He appeared to think a moment. “At this time, I would not commit myself to any side in a war,” he said at last.
That made her sit straight up. “What? But if war comes, you cannot possibly remain neutral!”
He shrugged. “Can I not? Can I not simply patrol the borders and coastline of Danalustrous? Why should I take up arms against my fellow marlords? Why should I see Danalustrous men cut down in a stupid battle for power? Let kings fall and kings change. Why should it matter to me as long as Danalustrous is left alone?”
She gripped the arms of the chair. “You can’t mean that.”
“Possibly I do. Convince me otherwise.”
“I’m not the sort of melodramatic person who uses words like ‘evil,’ ” she said. “But there is something about Halchon Gisseltess that fits that word. He is blind with ambition, and he will sacrifice as many lives as it takes for him to achieve his goal of sitting on the throne of Gillengaria. He has already started killing mystics throughout the southern provinces—did you know that?—he and his sister both. They are on their way to constructing a whole new regime, based on his notions of rulership and her notions of religion. They have ignited enough passion among the southern marlords that half the Houses have united behind them. We are looking at the possibility of a coup, and a bloodbath. And you would sit inside Danalustrous and do nothing?”
“I have never been interested in bloodbaths,” he said, his voice indifferent. “The word itself makes me want to bolt the doors and close the borders.”
“But you can’t close the borders,” she said softly. “This war will run right over you.”
A slight smile for that. “You think I cannot?” he said. “I think, if I wanted to, I could hold off Halchon Gisseltess and his benighted armies for as long as it took. I could seal Danalustrous off and keep everyone inside safe while war tore the entire rest of Gillengaria to pieces. I think I could—and I think I will, unless I see a stronger incentive than has so far presented itself to me.”
“You have to fight for your king!” she cried. “You have to fight for your country!”
“Danalustrous
is
my country. Don’t you understand?
That
was the trust I was given more than thirty years ago, when the property passed into my hands.
Protect Danalustrous.
And I will do it, too, no matter what storm rages outside my boundaries. I don’t know—perhaps my land can only be saved by protecting Gillengaria as it stands today, and then I will fight side by side with Brassenthwaite and the king. But perhaps Danalustrous can best be served if I stand aside from war. I will see. I will do what I think is best when the time comes.”
Kirra was suddenly tired. Once more she leaned her head back against the cushions of the chair. “Nothing else matters to you,” she said in a flat voice. “Nothing. Not your wife, not your friends—”
“My daughters matter to me,” he interrupted. “You are among the things I would defend with my life.”
She opened her eyes to give him a bitter glare. “Because we are Danalustrous! Because you see our flesh as so many pounds of Danalustrous soil and our blood as Danalustrous river water.”
His mouth quirked; he was amused. “Quaint,” he said.
“And true.”
He regarded her a moment. “Do you know why I married your mother?” he asked suddenly.
Wide-eyed, she shook her head. He simply never spoke of her mother, the fey, restless woman from a minor Danalustrous house who had lived at the hall only long enough to bear a single child. “I can’t even guess.”
“Because she promised me you. My first wife was barren, as you know. Your mother—oh, I knew she was a mystic. She made no attempt to hide it. But I didn’t care. She told me she could make my baby in her womb. She described you to me, down to the color of your eyes and the curl of your hair. She told me you would be a girl. She told me you would be a shiftling. I fell in love with the picture she drew, the picture of that child who turned out to be you in every detail she predicted. I didn’t want you merely because you would be a daughter of Danalustrous. I wanted you because you would be
mine.
My child. My daughter. You. And that has never changed.”
It was then Kirra knew, with sudden cold certainty, why her father had called her home. For a moment she couldn’t speak, merely sat there, clutching the arms of her chair, staring at him with eyes so much like his own that, if their portraits were laid side by side, the eyes would be identical. “Casserah just turned twenty-one,” she whispered at last.
He nodded. “Old enough to own property.”
“You’ve made her your heir.”
He nodded again. “I have. But I waited to make the announcement until you were home. We are having a party a few days from now and every landholder in Danalustrous will be here. We will make the announcement then.”
Kirra felt dizzy, bereft, suddenly and completely adrift. She was the oldest daughter; by right and tradition, Danalustrous should come to her when her father died. It had never occurred to her the estate might be left differently. “Does Casserah know?”
“Yes. And her mother. No one else.”
“Give me a moment to absorb this.”
He nodded and was silent. Anyone else would have attempted to argue his point, present his reasons, but Malcolm Danalustrous liked to think things through for himself, so he always allowed others the same privilege. He stayed unmoving in his chair, watching her face or watching the fire, it was hard to tell. Kirra sat with her hands now lax on the armrests, looking out over the subtle beauty of Danalustrous, and felt her life reshape around her.
Well. She had been gone for most of the last six months. In the past eight years, she had probably spent at least one-quarter of her life somewhere else. She was as restless as her mother; it was hard for her to sit still. She was happiest when she was traveling, looking forward to another stop upon the journey. The long trip with Senneth and Tayse earlier in the year had been hazardous and full of painful surprises, but in some ways she had enjoyed it more than any other stretch in her life, because their small group had been so constantly in motion.
She was not suited for staying in one place, watching over a single plot of ground, no matter how beautiful. She had always thought Danalustrous would come to her, but the thought had been vague and distant. It had never really occurred to her that her father would die, that any power on earth could quell Malcolm Danalustrous’s contentious spirit. She had made no attempt to learn the intricacies of governing the realm. She had never taken up the responsibilities of an heir.
But Casserah? Oh, Casserah loved Danalustrous with all of Malcolm’s single-mindedness. She had left Danan Hall only rarely, under protest, to attend a few of the more important social events at other Houses. She was possibly as unknown to the Gillengaria gentry as the sheltered Princess Amalie and content to have it that way. Like Malcolm, she cared about nothing but the land and the people who belonged to it. Like Malcolm, she had some preternatural connection to Danalustrous.
He must have realized that years ago—almost from the day Casserah was born. He must have known for nearly twenty years which daughter he would name heir. Why had he waited so long to make his announcement?
So that Kirra would not feel like a stepchild, unwanted and unimportant. So that the lords of the Twelve Houses would be forced to treat her with honor, to acknowledge her as serramarra. So that Kirra could define her own life, driven by curiosity and excitement, not by fear and insecurity.
So that she would realize he loved her.
“It’s not because I’m a mystic,” she said at last.
“No. Though there are some lords who will think that’s why.”
“It’s because I’m so restless.”
He smiled a little. “It’s because you think Danalustrous should go to war.”
She nodded. “Yes. Because I don’t put Danalustrous above every other person, place, or consideration.”
“And Casserah does, you know.”
She turned her head a little so she could inspect him, still leaning her back against the chair but entirely focused on him. “I would have picked her, too,” she said. “I am no marlady.”
“Danalustrous will always be your home,” he said.
She nodded. “Casserah feels about me the way you do,” she said. “I am part of Danalustrous, and so I belong to her. I am not afraid that she would ever lock me out. Unless I bring war to the borders, of course.”
Another small smile for that. “Even then. She would find a way to let you in and keep your soldiers out.”
“So now we must think,” she said, “of the generation to follow. Have you picked out her husband yet? For suddenly it becomes important for Casserah to marry.”
He was even more amused. “This from the girl who would never tolerate talk of matchmaking on her own behalf.”
“Casserah is different.”
“Yes,” he said. “She always has been.”
IT was another hour before Kirra had a chance to congratulate Casserah on her new position. She was in her own suite by then, moving slowly and carefully through the familiar rooms and furniture. She felt as if she had just risen from a sickbed, still shaky with a remembered fever. The proportions of the world looked blurry and strange; nothing was as it should be. And yet, everything was the same. The flowered bed curtains, the brightly polished armoire, the thick carpet that could choke back the severest winter chill—all exactly as they were the last time she had been in Danalustrous. She was the one who had changed.
She washed up and then dressed in a gown of dusty blue, one of the items of clothing always kept waiting for her. Often there were new pieces in the armoire, items picked out for her by Casserah or her stepmother, dresses and shawls and slippers that she instantly loved. This one was an old favorite, though, made of washed cotton that felt soft and comforting against her traumatized skin. Its color picked up the color of her eyes, provided a foil to her golden curls.
It was the right dress to be wearing when Casserah came to the door a little before dinner, knocking expectantly. “Kirra? Are you in there? Carlo told me you were home.”
“Yes—come in—oh, it is so
good
to see you!”
The sisters met in the middle of the room, flinging themselves into a long embrace. “You should not be gone so long,” Casserah said in her ear. “I miss you! And you have been doing dangerous things. I know, because Carlo tells me. Father won’t say a word.”
Kirra laughed and pulled back, keeping her hands on Casserah’s shoulders and inspecting her face. Her sister looked so much like their father that there was no mistaking her parentage. The blue eyes, of course. The dark hair. The far-away expression, focused on something no one else could see or hear. In fact, on Casserah’s face, that expression was most pronounced, accentuated by the exceedingly wide placement of her eyes. No matter how intense or personal the conversation Casserah might be holding, she always appeared a little abstracted. Like Malcolm, Kirra thought, Casserah was always listening to the land. Like Malcolm, she cared about little else.
Kirra smiled at her sister, feeling a surge of affection so fierce it would be impossible to articulate. “Not so dangerous, really,” she said. “I had powerful friends with me.”
A quick smile from Casserah. “Senneth, yes?”
“Among others.”
“I haven’t seen her for years. She’s well?”
“She’s wonderful. She’s taken a commission from the king, so she’s respectably employed—oh, and she’s fallen in love. Most unsuitably, with a King’s Rider.”
The smile widened. “Kiernan must be beside himself.”
“I expect so, but I haven’t heard from her. She’s visiting Brassenthwaite now. After seventeen years of not speaking to her brothers at all.”
Casserah nodded. “Good. No one should ever be estranged from their siblings. I would never let you go seventeen years without speaking to me. No matter what.”
Kirra took a deep breath. “Nothing would ever turn me against you. No matter what. There would be no rift.”
“Father’s told you,” Casserah said.