Fortune and Fate (Twelve Houses) by Sharon Shinn Read Free Book Online

encounter.
     
     
    “What’s your name?” the captain asked her. “I ought to know that before I slaughter you.”
     
     
    “Willa,” she replied. “You?”
     
     
    “Orson.”
     
     
    As if magically drawn by the promise of bloodshed, two young men drifted over, also wearing dark, serviceable clothes and sashes bearing the insignia of the freighting company. Her fellow guards, Wen presumed.
     
     
    “Any particular rules?” she asked.
     
     
    He grinned again. Sweet gods, he reminded her of Justin, with that lazy, cocky smile, that fair coloring, that eagerness to fight.
     
     
    She would not think of Justin. She would not think of any part of that life she had so completely left behind.
     
     
    “Well, neither of us will be of much use if we’re disabled,” he said. “Obviously, no killing blows. First blood, but I won’t cut you too bad.”
     
     
    “Deal,” she said, and lunged forward.
     
     
    Her attack caught him off guard, but not for long. He was fast and aggressive, and within seconds he was on the attack and she was falling back. She let him set the pace for a while as she tried to get a sense of his reach and power. Size was in his favor, and he was strong; she felt the force of his blows against her sword all the way up to her shoulders. But he was a little too sure of himself, a little too flashy. She was careful and she was patient, and when he feinted for her heart she skipped to the side and raked her point down his sword arm.
     
     
    He loosed a grunt of surprise and hauled back, staring down at his arm. She heard the watching men laugh. “Fooled you, Orson,” one of them called. Orson pulled a cloth from his pocket and swiftly bound it around the wound, tightening it with his teeth.
     
     
    Then he met her eyes, respect in his own. “Better than you look,” he said, appraising her the way he had appraised her sword. “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”
     
     
    “Fending off bandits in the northern passes of Tilt,” she said. Which was true as far as it went.
     
     
    “Those must have been some bandits,” he said. “You’ve got the job if you want it.”
     
     
    She nodded and repeated her original question. “So what’s the cargo?”
     
     
    “Gold doors,” he replied.
     
     
    “What? Gold doors? Really made of gold?”
     
     
    He nodded, laughing. “Heaviest damn things you ever saw. Looks like they’re all carved with flowers and wreaths and whatnot. Worth a fortune, apparently. They were on their way from Storian when they got sidetracked here.”
     
     
    “A little skirmish on the road,” one of the other men said. “Two of the guards were wounded pretty bad.”
     
     
    “Which is why we need you ,” Orson added.
     
     
    Wen was still astounded. “But who would want doors made of gold?”
     
     
    “Rich folk,” the other guard said.
     
     
    Wen instantly thought of the only rich family in Forten City that she actually had a nodding acquaintance with. Oh, now, that would be ironic even by the standards of her own bitter life—to find herself delivering merchandise to Fortune. “The serramarra?” she asked faintly.
     
     
    Orson shook his head. “No—some Thirteenth House noble.”
     
     
    That was a relief, at any rate. Though what were the chances Jasper Paladar would be standing on his front lawn, overseeing the safe arrival of household decor, even if he had ordered such items? “When do we leave?” she asked.
     
     
    “Tomorrow, early,” Orson said. “You have a place to sleep? There are a few beds in the back of the barn.”
     
     
    She shook her head. “Got a room. I’ll be back in the morning.”
     
     
    She was cheerful that night as she ate a solitary meal, paid for a bath, and then spent a couple hours checking all her gear. She always felt better when she had the prospect of action and companionship. Trouble was, she started to feel depressed and edgy if she stayed any one place too long—if she started