Dark Moon Defender (Twelve Houses) (30 page)

BOOK: Dark Moon Defender (Twelve Houses)
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He opened his mouth to cry out and only a harsh cawing noise ripped from his throat.
 
 
Then suddenly he felt fine. Light, hollow, warm, but insubstantial.
 
 
He twisted his head, trying to get a look at himself, but it was hard to see more than a sweep of black, a thin mottled leg. His body was so weightless that almost any movement set him in motion, hopping to one side, unfurling his wings to keep his balance.
His wings!
He had wings! He was a bird. There were two other birds nearby, chattering at him as if trying to communicate, but the sounds would not resolve themselves into sense. One was a crow, one some rare red-feathered creature clearly too glamorous to exist in such a meadow.
 
 
That one had to be Kirra.
 
 
The crow flapped its wings and took off in a smooth glide, circling once over the clearing and coming in for a flawless landing. The scarlet creature chirped at Justin as if to say,
You see?
, and did her own graceful takeoff, swirl, and landing. It didn’t look hard at all. Justin ruffled his feathers, hopped again (he couldn’t seem to help it), and threw himself into the air.
 
 
And careened wildly through a mild breeze, almost crashed into a squat tree, somersaulted over a boulder, and fell awkwardly onto the soft earth. Instantly, the other two birds crowded around him, pelting him with incoherent exclamations. He was afraid that Kirra would decide this stunt was too perilous and turn him back into his natural state, so he righted himself quickly, gave them both a baleful stare from his left eye, and practiced a little strutting walk over the uneven ground. He was fine; nothing was broken. He just did not understand the principles of flight yet. Kirra was still following him, asking him urgent, indecipherable questions, but he ignored her. He spread his wings to their fullest, tried to gauge their power. He was used to working in utter harmony with his body; he knew exactly what his strengths and limits were. Just not
this
body. He would try again.
 
 
His second attempt at flight was slightly better—still clumsy but more controlled. At any rate, he landed where he wanted to, head up and every feather intact. All right. That time it had made a little more sense. He could do this. He just needed more practice.
 
 
Over the next two hours, Justin took progressively longer and more successful forays around the clearing. He still looked like a drunken bumblebee, he thought, at the mercy of any strong wind and wholly incapable of such maneuvers as landing on a tree branch, but he was getting the trick of it. Give him a few more days and he’d be able to take this shape to travel across Gillengaria.
 
 
“I think that’s enough for one lesson,” Kirra said, materializing in human form as Justin took a somewhat longer break. He tried to explain to her that he wasn’t ready to change back yet, but his words came out as an agitated twitter. She didn’t seem to have any trouble guessing what he was trying to convey, however. “I don’t care what you want. I want to turn you back into a man while you’re still more or less whole.”
 
 
He didn’t move away fast enough, and she cupped her hands around his small, trembling body. Again, that sense of heat and pressure, and then the world seemed to tilt and melt around him. He closed his eyes, taking a hard breath against a searing discomfort, and suddenly he was kneeling on the ground, his head resting against Kirra’s palms, every bone and muscle of his body stretched with pain.
 
 
“Ow,” he said, not opening his eyes. “This hurts more than I thought it would.”
 
 
She pulled her hands away and knelt there until he opened his eyes. “I think you got pretty battered. I probably let that go on too long,” she said. “Look. You’ve already got a bruise on your arm.”
 
 
He tugged back his sleeves to do a quick inventory, then sat and turned up the legs of his trousers. Oh, yes, nicks and bruises everywhere, and the soles of his feet felt like he’d stomped across broken glass. He gave Kirra a sideways look. “Does this happen to you every time you change shapes?”
 
 
She shook her head, laughing. “I’m better at it. When I was younger and first learning, I had a few unfortunate incidents, but these days the transitions are always very smooth.”
 
 
Donnal came to rest in the grass beside them, cawed once, and then shifted into his natural state. “Not too bad though,” he said in an approving voice. “It’s hard to master flying. Even harder to do it as a moth or a butterfly. It’s just so different from everything you know.”
 
 
“Can we come back tomorrow and practice again?” Justin asked.
 
 
Kirra was amused. “I am continually amazed that a man who expressed so much disdain for magic when I first met him—”
 
 
“That’s before I understood how useful it could be,” he answered, grinning.
 
 
“Before you found out how much you enjoyed it,” she countered.
 
 
“That, too.”
 
 
She rose to her feet and Justin followed suit, repressing a groan at the ache he felt in his thighs. “We can’t stay,” she said. “I’m already a week overdue in Danalustrous.”
 
 
“But you’ll come back? I want to do that again.”
 
 
She was still amused. “We’ll come back. Or maybe you’ll be in Ghosenhall again before long. I’m sure we’ll be heading there once we’ve left Danan Hall.”
 
 
“Till then, I suppose.”
 
 
“Till then.”
 
 
She glanced at Donnal, who nodded, and the dark man flowed into the shape of a wolf. Kirra’s own transformation followed, more choreographed, in some ways more unnerving. So much for a civilized good-bye. Donnal had already turned his head north and was scenting the air, checking for danger on the route ahead. Kirra stepped forward and butted her sleek, pointed head against Justin’s leg, and he leaned down to pet the brushy fur.
 
 
“Travel safely,” he said. “Thanks for coming by.”
 
 
She nudged his hand again, then trotted to Donnal’s side. Without a backward glance, the two went racing off, chasing each other through trees and bushes. Justin untied his horse and rather carefully hoisted himself into the saddle. The return trip to Neft seemed even longer than the trip out.
 
 
CHAPTER 14
 
 
FOUR days later, Ellynor was back. The intervening time had not been without incident, for more visitors had arrived in Neft. One was a serramarra of Nocklyn, come to visit her sick aunt at the Gisseltess house. She was accompanied by her husband, a dark and intense man that Justin was pretty sure Kirra and Senneth disliked. The second day they were in town, he left his wife’s horse at the stables, took his own animal, and was gone a night and most of the next day. Justin found himselfwondering if he had ridden out to Lumanen Convent. And whether Halchon Gisseltess and his entourage were still there. They had not come back this way.
 
 
A red-faced and unpleasant-looking fellow passed through the next day—no one Justin recognized, though he heard someone call him marlord Rayson. Justin guessed he was the man who held most of the lands in Fortunalt and was commonly believed to be allied with Halchon Gisseltess in a desire to take the throne.
 
 
Justin thought this must be the busiest little city in the south.
 
 
He actually said something of the sort that night to Faeber, who joined him in the Golden Boar for a beer as Justin was finishing his meal. The magistrate often worked his way around the tavern at night, having drinks with one table of men, playing a hand of cards with another group. Justin admired his style. A good way to get a sense of the mood in your town, a good way to show you were aware of what was going on.
 
 
When Justin made his remark about the recent wave of noble visitors, Faeber ran his hand through his unkempt gray hair, mussing it even more. “We get all kinds of traffic through Neft,” the older man said, giving Justin an unreadable smile. “Even some Daughters today.”
 
 
Justin kept his expression neutral. “Daughters? Oh, you mean from the convent?”
 
 
Faeber nodded, watching him. “Saw them ride in this afternoon. So if you’re feeling chivalrous and you see any of them on the streets tomorrow—”
 
 
Justin pretended to laugh. “I’ll get my sword ready.”
 
 
Faeber toyed with his glass. “You want to be careful about getting too close to those convent girls,” he said at last.
 
 
Justin narrowed his eyes. “You warning me away from them, or warning me against them?”
 
 
“Wouldn’t seem as though they could do any harm to you, would it?” Faeber said. “You’d think it might be the other way around. Man like you could take advantage of a young girl. But I don’t think the convent guards take too kindly to anyone who gets interested in those novices.”
 
 
“Well, I guess I’ll just have to watch myself then.”
 
 
“I guess you will.”
 
 
Justin paid his bill, returned to his attic room to sleep for a couple of hours, and shook himself awake at midnight. Out into the crisp night air—they were well into autumn now, and the nights were brisk—to move with a catlike care through the quiet streets of the city. No matter what Faeber had said, Justin had read it as a warning.
I will be watching you
. His own men might be out prowling the streets tonight, patrolling past the Gisseltess house, under orders to make sure Justin did not loiter there.
 
 
But Justin was fairly confident that he could outwit any half-trained city guards who didn’t know a damn thing about true combat.
 
 
At any rate, he only encountered a few other late-night wanderers, none of them in the uniform of the city guard, most of them drunk, and none of them near the Gisseltess house. He stood in the shadows and watched the windows, knowing by now which one overlooked serra Paulina’s room and which one was the guest room commonly assigned to Ellynor. She would not be sure he knew she was in town, but she would look for him anyway; she would hope.
 
 
In fact, he had only been at his post about twenty minutes when he saw a haze of white at the serramarra’s window. He stepped forward, still half in shadow, but knowing that Ellynor’s keen eyes would pick him out just by motion. He did not want to risk waving or making himself too visible in case the form at the window was not her.
 
 
But it was. The glass was pushed back, and a body leaned out over the sill, gesticulating enthusiastically. He saw her turn her head back, as if to speak to someone in the room, and then she faced him again, holding up a finger.
Give me one minute
. She disappeared back inside and pulled the window shut behind her.
 
 
Justin drew back into the shadows to wait, imagining the stealthy route she must take through the sleeping house. Who might be awake at this hour? The old lady, obviously, and probably a footman or two. Anyone who was restless or troubled and could not sleep. Justin hoped Ellynor had a story ready if someone caught her.
 
 
No one did. A few minutes later she was creeping out the front door, flying across the yard, and letting herself noiselessly out the gate. Her hands were extended, so he took them in a strong clasp. She did not seem to mind.
 
 
“Justin! How did you know we were here? I looked for you when we rode in, but I didn’t see you anywhere.”
 
 
“Someone mentioned Daughters coming to town. So it’s not just you this time?”
 
 
“No, there are five of us. This time I’m not here to take care of serra Paulina, though she did ask to see me while I’m here. But we’ve all come to proselytize in Neft tomorrow and the day after.”
 
 
“What do you mean?”
 
 
She casually pulled her hands away as she answered. “We’ll walk through the town square and offer the benediction of the Pale Mother to anyone who wants it. We’ll stop people who try to hurry by, and we’ll explain that the Silver Lady can see their souls, don’t they want to do her honor? We’ll give out moonstones to people who want them—and you’d be amazed how many people do.”

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