Reader And Raelynx

CHAPTER 44

CAMMON was wholly bewildered by the sudden changes in his fortune that unfolded after their return to the royal city. He had never, not in any scenario he’d been able to devise, imagined that he would be allowed to marry Amalie. All his energy had gone to trying to figure out a way to stay at the palace, a way to serve her-a way, even, to be her lover, if she was willing, if her powerful protectors did not find it preferable to separate them completely. Of course, he was profoundly relieved that the war was over and all his friends had survived it whole, but it had always been clear to him that the cessation of hostilities would signal the end of his idyll with Amalie. What was allowed on the battlefield during tumultuous times could not be permitted in ordinary life. Now that she had won the right to take the throne, Amalie must prove herself a worthy ruler. And her first act must be to choose her husband wisely, with an eye to placating the marlords.

But she loved him. He knew she loved him. And the minute they had five minutes of privacy, he promised he would stay in Ghosenhall as long as she needed him.

“In any capacity,” he added. They were alone for the first time since their return to Ghosenhall, as Amalie awaited the arrival of yet another visiting lord, come to swear fealty. “I will work in the kitchens if that is the only job open to me. I will stay on as a footman. As long as you want me here, I will stay.”

She was almost crying, and he risked taking her in his arms, though he was supposed to be standing impassively behind her throne, scanning the emotions of petitioners. “But that’s not fair to you,” she said against his chest. “To make you live a life in shadows! Just waiting for the few minutes I have free! I wouldn’t be able to do it! If you were king, and I was some serving girl they wouldn’t allow you to marry? I’d run away. I would! I’d marry the first handsome soldier who marched through the city, or the first merchant who brought me a bunch of ribbons for my hair.”

He laughed helplessly and stroked that hair, just now free of ribbons, though a small silver tiara kept its radiance somewhat in check. “Well, I’ve never been good at running away,” he said. “Whenever anyone has loved me, what I’ve always wanted is to stay nearby. As long as you love me, I think, I won’t be able to leave you.”

He was prepared for it to be hard. He was prepared for it to be heartbreaking. But he was not prepared for his life to be lived without Amalie in it.

Two days after that declaration, she called him to the rose-and-cream parlor where, for a wonder, she was completely alone. Naturally, he did not lose an opportunity to kiss her right away. She was bubbling with happiness, but he could not sift through her thoughts and tell what had elated her.

“I have good news,” she said, standing still with her arms twined around his neck.

“You will be alone in your bedroom tonight and you want me to come to you there,” he guessed.

She kissed him. “Better.”

“Your uncle has decided you don’t have to marry anyone for another whole year. And no one will be watching you closely that whole time.”

“Better.”

He laughed and shook his head. “You never have to marry, and I can have free run of the palace.”

“They’re going to let me marry you.”

“What?” he whispered.

“It’s very complicated. You have to pretend you’re Ariane’s son. And you have to get a housemark, which will be quite painful, and I’m sorry about that. But then everyone will think you’re long-lost nobility, a bastard from the Twelve Houses, and good enough to marry me. I think we should have the wedding right away, and then we can have the coronation next year for both of us.”

Cammon usually considered himself fairly quick-witted, but it took her another ten minutes and repeated explanations to make him truly understand what she was saying. Abruptly, he sank to a seat in one of her favorite chairs, and stared at her in bewilderment when she sat in the chair beside him.

“But I can’t be king,” he said at last.

“You’ll be a charming king,” she said.

“But I-what do I know about-kingdoms and governing and-and-money-and strategy-and whatever it is kings know?”

“You’ve traveled halfway around the world and all through Gillengaria!” Amalie replied. “You know so much! And you learn so quickly! I think you’ll be a marvelous king.”

“Amalie,” he said, shaking his head, “I want to marry you. I could never dream of anything I would want more. But I’m afraid to be king.”

For a moment, she rested her head against the back of her chair, thinking. “All right,” she said in her usual fashion, her voice seeming so soft but really so decisive. “I’ll be crowned first. And you’ll be my-my prince-consort or some such title. And every few years I’ll ask you again if you want to be king. And if you do, we’ll have a nice coronation for you. And if you don’t, well, you’ll just be my consort forever.” She lifted his hand and carried it to her mouth. “But you’ll be my husband before the month is out.”

RECEIVING the housemark was the most agonizing physical experience Cammon had ever endured. He yelped as the brand was laid against his skin just below the hollow of his throat, and the smell of burnt flesh nearly made him gag.

“And you do this to babies?” he demanded of Kirra, who had wielded the instrument of torture.

“Well, I don’t,” she replied. “But all the nobles do. Yes. When they’re too small to stop us.” She patted him on the head. “You were very brave. And you lay completely still! I was sure you’d be thrashing all over the place.”

“I wanted to kick you. It really hurts.”

“Don’t whine so much,” Justin said. “I’ve had way worse wounds and never even bothered to mention them.”

“An example of stoicism that inspires us all,” Kirra said.

Ellynor stepped over. “Let me see what I can do,” she said. “I ought to be able to heal it so thoroughly that no one will be able to tell how fresh a wound it is.”

Her fingers were cool and gentle against his newly scarred skin, and her mere touch filled him with a sense of extraordinary well-being. He wondered if, while she was there healing the burn, she had just decided to rummage around in his body and chase off any incipient ailments that might have been loitering in the blood. No wonder Justin looked so offensively healthy these days. With Ellynor at his side, he need never suffer a minute’s illness for the rest of his life.

When she was done, they all crowded around him and exclaimed in pleasure. “Look at that,” Kirra said, pulling down the neckline of her dress to show off her own tasteful housemark, a small representation of the letter D. “It looks no different from mine. Well, the style is different, of course. But otherwise just the same.”

Cammon squinted down at his chest, where he could just make out the diamond-shaped scar, appearing as faded and scuffed as if he’d sported it since birth. “Look at that,” he repeated. “I’m Cammon Rappengrass.”

NOT until the housemark had been applied was he brought into the presence of his new family. “I’d be more intimidated at the notion of having Ariane Rappengrass for a mother than at being crowned king,” Kirra told him as she escorted him through the palace to the rooms Ariane occupied.

Strangely, perhaps, Cammon did not find Ariane frightening at all. He had met her under extraordinary circumstances almost a year ago, when her granddaughter was dying and Ariane would have made any bargain to keep the girl alive. What he had thought at the time was how much he wished someone had loved him enough to go to such lengths to save him. He had been impressed, not so much by her ferocity, but how that ferocity had alchemized to love.

“Don’t let her make you nervous,” Kirra said. “Ariane always orders everyone about. It’s simpler just to do what she says.” She knocked on the door and then smiled in her wicked way. “I’m not staying. Best for you to learn how to handle Ariane on your own.”

But when he took a deep breath and stepped inside the room, he was hopeful, he was excited. And right away, as he faced that strong-willed, broad-faced woman, he knew that she was just as hopeful as he was.

“Cammon,” she said, holding out her hands. “You can’t know how many years I have waited to see my son again.”

She took him in a powerful embrace, this indomitable woman whose force of personality was legendary. And all Cammon could think was how her generosity had reshaped his life, and how easy it would be to love her.

THEY had been back in Ghosenhall a week when Amalie insisted on leading a procession through the city. Everyone protested, of course-the Riders, the regent, her stepmother-but Amalie was adamant.

“I have been shut up in this palace my whole life,” she said in the gentle voice that covered such determination. “I will not cower inside these walls while I am queen. I will go among my people so that they know me and I know them.”

Since it was clear that she would walk out the gates with or without an entourage, Tayse and Romar and Senneth hastily arranged an escort of soldiers and sorcerers. Cammon, in his new role as her betrothed, was allowed to walk beside her through the streets, holding her left hand in his-and seeking through the crowd for anyone filled with ill intent. Six Riders ringed her round; Donnal and Kirra circled overhead. Senneth, who had no fire to summon if fire was called for, strode at the head of the column, waving the royal flag.

The raelynx pranced along on Amalie’s right, gazing about with undisguised interest. No amount of protest had been able to convince her that he should be left behind. Indeed, he had become her official mascot. The Riders wore their new sashes sporting the traditional gold lion interspersed with the raelynx rampant. The flag that Senneth carried contained lions in two quadrants, raelynxes in the opposite corners.

Cammon thought it actually would be a good thing if the raelynx were to accompany Amalie on all her public appearances. The creature had offered ample proof that it would fight to protect her, and certainly its presence would cause any would-be attacker to think twice about getting too close. As long as it didn’t eat any innocent spectators, Cammon thought, he was happy to have the beast along. So far, it was proving very well behaved.

Unlike the day they had returned from battle, the streets were crowded with well-wishers, waving and cheering. So many flowers had been ripped from the gardens and flung to the cobblestones before Amalie’s feet that Cammon had to think there wasn’t a single blossom left in any garden. The day was gorgeous, sunny and warm, and beneath that perfect sky, Amalie seemed to glow and shimmer. Or maybe, thought Cammon, it was the affection pouring out from the gathered crowds that brightened her hair, turned her pale skin lustrous. Certainly she seemed to grow more beautiful every time a young woman tossed lilacs at her feet, every time a little girl blew her an untidy kiss.

But here and there, Cammon could sense darker pockets of hostility and unease. He wasn’t sure if the words were being spoken aloud or if he merely heard them in his head. Mystic. Sorceress. Not to be trusted…

They had been following a slow route for almost an hour before true trouble cropped up. Cammon sensed it first, a surge of discontent emanating from a group of young noblemen gathered on the street corner, and he silently directed Tayse’s attention toward them. Cammon didn’t recognize them, but their colors gave them away. One wore the pearl-encrusted vest of Fortunalt; another had the Storian topaz pinned to his hat. Two others wore sashes embroidered with a black hawk clutching a red flower. Men of Gisseltess.

From all four, Cammon picked up grief and bewilderment as much as anger and fear. They had probably believed passionately in their marlords, had accepted without question the doctrine of the Pale Mother. Now their idols had been overturned. Who were they to believe now? How could anyone know the right path to follow?

One of the Gisseltess men stepped into the street, partly blocking Senneth’s progress. She had her free hand on her sword, but she didn’t draw it. “And you’re to be queen now?” the young lord called out to Amalie, his voice hoarse. “You’re to rule over us all?”

Amalie came to a halt and peered past the Riders to see him. “Yes. I will take the throne early next year.”

His three friends crowded behind him. Cammon felt Tayse’s impulse to force them away with outright violence, but from Amalie he was picking up a desire for colloquy. Just wait. Hear them out, he thought in Tayse’s direction, and the Rider pulled out his sword but made no move to attack. Beside Amalie, the raelynx fixed its eerie eyes on the speaker and waited.

“Mystic,” the young man said, spitting out the word. Beside him, his friends echoed the word. “Mystic,” he said again. “And we’re to have you as our queen?”

Now the rest of the crowd began a troubled muttering. Cammon sensed both confusion and uncertainty from the onlookers. Some of them had no particular dislike for mystics, though the thought of one on the throne did make them uneasy. Many, he thought, were anxious to have Amalie explain away her power-or at least give them reasons they should not fear it.

He squeezed her hand and dropped it. Talk to them, he told her.

She nodded and stepped forward, brushing past Senneth, though the raelynx stayed firmly at her side. “I am a mystic,” she said calmly, addressing the malcontents but raising her voice enough so it could be heard by everyone in the vicinity. “I have the power to draw strength from those around me when I need it most. I believe it is a gift from the Pale Mother herself. I believe all magic flows from the gods-and I believe there are many gods and goddesses that the people of Gillengaria have long forgotten.”

That caused a murmur to ripple through the crowd, full of surprise, dissent-and speculation.

Amalie made a half-turn, spreading her arms as if to envelop every onlooker. “Not only that, I believe all of us have been touched by the gods to some degree,” she said. “Some of you have feared mystics your whole lives, without realizing that you, too, possess a kind of magic.” She pointed at an old woman wrapped in a shawl despite the day’s warmth. “You. What is your special skill? Can you make flowers grow in the hardest ground? Can you ease a child who is coughing in the night? A goddess has blessed you with her own magic.”

She pivoted and pointed at a young man who looked clever and dexterous-street thief, Cammon guessed, though Justin would probably know better than he would. “You. What is your particular talent? Can you steal behind a stranger in utter silence? Can you convince anyone of your sincerity? Can you sing? Can you fight? If you can do any of those things, you have been touched by one of the gods.”

She spun back to face the frowning young lords, still standing on the corner and starting to gape at her. “You-from your clothing I see you are from some of the great Houses of Gillengaria. You’ve witnessed the marlords as they’ve watched and worried over their properties. Have you ever seen a marlord pause for a moment-stop and listen-and seem to be hearing the land speak to him? Don’t you realize that is a kind of magic? Don’t you know that every marlord, every marlady, is a mystic under the protection of a powerful god?”

Now the muttering of the crowd was louder but not, Cammon thought, unfriendly. It was just that the idea was new, yet so universal. Every single person who could hear the princess’s words was starting to review his own peculiar skills, her own useful range of talents, heretofore taken entirely for granted. Could it be true? Could these be divine blessings?

Amalie turned again, spreading her arms even wider. “We are all mystics,” she said. “We must honor our gifts, not despise them. Yes, I’m a mystic. I will lead the way for all of my people.”

AFTER that, even Romar had to admit that it wasn’t such a bad idea to let Amalie go out in public from time to time, connecting in a most personal way with her subjects.

“And take the damn cat with you when you go, if you like,” the regent said. “Until he eats the first small child, he’s a most excellent bodyguard and should see you safely wherever you travel.”

Romar had stopped in Amalie’s parlor to say good-bye, at least for a time. His wife had been taken to bed with labor pains, and he was off to Merrenstow in the morning. Cammon could tell that he was both excited and a little frightened at the notion of becoming a father. “But I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised. “You and I have much work to do.”

Amalie kissed him on the cheek. “Give Belinda my love.”

The regent was only one of many who were poised to leave Ghosenhall now that, for a time at least, the realm was peaceful. Kirra and Donnal had barely bothered to make farewells before taking off on the very evening of Amalie’s grand procession.

“I am so restless I almost can’t stand my own skin,” Kirra had said frankly. “We must be gone by sundown or I swear I’ll descend into madness.”

“If you hear a wolf howling at the moon tonight, that will be me,” Donnal said.

“Better if we’re gone.”

And so they left.

Three of the Riders also departed after taking formal leave of Amalie. They praised her father, expressed pleasure that they had been able to serve her briefly, but claimed that they could no longer endure the burdens and responsibilities of their calling. Amalie thanked them extravagantly, pressed significant sums of money on each of them, and sighed to see them go.

A fourth Rider departed without any ceremony at all. Wen strolled into the city one afternoon after taking her shift on duty, and never bothered returning to the palace. She left a note for Janni that stated merely, Don’t worry about me. I’ve decided to leave and I don’t want to be talked out of it. Serve the princess as best you can. Think of me as you guard her coronation.

All the remaining Riders were shaken up by her abrupt disappearance, and half of them gathered outside of Tayse’s cottage once the letter had been discovered. Sensing distress, Cammon had hurried in that direction in time to hear Janni read the note. “What happened? Why did she go?” was the general tone of the baffled questions.

Janni seemed as perplexed as the rest of them, but Tayse had an inkling. “She was fighting side by side with my father when he and the king went down,” Tayse said. “She might have thought she betrayed them both by living. A king should never die unless every Rider beside him has already been murdered.”

“But no one would have been able to save Baryn that day!” Janni exclaimed.

Justin and Tayse exchanged glances. “Tir died,” Justin said quietly. “I think both Tayse and I would have been dead that day, and our bodies found alongside Baryn’s. Wen feels she failed as a Rider. And she is not willing to fail Amalie. So she left.”

Tayse’s eyes sought Cammon. “Where is she?” Tayse asked. “Close enough for us to go after her?”

If he concentrated, Cammon could sense Wen, a small, sad, and sturdy shape even now drawing farther from the city. He shook his head. “She wants to go,” he said. “I can’t help you change her choice.”

Justin growled and punched him hard in the shoulder. “You show your scruples at the most inconvenient times,” he said.

Cammon shrugged helplessly. “You wouldn’t want to be kept against your will. It’s not fair to fetch her back.”

Tayse nodded. “So. Another position to fill among the Queen’s Riders. All of you be on the lookout for candidates to present.”

So those were losses, and Cammon hated each of them, but the hardest one came a week later. Milo had chased him from Amalie’s parlor to discuss meaningless topics like a royal wardrobe, and Cammon had wandered down to the walled garden where the raelynx still stayed when Amalie had no attention to spare. The difference was that the wrought-iron door, though it remained closed, was no longer locked. Cammon could not rid himself of the suspicion that the raelynx came and went pretty much as it chose.

Valri was standing just outside the garden, as he had found her one time before. Her hands were wrapped around the bars, and her gaze was fixed on the giant cat sleeping inside the enclosure. She turned her head as she heard him approach and gave him a smile that seemed a little sad.

“I always thought I would be taking him back with me to the Lirrenlands one day,” she said without preamble. “I always thought he should not stay here, this wild creature, penned up in such a small space. And yet he has come to belong in this palace more surely than I ever did. It would be cruel to remove him now. Amalie loves him-and I believe, in his unfathomable way, he loves her.”

Cammon came to stand beside her, resting one hand on the rough stone of the wall. “And you’re not going back to the Lirrenlands,” he said.

“But I am,” she replied.

He knew his dismay was written plainly on his face. “But you can’t! Amalie needs you! It’s months till the coronation-and all these stupid marlords are coming in every day-and-and, there’s so much to learn about running the kingdom-”

“I never really knew that much about politics,” Valri said with a shrug. “All I knew was how to keep her safe. How to prevent anyone from guessing she was a mystic.” She shrugged again. “And now everyone knows, and there is nothing I can do for her anymore.”

“She needs you!”

“She needs advisors, and she has plenty of those,” Valri said. “Romar will be back in a few weeks, and I don’t see Tayse and Senneth riding off any time soon. And Kiernan Brassenthwaite seems to have forgotten he has another home to go to. Amalie doesn’t need me.”

“But she loves you,” he said.

Valri gave him her dark smile. “She loves you,” she corrected. “And you have won the right to stay beside her.” She shook her head. “I don’t know that I would have been able to leave her behind with any other husband. I knew she had to marry, but I didn’t believe there was a noble I could give her to with a whole heart. I am glad you have found a way to trick the marlords into accepting you. You love her, and I am free to go.”

“It’s not enough to have one person who loves you,” Cammon objected. “You need as many as you can find.”

That made Valri laugh out loud. “Yes, I suppose that is how you live your life, isn’t it, Cammon?” she said. “You and Amalie both. You seem to enrich yourselves on love, and the more of it there is, the happier you are.”

“Isn’t that true for everyone?” he said, bewildered.

“Not for me. Love takes so much energy, and I don’t know how to parcel it out. So I reserve it for a very few.”

Cammon glanced around, as if, in the shadows, he would spot a dreamy-eyed Lirren man. “Is it Arrol? Are you going back to the Lirrenlands to be with him?”

Valri nodded. “And to see my family. And to decide if I can live among the clans, as bahta-lo, though I have abandoned them once, and they have all but forgotten me.”

“That won’t be easy,” Cammon said.

She gave him that dark smile again. “I cannot remember part of my life that has been easy. This at least should not be as hard as the past few years.”

“Will you be back? Sometimes? Now and then? Amalie will miss you, of course, and I-” He did not know how to complete the sentence.

“I expect I will,” she said. “Not often. It is hard for anyone to live between two worlds, I think, and harder for me than most. I tend to commit myself completely or walk away. But I think I will need to see Amalie from time to time-to know she is well, safe, and happy. And I will want her to know the same things about me.”

“I’ll know,” he said.

That earned him a sharp look from her extraordinary eyes. “What will you know?”

“If you’re well. If you’re sad. If you’re joyful. I’ll know how you are.”

Valri was silent a moment. “That might fade in time,” she said. “That connection you have with me.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Even when I am across the mountains and married to another man?”

“Even then.”

She made a slight gesture with her hands. Her pale cheeks were washed with the faintest color. “Then think of me kindly, Cammon, when you think of me, and know that I will remember you with the utmost fondness.”

She did not lay her hand on his arm or touch him on the cheek. She was not a woman for casual expressions of affection. But her face was still warm as, without another word, she turned and paced away. Cammon stayed behind feeling both bereft and strangely peaceful, and with his mind followed her all the way back to the palace doors.

Amalie was crying when he found her an hour later, and she flung herself into his arms. “Valri’s leaving,” she sobbed into his shirt. “I knew she would-but I thought-I hoped-and she says she doesn’t know when she’ll be back-”

Cammon held her close and stroked her head, murmuring into her hair. Amalie so rarely needed comfort that he almost enjoyed the chance to soothe her. “And Kirra’s gone, and Donnal’s gone,” she added with a hiccup. “And Uncle Romar is gone. And I know I’m supposed to be princess, and I know I’m supposed to be strong, but I miss them. I miss everybody.”

“Shhh,” he said, resting his cheek on her hair. “I miss them, too. But they’ll all be back. And more friends will arrive. No need to be lonely, not ever again.”

She sniffled, rubbed her nose against his shirt, and raised her head to kiss him. “And you’re not leaving,” she said. “Promise me.”

It was as if she had asked him to promise to keep breathing, to notice sunshine, to permit the spinning of the earth. What choice did he have? Even if he left her, she would be camped in his heart, an insistent and willful presence. She would match her strides to his on any journey he ever took; she would lie beside him on any bed.

“Amalie,” he said, “that’s the easiest promise I’ve ever had to make.”