Fortune and Fate (Twelve Houses) (50 page)

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Authors: Sharon Shinn

BOOK: Fortune and Fate (Twelve Houses)
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The light was low—only a half dozen candles lit this whole snaking length of corridor—and his face was almost entirely in shadow. Still, she would have recognized his deep voice even in utter darkness.
 
 
“Were you looking for me?” she asked. She tried so hard not to sound shy that she sounded almost belligerent instead.
 
 
Nothing in his voice indicated that he felt self-conscious about this unlikely encounter. “Indeed, I was. I’ve caught sight of you a dozen times tonight, but never for long enough to come over and speak.”
 
 
“I’ve been staying on the move,” she said. “Is something wrong?”
 
 
“No, nothing’s wrong. How about from your perspective? Any trouble?”
 
 
She shook her head. “Everything is calm. It appears to be a most well-behaved crowd.”
 
 
“I hope you’re not disappointed.”
 
 
She laughed. “Of course not! Relieved.”
 
 
“But all that effort wasted.”
 
 
“All that effort is merely what you pay us to do,” she said. “A guard spends far more time training to fight than actually fighting. The more well-prepared we are, the less likely we are to engage in real combat. Anytime your enemy knows you’re strong, he hesitates to attack.”
 
 
“Well, I’m glad we have no enemies here tonight,” he said. He stepped back a little to survey her in the poor light. “Is this one of the new uniforms that Serephette and Karryn were so keen on designing? It looks very smart.”
 
 
Wen raised her arms and did a half-turn from side to side as if to model some of the features of the outfit. It was nice to have him looking at her, even if he was only admiring her clothing. “Yes, all the guards are quite pleased with them. Functional and attractive. It is never a bad thing to instill a sense of pride in your regiment with such small things—easily overlooked, but they mean so much to the soldiers.”
 
 
“I will remember that if, in the future, I have cause to outfit a troop,” he said. He was looking down at her with the same half-smile he had given Demaray, warm and intimate. “But I must confess, I was wondering if you had ever had cause to wear something even more formal than this uniform.”
 
 
Only another uniform, even more striking than this one,
she thought. “More formal in what way?”
 
 
“I meant, perhaps, a dress?”
 
 
She grimaced. “I haven’t worn a dress since I left home,” she said.
 
 
“Even for fancy occasions? To attend a wedding, perhaps?”
 
 
Now she laughed. “I’ve only been to a handful of those,” she said, “and everyone else was in uniform as well.”
 
 
“None of your siblings married? Neither Elisa nor Altaverra asked you to stand up for her?”
 
 
Wen was silent a moment, momentarily taken aback by the fact that he had remembered her sisters’ names. But then, she imagined Jasper Paladar remembered most details of that conversation the other night. She certainly did.
 
 
“I’ve made it home for three out of the five weddings my brothers and sisters have had so far,” she said at last. “And I wore my Rider uniform each time. No one, not even my mother, asked me to change into something else. You must not understand me very well if you think this is a persona I put on and take off as the mood strikes me. I’m a soldier. A fighter. All the time.”
 
 
“Yes,” he said, “I am beginning to realize that. Pure to the core.”
 
 
She almost laughed. “I didn’t say that.”
 
 
“Pure in essence,” he amended. “Unadulterated.”
 
 
She let that pass, not entirely certain what he meant. He seemed to consider a moment, while, through the half-opened door behind him, the orchestra sidled into another melody, this one rather plaintive and slow. Jasper smiled.
 
 
“Well,” he said, “I suppose a woman can waltz in trousers just as well as a man can. Will you dance with me, Wen?”
 
 
For an instant, she was both speechless and paralyzed. She found her voice at the same time she recovered the power of movement, for she stepped back from him and demanded, “Are you mad?”
 
 
His smile intensified. “I don’t think so, no. Does that mean you won’t?”
 
 
“Lords don’t dance with members of their personal guard.”
 
 
“You’re Karryn’s guard, not mine,” he said.
 
 
“It’s the same thing.”
 
 
He came a step closer and, when she did not pull back, laid his right hand gently on her shoulder. “Here,” he said. “In the hallway. One dance.”
 
 
She forced the words out. “I don’t know how to waltz,” she said.
 
 
He leaned forward to pick up her right hand in his left one. “It’s simple enough,” he said. “A count of three.
Step
-step-step.
Step
-step-step. Let me guide you through the motions.”
 
 
He waited, as if for a protest, but she was beyond the power to resist. The gods take pity on her, she
wanted
to dance with him—feel his hand sliding down from her shoulder to rest on the curve of her waist, pretend she was dressed in floating silks, imagine she was Demaray Coverroe, all fine skin and smiling fairness. It was not something that had even occurred to her to dream about, and yet here she was, suddenly convinced she would die if she did not tread out a few measures of music with this unpredictable man.
 
 
He tugged her a few inches closer and suddenly they were dancing, small, cautious steps this way and that in the close confines of the dark hallway. He was right; the beat was unmistakable, the motions simple enough to pick up with only a little concentration. She was used to mastering physical skills with a minimum of trouble. Dancing wasn’t really that hard, if she wasn’t expected to be showy. Jasper was smiling broadly, apparently pleased at her deftness, and he pulled her into a wider turn, a more energetic sequence of steps. She couldn’t hold back a laugh; the motion of the dance was joyful enough to elicit that kind of response. He laughed back at her, but neither of them said a word. Around them, the music continued its jaunty swirling and Wen mentally counted out the beats.
One
-two-three-
one
-two-three-
one
. . .
 
 
The music ended with a flourish, catching both of them off guard, and they were left standing there, hands still clasped, staring at each other, in a world gone suddenly silent. Well, of course, there was the sound of voices from the ballroom, the more distant clatter of dishes from the kitchen, but in this hallway, between these two people, there was a deep and utter stillness.
 
 
Jasper broke it. “There, you see? Not so difficult at all.”
 
 
“No,” Wen replied, and could not think how to embroider her answer.
 
 
He dropped the hand that was at her waist, but kept his other one wrapped around her fingers, and now he drew this hand against his heart in a courtly gesture. “Thank you, Captain,” he said. “I believe that was my favorite dance of the evening.”
 
 
She could not drop a curtsey, so she bent in a creditable bow. “Thank
you
, my lord,” she replied. “It was my favorite as well.”
 
 
That made him laugh, and she was able to retrieve her hand without seeming to be in any big hurry to pull it away from him. “It is a pity,” he said, “but I fear I must return to my guests or be branded the most lax and unforgivable of hosts.”
 
 
“And I should be circling the house again, making sure you have attracted no intruders.”
 
 
“Then go,” he said. “We will talk tomorrow.”
 
 
But he made no move to retreat through the door and Wen found it impossible to leave first. He opened his mouth as if to speak again, shut it, then gave a sighing little laugh. “I never know what is calculated to frighten you away,” he said. He kissed his fingers and laid them against her lips. “And that’s even worse than
dancing
with your guard,” he said.
 
 
She was so shocked she could not move, not to retreat, not to fling herself in his arms. He gave a crooked smile, offered another very slight bow, and pulled the door all the way open. She caught a brief bright glimpse of color and motion before he slipped across the threshold and shut the door behind him.
 
 
Wen was left standing in partial darkness, staring at an afterimage of revelry. Her body was motionless; her face was set like marble. Anyone looking at her might believe she had been bespelled by a mystic whose talent was turning flesh to stone. But she stayed so still merely to contain her inner riot—the clamor in her ears, the thrumming in her bones, the surging of her blood moving in a syncopated waltz of its very own.
 
 
Chapter 26
 
 
RAPPEN MANOR WAS ALL DECKED OUT TO RECEIVE THE
royal visitor. Flags from each of the Twelve Houses flew from the turrets of the mansion—which was more properly a fortress, Ariane Rappengrass always being prepared to defend her own. Interspersed among the House flags were two to represent Ghosenhall: the traditional black-and-gold banner and the modern version featuring the red raelynx nestled beside the gold lion. Danalustrous and Brassenthwaite flags had been given slightly greater prominence, indicating that someone had informed Ariane that Kirra was still riding with the entourage.
 
 
“Or that Ariane likes my father and your brother more than she likes the other marlords, which is just as likely,” Kirra remarked as the coach pulled up in front of the splendid main doors of the fortress. “Gods! It will be good to stop traveling!”
 
 
They had been on the road nearly two weeks, though Senneth knew the trip between Gissel Plain and Rappen Manor could be made in less than half that time if the travelers were motivated to keep moving. Some days they had not covered more than ten miles, and most of that on foot as Cammon insisted on walking through some of the smaller towns. She couldn’t imagine what the journey would be like if Amalie herself ever attempted to tour the country. It would take her a year just to make it from Ghosenhall to Forten City.
 
 
“It will be good to see Ariane again,” Senneth remarked.
 
 
In fact, the marlady was waiting for them when Senneth followed Cammon and Kirra out of the coach. Ariane was in her sixties, Senneth supposed, a stern and formidable presence, with her imposing height, strict carriage, square face, and unmistakable intelligence. Just at the moment, her expression was softened by a rare blinding smile.
 
 
“Three of my favorite people in all of Gillengaria, arriving together!” she exclaimed, taking Cammon in a tight hug, then pulling back enough to scan his face. “All is well at the palace? How’s Amalie?”
 
 
“She’s fine and she sends her love,” Cammon replied. “She wants you to come visit soon.”
 
 
“Tell her to have my grandchild and I will be there so much she will banish me back to Rappengrass,” Ariane said.

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