The Thirteenth House (Twelve Houses) (19 page)

She didn’t expect any gifts for herself, oh no. Didn’t want any. Inappropriate, indeed, on every level. One might reasonably give tokens to servants or vassals who had performed a heroic service—that reflected well on both the giver and the receiver—but one didn’t pass out trinkets to unattached women with whom one had spent a certain amount of time under highly unusual circumstances. No one would think well of that.

It was with some difficulty that she forced herself to concentrate on the final paragraphs of the letter.

Before I forget, I want to tell you that Senneth is back. And Tayse, of course. When she heard that I was writing you a letter, she said, “Be sure and tell her that everything with me is going
quite well,
and underline those last two words.” So I am. She has been very busy because she has been accompanying Princess Amalie on all sorts of outings. The king and queen had a grand ball here a few nights ago, and Senneth came down to the Riders’ barracks to show us her dress. I happened to be there having dinner. She said the king is making her go out in public with the princess to protect her from anyone who would harm her—which I think is a very good idea, don’t you? Because no one gets hurt when Senneth is nearby. Well, usually not, anyway.

That’s all I have to tell you, I think. I can’t remember the last time I wrote anyone a letter, so I’m not sure I’ve done it right. Do come back to Ghosenhall soon. Unless you’d rather stay in Danalustrous, of course, but somehow I don’t think so.

Cammon

Those last two paragraphs were almost as interesting as the first few, and had the added benefit of changing the direction of Kirra’s thoughts. Senneth’s message could only be a guarded reference to the relationship with Tayse, which had been promising but unconsummated the last time Kirra had had any news. She wanted to grab a pen and write Senneth a teasing note that very instant, but fear of who might see the contents made her pause. Well, she would be back in Ghosenhall soon enough. She could not linger much longer here. She had already missed the king’s ball, the traditional opening of the summer social season. The other Houses would be holding similar entertainments in the next few weeks, and perhaps Kirra would attend them. One or two, at least. If nothing else, as an excuse to continue gathering information for the king.

Or to see old friends. You never knew who might go to a ball or a summer banquet. Anyone at all might show up. She really hated the thought of missing the entire season.

THE banquet she attended in Danan Hall the following night was not calculated to make her eager to join the rest of the social whirl throughout Gillengaria. She performed her own part flawlessly, dressed in an exquisite gown embroidered all over with red flowers, her hair cascading down her back like raw gold. Her father had placed her at his right hand, the seat of highest honor, and circulated through the room afterward with Kirra on his arm. All marks of great favor, all reiterated proof that he valued this daughter, the oldest, the mystic, above all others.

Except one.

“Guests—lords and ladies—most loyal friends,” Malcolm called when the meal was over and the mingling had gone on long enough to allow everyone to get a little inebriated. “I am so happy you have all been able to join me on this most important occasion. As many of you know, my daughter Casserah turned twenty-one this spring, and this dinner is in some way a celebration of that great event.” He turned to smile down at Casserah, who stood beside him looking utterly serene. Kirra stood on the other side of Casserah, trying to imitate that calm, assured demeanor. Her whole life, whenever she had been in doubt about what expression to hold on her face, she had painted on the one she thought Casserah would choose. “Happy birthday, my dear,” Malcolm said.

“Happy birthday, serra! Happy birthday, Casserah!” a few voices from the crowd called out. A handful of people lifted their wineglasses and drank to the serra’s health.

Malcolm turned back to face the well-wishers. “Now that she is twenty-one, she takes up great responsibilities and prepares for a hard future. For I have decided to name her heir to Danalustrous. She will hold Danan Hall after me.”

The silence in the room was profound. Kirra felt a hundred pairs of eyes trained on her face, with expressions that ranged from shock to satisfaction to outright malice. She imagined the thoughts the audience must be having. Everything from
What a disgrace! How can he treat her so?
to
Thank the Silver Lady! Danalustrous is saved from a mystic’s hands.
Still, she kept that tranquil look on her face. She waited for Malcolm to bend a little and kiss Casserah on the forehead, and then she leaned in and kissed her sister’s cool cheek. That particular move had been choreographed.

The next one had not. Casserah took Kirra’s hand in hers and lifted it so their entwined fingers hovered over their heads. “I could not take on such a heavy task without the full aid and support of my sister,” Casserah said in that smooth, perfectly pitched voice that everyone fell silent to hear. “It is to her that I will look for strength and guidance, for she is the one I trust above all others.”

A halfhearted cheer from the crowd for that. Kirra let Casserah’s hand sweep down and pull them both into a bow. Traditionally a sign of subservience, the bow meant something special now, Kirra knew:
I am subordinating myself to the land. I will sacrifice myself to its service.
The words a vassal might utter to his marlord, that a marlord might speak to his king. No one had to say the words aloud now for everyone in the room to know what Casserah Danalustrous meant by the gesture.

Once they straightened, it was Kirra’s turn to talk. “It is a time of great hope and promise for Danalustrous,” she said, her voice quieter than Casserah’s and a little less assured. “The land cannot fail to prosper with such a one as you to guide it.”

So that was it; there ended the few most agonizing public moments of Kirra’s life. But the rest of the evening was not much fun, either. Casserah attempted to hold on to her hand, but the press of the crowd was too great, and soon they were separated. The well-wishers clustered around Casserah; the backbiters made a wall around Kirra.

“Well! I bet you’re feeling terrible right about now,” said one of Erin Sohta’s cousins, a green-eyed woman with high-piled hair. “I know how it is! My own sister always got all the attention at our house, and
I
was the oldest,
and
the prettiest, but it was always my sister whom my mother thought would marry well. I didn’t just sit back and whine about it, though—I found a good man, with an excellent property, and I married better than anyone thought I would. So don’t let them push you aside.”

“Really—it’s not quite like that—”

“You can’t hang around here, though, and be treated that way, can you?” asked an older man who looked half sympathetic and half greedy for dark details. “You’ll have to leave. Show them how you feel.”

“In fact, I have been so much on the road lately that my father feels Casserah is far more connected to the land than I am. I have to say I agree with him. I love Danalustrous, but I love Gillengaria even more.”

“I’d be hurt, though, if I were you,” said another voice.

“I’m sure it’s not because he doesn’t trust you.” Still another voice. “I mean, Malcolm’s never been afraid of mystics like
some
people are. Has always treated them with absolute decency.”

“Still—a mystic in House Danalustrous—well, serra, you can’t really blame him, can you?”

“There are no other mystics heading the other eleven Houses, that I know. Don’t think Malcolm had a choice.”

The voices went on around her, pushing against her, making her want to scream out in protest or cover her face with her hands. For a few moments, she wished her father or Casserah would come over and rescue her, but she knew they were too deep in their own conversations to save her; she had to take care of herself. She had a brief, crazy idea of turning herself into some kind of startling creature—the legendary lion from the king’s crest, perhaps, or even a red raelynx, terrifying to behold.
That
would make anyone think twice about taunting her while pretending sympathy. But that, she knew, would just make the situation worse.
Did you see serramarra Kirra at her sister’s birthday ball? Turned herself into a wild animal, she did. Can’t control herself in society—oughtn’t to be let out to mingle with regular folk. Mystics—you can’t trust any of them. . . .

So she didn’t change. She didn’t scream. She didn’t look desperately around for succor. She merely smiled mechanically and answered comments when she could and prayed to the Bright Lady to end her torture by bringing daylight back a few hours sooner than scheduled. But the red goddess did not answer her pleas. It was the Pale Mother who peered in through the leaded windows, her mouth round and soundless, but her whole silver presence one of suppressed delight. The Pale Mother was always happiest when a mystic was in distress, and so this was, for her, a night of uncommon enchantment.

KIRRA was still asleep the next morning when Casserah came in without knocking.

“You have to attend the breakfast,” Casserah said, going to Kirra’s armoire as soon as she had shaken her sister awake. “Otherwise everyone will think you’re sulking.”

Kirra sat up in bed, yawning. “I didn’t know there
was
a breakfast.”

“Informal. Mostly my friends. Maybe twenty people there, the sons and daughters of the vassals.”

Kirra forced herself to kick off the covers and stand up, but she was grinning. “And those are the people you consider your friends?”

Casserah had chosen a pretty, simple dress of spidery cotton lace over antique linen. “Here, this makes you look docile and devoted,” she said. “No, in fact, there are a few I truly can’t abide. But it’s important for
them
to feel a connection with me. So I’m having this breakfast. I thought I told you.”

“I don’t know, maybe you did. Wait a minute. I have to wash my face and—horrors, look at my hair.”

“I can fix your hair,” Casserah said.

Kirra, bending over her nightstand, grinned at her sister in the mirror. “We haven’t done each other’s hair in years. I can’t imagine you even have to brush your own at night. Don’t you have servants for all that?”

Casserah’s face showed its customary faint amusement. “So would you, if you lived here. Who styles your hair for you when you’re traveling? Not Donnal, I would think. The mystic Senneth? She never struck me as a woman who cared much about fashion.”

Kirra had to laugh. She had cleaned herself as well as she could with the contents of the pitcher and basin, and now she was running a brush through the knotted tangle of curls. “No, indeed. Senneth much prefers dressing in a man’s leathers and cutting her hair so short she doesn’t have to bother with it at all. Maybe Kiernan has convinced her to invest a little more energy in her appearance, but I doubt it.”

Casserah was behind her, pushing Kirra into a backless vanity chair. “Sit. I’ll do this very quickly.”

Quickly and well, as Casserah did everything. Fifteen minutes later, Kirra had to admire her own appearance. Casserah had devised braids of hair and gold ribbon and lace, and wound the whole heavy mass around Kirra’s head, so that she seemed to wear a halo of her own hair. The linen dress did indeed make her look demure and eager to please. Casserah had heightened the effect with a choker of lace and pearls tied around Kirra’s neck. The largest pearl fell just over Kirra’s housemark, right above her breasts.

“Now if you can only contrive to keep your high spirits in check, I think you’ll do very well,” Casserah said, stepping back to take one last look.

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