The Thirteenth House Page 6

  “I think we can rest now,” Justin said, and they all immediately pulled up their horses. Kirra was weary to the bone and imagined the others must be as well—though neither Justin nor Romar showed it, of course. In fact, Romar immediately announced, “I can go farther if necessary.” Kirra had to smother a laugh.

  “We have to rest sometime,” Justin said practically. “Just for a few hours. We’ll split a watch.”

  “I can take a watch,” Romar said.

  Justin glanced at Kirra as he slid from the saddle but did not answer. Justin didn’t admire aristocrats any more than he admired mystics and wasn’t about to set himself up to argue with one. Kirra swung down with the ease of much practice and waited till Romar was on his feet before she gave him a somewhat calculated smile.

  “You will not stand watch,” she said, her voice almost flirtatious. “You are the one we have come to save. You will have something to eat, refresh yourself with a nap, and be ready to ride on when Justin says it’s time.”

  Romar frowned. Even after a week of captivity, a daring escape, and a long night of forced riding, he did not look worn or beaten. They must breed men of incredible stamina down there in Merrenstow. “I hate to feel helpless. I hate to feel like I am relying on the efforts of others while I do nothing,” he said.

  Justin was unstrapping a spare sword from his saddle. “Here,” he said, handing it over to Romar rather casually, considering he cared about his weaponry more than he cared about his friends. “If we’re attacked, you can join the fight. I’d guess you’ve some skill with a blade.”

  Romar looked deeply pleased and pulled the sword from the scabbard to inspect it. “Thank you. This is a fine piece. Yes, I am a fairly good man in a fight. Thank you again—” And he hesitated as if searching for a name to complete the sentence.

  Kirra stifled a sigh. There had been no time for introductions as they pounded out of Tilt. “That’s Justin. King’s Rider. I mentioned him to you the other night. The fact that he will entrust you with a sword he owns is either a mark of high favor or a sign of deep desperation.”

  Romar immediately reached out and shook Justin’s hand as if they were men of equal rank. Kirra could see Justin appreciated the gesture, but she had a better idea of what it meant. Twelfth House aristocrats rarely even noticed the existence of lesser folk, unless to issue orders or reprimands; they certainly didn’t fraternize. But she had had a few chances to observe Romar when they were both in residence at the royal palace in Ghosenhall. She had noticed then that he was impatient of pomp and careless of class distinctions. Here might be a man who knew all of his servants by name and who could win love, not just respect, from any men under his command.

  “I will hope our need is not so desperate that I need to bloody the blade,” Romar said to Justin. “But if it is, I promise you won’t be sorry you lent it to me.”

  Justin grinned. “Now I’ll almost hope for an engagement just to see you in action.”

  Kirra was motioning Cammon forward. “And this is Cammon. He’s the mystic who can read people’s minds, so think only courteous thoughts when he’s nearby.”

  “I can’t,” Cammon said, giving Romar a little bow. This time there was no handshake, but Romar gave Cammon a long and interested inspection. “Can’t read minds. I can sense emotions pretty clearly, though. And—and—just general existence. It’s hard to explain.”

  “I’m sure those are very useful skills,” Romar said.

  Kirra couldn’t help laughing. “You can’t even begin to guess,” she assured him. She was looking around. “Donnal’s here somewhere, or he was.”

  Romar also glanced over both shoulders, as if searching for someone. “Yes, I thought you’d said there were four of you, but there were only three of you riding with me last night.”

  “The wolf,” Justin said. “Running alongside you as you escaped the house. That’s Donnal.”

  Comprehension played across Romar’s face. “The—ah. I admit to a moment of panic when I saw him there, but then I decided I’d rather be eaten by a wild animal than killed by a faceless guard, so I ran for the trees anyway. And after that, I seemed to forget him.”

  Justin made a little grunting sound, as if about to make a reluctant admission. “Always a mistake to forget Donnal,” he said.

  “Well, I don’t know where he went,” Kirra said, giving up. “Hunting, maybe. He’ll probably stay in animal shape for most of the trip. His senses are keener when he’s a wolf, and that’s pretty handy when you think someone might be pursuing you. Anyway, we don’t have enough horses.”

  Romar glanced around again. “So it’s Donnal’s horse I’m riding? I hate to dispossess him.”

  “We couldn’t take yours from the stables without raising five kinds of alarm,” Justin said. “This was the most practical solution.”

  Kirra could see protest forming on Romar’s face again. Really, his sense of pride could be most inconvenient. “Don’t apologize,” she warned before he could utter a word. “Don’t tell us you’ll keep up by jogging along beside us. Don’t try to give the horse back to Donnal and tell him you’ll walk back to Merrenstow. If Donnal takes human shape to ride, I swear to you I’ll take animal shape, and it’s my horse you’ll be riding to complete the journey.”

  For a moment there was deep silence as Romar looked both offended and astonished. Justin and Cammon had prudently turned away and pretended to be engaged in conversation. Kirra held Romar’s gaze, her own unwavering. She couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were a dark brown, thickly lashed, meltingly beautiful even as they brightened with anger.

  A moment longer he held the stare, and then he gave a small laugh and shrugged his shoulders. “You think me some kind of thoughtless autocrat,” he said. “And I know I appear ungrateful. It’s just that—”

  “It’s just that you’re not used to being rescued by strangers and ordered about by frivolous young women who ought to be entertaining callers on their fathers’ estates,” Kirra said, giving him her widest smile again. She could tell it was starting to dazzle him, just a little, as it should; he was not as susceptible as most men. “You’re used to being in charge. And you don’t like being beholden to anyone. You don’t know how to act.”

  He laughed again, a little more freely. “All that. Except I have a feeling you are very rarely frivolous.”

  Kirra was fairly certain she heard a muffled “Ha!” from Justin, but she was able to ignore him. “We are in unusual circumstances,” she said, her voice most friendly. “But it will be easiest on all of us if you will just surrender the burden of responsibility till we get you to safety. Justin is wholly despicable, as far as personality goes, but he is really a splendid fighter and I would trust him to save all our lives if we were pitched into battle. Cammon and Donnal are amazing guards, with the ability to sense danger when it is miles away. And I have an assortment of skills not to be found among most of your serramarra. I have seen my share of adventures these past six months, and I will never again be content to sit in a drawing room discussing fashion and bloodlines. Though I can do that, too, if it will make you more comfortable,” she added. “But I just want you to—relax. Let us handle the details of this journey. We are very sure of what we’re doing.”

  Romar nodded and then, as if that were not acknowledgment enough, gave her a deep bow. “You want me to be gracious,” he said, straightening up. “I can do that. I swear. I can also thank you—and your companions—for rescuing me. I appreciate it more than I believe I will be able to find words to say.”

  “We acted on our king’s request,” Kirra said, because she knew Justin was itching to say the words, and she thought they might sound better coming from her. “But we were happy to do it.”

  Justin glanced over from where he and Cammon had been laying out provisions. “Breakfast is ready,” he said, “if anyone’s hungry.”

  They were all starving, and they devoured bread and dried meat as if they hadn’t eaten for a week. Donnal padded up w
hile they were taking second helpings, but since he showed no interest in the meal, Kirra assumed he had fed elsewhere. He sat beside her on the damp ground and gave Romar an unnervingly direct stare. He was still in wolf form, and his yellow eyes peered with a totally inhuman intensity at the king’s regent.

  “This is Donnal. Perhaps you remember him.” Kirra made the awkward introduction as coolly as possible. “I’d have thought he might take a man’s shape for a few moments to greet you—but I guess not. He can take any form he wants, but when he’s not human, he’s most often a wolf. Some affinity there, I suppose.”

  “Indeed, he looks most—convincing,” Romar said. Kirra suspected the lord wasn’t entirely comfortable with the wolf sitting so close—but then, few men were. She supposed that was why Donnal had chosen to retain this shape. As a man, he was lean and supple but not particularly imposing. As a predator, he inspired a quick and instinctive reaction of fear, even in those who knew what he truly was. Unlike Justin, Donnal didn’t have a deep-seated hatred of the aristocracy—but he wasn’t above taking the opportunity to flaunt his superiority when he had the chance. She supposed that was only natural. Or perhaps it was completely male. By the grin on Justin’s face, she would wager it was the latter.

  Romar regarded the wolf a moment longer, then he pulled his gaze away with some effort. “So. What’s our plan?”

  Justin picked up a stick and made a rough sketch in the dirt. “We’re approximately here,” he said, indicating a point about dead center in the triangular domain of Tilt. “We’ve been heading southward because the traveling’s easier, but we probably need to turn straight east. Get to Merrenstow as quickly as possible. We won’t leave you until you’re with a garrison somewhere inside Merrenstow lines.”

  Romar nodded. “How long do you think that will take?”

  “Three or four days, maybe,” Justin said, “if we continue cross-country like this. Faster on the roads, but—” He shook his head. “I’m thinking you shouldn’t be on the main roads without a battalion at your back anytime soon.”

  “Yes, I think I’ve learned that lesson,” Romar replied.

  “So what did they think to accomplish?” Kirra asked. “By taking you? Even if they’d killed you—what would that have achieved?”

  “Depends on who was in charge of the enterprise,” Romar said.

  “I did a little reconnoitering,” Kirra said. “Looked to me like they were Thirteenth House men. From Gisseltess and Tilt. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t acting at the behest of a higher lord.”

  Romar shrugged and looked tired. “Or they could have been acting on their own. There’s been an upsurge of—discontent, I suppose you’d call it—from some of the Thirteenth House lords in recent months. Everyone senses change in the air, and no one wants to be excluded from the spoils.”

  “But would lesser lords band together outside of traditional fiefdoms?” Kirra asked. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “No, and you have to ask what kind of power they could really muster even if they did so,” Romar admitted. “Most of them live on lands held in trust to the marlords—they run the estates, but they don’t own them. Are they organized enough to plan war strategies? Are they truly a threat worth worrying about, or merely an annoyance at a time of great general disturbance?”

  Kirra ground the heels of her hands into her eyes. Bright Lady, she was so tired. If she didn’t sleep soon, she would disintegrate into a pile of weary dust. “There are so many threats on so many fronts,” she said. “There is Halchon Gisseltess whispering that the king needs to be overthrown because he is old and his daughter is incompetent. There is Coralinda Gisseltess spreading the gospel of the Pale Mother and claiming that all mystics are evil and must die. Don’t we have enough to contend with? Now we must make war on the Thirteenth House as well? It is too much.”

  “It is all of a piece,” Romar said. “The realm is in discord. Change is at hand and everyone wants to influence what the new kingdom will look like. We may yet see more factions emerge before Amalie is on the throne.”

  Kirra dropped her hands to stare at him. “Change is at hand,” she repeated. “But why is everyone so certain that Baryn is ready to die? He’s only sixty-five.”

  “His father died before he was sixty,” Romar said gently. “As did his uncles and his grandfather. Trust Halchon Gisseltess to know that. He would be an unusual man of his line to live even another five years.”

  Kirra bit her lip. She hadn’t had that particular statistic; she wondered if Senneth knew it. She turned her head to look at Romar more closely. He was sitting next to her on the ground, so he sat in profile to her, the shape of his head illuminated by sunlight now for the first time since this journey had begun. He had pulled his matted hair back to tie it in a ponytail, so the angles of his cheeks were exposed; the stubbled line of his jaw seemed to set even as she watched. Not only a handsome face, but a strong one. No soft, indulged, pretty-boy lordling was Romar Brendyn of Merrenstow.

  “You have been given a hard task,” she commented in a low voice. “If Baryn dies, you will be the one to usher in a new era. With all these foes arrayed against you.”

  He smiled a little. “I will stand at Princess Amalie’s side as she ushers in that new era,” he corrected.

  “She’s a child.”

  “Eighteen now.”

  Kirra shook her head. “Eighteen is only seven years behind me, and I know that I would not even have been ready to rule Danalustrous at that time. I doubt I would be ready now. This burden will fall on you.”

  Romar stared before him a while longer, completely motionless, while Kirra watched him. Then he gave a small shrug. “If the king dies. If war comes. If diplomacy fails. We are not yet at a dire crossroads, though darkness looms in many directions. None of these terrible things may come to pass.”

  “Still,” she said. “You are a brave man to answer the king’s call for a regent.”

  He smiled. “Amalie is my sister’s daughter. I would protect her with my life even if the king had not given me such a charge. The rest of it, all the political maneuvering, that makes the job more challenging, I admit—but I would have had some part of the job regardless. I am just as happy that he has given me ultimate authority.”

  “He may have written your death warrant,” Kirra said.

  Romar laughed and shook his head. “No,” he said. “I will be more careful from now on. I will not be taken a second time.”

  Kirra fought back a yawn. “Well, if we want to make sure you are not taken again today, we must be on the move again soon,” she said. “Which means, first we must sleep.” She glanced around the camp, suddenly aware that she and Romar had been the only two conversing for quite some time. Cammon and Justin were asleep already, stretched out side by side on the ground. Donnal sat a few yards away, ears up, nose twitching, scenting the wind that blew in fitfully from the north. Guarding their back trail.

  “Donnal must have taken first watch,” Kirra said, a little unnerved that all this had been decided around her while she had been oblivious, deep in conversation with Romar. “I assume he knows when to wake Cammon or Justin. You and I should merely sleep.”

  Romar nodded. “I am too tired even to protest. Wake me when it is time to move on.”

  Kirra tried to smother a yawn and let herself fall back, right there on the ground, with nothing but a light cloak between her and the grass. “Someone will,” she said drowsily. “Sooner than you’d like.”

  CHAPTER 5

  WHEN she woke, the warmth of Donnal’s body was at her back, but everyone else in camp was astir. The sun was high and remote; the cool spring air was sticky with humidity. She sat up and pushed her hair back over her shoulders, feeling irritable, dirty, and far from rested.

  “My clothes are damp,” she said with a touch of petulance. “The ground was a lot wetter than it looked.”

  Justin gave her a quick, unsympathetic look. “Better get yourself something to eat. We ride
out in ten minutes,” he said.

  She shoved herself to her feet. “Thanks for the generous warning,” she grumbled, as she took off for a little privacy.

  Her usual sunny temperament had reasserted itself by the time they were on the move again. She had always been able to make do with minimum amounts of water to freshen up her hair and face, and she had always been able to manufacture clean clothes out of soiled ones. Justin must have lent Romar a razor, because the regent was clean shaven for the first time since they had found him, and he, too, managed to improve his appearance before they took off. Justin always looked presentable, in a rough and dangerous sort of way, and Cammon never did, so nothing had changed there. And naturally, the wolf had not bothered with a toilette at all.

  They were heading southeast at a deliberate pace through countryside that was rocky, uneven and sparsely covered with low brush and spindly trees. Justin was in the lead; Cammon was in the back to pick up any intimation of pursuit. Donnal was roaming, though he came back periodically to pace alongside Justin as if waiting for the Rider to issue him orders. Not much love lost between those two, either, though Justin had a grudging respect for Donnal’s fighting and scouting abilities. They worked together like jealous brothers, understanding each other even when their dislike was at its strongest.