Mystic and Rider

by Sharon Shinn

  To Senneth, it seemed like Kirra was not worrying about a thing. As soon as the simple marriage ceremony was over, Kirra had joined the noblest of the circles available in this company and began laughing and flirting. Senneth herself slipped unobtrusively through the room, snagging a glass of wine here, a bit of cheese there, trying to listen to strangers’ conversations, trying to read the mood of the city.

  Taxes, weather, and weddings. This particular group didn’t seem concerned with anything else.

  After a couple of hours, she gave up for a bit and took a seat in an unoccupied chair in a poorly lit corner of the room. She had replaced her wine with water and continued to watch and listen to the crowd, but she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be the one to garner any information this evening. If they learned anything on this outing, it would be through Kirra.

  A shadow crossed her face, and then a body fell into place in the seat beside hers. She looked over in surprise at a handsome middle-aged man who wore a Fortunalt pearl in his neckcloth and a moonstone the size of a walnut on his right hand.

  “I hate these affairs, don’t you?” he asked in a pleasant voice. He smelled of ale and onions; he had obviously partaken fairly liberally of his host’s hospitality.

  She permitted herself the small smile of a woman who didn’t smile often. “I don’t go to that many,” she said. “It’s been years—” She broke off and shook her head.

  “Ah, well, a chance for the wealthy to show off their wealth and the beautiful to show off their beauty,” he said. “There are fewer events designed for the kind to show off their kindness and the good of heart to show off their generosity.”

  “My cousin Erin is kind to me every day,” Senneth said in a small voice. Inside she was thinking, What is going on here? Why is he speaking to me? His clothes were very fine, and his skin was very good. This man was no second son, no hanger-on lordling. Not Twelfth House, because no one here was, but in the upper tiers of the Thirteenth.

  His eyes scanned the crowd, picking out Kirra instantly. “Erin Sohta? Is your cousin? Yes, a charming woman. She did not mention her companion’s name, though.”

  “I’m Sindra,” she said primly.

  He stretched his legs out before him with the air of a man relaxing after hard labor. “Hello, Sindra, I’m Coren Bauler,” he said.

  She knew the family name, high in the ranks of Fortunalt vassals, but she smiled tightly as if it meant nothing to her.

  “How long do you stay in Forten City?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. My cousin determines our travel,” she said.

  “But you’re staying here? In this inn?”

  Was he hoping for an assignation with her? she wondered. He was a good-looking man, though his brown hair was streaked with gray and his face was lined with a few more years than Senneth had accumulated. Shy, bitter, lonely woman who never experienced any frivolity—yes, he might think someone like that would welcome some illicit overtures.

  She could not decide if she should try to turn that idea to her advantage or go running from the room right now.

  “Yes—this very inn,” she said. “It’s quite nice, I think.”

  “The rooms are small.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind that.”

  He smiled at her. “Indeed, you seem like the kind of woman who puts up with much without complaining.”

  She allowed her smile to brighten, then cast her eyes down. “And what might you complain about, Coren Bauler?” she asked shyly. “All I’ve heard the other men talk about tonight is winter and taxes.”

  “Winter’s not something we can do much about, but taxes—well, those have been a burden lately,” he said thoughtfully. “Rayson Fortunalt thinks he has to increase his standing army by half, and he thinks he can only afford it by stealing gold from the coffers of his loyal houses.” He shrugged. “Maybe so. But I think he could dig a little deeper into his own stores before looting from his lords.”

  She didn’t really have to feign alarm. “Increase his army!” she exclaimed. “Why? Is it so dangerous here in Forten City? I admit, Erin and I have traveled with a very small escort of guards—”

  Coren laughed. “Oh, all the southern Houses are recruiting,” he said carelessly. “To hear Halchon Gisseltess talk, civil war is not so very far off—but he’s a man prone to exaggeration, and he loves a good fight besides.” He broke off. “Not that you could be interested in such talk.”

  More interested than you know, she thought grimly, while giving a small laugh. “Oh—I just don’t understand such things very well,” she said. “Erin tells me I should pay more attention.”

  “No—pretty girl like you should be paying attention to gowns and jewels and balls and men,” he said, pulling his feet in and sitting up straighter in his chair. He smiled at her appraisingly.

  She put a hand to the high collar of her dress and tried to force a blush. “I’m hardly a pretty girl,” she said, not even sure which of the two words to emphasize. By the Bright Mother’s eyes, he was not even attempting to be subtle about this.

  “Pretty enough to me,” he said. “Would you like to dance?”

  Red hot hell! she thought. It had not even occurred to her such a possibility might arise. “I’m—I’m not very good,” she said, looking down again. “I don’t get many opportunities—you know—”

  He stood and pulled her to her feet. She felt a sharp pain in her left hand and looked down before she realized what it must be. The touch of his moonstone against her skin. “I will hold you so close that none of your deficiencies will be noticeable,” he all but breathed into her ear. And, true to his word, he wrapped her in a tight embrace and swept her onto the dance floor.

  She made herself breathe slowly and tried not to react at all. It had been years since she had even attempted to dance, and the memories were not pleasant. But her body remembered the rhythms—and anyway, she had no choice but to follow Coren Bauler’s lead. They did not especially disgrace themselves as they moved among the other couples, more or less to the beat of the music, and wound slowly around the room.

  “Your hand is so hot,” Coren murmured. “Do you have a fever? Or are you merely overheated? Would you like to go outside?”

  Absolutely not. It was fairly clear what privacy with this man would lead to, no matter how cold the outdoor night might be. “I’m just—you’re—no, I’m fine,” she stammered, and let him interpret that answer any way he wished.

  “I like dancing with you,” he said. “You have much more ability than you led me to expect. I wonder what other womanly skills you hide under that severe exterior?”

  “I—I can embroider—and I am a very good cook,” she said somewhat wildly.

  He laughed softly. “Ah, those were not the skills I was asking about.”

  Just as Senneth thought she might have to fake a twisted ankle or fall to the floor in a delicate swoon, hands closed on her arm, and she was yanked from Coren Bauler’s arms.

  “Sindra! I have been looking and looking for you!” Kirra said in the most petulant voice imaginable. “I have torn my hem, and I need you to sew it up for me!”

  Coren ushered them all from the dance floor before they could cause too much of a stir. “I see there is a crisis brewing for which those womanly talents will be called into service,” he said, bowing as they seated themselves on a divan to make fabric repairs. “I will take my leave now. But I hope to see you again, Sindra, before the night is over.”

  She really couldn’t help goggling at him as he bowed again and strode away. Beside her, Kirra was giggling uncontrollably. “If I didn’t think I might need you sometime in the future, I would kill you now,” Senneth said, not even looking at her.

  “Oh, but I rescued you!” Kirra exclaimed through her fits of laughter. “You must be grateful to me for that!”

  Now Senneth did turn wrathful eyes her way. “Is this the sort of thing that always goes on among the gentry?” she demanded. “Aging cavaliers romancing wretched old spinsters a
t tawdry affairs such as this?”

  “Oh, and the spinsters are usually quite grateful for the attention!” Kirra said. “But I could tell from the expression on your face that you were not reacting quite as Coren hoped—though I don’t think he was able to read you as well as I was—”

  Senneth shook her head. “How much longer must we stay here? Have you learned anything of interest?”

  Kirra sobered instantly. “Yes, but not to be discussed here,” she said. “Give me another thirty minutes, and I will be ready to leave. There are one or two others I wish to talk to, and then—”

  Senneth came to her feet. “Very well, but I am not staying anywhere that that man might be able to find me again,” she said darkly.

  Kirra stood beside her, shaking out her skirts and tossing back Erin Sohta’s black curls. “Can you make yourself invisible?” she inquired. “Is that one of your womanly talents?”

  Senneth grinned. “I can turn away attention if I choose,” she said. “It is a skill I have found very useful in the past. Signal me when you are ready to go. I do not think you will find me either if I do not wish to be noticed.”

  Kirra lifted her eyebrows at that but made no comment. “I will drop my wineglass to the floor,” she said. “You will appear at my side and hurry me out the door to change clothes. That will get us safely out of this evening, I think.”

  “Very good,” Senneth said. “In half an hour.”

  CHAPTER 8

  THE events unfolded as Kirra had promised, and in less than an hour they were back in their room, where a large, lazy wolfhound lay stretched out before the fire. He raised his head when they walked in and thumped the floor with his tail a few times, but he showed no inclination to rise from his comfortable place. Kirra bent down to scratch him behind the ears, then settled beside Senneth on the room’s only bed.

  “Rayson Fortunalt is doubling the size of his civil guard, and not all of his nobles are in favor of it,” Senneth said bluntly.

  Kirra nodded. “That’s because he won’t tell them why. They’re not sure if it means he’s banding with the other southern Houses in a bid to dethrone the king—or hoping to stand against them when they rise in civil war.”

  “Did you get a sense of which way his vassals leaned?” Senneth asked. “Do they favor Gisseltess or Ghosenhall?”

  “I’d say emotion is fairly well split,” Kirra said. “But they seem to follow Gisseltess on one particular at least.”

  “The mystics,” Senneth said. “I heard some unfavorable public sentiment this afternoon.”

  Kirra nodded again. “And they were all dripping in moonstones. I’ve never seen anything like it. They should all have been wearing the pearls of Fortunalt.”

  “I wonder what it is like in Rappengrass,” Senneth said softly. “Ariane Rappengrass has always been an unpredictable woman.”

  Kirra yawned and stretched her arms. “I say we go there next,” she said, “and see what we can discover.”

  They turned out all the lights before changing into their night-clothes, neither of them trusting to Donnal’s courtesy, and climbed into the wide bed. “Ah—I shall be warm tonight,” Kirra murmured, spreading her black hair across the pillow.

  Senneth laughed. “Sorry—tell me if you want me to go sleep on the floor by Donnal.”

  “No, being warm will make a nice change,” Kirra said, yawning again.

  Kirra seemed to fall instantly asleep. Senneth lay awake awhile longer. She had half-wanted to detour through the stables to share their findings with Tayse, but anyone who might have been watching them would have found that odd behavior indeed. The news would have to wait till morning, when he—and the others—might have found out information of their own.

  She slept lightly, reluctantly almost, as if her mind or her body or her magic did not want to shut down. She kept dreaming and waking from dreams and falling back into darkness again.

  Then abruptly she was jerked from sleep altogether by a foreign noise inside the room. Her knife was in her hand, and she was on her feet before she had even identified the sound: Donnal, up on all fours, growling softly toward the door.

  Senneth gave Kirra a hard poke, and the other woman rolled to her feet as silently as Senneth had. There was very little light to see by, since the windows were shuttered against the cold, but a glance from Senneth caused the coals in the fireplace to flare to orange. Senneth crept toward the door, where she could now hear a furtive metallic scraping. Donnal and Kirra positioned themselves for second and third assaults should a number of bodies come in through the door.

  The lock fell; the handle turned slowly, and a shadow stepped inside the room. Senneth pounced and twisted the man around, so her left arm was around his neck, and her right hand was holding a knife to his chest. “Be very careful, or I’ll stick a blade through your heart,” she hissed. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

  She could smell the sweat of sudden terror overlaying the smells of alcohol and onions. “Si-Sindra?” He gulped.

  “Candle,” Senneth snapped, and Kirra came forward with a lighted taper in her hands. Indeed, yes, it was her newest beau, out in the wee hours to pursue his wooing. Senneth was so annoyed she almost dug the knife home just to teach him a lesson.

  “Coren Bauler!” Kirra exclaimed in Erin Sohta’s voice. Unlike Senneth, she had never put aside her disguise and had not forgotten she was supposed to be in one. “What in the world—why would you be coming to my door at this hour of night?”

  “I—” He choked, and struggled feebly in Senneth’s hold.

  “Sindra, dear, please let him go. I’m sure he means us no harm,” Kirra said.

  Senneth complied, dropping her knife hand to her side and wondering exactly how she should play the next few minutes. Donnal had settled onto his haunches and sat there, slightly panting, watching the whole scene with canine interest. She was sure that if dogs could laugh, he would be guffawing right now.

  Coren Bauler half-turned to stare at Sindra. “You are—how can you be so strong? A girl like you?”

  Senneth tried to assume her submissive manner of before, aware that it might be harder to carry off this time. “I was—when the door opened—I was so frightened! I didn’t know who was—what was—”

  He was rubbing his torso and eyeing her with a rather ugly expression. “You could have killed me. How would a woman like you know battle tricks like that?”

  “It’s my fault, I’m afraid,” Kirra said, coming a few steps closer. “I have always been a little—excessive—in my fears for my personal safety. I dislike traveling to strange places without protection.” She gestured at Donnal, silently watching them all. “I bring my hound with me everywhere. But some years ago I insisted Sindra undergo training at weaponry and self-defense. She protested, of course, because women aren’t meant to be fighters, but—”

  “She seems to have learned rather too well,” Coren said.

  “But tell me,” Kirra said. “Why have you come so clandestinely to my room? Was there trouble at the inn? Something you wanted to warn us of?”

  Since he couldn’t possibly admit his real motive was rape or seduction, Senneth thought cynically, Kirra was kind to offer him a plausible alternative.

  “Yes—news—I thought you should know,” he said, stumbling over the words and obviously trying to come up with a crisis even as he spoke. “Bandits—on the north road. A traveler rode in late to describe his encounter. I wasn’t sure—Sindra had mentioned that you might be leaving in the morning. I didn’t want you to ride out without knowing what dangers might lie ahead.”

  “Bandits!” Kirra exclaimed, her eyes wide. “In Fortunalt territory? I hope someone has ridden to tell Rayson Fortunalt the news.”

  “Yes—I believe—that is, I’m sure someone else has done so,” Coren Bauler said. “But I thought—who knew how early you were planning to leave? You might not have gotten the news in time.”

  “No, you’re quite right. This is absolutely information I ne
eded to have,” Kirra said. “Bandits on the north road, you say? Then perhaps we should ride out eastward, toward Rappengrass. Sindra, what do you say?”

  “I am always happy to see Rappengrass again, Cousin.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do,” Kirra said decisively. “Coren, thank you so much for your warning. I don’t know what we would have done without your help.”

  And she held her hand out so he could grasp it in both of his. And then she cried out in sudden intense pain. Her disguise flickered; her hair melted from raven to gold and back again. She snatched her hand away and nursed it to her chest.

  Coren Bauler was staring at her, his hand still half-extended. “Lady Erin,” he said slowly. “You—but what—”

  “The lady is very tired,” Senneth said briskly. “We must be up early, which means we must go back to sleep this very instant—”

  He looked down at his hand, and the fat white jewel on his finger, and then back at Kirra. “You—your hair,” he whispered. “And the touch of my moonstone on your flesh—”

  Senneth actually put a hand to his shoulder and pushed him toward the door. “Thanks again for the warning. It’s best for us if you leave now—”

  He jerked away from her, and his face was dark with anger. “You’re mystics,” he snarled. “Both of you.”

  Senneth lunged, but this time he was ready for her. His own knife was out, and he caught her blade with the flat of his, then he tried a driving thrust aimed straight for her throat. But he was drunk and stupid, and it was easy to dance out of his way. She fell into a tense fighter’s crouch and watched his face.

  “Mystics,” he said again. “Spying on the gentry. I’ll kill you both before you can set foot outside this room.”

  He attacked again, strong but clumsy, and Senneth parried with relative ease. All the while she was wondering, Good time or bad time to tell him who Kirra really is? because no one wanted to murder the daughter of Malcolm Danalustrous. She stepped forward, thrust, stepped back, thinking that she didn’t want to kill him but that it might be her only choice. He swiped at her with one wild swing of his blade hand, and then went crashing to the floor with a sound of surprised horror. Donnal stood on top of him, head down and growling in the man’s ear. Kirra ran up and smashed his skull with a vase of winter greenery. He lay still.