“So where are they now?” Justin asked, changing the subject without a transition. But Cammon was used to the question, since Justin had asked it daily. “Are they still in Carrebos?”
“I think so. They seem to be staying put at the moment.” He sipped his beer. “And they seem to be pleased with whatever they’re doing.”
Justin stretched out his long legs and shook back his sandy hair. He looked utterly at ease, almost sleepy. Cammon felt someone in the bar gaze over at them with sharpened attention.
“You haven’t had too much to drink, have you?” he asked softly.
Justin gave him a slow grin. “Why? Some hot-blooded young kid with a sword thinking he wants to start a fight with a drunken Rider?”
“Something like that.”
Justin seemed to relax even more. “That won’t go so well. But thanks for the warning.”
“Thoughts of violence are like shouts in my head. I can block out almost everything else, but those always come through.”
“What I find interesting is that you always know where we are.” Justin never specified “we.” It was always clear whom he meant. “Without even thinking about it. We’re just there, in your head, all the time.”
Cammon nodded. “Pretty much.”
“What about Ellynor? Does she register with you the same way?”
Cammon leaned forward and used his finger to make a circle on the table from a few spilled drops of beer. “I can only sense Ellynor when you’re with her—and then only because I can feel her effect on you. It’s like she pulls part of your attention in her direction.” He drew his thumb through the circle to create a short streak of wetness. “So, I can tell if she’s with you, but that’s the best I can do.”
“Still. That’s not bad,” Justin said. “Who else? Your tutor friend, what’s his name?”
“Jerril? I can find him right away if I look for him but he’s not always there in my mind like the rest of you are.”
“The king?”
“Same.”
“The princess?”
Cammon opened his mouth to answer and then jerked his head back and stared at Justin—who stared right back at him, his expression just slightly edged with malice. A trap, and Cammon had fallen into it. Cammon hadn’t even realized it, hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t examined it. But there she was, Amalie, a faint and flickering light on the border of his consciousness. Cammon could leave this bar, head back to the palace, climb any set of stairs, traverse any corridor, and go directly to whatever room held Amalie. He knew where she was, he could feel her, she had become one of his constant internal beacons, part of the ordinary and familiar texture of his life.
And this despite Valri’s magic.
And this despite the fact that Amalie had scarcely spoken to him in a week.
“That’s what I thought,” Justin said.
He wasn’t sure what to say. “It’s not something I have any control over.”
“It might not be something you ought to mention too often.”
“Don’t tell Senneth.”
Justin grinned crookedly. “She seems to be working it out for herself.”
There wasn’t a good answer for that, either, but fortunately there was a distraction as the restless young stranger across the room stood up. “Justin,” Cammon said in a low voice. “He’s going to try.”
Justin’s body went even looser. “I suppose he is.”
There was a sudden hurtling shape, and the stranger practically dove toward Justin where he lolled back in his chair. Justin’s glass went crashing to the floor, and the table legs screeched across the stone. Justin was on his feet before the attacker’s first punch landed. He responded with a furious battering of his fists that had the young man tripping backward and holding his arms up, trying to shield his face. Across the bar a woman screamed, and a few of the other patrons were shouting. Cammon sensed a wash of mixed emotions from the foolhardy young man—rage, then pain, then fear—but from Justin, only calm focus and precise, almost mechanical decisions. Justin was born to fight; he was absolutely and completely in control when he faced any kind of opponent. He wasn’t even unleashing his full strength on this poor excuse for an assailant. He hadn’t drawn a blade and wasn’t trying to inflict any damage. A few rough minutes—incontestable proof that he was not to be beaten, at least by this foe—and Justin raised his arms and backed away.
“All done here?” he asked, and the stranger gasped out what was almost a sob and stumbled away. A few of the men who had witnessed the fight offered light applause. Cammon heard one or two of them make derisive comments about the young man’s ill-advised attempt to take on a Rider.
“Drunk or sober, I’d as soon box with a wildcat,” one of them said. “I’d rather take my chances with that raelynx they’ve got penned up at the palace.”
Justin grinned at Cammon, tossed a few coins to the table to pay for any damage, and nodded his head for the door. “I think the night’s already been interesting enough,” he said. “Let’s go home.”
CHAPTER
17
IN the morning, Cammon had just slipped into one of his black uniforms when Milo arrived at his door.
“You won’t be needed this morning,” the steward informed him. “The queen is better but plans to keep to her room today. You are not to attend the princess.”
Cammon felt rebellious. “Perhaps I should check with the princess and see if she might want company today after all.”
“She is in her parlor,” Milo said, giving him a very stern look, “and left strict orders that she was not to be disturbed. Particularly by you.”
Cammon made a childish face at the door after it had closed behind Milo. Had the steward added that particularly by you bit, or had Amalie actually said the words as she stepped into the room that morning?
Cammon’s hands stilled midway through the act of undoing his jacket buttons. Except Amalie wasn’t in the parlor. She wasn’t even in the palace proper. Close—still on the grounds—but out of the building. And alone.
Valri would like that even less than she would like Cammon to spend the day with her.
He quickly rebuttoned his jacket, pulled on his boots and headed out, moving almost blindly through the corridors, following the insistent pull of Amalie’s presence. He almost tripped a scullery maid as he cut down a service stairway, which his instincts indicated was part of the shortest route to Amalie. He wasn’t even paying attention to what part of the palace he was in and found himself a little surprised when he emerged near the back garden.
That way. As if he could hear a bell clanging or see the smoke of a signal fire, Cammon felt absolutely certain of his direction. He started out at a walk, speeded up to a half-trot, scrambled over obstacles like benches and hedges instead of detouring around them. Past the barracks, past the training yards, past the follies, straight to the walled enclosure that held the raelynx.
She wasn’t outside the fence—wasn’t just inside the wrought-iron gate—and the raelynx itself was nowhere in sight. But she was there; Cammon could feel her. He tugged on the gate, but it wouldn’t open, and a quick inspection convinced him that the lock had been engaged. By the Wild Mother’s woolly head, Amalie had locked herself in with the most dangerous creature in the realm.
He closed his hands on the bars as if he might tear them wide enough to admit his body. “Amalie?” he called. “Amalie? I know you’re here but please prove to me that you’re still alive.”
Although he knew that, too—alive and unhurt. Still, he was uneasy. He wanted to see her; he wanted absolute reassurance.
Which he did not get. No reply, no glimpse. “Amalie? Damn. I don’t think I can climb this—Amalie! If you don’t show me you’re all right, I’m going to fetch some Riders and breach the walls.”
Maybe the threat moved her; maybe she just liked knowing she had alarmed him, but on those words, she strolled slowly into view. She was wearing a black cloak that completely covered her clothing and a b
lack hood that hid her bright hair. The raelynx fluidly paced beside her like so much domesticated fire, its eerie eyes fixed on Cammon, its tail slowly flicking from side to side. Her hand rested lightly in the red fur around its neck. In such a fashion might any noblewoman go out walking with her favorite hound.
“I wasn’t sure you’d know where I was,” she said, walking straight up to the gate. “But you found me right away. Milo could hardly have left your room ten minutes ago.”
For a minute he just watched her in silence. “Did you want me to come looking for you?”
She looked as if she was considering not answering. But then, “Yes,” she said, and hunched a shoulder. As if to add, I don’t know why, but there it is.
“I don’t suppose you’d come out of there if I asked you to,” he said.
“I like it here.”
“I know you think you’re safe, but—”
“You could come inside if that would make you feel more secure.”
He nodded. “All right.”
She looked both surprised and pleased. “Really? You’re not afraid?”
“Princess, if he’s going to eat one of us, I’d rather it was me.”
“He won’t eat one of us. He’s not even hungry.”
Cammon could tell that as well. The big cat was sated from a recent meal. Didn’t mean the raelynx might not suddenly develop a taste for human flesh—or a dislike for having its sanctuary invaded. “Let me in.”
She turned the lock and he stepped in so quickly the raelynx didn’t have time to consider what an open gate might mean. Now, of course, he was only inches away from the great red beast, who examined him with unblinking and unfathomable eyes. Gingerly Cammon reached out to touch its mind, a complex but undefended swirl of thoughts, all of them foreign, all of them brutish and beautiful.
“I don’t think I should touch him,” he observed presently. “If he’s going to give his affection to a human, I think it should only be you.”
“You really aren’t afraid of him,” Amalie said. He thought her voice was admiring.
Cammon shook his head. “We crossed Gillengaria with him in our party last winter. I learned to control him then. Of course, he was just a baby. I’m not sure I could do it now.”
“I thought Senneth was the one who held him.”
“Most of the time.”
She gestured and he saw that there was a lonely bench set deep within the overgrown vegetation of this abandoned garden. The stone was cold under his legs as he sat down, but the sun fell invitingly on his face. Amalie pushed her hood back and her red-gold hair turned to flame.
The raelynx laid its chin across her lap and closed its great eyes. Its tufted ears still twitched from time to time, listening to the sounds around it, but its tail was still, and it radiated peace.
“Now is the time you ask me to forgive you for how badly you have treated me in the past week,” Amalie said.
Cammon took a big lungful of air and then expelled it in a rueful sigh. “It seems that no matter what I do these days, someone is displeased with me. And you have to understand, I hate it when people are displeased with me. I can’t understand why I suddenly can’t seem to make anybody happy. I always make people happy. But I am sorry, and I do wish you would forgive me.”
She kept her face in profile to him, but she smiled a little. “Valri told me she had warned you to behave more formally with me.”
“Senneth, too.”
“What are they afraid of? That you’ll seduce me?”
He choked and then started laughing. “I suppose that would be the extreme version of it. They say a princess can’t make friends with a serving man.”
“But I don’t have any friends,” she said in a small voice.
He didn’t even think about it. He just reached out for her hand—the one not buried in the cat’s fur—and held it comfortingly in his own. “I think Senneth and Valri have both spent so much of their lives battling other people, fighting to find their own ways, that they didn’t spend much time thinking about whether they needed other people,” he said. “Senneth wanted to be free of her own family—”
“Valri, too,” Amalie interposed.
“I think they were both strong enough to achieve their goals wholly on their own. But I’m not. I don’t want to be. I require people around me. Maybe it’s because I’m a reader and I am so attuned to the voices of other people. If there aren’t people, if there aren’t voices, I feel like I’m dead.” He glanced at her and then glanced away. Her hand was still in his, her fingers cold. She wasn’t wearing any gloves. “I don’t think Valri and Senneth understand what that’s like.”
She nodded. “That’s not exactly what it’s like for me, but it’s similar. Since my mother died, I’m just so lonely. I want to be around people all the time. And it seems I am so seldom around them.”
“Well,” he said, smiling a little, “you’ve had quite an assortment of suitors lately.”
She laughed. “And I have enjoyed that sometimes! And sometimes not. I like the ones like Darryn Rappengrass, with whom I do not have to pretend. The rest of them—oh, who knows what they want from me? Why they want to marry me? It makes me wary and uncomfortable. Though that’s better than being solitary and sad, I suppose.”
“Have you truly liked any of the lords who’ve come to visit?”
She shrugged. “I found a few of them agreeable, but enough to marry them? Cammon, it is so strange to sit there with a man, and talk about stupid things like weather and travel and trade routes, and the whole time be looking at his face and thinking, ‘Are you the one I shall make my husband? Will you be the man I take to my bed? Shall I name you king of Gillengaria?’ Sometimes it’s hard to concentrate on the conversation because I’m thinking of all the things we’re not saying.”
“They’re probably wondering the same things.”
“Yes! Which makes it even worse! And, of course, knowing that you and Valri and a couple Riders are listening to every word we say just makes it even more peculiar.”
“Riders don’t care about things like that,” he said with a grin. “They’re just waiting to see whether or not they should run in and kill somebody. And Valri and I sit there and play cards. I’m not always listening to the words, to tell you the truth. I’m listening to what they’re not saying—trying to read violence in their hearts, you know, or greed, or cruelty.”
Her hand moved in his, but she did not pull it away. Part of him remained astonished by that fact, and part of him remained delighted. There was no detail of this scenario he had envisioned this morning when he woke up. “And you’ll tell me if any of my suitors would be unkind to me,” she said.
“As far as I’m able to judge.”
“But there’s more you can tell me.”
“About the men who come calling? Like what?”
“About men in general. And what they will expect me to know.”
“Know about their family fortunes? I thought Milo briefed you about that.”
“Of course I’m familiar with their estates and their connections,” she said. “It’s just that I—well, I’m a princess. There are things people haven’t thought to tell me. Even Valri.”
He was mystified. “What things?”
She took a deep breath and stared straight in front of her. “I don’t know what happens once I’m married,” she said. “I’ve never even seen a man’s naked body.” A tiny hesitation and then, “I’m sorry if that embarrasses you. I just—I don’t know what they will want from me.”
He was thoughtful, not embarrassed, and he let enough of that emotion flow over to her so that some of her tension eased away. “Not even statues?” he asked presently. “Not even books? You said you spent a great deal of time in your father’s library.”
She laughed, but the sound was slightly strained. “Well, those books were locked up, apparently, or else I could never find them! I mean, I know their bodies are different, I just don’t—I haven’t seen—and then I d
on’t know the rest of it. How they fit together. It seems mysterious and—well, a little frightening, to tell you the truth.”
Cammon considered it. “I can tell you how it goes.”
The relief poured from her in waves. “You’ve made love to a girl?”
He nodded. “When I lived in Sovenfeld. I was seventeen. My father lived in one town for three whole months, and that’s when I got to know Murrie.”
He could tell that just the rhythm of his voice was calming her down. She was feeling both relaxed and hopeful. Cammon will help me. It wasn’t an articulated thought so much as an unshakable belief. She felt secure enough to allow some of her curiosity to surface. “Were you in love with her?”
He grinned. “Well—she was about ten years older than I was, and mostly bored, and she thought I was a funny kid. So I don’t know that I loved her. But I sure liked her a lot. We were silly together. I made her laugh and she made me feel good.” He felt his grin grow a little lopsided. “So I don’t know. Maybe you don’t ask too much more of love than that.”
“So?” she said. “How does it go?”
He paused, trying to figure out the words. “Well, you’d have to know what a man looks like. I don’t suppose you have drawing paper with you. I could sketch in the mud, I suppose.”
“You could show me,” she suggested.
He nodded. “I could, if you wanted. You realize I’ll be hanged if anybody sees me taking off my clothes in front of you.”
“Nobody ever comes down here except Valri and me. And the groom who brings fresh game, but he was here yesterday.”
If he was going to strip in front of the princess, Cammon wanted to be a lot more certain that no one would accidentally witness the event. He expanded his consciousness outward by feet and yards, searching for other souls wandering nearby. The Riders were the closest but they were acres away, focused on their mock battles. Farther still were gardeners, servants, grooms—the hundreds of people who lived and worked at the palace—but none were close enough to come upon him unawares.