His smile returned. “You, I believe, when you did everything in your power to make it possible for Nate to marry the marlady Sabina.”
“Well, you’re the one who put her husband to death, so you’re really the one who enabled the wedding,” she replied.
He bowed his head as if rebuked, but answered, “That was not the reason I killed him.”
No. Tayse had killed Halchon Gisseltess to save Senneth’s life. Everything else was just a side benefit. “And, anyway, I don’t hate Nate as much as I used to,” Senneth said. “But I can’t think he’ll be delighted to have to put up such a big retinue when we descend on him.”
“He will have the privilege of welcoming the royal consort to his House,” Tayse said. “He should feel honored.”
Senneth grinned. “I think Nate disapproves of Cammon. He remembers him as the vagabond who dined at Brassen Court and really didn’t deserve to be sitting at the table.”
“He didn’t think a Rider should be sitting at the table, either,” Tayse said. “Or marrying his sister. If we spent too much of our time worrying about what Nate likes, there would be no progress at all in the world.”
That made Senneth laugh, and she was still smiling when she entered the palace to look for Cammon and tell him everything was ready for tomorrow’s trip. She found him standing in his study, Amalie beside him.
“Majesties,” Senneth said, bowing low.
Amalie offered her usual welcoming smile. The young queen was barely twenty-one and absolutely radiant, with strawberry-blond hair, fine white skin, and all the natural glow of youth. Being queen agreed with her, Senneth thought. Or maybe, after a reclusive adolescence spent hidden away from the world, Amalie simply thrived on the constant bustle and interaction that made up a queen’s ordinary life.
“Is everything ready for tomorrow morning?” Amalie asked.
Senneth nodded. “We look like we’re ready to invade the southern Houses but, yes, at last Tayse is satisfied that Cammon will be safe enough to travel. I was supposed to ask you if you have any lingering concerns about letting him leave the palace—”
Amalie waved her hands. “No, none at all. Go, go. Leave right now if you like.”
Cammon was laughing. “She thinks once this trip is successful, Tayse and Romar will finally agree that it’s safe for her to travel outside the city again,” he explained. “It’s not that she’s so eager to get rid of me. She’s really only interested in her own future amusement.”
Senneth regarded them with a frown. “I have to say, I expected the two of you to be a little more weepy at the idea of being separated,” she said. “Won’t this be the first time you’ve been apart since you were married?”
“Since before that,” Amalie said tranquilly. “We haven’t been separated since he first came to the palace to guard me.”
“Well, I would think you would be a little more upset.”
“We’ll be able to stay in touch,” Cammon said. “I don’t even know why Tayse is so insistent on bringing couriers.”
Senneth nodded. Cammon had frequently and dramatically illustrated his ability to communicate with loved ones over impressive distances, and he and Amalie had been speaking to each other silently long before anyone else had been aware they were falling in love. For a reader, she supposed, that mental connection might be almost as sensuous and satisfying as the physical one.
“Perhaps Tayse will want to send news to other people besides the queen,” she said. “Or perhaps he is merely planning how he will get news out if something happens to you. You know Tayse—he is always thinking of the worst thing that could possibly occur and then trying to figure out how to work around it.”
“And that is why he is first among Riders,” Amalie said. “I trust him to keep everyone I love absolutely safe.”
DESPITE the size of the entourage, Senneth at first had been optimistic about how quickly they might be able to move. After all, she had seen Tayse hustle large groups of soldiers into battle and she knew he could run an efficient company. But she had, as was so often the case, reckoned without Cammon.
They were scarcely a half day’s ride out of Ghosenhall before it became apparent that Cammon considered himself an ambassador of the crown and that his goal was to win the loyalty of every subject in Gillengaria. They stopped for a noon meal at a large inn in a prosperous town, and Cammon smiled warmly at the serving girls, the patrons, the young boys brave enough to creep close to his chair. When a little blond girl not more than five years old was permitted past the Riders and put her sticky fingers on his knee, Cammon bent down to look in her wide eyes.
“Are you the king?” she asked.
“Yes, I am,” he replied, not bothering with his usual equivocation. “Would you like some of my apple pie?”
“Do you have any bread left?” she said.
“Here’s a piece, but it’s got gravy on it.”
“I don’t mind.”
So he fed her his leftover food and kissed her on the cheek and sent the whole taproom into raptures. Senneth was just staring at him with her mouth open because she knew how quickly reports of this behavior would fly down the road ahead of them and what it meant for the rest of the journey.
Indeed, when they left the inn, the road was already lined with townsfolk wanting a glimpse of Cammon. He made the rest of the day’s journey on horseback so he could wave and nod and otherwise acknowledge all the attention from the growing crowds. No matter how far they were from the nearest town, there were people sporadically camped along the side of the road, waiting to get a look at him. Young girls blew kisses; fathers hoisted their sons onto their shoulders and said, “That’s the king,” as Cammon rode by. Cammon didn’t bother to try to correct any of them.
They had dinner quite late that first night since they arrived at their designated inn a good couple of hours later than expected. “Tell me,” Senneth demanded. “Was this your real agenda? To go jogging through the countryside spreading goodwill? You didn’t have to be so devious. You could have told us what you had planned.”
“I did tell you,” he said, cramming a piece of buttered bread in his mouth. “I said I wanted to see if the southern regions would be safe for Amalie to visit.”
“But I thought you meant—oh, never mind. You realize that it will take us twice as long to get to Gissel Plain if you stop to kiss every baby born since the new year.”
“Well, we’re not really in a hurry, are we?” he said.
“Apparently not.”
She had thought the dilatory pace would irk Tayse, but, in fact, he seemed indifferent. He was the king’s man, or the queen’s; if they demanded of him that he crawl from one end of Gillengaria to the other, he would do so without complaint. “And I’m not exactly worried that someone will get too close to him and then try to rip his throat open,” Tayse told her that night as they prepared to sleep. “If anyone can sense trouble coming, it’s Cammon. So let him wave and smile and shake a few hands. If it serves Amalie, it serves us all.”
In the following days, as they continued to inch their way through Gillengaria, Tayse did make use of those couriers, sending notices to innkeepers that their arrival plans might be altered by a day or two—or three or four. Cammon continued to ride, as the weather continued fairly agreeable. Senneth either rode beside him to keep him company, or slumbered in his unoccupied coach. She had learned to drowse in the saddle, but inside the coach was much more agreeable.
Since Cammon had expressed a preference for taking meals in the common dining areas—to give more people the chance to approach him—she and Tayse had determined that their only hope of private conversation lay in joining him in his room every morning before they set out. Two weeks into the trip, she and Tayse entered Cammon’s room just as the valet was leaving.
“We’re ready to move out when you are,” Tayse said. “Have you had breakfast?”
Cammon waved toward an untouched tray sitting on a small table. “They brought food up, but I thought
I’d eat downstairs before we go.”
“The weather’s threatening, so it would be best to start as quickly as possible,” the Rider replied. “I would like to make our next stop before nightfall, which means we shouldn’t dawdle too long on the road.”
Cammon sighed and sat at the table, motioning for Senneth and Tayse to join him. “Everyone always tells me I dawdle,” he said, transferring meat and eggs from a serving dish to a plate. “Lynnette must have complained about it every day when I lived with her.”
“I wouldn’t complain about it if I was really worried,” Tayse said with a hint of a smile. “I’d just pack you up and move you out so fast your head would still be bobbing.”
Senneth took the rest of the eggs and most of the bread. Tayse, she knew, had already eaten. He liked to get necessary tasks out of the way as soon as possible so he could concentrate on matters of real importance. “If it’s going to rain, you should ride in the carriage,” she said. “That’ll speed up the trip some, too.”
“Then you have to ride with me so I’m not bored,” Cammon said.
“You mean, so I can use magic to keep the coach warm,” she retorted.
“That, too.” He chewed and swallowed and then said, as an absolute non sequitur, “I don’t know, but I’ll tell Sabina he asked.”
Tayse and Senneth both stared at him. “What?” she demanded. “Are you talking to ghosts now? Or are you going mad?”
Wholly unembarrassed, he gestured toward the empty fourth chair at the table. “Amalie,” he said. “She said her uncle Romar wanted to know if Nate and Sabina would be coming to Ghosenhall anytime soon. So I said I’d ask.” He seemed to listen a moment and added, “Not that we’re commanding them to visit. Amalie thinks Romar would just like to strengthen Gisseltess’s relationship with the crown.”
Senneth’s eyes traveled from the unoccupied chair to Cammon to Tayse. Tayse was trying hard not to laugh, so instead he was scowling. “Amalie is here? In the room?” she said in a strangled voice.
Cammon nodded and said, “Well, sort of. I don’t know if she can see and hear you. Oh. Yes, she can. She says, good morning, Senneth.”
“Good morning, Majesty,” Senneth replied a little helplessly.
Tayse was interested. “Coralinda Gisseltess could do the same thing, couldn’t she?” he asked. “Seem to project her soul across a little distance while her body was in another place?”
“Yes, but Coralinda was evil, and she’s dead, and she couldn’t send herself more than a mile—at least as far as we know!” Senneth exploded. She was still staring at Cammon. “How long has the queen had this particular trick?”
Amalie possessed a peculiar kind of magic, and they were still sorting out its ramifications. Amalie herself called it “thief magic,” for she seemed to be able to steal or mimic the abilities of mystics around her. But Senneth had never heard of anyone except Coralinda Gisseltess being able to send a ghost of herself outside of her physical body to wander around investigating.
Cammon looked surprised. “Oh, ever since the war, I suppose. She’s never been able to travel this far before, but we thought she might be able to track me down, and so far we’ve been right.” He shrugged.
“Bright Mother burn me,” Senneth muttered and shook her head. Well, Cammon’s magic was peculiar as well. He could not only read emotions, he could amplify them; he could collect and magnify another mystic’s power. It was not surprising that he could communicate with Amalie over great distances—Senneth would not have been astonished to learn they were conducting entire conversations as effortlessly as if they were standing together in the same room—but she hadn’t expected Amalie to come strolling over the bridge of Cammon’s power and settle down next to them at breakfast.
Tayse, as always, was already considering the practical applications. “This would be useful if, for instance, we need to strike some kind of deal with Sabina Gisseltess and want Amalie’s approval before finalizing terms,” he said. “She could actually be present in the room and listening to the discussion—even if no one else realizes she is there.”
“Or believes it when we later claim she audited the whole conversation!” Senneth exclaimed.
Tayse was still working it out. “Still, it’d be unlikely that Cammon would be sent out to make treaties for the crown. Do you think, over time, Amalie could develop the same sense of communion with someone other than yourself? Another reader, perhaps? It might take experiment and practice, but perhaps she could learn to accompany an ambassador across Gillengaria when there is need for her presence at delicate negotiations.”
“Probably,” Cammon said. “So far I can’t think of anything Amalie hasn’t been able to do if she tries hard enough.”
“Tell me again,” Senneth said. “Why are people afraid of mystics?”
Tayse ignored her. “It would be even more beneficial if she could find a way to accompany an ambassador overseas. To Sovenfeld or Karyndein.”
Cammon shook his head regretfully. “I don’t think even Amalie’s that strong,” he said. “I’ve never heard of a mystic having any power outside of Gillengaria.”
“Someone from Sovenfeld with his own kind of magic,” Tayse suggested.
Cammon looked intrigued. “Now, that would be interesting—though I never heard of anyone in Sovenfeld having any magic, either,” he said.
“Maybe we’ll have to start paying attention to what kind of magic exists outside our borders,” Tayse said.
Cammon seemed to listen a moment and then smiled. “Amalie says she’ll ask pointed questions next time anyone from overseas comes calling,” he reported. “She likes the idea of a magical ambassador. Maybe we’ll find one soon.”
AFTER that, Senneth thought she might be excused if she looked a little warily around the inside of the coach before she climbed in beside Cammon. “Is she here, too?” she asked.
“Who? Amalie? Don’t be ridiculous,” he replied as the driver sent the vehicle smoothly into motion.
“How is that a ridiculous question? The whole situation is preposterous.”
“When she’s talking to me, she can’t pay attention to what’s happening back in Ghosenhall,” he explained. “She says it’s like being in a trance. So we don’t do it very long any one day.”
Now Senneth was alarmed. “I hope no one walks in on her while she’s staring sightlessly at the wall. They’ll think she’s having a lunatic fit.”
“She keeps her maid in the room to watch over her and a Rider at the door,” Cammon reassured her. “We’re really not as careless as you think.”
“Well, you’ve always seemed careless to me,” she said, her voice very grouchy.
He laughed. “Oh, and you’re so cautious?”
“I’m less valuable.”
“I doubt that anyone who knows you would agree.”
As Tayse had predicted, the weather turned nasty about an hour after they set out, and the coach was pelted with freezing rain for most of the rest of the day. Senneth had regained enough of her own magic to keep the carriage comfortably warm, though she felt sorry for the horsemen enduring the full brunt of the ice. There had been a day she would have had enough fire in her veins to move from soldier to soldier, laying her hands upon theirs and infusing them with the heat from her own body. Even now, if they had to pull off the road and make a hasty camp, she would be able to start a fire in this dismal weather, beat back the cold in a radius large enough to circle the entire troop. But it would take most of her strength and leave her with a bruising headache. She would do it if the situation were dire—but Tayse, she knew, would tell her that soldiers trained for bad weather, and she should not concern herself at all for their comfort.
“It’ll be good to be inside tonight,” she observed after a long silence.