Sharon Shinn - Reader And Raelynx

More than once during those opening days of battle, she wished she could not summon fire at all.

She tried, possibly a dozen times, to direct her smoldering weapon at the enemies she believed most deserved to die. It was hardly a surprise that she was unable to incinerate Halchon Gisseltess. He was inimical to her magic, and apparently his immunity extended even to his clothing and his horse.

Coralinda Gisseltess was covered in so many moonstones that Senneth’s magic had no real effect on her, either. In fact, Senneth kept remembering what Cammon had said-that moonstones actually stole magic from mystics and fed it to whoever was wearing the gems. In which case, every time she tried to set Coralinda on fire, Coralinda merely grew stronger. Even if the theory wasn’t true, it unnerved Senneth so much that she desisted after the second or third time she tried to make the Lestra’s hair go up in flame.

She had hoped to have better luck with Rayson Fortunalt. Every morning she prowled through the battle lines, weaving past sword fights, trying to get a better look at the arrogant, disdainful marlord of Fortunalt. As soon as she spotted his puffy red face, she would fling her arms out and wish fire upon him, but it did no good. Oh, twice she caused his horse to go mad, rearing and biting as if to rid itself of hot sparks, and one day a curl of smoke drifted up from the front of his sash. But Rayson himself would not catch fire. She suspected he had dressed himself in Arberharst clothing, or anointed himself with oils imported from Karyndein-something that resisted Gillengaria magic, something she could not penetrate. Who knew, perhaps he had invested in a blessing from a foreign god, and her own goddess could not overcome it.

Even though her fires would not take hold in the places they would do the most damage, she could still use flame to cause some disruption in the enemy camp. So she continued wreaking havoc where she could, for three days, for five, for six. And she succeeded well enough to scorch her skin and please her brother and earn the praise of the regent-and feel grave despair about the uses to which she was putting her formidable talent. And she failed miserably enough to feel rage and disappointment and profound exhaustion. And fear. We could so easily lose this war, and I am not able to help as I should.

So, it was particularly disheartening, a week into the war, to have Donnal return one night from an aerial scouting mission to report that more troops were marching in from the south.

“Looked like a couple thousand men,” he told Romar and Kiernan as they all gathered in Amalie’s tent. Kirra, who usually tried to skip any conference that included the regent, had joined them this night to hear Donnal’s news. “Some cavalry, most infantry. The lead men were carrying flags with what looked like a spray of grass on a brownish background.”

Senneth looked straight at Kirra, whose blue eyes were wide with dismay. “Nocklyn!” Kirra exclaimed. “Oh, I knew it! Mayva’s horrible husband is bringing his soldiers to war against us.”

Kiernan shrugged. “It is hardly a surprise. We always counted Nocklyn among our probable enemies. The only surprise is that they waited a week to join the rebels.”

“Wanted to wear us out first,” Romar said briefly. “We’ve suffered heavy losses, but we’ve held our ground. They wanted us complacent or hopeful before bringing in reinforcements.”

“There appeared to be a second army traveling with the first,” Donnal said.

Kirra slumped on her stool. “ Not what we wanted to hear.”

“What was the heraldry?” Romar asked.

“I didn’t see a flag, but the soldiers were wearing maroon sashes.”

Kirra sat up and Senneth felt the first wash of hope she’d felt in days. “Maroon?” Senneth repeated. “Rappengrass?”

Kiernan shook his head. “Ariane Rappengrass would hardly be riding against us in company with Nocklyn troops.”

“Maybe Nocklyn’s not against us after all,” Senneth said.

“That’s almost too much to hope for,” Kiernan said.

“I have to agree,” Kirra said. “When we talked to Mayva last year, don’t you remember? Everything was ‘Lowell says this’ and ’Lowell thinks that.‘ And Lowell is Halchon Gisseltess’s cousin. Our best hope was that Nocklyn would stay neutral. We can’t expect it to ride for the crown.”

“But Ariane,” Senneth said. “She wouldn’t betray us. Rappengrass is as loyal as Brassenthwaite.”

Even Kiernan was nodding. “I agree.”

“Well, I’ll leave the wounded to Ellynor tomorrow and fly down there to meet with Ariane,” Kirra offered.

Senneth took a deep breath. It meant submitting to Kirra’s drastic magic again-but it meant a day’s reprieve from internal and external infernos. “Change me,” she said, “and bring me along.”

ARIANEwas standing with three of her captains, eating cold rations and clearly discussing a point of strategy, when Kirra swooped in for a landing. Senneth spared a moment to hope none of the Rappengrass soldiers thought that a hawk and a mouse looked like good bets for dinner before Kirra had a chance to restore them to their proper shapes. The transformation left her feeling dizzy and unsteady, but the Rappengrass folk staring at her looked even more off balance at her sudden appearance. She could not help but smile at their stunned faces.

“Ariane,” she said as coolly as possible. “How good to see you on the road to Ghosenhall. Coming to Amalie’s aid, I hope.”

Ariane gave a sharp bark of laughter and strode closer to give Senneth a hard embrace. Ariane was big-boned and gray-haired, a plain-faced, strong-willed, utterly indomitable force. “Senneth,” she said in her low voice. “I didn’t know you’d added shape-shifting to your long list of tricks.”

“I haven’t. Kirra brought me.”

The explanation was unnecessary as, on the words, Kirra stood before them, making a pretty curtsey. Senneth was slightly aggrieved to see that Kirra appeared neither disoriented nor disheveled as a consequence of transmogrification. “Ariane,” Kirra said, giving the marlady a kiss on the cheek. “We are so pleased to see you.”

With a wave of her hand, Ariane dismissed her captains. “Tell me the news,” she said. “Baryn is truly dead? We heard the rumors, but any official couriers got turned back on the way.”

“Murdered by hired soldiers who infiltrated the palace,” Senneth confirmed. “Amalie currently keeps her title as princess. The regent stands beside her. Forces from Fortunalt, Gisseltess, and Storian have marched against the throne, augmented by hired blades from Arberharst-against whom magic has no effect, much to the chagrin of mystics like me. We have picked our battlefield and are currently contesting a plot of land somewhere between Brassenthwaite and Kianlever. But we are overmatched.”

“Yes-I knew it-but I had to put my own House in order before I could come,” Ariane said. Her full lips compressed in a frown; Senneth wondered what measures she had had to take to quell any Thirteenth House mutiny. “These are all the men I could spare.”

“And we are grateful for every one of them,” Kirra assured her. “But, Ariane! You march with Nocklyn? All this time we have been expecting Lowell to raise men for his cousin’s army.”

Ariane’s plain, broad face brightened to a smile. “As did I. And I was very worried about my position then, surrounded by enemies on all sides.” She shook her head. “Mayva has surprised us all.”

Kirra’s head whipped around so fast her hair went flying. “Mayva? Is here?”

Ariane pointed. “Leading her own troops, though I can’t imagine she’ll be any good on a battlefield.”