Read Dark Moon Defender (Twelve Houses) Online

Authors: Sharon Shinn

Dark Moon Defender (Twelve Houses) (12 page)

BOOK: Dark Moon Defender (Twelve Houses)
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She had happened upon a block where there were not many vehicles in the street, and not many pedestrians, either. By the scents she could pick up, there were many horses nearby— stables, maybe—and a wide variety of alcoholic beverages. Could these buildings be taverns, which she had heard about but never actually seen? Didn’t people behave very badly when they were in such places? She hesitated to knock on one of the closed doors. She would walk a little farther and see if she passed someone on the street.
 
 
Indeed, she hadn’t gone another hundred yards before she spotted a man standing on a corner, one hand on his hip, one hand raised to his eyes as if gauging the hour by the angle of the sun. From behind, he appeared to be impeccably dressed, and his boots were well polished. A man of some means, apparently. She would ask him how to find her destination.
 
 
Still, it took some courage to approach a stranger, a man, without a friend or brother at her side.
 
 
“Excuse me,” she addressed the back of his coat, which appeared to be made of fine wool. “Could I ask you for directions?”
 
 
He spun around at the sound of her voice, and she instantly knew she had made a bad choice. He couldn’t have been much older than Torrin, but his face looked lined and hardened, and she could smell stale wine on his breath. She did not like the expression his face showed when he realized he had been accosted by a lone woman. In simple white robes. Who looked terrified.
 
 
“Well,” he said softly. “Who might you be, little lost girl?”
 
 
Ellynor took a step backward, trying not to be obvious about it. It had never occurred to her before, but a man was so much bigger than a woman, with such powerful hands and arms. If he wanted to, this one could strangle her before she had time to draw breath. She had no idea how to fend off a violent attacker—she had never needed to know.
 
 
“I am a novice in the Lumanen Convent, one of the Daughters of the Pale Mother,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster. Most folks in this region were in awe of the Daughters; this credential might earn her some respect. “I am looking for the house of Jenetta Gisseltess.”
 
 
He smiled and shook his head. He had copied her action, stepping forward as she stepped back, almost as if they executed the motions of a dance. “Never heard of it,” he said. “Don’t know where it is. Plenty of other houses I could take you to, though.”
 
 
She stood firm, refusing to back away again, and made her voice icy. “Thank you, no. I’ll continue on my way without your help.”
 
 
His hand flashed out and caught her by the shoulder. The grip was tight enough to leave a mark. “Not so fast,” he said. “Stay and talk to me awhile.”
 
 
She tried to shake free, but his hand only tightened. “I am here to do the work of the Pale Mother,” she said, her voice even colder. “Stand aside.”
 
 
“I need a little attention from the Silver Lady,” he murmured. “Why don’t you share a little of her light with me?”
 
 
He pulled her roughly into his arms and kissed her hard on the mouth. She tried to struggle and she tried to scream, but the contest was too unequal. She had nowhere near the strength she needed to resist him. Her lips were bruising under his, her ribs were cracking in his hold, and she felt herself grow faint and dizzy. Still holding her, still practically devouring her, he forced her backward so that her spine was against the nearest building and the whole weight of his body lay upon her. She felt one of his arms uncoil from around her waist and his hand go groping at his belt, and she experienced a surge of panic so violent that she thought her bones might shatter.
 
 
Suddenly he flung himself off of her and went spinning to the ground. He had released her so abruptly that she nearly lost her balance and fell.
 
 
But no—he had not let her go. Someone had ripped him away.
 
 
Choking and breathless, she rested a hand against the wall and gaped at the scene before her. Her attacker leapt to his feet, fury in his eyes and a dagger in his hand, but he faced an opponent who looked every inch a fighter. The newcomer was sandy-haired and burly, not particularly well dressed but holding a sword that gleamed with loving polish. He had the very tip of it pressed under the other man’s chin, and he looked absolutely prepared to drive the point home.
 
 
“I don’t think you’re wanted here,” her rescuer said in a steely voice. “Go now, unless you truly want a fight.”
 
 
“I’m not afraid of a gutter boy like you,” the first man snarled. Indeed, if she was going by their clothing, Ellynor would guess her attacker was a merchant or a low-ranking noble, while the man who had come to her aid was a peasant or laborer. She was not sure how things worked in Gillengaria, but she couldn’t think an aristocrat would allow himself to be intimidated by a serf. “Stay out of a matter that does not concern you, or I’ll cut your throat right here on the street.”
 
 
Ellynor gasped, but her rescuer was unfazed. “You have no idea how quickly I can kill you,” he said in a calm voice.
 
 
“With a blade already at my throat? I suppose you could.”
 
 
The sandy-haired man stepped back, lowering his weapon. “Draw your sword.”
 
 
Instead, the noble flung himself at the other man, his dagger leveled to pierce the heart. Ellynor shrieked, looking around wildly for assistance.
 
 
But there was no assistance needed, or even time for help to come. A whirl of fists, a flash of metal, and the nobleman was on the ground groaning, his hand pressed to his shoulder and blood streaming down his shirt.
 
 
Ellynor knew enough about duels to realize he had not sustained a fatal wound. Still, she was a little shocked when the other man put a hand gently on her arm and said, “We should leave now. Before he gets up to try again—and before anyone comes to investigate.”
 
 
She gazed at him numbly. “But can we—should we—can we just leave him here like this?”
 
 
The man turned a contemptuous look on the nobleman, still moaning and cursing, trying to roll to a seated position. “He’ll be fine. Disabled, not really hurt.”
 
 
“Then we—”
 
 
A door opened down the street, and someone stuck his head out, looking curious. The fair-haired man pushed at Ellynor’s arm with a little more urgency. “Come on. We’ll talk someplace else.”
 
 
And because she was really too disoriented to think what she ought to do instead, she allowed him to whisk her around the corner, up the street, and into a large, low building that she belatedly realized was a stable. Just as, with a spurt of fear, she wondered if she might now be in an even worse situation, he turned and grinned at her.
 
 
“Now,” he said, dropping his hand. “What was that all about? I hope I didn’t come between you and a suitor you cared about. That’s not what it looked like, but sometimes—” He shook his head.
 
 
“No! I was lost and I stopped to ask him for directions and then he—he—well, you saw what he did. I thought he was going to—I was really afraid.” She paused to take a deep breath and try to quell some of her shaking. She was not usually so helpless and so easily overset. But she had never, ever, felt at such risk before.
 
 
This was why Torrin and Hayden would never let her out of their sight.
 
 
“Thank you so much for saving me,” she added in a calmer voice. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.”
 
 
She expected him to respond with a gracious
You’re welcome
or
I’m glad I could be of assistance.
But his voice was almost as stern as Torrin’s would have been. “What were you doing out by yourself in this part of town, anyway?” he demanded. “Especially if you don’t know how to take care of yourself?”
 
 
Her own temper rose. “I can take care of myself if people behave with some decency!” she shot back. “What kind of city is this, where men accost young women on the streets? Women who serve the
goddess
? He should be struck down by the Pale Mother!”
 
 
“Well, it didn’t look like she was about to intervene anytimesoon,” her companion said dryly. “If you can’t defend yourself, and if you don’t have the sense to stay where it’s safe—”
 
 
“I shouldn’t have to stay where it’s safe! People like him should be the ones who are kept off the streets, not me!”
 
 
Unexpectedly, he grinned at her, the expression so boyish that all her anger melted away. “I’d say you’re right about that,” he replied. “But since that’s not the way the world works, you’d better either get yourself an escort or figure out how to fight back.”
 
 
Reluctantly, she smiled in return. “I don’t expect to be walking unaccompanied around Neft too often,” she said. “In fact, probably never again. So I guess I don’t need to learn how to defend myself.”
 
 
He shrugged. “Never a bad skill to learn, anyway. Never know when trouble might come.”
 
 
“
You
certainly seem to know how to fight.”
 
 
That grin again. It made him look a little raffish. “Always did.”
 
 
“You probably enjoy it, too. Just like my brothers. They’re never happier than when they’ve got swords in their hands or their fists up to hit somebody.”
 
 
“Fighting’s a skill, and I’m good at it. Don’t
you
enjoy whatever skills you have? Don’t you work at getting better?”
 
 
Nonplussed, she stared at him a moment. She couldn’t remember anybody ever asking her that before. As a Lirren girl, she had domestic abilities that all women were expected to cultivate, and she had been praised from time to time for her cooking or her sewing. But no one had ever said,
Ellynor, you set a stitch so beautifully! Practice your embroidery and you will be a fine seamstress someday.
No one had expected her to have aspirations. Everyone appreciated her talent for nursing, of course, but it wasn’t something she had considered building her life around.
 
 
She had never really thought about having a calling, and dedicating her life to it.
 
 
Though now that she was a novice at the Lumanen Convent, theoretically she had found her calling. Theoretically her life would be devoted to the Pale Mother.
 
 
She shook her head, shaking the thought away. “I—I supposeI do,” she said. “And you’re right. Your ability to fight was a very useful one today.”
 
 
He held his hand out in a friendly gesture. “I’m Justin, by the way,” he said. “Am I allowed to ask your name?”
 
 
Not something they’d covered in convent etiquette, though Torrin most certainly would not approve. “Ellynor,” she said, and put her hand in his. His palm was warm and callused; she could feel the power in his grip, though he closed his hand very gently over hers. “I serve at the Lumanen Convent.”
 
 
Another grin. “I recognized the robes. Why do you think I’m being so polite?”
 
 
“You think you’ve been polite?”
 
 
A laugh for that, as if he was surprised. “Well, a lot of people think it’s something I’ve never really mastered. Can I get you some water to drink? To wipe off your face? You might not want to go back to the convent looking like you’ve been mauled in the street.”
 
 
Suddenly self-conscious, she put her hands to her cheeks, to her hair. Oh yes, she could feel the disorder in her coiffure, and her face probably bore all manner of scratches and bruises.
 
 
And she was dying for a chance to wash away the taste of that other man’s mouth.
 
 
“Yes, please,” she said in a rather small voice. “Thank you. I wouldn’t want anyone to see me looking mussed up.”
 
 
He nodded, then called out what must have been someone’s name. “Delz?” He waited, but there was no answer. “I think we’re alone for the moment,” he said. “Let me get you some water and a clean cloth. Here—you can sit on that while you wait.”
BOOK: Dark Moon Defender (Twelve Houses)
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