Read The Thirteenth House (Twelve Houses) Online

Authors: Sharon Shinn

The Thirteenth House (Twelve Houses) (5 page)

BOOK: The Thirteenth House (Twelve Houses)
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Kirra crept up to the grille and stuck her head through, looking around the room with interest.
 
It was even more bare than the one she was sharing with her companions. There was a mat on the floor, where a man lay sleeping. There was a fireplace grate, currently without a fire. There was a bucket that must be substituting for a chamber pot. A bowl and spoon placed near the door. A good-sized window cut into the wall, but set with thick rods in vertical stripes.
 
Not much else.
 
Kirra concentrated for a moment on the sleeper. In this shape, and under these conditions, she couldn’t tell much about coloring, but she remembered him as a man with shoulder-length hair just a few shades darker than her own gold. He was somewhere in his mid-thirties, she thought, and generously built—not as big as Tayse, but solid, a natural athlete who probably spent much of his time training with swords and horses. At the moment, he lay on his side, under a thin blanket. There was clearly no weapon he could lay his hand on anywhere in the room, but he faced the door, as if ready at any moment to respond to danger, and this was the direction from which he expected it to come. Even asleep, he did not look helpless, Kirra thought. She wondered suddenly if the guard had been posted more to keep Romar in than to keep Kirra and her friends out.
 
She pulled her head out from between the bars. Slowly, silently, still keeping her eyes on the prisoner, she shifted to her natural shape. Certain details fell away from her; others became clearer. Absurdly, it was the color of his hair that she noticed most right now. Dark blond, even by moonlight. She thought his face looked proud and passionate, sculpted into a frown by whatever he was dreaming. He looked very much like the sort of man a king would trust to be regent.
 
“Romar Brendyn,” she called in a low voice. “Romar Brendyn, wake up.”
 
CHAPTER
3
 
R
OMAR Brendyn was awake and on his feet, the blanket bunched around his ankles, before Kirra had even finished speaking his name the second time. As far as she could tell, he felt not a moment’s disorientation; he seemed to know exactly where he was and where the voice was coming from. Still, it was clear he had no idea who was confronting him here in the middle of the night—his body was ready, but his face was puzzled.
 
They stared at each other for a moment. The moon gathered her strength enough to push the clouds aside, just for a few minutes, and came curiously peering through the square window to see if there was anything interesting inside. By its light, Kirra could see Romar Brendyn try to guess what fresh danger had presented itself and if there was any way to turn it to his advantage.
 
She knew she should speak up right away, identify herself, reassure him, but she allowed herself the luxury of admiring him just a moment longer. Despite being woken from sound sleep and confronted by a mystery, he did not look to be worried or at a loss. She thought he might be wondering if he could get close enough to the grille to reach through it and strangle her, and then steal any keys she might have hanging from her belt.
 
The thought made her laugh out loud.
 
His expression changed from one of calculation to one of complete bafflement. “Who
are
you?” he demanded.
 
She thrust her hand through the bars and hurried to introduce herself. “Kirra Danalustrous. I’ve come to rescue you.”
 
He had taken a step forward, but at that he came to a halt, astonished. “Kirra Danalustrous! What? Why would—” He shook his head.
 
“The king got word of your abduction,” she said, trying to explain quickly because it really did seem improbable, a serramarra of Danalustrous riding about the countryside with the aim of delivering noblemen from danger. “He sent me after you with a team of friends. I think we’ll be able to free you tomorrow night.”
 
He came close enough to grip the bars. She had dropped her hand by this time, since he didn’t seem eager to take it. “Why not tonight?” he said. “Why not now?”
 
She felt a rush of admiration again. He probably didn’t remember he’d met her before and certainly couldn’t figure out why she’d been sent on this mission, but he didn’t feel like lingering here any longer than he had to.
You’ve come for me? Good. Get me out.
 
She laughed. “We need to put a plan in place, and we don’t have time to do it tonight. You don’t seem to be in any immediate danger—and I certainly don’t think your captors will kill you while they’ve got guests in the house. But I think we can free you tomorrow and be halfway to Merrenstow by the following morning.”
 
His fingers closed even more tightly around the bars and he glowered down at her. He was radiating irritation and impatience but seemed as if he was trying to retain some scraps of courtesy. “If we’re not going to try to file down the window bars tonight,” he said at last, “then let’s start from the beginning. Why did the king send a Danalustrous serramarra after me? Did he at least send anyone with you who might be able to help?”
 
She couldn’t help grinning at that. “Yes, indeed. I’ve got a King’s Rider with me and two other mystics. Between us—”
 
“Mystics,” he interrupted. “
That’s
why he sent you. You’ve got some—magical ability. You can do something special.”
 
“Change shapes,” she said calmly. “And heal people. Have you been wounded? I can fix you right up.”
 
He shook his head. “No, no. Except for abducting me in the first place—and conveniently forgetting to give me a fire—my captors haven’t done much to abuse me. But you—even if you can change shapes. What good does that do me? How will you get me out of here?”
 
“Well, among other things, my shape-shifting ability allowed me to slip past the guard and find you tonight,” she said. She was still amused. “And tomorrow—”
 
“That’s it! You can shift me, too,” he said. His voice was brisk, unalarmed. He hadn’t paused to consider the wonders or the horrors of being turned into some other creature; he just assumed such a transformation would serve his ends, and he accepted the necessity. “So why can’t you do that
now
?”
 
“Lord Romar. Please. You go too fast,” Kirra said, using her most winsome voice. “I cannot shift you. I can only change myself. We will have to use other methods to free you.”
 
“Why can’t you change me?” he argued. “You mean, you’ve never tried it? I’m willing to risk being turned into a rather ugly rat if it means getting out of this cell a day earlier.”
 
How was it possible that in this situation, with so much else to cover, she was being drawn into this particular discussion? “I cannot change you because it is forbidden for shiftlings to transform any living creature except themselves. I can change objects. I can change plants. I can change myself. I cannot change other people.”
 
“But—”
 
“Can’t, because I do not have the ability. Won’t, because the prohibition is something I hold sacred,” she continued, cutting him off. “We will find another way. Trust me. I have come this far.”
 
He stared down at her another moment, still mutinous but clearly deciding he should channel his energy into more fruitful discussions. “You said you had a Rider and two mystics with you,” he said. “There are at least five people in this house. Can you kill all of them with your small group?”
 
“I would prefer it didn’t come to killing,” she said. “And, in fact, there are seven people arrayed against us—two guards, two servants, and three men who appear to have arranged your abduction. And, yes, I think my companions and I can outwit them.”
 
He finally decided he had no choice but to submit to her will. “How, then? What’s your plan?”
 
Before answering, she glanced at the barred window set in the wall. “What do you overlook? What part of the grounds?”
 
“The back of the house. Kitchen gardens. The stable’s off to the left some distance.”
 
It would have been too much to hope that his window gave out over some deserted flower garden on a track that none of the occupants ever followed. “How often does someone come to the door? To bring you food or ask you questions?”
 
“So far, twice a day. Breakfast in the morning, dinner in the evening. My captors have not been to see me at all.”
 
That caught her attention, changed her train of thought. “Your captors. Do you know who they are?”
 
He shook his head. “We were surprised on the road. I had four men with me and I saw three of them die in the attempt to save me. I don’t know if Stellan escaped—”
 
“He did,” Kirra interrupted. “That’s how we learned you’d been taken.”
 
Romar nodded. “One small piece of good news, then. At any rate, there were possibly twenty of them arrayed against us. At first I thought they were bandits, but it quickly became clear their plan was to take me alive, whatever the fate of my men. And if I was being kidnapped—well, there had to be a political motive. So I looked for crests and insignia, but I didn’t spot any. We traveled two days to get here—” He glanced around his cell. “Wherever here is. I have no idea who took me or even where I am. I assumed the king would know more than I would, if some kind of ransom has been demanded.”
 
“There may have been. We left before any demand arrived, within hours of Stellan’s appearance. So I know very little more than you do—not even who owns this house. I can tell you that we are on the northern edge of Tilt territory, very close to the sea.”
 
He was staring at her, the expression easy to read even by moonlight. “If you don’t even know who took me—how were you able to find me?”
 
Kirra grinned. “Magic,” she said. “We have a reader with us.”
 
“What?”
 
Oh, he was going to be worse than Justin, wholly skeptical of a mystic’s skills. “A young man named Cammon,” she explained. “He’s a reader—a sensitive. He has a tremendous capacity for picking up on the auras and emotions of the people near him. Actually, he’s getting better at picking up those emotions from a distance, too. He was able to lead us to you.”
 
Romar was still stupefied. “All the way from Ghosenhall?”
 
Kirra felt her laughter bubble up. “No, don’t be ridiculous. Stellan told us where the attack had occurred, and Donnal tracked you most of the way north—”
 
“Who?”
 
“Donnal. Another mystic who accompanies us. He’s a shiftling, like I am, and he took wolf shape to follow your scent. Till we lost it in the rain, but by then Cammon had located you, and he brought us straight to the house earlier tonight. He says you’re full of rage,” she added inconsequently.
 
“Yes, well, who wouldn’t be enraged to be attacked in bright daylight by traitors to the throne?” Romar demanded. “And then to be left in a cell for close to a week, not told why, not told what’s going to happen next—I want to pull the house down with my bare hands. I’m not surprised this magical boy of yours picked up some anger.”
 
“We haven’t seen our hosts, either,” Kirra said. “The servants say the house has been mostly shut up, but Cammon says there are three men here who exude the air of authority. We feel they must be the ones who have arranged your capture. He doesn’t know the members of the nobility well enough to recognize personalities at this distance. If I get a chance, I’ll go looking tomorrow, but—”
 
“But that’s a lower priority than getting me out of here,” Romar interrupted. “Yes. How are we going to do that?”
 
“We need to get you a rope,” she said, “so you can climb out the window after dark.”
 
Once again he was staring at her as if she was a complete lunatic. “I can’t climb down the wall, even if I have a rope,” he said in a tight voice. “There are bars across the window. Perhaps you didn’t notice.”
 
Kirra bit her lip to keep from laughing again. People unaccustomed to magic never consciously thought about how to incorporate it into every situation. “The bars are not a problem,” she said. “I will change them to something brittle. I am more concerned with finding you a rope. And perhaps a knife—some kind of weapon.”
 
“Yes, indeed,” he said. “I would most like to have a weapon.”
 
She grinned. “I’ll see what I can do. It would be much easier if we had a fire to see by, or at least a candle, but I can’t call flames with my fingertips as Senneth can.”
 
She could see the word “who?” hovering on his lips again, and then he remembered. “Senneth. The missing Brassenthwaite serramarra. I met her at the palace a couple of months ago.”
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