toward Kirra. “What about that young man? We could find out who he is.”
Again, Romar’s hand tightened around Kirra’s wrist. “Oh, this is someone I recognize,” he said. “He thought to come here to lend me support. He is not one of the dissenters. But I am not pleased that he put himself at risk this way.”
She gave him one quick, incredulous look. “If we are to speak of risk, my lord—”
He laughed. “I knew my men were in place. I was not afraid.”
“Yes, that would appear to be your trouble,” she said rather sharply. “You never are afraid.”
“What would you like me to do, regent?” the vassal asked in a humble voice.
“You—I would like you to come see me in Ghosenhall in a few weeks’ time,” Romar said. The look on the lord’s face was sheer amazement. Romar continued, “Bring with you some of the men you absolutely know and trust. None of these strange, shadowy figures who might be enemies. We will talk over your proposition. I can guarantee nothing except that I will listen.”
“Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord,” the vassal said, bowing very deeply. His well-dressed compatriots followed suit.
“Now, I believe you have a social engagement to get back to,” Romar said to the would-be malcontents, the smile back in his voice. “As do I. You and your friends return to the Towers. I will speak a few words with Colton and follow you in a moment or two.”
Another series of bows and the three men hurried off. Kirra had to think they were cursing the whole night’s work and debating whether it was really safe to go to Ghosenhall in a few weeks and meet with Romar there. But maybe. Men desperate enough to chance midnight meetings in the company of unreliable allies must be passionate about achieving their goals. Property. Prestige. Parity. She wondered if her aunt and uncle felt their lack of status as keenly as this group appeared to, and thought they probably did. Certainly they nursed a great enough bitterness against Malcolm Danalustrous. She had always thought that they disliked him for marrying and then forgetting their sister, but perhaps they would have resented him anyway. The thought made her feel strange, as if the colors of the world had suddenly shifted, as if her perspective had narrowed down or widened and she could no longer trust the evidence of her eyes.
She was careless with her Danalustrous heritage, but it was integral to her sense of self. She was serramarra; everyone knew instantly what that meant and offered her the respect of her position. Who would she be if she was nobody? How much would she care?
“We’ll escort you back to the house, my lord,” Colton was saying. “And then we’ll take these fellows off.”
“Oh, I think we can find our way back in safety,” Romar said. “My friend and I can both defend ourselves.”
“Better not,” Colton replied. “Some of those men ran, but they might not have run far. We’ll come with you at least as far as the house.”
Romar sighed and acquiesced. “Very well,” he said, and they all began moving forward. He still had not released Kirra’s wrist, and now she tugged on it.
“Give me my arm back,” she said, exasperated.
“I think not,” he replied, and continued strolling along, dragging her with him. Colton set a rapid pace, and his men and their prisoners were forced to keep up. There was almost no conversation until they were within sight of the mansion and it was time for Colton to turn his party toward the barracks.
“I’ll come see you in the morning,” Romar said.
“Very good, my lord. Be careful.”
“I always am.”
Colton did not bother to reply to that remark, clearly untrue, just shepherded his men off into the darkness. In a very short amount of time, Kirra and Romar were left alone.
CHAPTER 27
THEY were standing in the middle of the back lawn that sloped away from the mansion. It was almost too dark to see anything, and Kirra had her head turned away from Romar’s insistent gaze, but she could tell he was studying her as if all the lines and contours of her face were entirely visible.
“You were the last person I expected to see at tonight’s little escapade,” he said finally. “But I suppose I should know better by now. You appear every time danger threatens me. Soon I will come to rely on your intervention and I will prove so careless with my life that you will need to stand beside me at all times, just to keep me safe.”
She was tempted to pretend she had no idea what he was talking about, that she was not the person he thought she was, but it seemed pointless. He had recognized her the minute she raised her voice, disguised as it was. “How did you know me?” she asked instead.
“I think I will always know you. No matter what form you assume or what company you keep. The essential nature of your soul is imprinted on my heart. You will never be a stranger to me.”
At that she smiled and lifted her head. “Very pretty. Next time I will come to you as a spider or a snake, and we will see how quickly you recognize me.”
“Come to me in any guise,” he said, “as long as you come to me.”
He leaned forward as if to kiss her. She put her free hand up to push back hard against his chest. Her heart was pounding so heavily she had to struggle to take a breath. “Now that would be a scandal greater than even Senneth has stirred up,” she said, trying to laugh. “The regent of Ghosenhall is caught kissing a strange young man on the back lawn of Nocklyn Towers.”
“Then change for me,” he begged. “Be Kirra. Just for now. Just for this minute.”
“That’s foolish.”
“Be foolish for me.”
She shouldn’t. It was stupid. He would kiss her if she was Kirra. Even now she felt the pressure of his body as he strained forward, as he clearly showed his desire and his intention. It didn’t seem to matter to him that she was in this body, unfamiliar and not s
uited to his notions of romance. He knew her in whatever body she crafted.
Slowly, watching the expression in his eyes as she did it, she re-shaped her face, re-colored her hair, took on the curves and height and shell that defined Kirra. It made her feel strangely vulnerable, ridiculously feminine, to have her own gold curls tumbling down her back, feel her very own smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Even the dress she manufactured was one of her own, a red so dark it looked black in this poor light.
“So,” she said. “What do you think of me now?”
He kissed her so hard there was no air to breathe; his arms crushed her body, rearranged her ribs. She wanted to shove him away, she wanted to hold him tighter, she wanted that kiss to end the world. Suddenly he released her from his suffocating hold, but he did not let her go. Now his hands were on either side of her head, buried in her hair. Now he was kissing her all over her face, her cheeks, her eyes, her lips again. Between kisses he whispered her name.
The Thirteenth House (Twelve Houses) Page 38