Sharon Shinn - Reader And Raelynx

Senneth eyed him over the rim of her cup. He looked worn and weary today, she thought. His flyaway gray hair was particularly unkempt this morning, and he had dressed himself in what had to be his oldest and most comfortable clothes. Still, his eyes were bright and sharp, and he waited with eager interest for her reply.

“I think he’s immature and hardly fit for marriage with anyone, if what you want is a proper husband for your daughter,” she replied bluntly. “If all you’re looking for is a bloodline that will satisfy the marlords, he might do. But I cannot imagine he will bring Amalie anything but heartache if she were ever to try to love him.”

He seemed neither offended nor alarmed. “I would like to say that love is unimportant, but you have proven in the most flamboyant way that you believe it is the card that trumps all others,” he said, his tone mild. “Perhaps I should be looking for advice from other quarters.”

She smiled. “Perhaps you should.”

“What do you think of Toland Storian? For he will be coming soon to pay court to my daughter.”

She almost spit out a mouthful of tea. “I hate him. And so does Amalie. He’s boorish and arrogant, and we had ample opportunity to observe that for ourselves last summer.”

The king was amused. “Yes-I believe there was some incident when you set him on fire?”

“Kirra arranged that,” she said hastily. “She provoked him on purpose. He behaved badly, and I had to protect Amalie.”

“In truth, I am not eager to see her wed Ryne Coravann or Toland Storian,” he said. “Let us see what our choices are after all the young men have come courting.”

She blew on her tea. “Do you have a favorite?”

He shrugged. “I would like to see her marry a man from Brassenthwaite or Rappengrass or Danalustrous,” he said. “A nobleman, of course, but not necessarily a serramar. Someone intelligent and kind, who would allow himself to be influenced by Romar.”

“Well, intelligent , kind , and easily dominated are not words that typically describe the men of Brassenthwaite, but I’ll ask my brother Kiernan to look around,” Senneth said dryly. “There must be some Thirteenth House lords lurking about who would be happy to see their sons marry into royalty.”

Baryn tapped the fingers of one hand against his cheek. “There has been more talk,” he said. “Of changes to the aristocracy. Soon there may be no Thirteenth House at all.”

The noble-born lords and ladies who were not purebred enough to belong to one of the Twelve Houses were all lumped under the rather derisive name of the Thirteenth House. During the past year, some of these lesser nobles had begun to agitate for more power and prestige-including a clear title to the lands they held in trust for the marlords. Many of these vassals had come to Ghosenhall to negotiate in good faith with Baryn. Others had tried to capitalize on the general unrest in the kingdom. Indeed, last year a few rebel lords had attempted more than once to murder the regent.

“What will you do with all the lesser lords, then?” Senneth asked. “Gift them their properties outright? Would you want to see Eighteen Houses, instead of Twelve? I am no apologist for the aristocracy, but even I find it hard to say such a phrase. Eighteen Houses. Twenty-four. There is no poetry to either.”

He smiled at her a little absently. “Another kind of title altogether, perhaps,” he said. “We might have both the Twelve Houses and the Twelve Manors. That is pretty enough, don’t you think?”

“Very nice. And can you find a property in each of the twelve regions that the marlords would be willing to give up? And would the lords of these manors be satisfied with their new status, or will they want full parity with the marlords?”

“I haven’t worked it all out yet,” he admitted. “But I believe we might take small steps to change our world, and so perhaps avert a war.”

She lifted her eyes and gave him a hard, comprehensive look. “And do you truly think any measures are sufficient to do that?”

He glanced away, for a long time merely looking out the window. Another gray day, though at least there was no rain to contend with this morning. Then he sighed and shook his head, glancing back at her. His face was sad. “No,” he said. “But I must do everything in my power to try.”

TWOdays later, Cammon slipped down to the cottage just in time to eat lunch with Kirra and Senneth. “Justin and Ellynor will be here tomorrow,” he told them.

“Early or late?” Kirra demanded. “Do we have the day to work, or must we finish everything today?”

“I don’t know. If I were you, I’d finish up today.”

“Better finish up by this afternoon,” Senneth reminded her. “You promised Baryn you would attend the dinner tonight.”

Kirra cursed and then laughed. “Well, we’re almost done. Let’s go over now. What have Tayse and the other Riders cooked up?”

“I believe it involves pelting them with flowers and fruit as they ride up to the cottage for the first time, and then creating a great deal of noise outside their bedroom window in the middle of their first night here.”

Kirra grinned. “Everybody loves newlyweds.”

Cammon gulped down his meal and then went off to fence with Tayse, while Kirra and Senneth returned to the house set aside for Justin. It was tiny, a mirror image of the one Senneth shared with Tayse-merely one main room that opened into a small kitchen, with a single door leading to a cramped bedroom. Little more than basic privacy and a place to sit before the fire. But Senneth and Kirra had outfitted it with a new bed and several small storage chests, as well as chairs in the main room and dishes for the kitchen. Rugs on the floor to keep out the chill, curtains at the windows to keep out the curious. They had made Cammon and Donnal haul in wood, which was stacked before the fireplace, and Kirra had filched bread and cheese from the palace kitchen.

“What are those?” Senneth said, pointing at a row of terra-cotta planters holding a wilted assortment of scrubby plants. “Those are ugly.”

“Give me a minute,” Kirra said, and skimmed her hands over the bare, prickly branches. Instantly, the withered leaves turned green; the dried and folded petals were rouged with red.

“Very pretty,” Senneth said. “One would almost think you had the gift of growing things.”

“No-they’re altered, not coaxed,” Kirra said.

Senneth glanced around. “I would start a fire in the grate, but who knows how long it will be before they arrive? But I hate to have them come in to a cold house.” She leaned her hand against the wall, and the temperature in the rooms began to rise. “Perhaps just a little magic in the stone,” she said. “I’ll add another touch of heat before we go to bed.”

Kirra edged toward the door, pausing to survey the entire scene with a look of satisfaction. Warm, colorful, cozy, the front room had a most inviting feel. “Who wouldn’t want to live in such a welcoming place?” she said. “I hope Ellynor is happy here, so far from her family.”

Senneth followed her out the door. “Funny-I’m always happiest when my family is farthest away.”

“And I when I am either setting out to see them or preparing to leave,” Kirra said.

“But then, we’re unnatural.”

“Mystics,” Kirra said darkly. “Never just like everybody else.”

THEformal dinner went well enough, though it was as dull to Senneth as most such events were. The regent and his wife were not in attendance, and consequently Kirra was in high spirits. She spent most of the meal attempting to catch Cammon’s eye and make him laugh, though he tried hard to hang on to his always precarious dignity. The rest of the time she flirted so boldly with the Fortunalt lord seated to her left that he followed her out of the dining room literally begging to see her again.