The Thirteenth House (Twelve Houses) Read Online Free PDF Page A

for spontaneous joy.
     
    She had resigned herself to the notion that this would get her into real trouble some day.
     
    It was ridiculously easy to navigate the halls of this darkened mansion on the rocky edge of Tilt territory. The rain had finally stopped, and a distempered moon made fitful appearances from behind bunched and massive clouds. Kirra could catch glimpses of the sky from the narrow, arched windows that lined the outer corridors she was following, hoping to come across a main stairwell. Pray to the Silver Lady that the weather held and that they could ride out of here tomorrow in something more charitable than a relentless rainstorm.
     
    No, she would not pray to the Silver Lady, the Pale Mother. It was a comfortable habit born from years of casual swearing, but during the past six months, Kirra had come to greatly mistrust the moon goddess and her fanatical followers. She would pray to Senneth’s sun goddess instead, the Bright Mother, the Red Lady. She seemed more likely to chase away the thunder-storms, anyway.
     
    Kirra had gone up two levels and turned into an interior corridor before she found the stairwell blocked by the guard. She kept to the shadows as she surveyed him, trying to assess his level of skill. He was seated halfway up the crooked stairway that led to what had to be the top story of the house. He had rested his head on one fist and looked quite bored, though he was wide-awake. It would be hard to slip by him completely unnoticed, at least in this present form. She could change into a spider or a butterfly and cross him at a higher altitude, but that would take time and energy, and she was already impatient. What were the chances this soldier knew the identities of the visitors to the house? What were the chances he knew that a shiftling was among them?
     
    Low, Kirra decided. Though not completely nonexistent. She would have to be prepared for the possibility that he would suspect her identity and sound the alarm. Or try to. She would have to be prepared for the possibility that she would have to stop him.
     
    So she stepped with a queen’s haughtiness out of the shadows, making a choked meowing sound in her throat. The guard’s head instantly swung her way, and his hand went to his weapons, but then he relaxed. Kirra paused in a convenient patch of moonlight so he could get a good look at her, then minced closer as he laughed.
     
    “Up chasing mice, are you?” he asked in a friendly voice, holding his hand out to be sniffed. Her lucky night; he was an animal lover. She could smell horse and dog and even cow on his clothes. “Now’s the time to find them. They’re all awake down in the stables from sunset to sunrise, rustling through the hay. I don’t mind them walking up to pat my face so much as I mind the fact that they’re so noisy they keep me from sleeping.”
     
    She came close enough to scent his fingers, cleaner than one might expect from a man bedded down with horses, then butted her head against his palm. He laughed again and stroked her head. “You’re a pretty one,” he said. “Indoor cat. Not all scarred up like the toms down in the stables. The cook must feed you all her scraps. Maybe you’re not a mouser after all.”
     
    She was in a hurry to be through this checkpoint and on to her main destination, but she didn’t want to make him suspicious. She settled onto her haunches and let him continue to pet her, to talk nonsense to her, while she offered up a satisfied purr. Something else she loved about taking feline shape—that ability to express happiness in such a distinct and pleasurable fashion. She loved the way the vibrations ran across her ribs, the way her throat carried the muted music. She loved her own sense of simple well-being.
     
    “Well, I’ve got a few scraps you might like,” the guard said, lifting his hand so he could go digging in his pockets. “Meant to eat this later if I got hungry, but—”
     
    This was a fine chance for