Reader and Raelynx

by Sharon Shinn

  Kissing Murrie had never been like this.

  Kissing Murrie had led to—

  Shocked, he lifted his head and stared down at her again. The gold mist abruptly evaporated, and so did Amalie’s feelings of warm satisfaction. She was afraid again.

  “What?” she said. “What did I do wrong?”

  He pushed himself back on his stool, resettled himself, but didn’t release her hand as he absolutely should have, except she looked so woebegone. “Not you. Me,” he said with emphasis. “I can’t be kissing the princess in the kitchens! And—and thinking all kinds of things! Amalie, I’m sorry.”

  Now she pouted. “I wanted you to kiss me.” And then a little sideways smile. “And I liked it.”

  He strangled on what should have been a laugh. “Well, yes, so did I, but—by the Bright Mother’s burning eye! It’s practically a treasonable offense.”

  “I’m sure my father kissed plenty of girls before he married my mother,” she said.

  “You know it’s not the same thing. You could probably kiss any number of serramar, too, and no one would think a thing.”

  “Toland Storian,” she said in a provocative tone. “He kissed me.”

  Cammon felt himself glowering. “I thought he did. I wished I could have punched him.”

  “But I didn’t like it when he kissed me.”

  She didn’t add the obvious corollary. Cammon put his free hand to his forehead and tried not to laugh. “You don’t understand,” he said. “I’m not very good at knowing how to do the proper thing. The expected thing. I don’t comprehend—” He waved his hand as if to indicate the whole kitchen, but he really meant to refer to the entire country. “About nobles and peasants, lords and ordinary people. What’s the difference between them? So part of me doesn’t understand why it is that I’m not good enough to kiss a princess.” He glanced over at her, still rubbing his fingers against his forehead. “And part of me does.”

  She assumed her loftiest expression and touched his shoulder with the fingers of her right hand. “If your princess commands you—”

  He released her hand and stood up, trying to smile. “Nobody is going to think that’s a good enough reason for me to act so badly.”

  She stood up, too, looking a little lost, trying to hide it by smoothing down her nightdress and glancing around the kitchen. Her distress was clear to him, though, and he wanted to put his arms around her again. How was it possible that he had to be the one to preach propriety? He was the oblivious and feckless one too blithe to anticipate consequences. Why did he have to be the one to behave?

  “I guess this is the reason Valri didn’t think I should spend too much time alone with you,” he said, attempting to speak lightly.

  She gave a little shrug. “I think she was more afraid of what you would find out about my magic.” She was completely depressed.

  He couldn’t bear it. “Amalie.” When she didn’t look at him, he put his hand under her chin and tilted her face up. “Amalie. You’re wrong in what you’re thinking.”

  She jerked her head away. “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

  “Oh, yes, I do.”

  And, because it was so much easier not to say the words aloud, he let them reach her silently. You’re embarrassed. You’re afraid I think you’re silly. You’re afraid I don’t like you. You wish you knew what I was thinking, because maybe I do like you. You wish you weren’t the princess. You wish that I was somebody else.

  “No,” she said. The rest of his words had only made her blush, but this last sentence made her speak up. “No. I want you to be exactly who you are.”

  He smiled. Maybe that was me, wishing I was somebody else. Someone who had a right to court a princess.

  She turned away, blushing still, but a little less forlorn. “I can’t do that,” she said. “I can hear you, but I can’t put thoughts in your head that clearly.”

  Whatever else you take away from this night, you should know at least two things, he said. I never, never, never want to hurt you. And I am pretty sure you’re going to break my heart.

  Her chin went up at that. “Why would I? And say it out loud.”

  He smiled, shrugged, looked away, smiled again. “Because one day pretty soon, you’re going to marry one of those serramar after all.”

  That made her happy. His wretchedness and jealousy chased away her own insecurities, and now she was just another pretty girl who’d been kissed by a man she liked more than she wanted to admit. She smiled, ducked her head, failed to keep another blush at bay, and suddenly whirled around and headed for the door. He didn’t follow. She paused with her hand on the frame and gave him one quick look over her shoulder. Her words came to him, shaky and tentative and not entirely intelligible.

  Maybe I won’t.

  And then she giggled and swept through the door, into the dark corridor.

  Cammon stood there a long moment, wondering exactly what she’d meant.

  Maybe she wouldn’t marry? Or maybe she wouldn’t break his heart?

  HE met Senneth and Tayse on the outskirts of Ghosenhall two days later. He had borrowed a horse and gone riding toward their small party, grinning at the exasperation Senneth was feeling toward her fresh recruits. Tayse exuded far more patience, though Cammon guessed it hadn’t been an easy trip for any of them. He could pick up a motley impression of their varied companions, full of awe and excitement and the sheer love of change that was inherent in every mystic. The city loomed before them, dazzling with promise. All of them were both eager and uneasy at the thought of stepping through the gates.

  “A good trip, I take it,” Cammon greeted them as he pulled his horse around to ride alongside Senneth.

  She gave him one quick, irascible look and decided not to answer. Tayse said, “We had a few inconveniences along the way.”

  Cammon grinned. Just having them nearby was righting his sense of balance, seriously off-center for the past two days. “Why don’t you introduce me to everybody?”

  Senneth arched her eyebrows at him, clearly asking why he had called her back to Ghosenhall so urgently if he was just going to engage in small talk when she arrived. “Do you have a few moments?” she asked pointedly.

  He nodded. “Yes, of course. Though I have something I need to tell you.”

  “I can take this lot to Jerril’s house,” Tayse offered.

  “All right,” Senneth said. She turned in her saddle and began motioning people forward. “This is Baxter, he’s a shape-shifter.”

  It took about fifteen minutes to go through the roster. Cammon picked up significant reserves of power from three of the mystics and made it a point to memorize their names. The others had a range of talents that would come in useful, but not as much ability as those three.

  “Cammon’s a reader,” Senneth finished up. “So only think kind thoughts when he’s around.”

  He grinned. “Something she herself never bothers to do.”

  Tayse put up his right hand and motioned the others forward. They were nearly at the city gates now, and they were encountering all sorts of traffic. “Come with me. I’ll take you to the house where you’ll be boarding.”

  Cammon and Senneth reined their own horses to a walk as the mystics pulled away. “You got a few really good ones,” he said. “That redheaded girl? She’s strong.”

  “Really? She was so quiet on the whole journey that I began to wonder if I should even have brought her along.”

  “Oh, I think so.”

  “Now, what’s going on here? Why did you call me?”

  So many parts to this tale. And the parts that would shock her most he wasn’t even going to share. “We were right. Amalie is a mystic. And so was her mother.”

  Senneth took a deep breath. “How did you find out? Did she confide in you?”

  “It gets much worse. So stay calm.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Some young lord from Coravann is going to come calling next week, and he sent her a gift in advance.
A moonstone necklace. She put it on and—”

  “And it burned her skin? Bright Mother strike me blind. She’s going to be in all sorts of situations where people wearing moonstones will approach her and take her hand—”

  “That’s not what happened,” he said quietly. “It burned me.”

  She pulled her horse to a stop. “I don’t understand.”

  “You remember that little lioness charm that Kirra carries around with her? I could take it in my hand and I could use it to pour some of my power into her. You remember that?”

  Senneth was clearly bewildered. “Yes, but—”

  “The moonstone is like that, I think. It can channel power. Or, more truly, it can steal power. Take it from a mystic and give it to whoever is wearing the charm.”

  Now she was frowning. “But that can’t be true. I’ve been around plenty of people who were wearing moonstones and they didn’t seem to pull any power from me.”

  “Well, you’re different anyway. You can wear a moonstone and it scarcely bothers you. But the real reason those people couldn’t pull power from you, I think, was because they weren’t mystics, too.”

  “That makes even less sense! Kirra and Donnal can’t touch a moonstone, let alone use it to—”

  Her voice trailed off. She was staring at him. He nodded. “It only works for a certain kind of mystic. A true Daughter of the Pale Mother.”

  “Coralinda Gisseltess,” Senneth whispered.

  “A thief mystic,” Cammon said. “Just like Amalie.”

  “By all the forgotten gods.” She took a moment to absorb the information, turn it over in her mind, seek out the logical implications. She urged her horse forward again and Cammon rode beside her in silence while she worked it out. “Does Coralinda know she’s a mystic? Has this whole persecution been a sham?”

  “Only she could tell us that. But I think she’s a sincere fanatic. You remember, I met her when we were in Coravann. She’s awfully powerful, so she could have been shielding, but I didn’t pick up anything from her but blazing righteousness.”

  “Well, you didn’t pick up magic, either, so obviously you weren’t reading her entirely right.”

  He gave her a hurt look. “It doesn’t read like other kinds of magic. It’s the opposite of magic.”

  “Wait a minute,” Senneth said. “When we were in Coravann. You escorted Coralinda across the room. She took your arm. She was dripping with moonstones. And that didn’t bother you? That didn’t burn your skin?”

  He shook his head. “No. But when she touched Kirra, Kirra was desperately in pain.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s easier for thief mystics to steal from some than from others. Maybe Amalie’s stronger than Coralinda and can pull power from farther away.” Maybe I am more attuned to Amalie and thus she finds it easier to rifle through the pockets of my soul.

  “Oh, I don’t even want to think about what this means!” Senneth groaned. “It was too complicated before!”

  He smiled briefly. “And it might be even more complicated.”

  She gave him a suspicious look. “Why’s that?”

  “I keep wondering. If the moonstones feed the energy of other mystics to Coralinda, why does she want them dead? That just eliminates her source of power.”

  “But if she doesn’t realize she’s a mystic, she doesn’t understand what she’s doing to herself,” Senneth pointed out.

  “I guess that could be the reason.”

  “You have a different theory.”

  “Well. She hates us so much. She believes so passionately that she’s right to hate us. I have to assume that every time a mystic dies, she feels an intense sense of satisfaction—a validation of what she’s done. A sense of well-being…”

  He let his voice trail off as he watched understanding come to her face. Understanding and horror. “You think she feeds off death? That’s what boosts her power?”

  “I think it’s possible. She might feed off of torture as well.”

  “Bright Mother burn me,” Senneth said. “I think I’m going to be sick. And this is the power that Amalie carries? This dreadful kind of magic?”

  “Don’t say that!” he cried.

  Senneth looked surprised. “Well, I wouldn’t. Not to her. But—”

  “She had that very thought herself, and she was so upset, but it’s not the same! Magic responds to the will of the man—Jerril taught me that, and I have to guess he taught you, too. Coralinda has chosen to twist and misuse her power, but Amalie won’t. Amalie will make something good and useful out of it. But not if people—especially other mystics, who ought to know better!—treat her like she’s corrupt and evil!”

  Senneth’s eyes had widened at this impassioned defense. “Of course I don’t believe Amalie is evil. But to learn that the heir to the realm is another Daughter of the Pale Mother—Cammon, I have to admit that gives me pause. That gives me nightmares.”

  “The Pale Mother is not evil, either,” he said stiffly.

  “She rejoices when she sees mystics burned to death!”

  He shook his head. “No. Coralinda does. Not the goddess.”

  “You can’t possibly know that! You might be a powerful reader, but I don’t think you can scan the minds of the gods.”

  “Ask Ellynor,” he said. “She knows more of the Silver Lady than any of us do. Except—well, you can’t ask Ellynor because Valri made me swear to tell no one about Amalie.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t keep that promise!”

  “I told her there was no way I could try to keep the secret from you. And that you wouldn’t keep it from Tayse, but that we would tell no one else. At least right now.”

  Senneth sighed and slumped in her saddle. “And I thought the trip was the hard part. I thought life would get easier once I was back in Ghosenhall. Though I have bad news of my own.”

  “I could tell something went wrong,” he said, “but I couldn’t tell what.”

  “Old mystic from Carrebos. Couldn’t travel with us but he came in to show off his magic. He has some control over water, it appears. He said the ocean revealed to him that there is a fleet of ships gathering off the coast of Fortunalt. Sounded like warships, full of foreign soldiers.”

  Cammon felt alarm register separately in his skull, his stomach, his elbows, and his knees. “Come to war on Gillengaria?”

  “That’s what it looks like. Imported by our rebel southern Houses.”

  “Then—why haven’t they landed and come to attack us?”

  “Tayse says they’re waiting for spring.” She held a hand up as if to test for reprieve in the air. “And it’s not that far off. A month, maybe less, and this hard weather will be over.”

  Cammon swallowed against a lump of fear. “Senneth—what do we do?”

  She gave him a grim smile. “We prepare for war.”

  CHAPTER

  23

  OVERNIGHT the city was transformed. Soldiers who had been in training in the more rural districts outside of Ghosenhall were brought in and deployed in a ring all around the city. Reserve soldiers, housed for months on property in Merrenstow and Storian, were sent for, and accommodations for them were hastily built on the outskirts of town. Shopkeepers and tavern owners suddenly had to truncate their hours of operation; residents were ordered to adhere to an early curfew. The number of night watchmen tripled, but they roamed streets that were practically empty.

  “I can’t go to Danalustrous,” Senneth said to the king. “My brother will just have to get married without me. I got married without him, after all.”

  “Go,” Baryn said. He looked oddly relaxed for a man who believed his home could be attacked at any minute. “When our customs and civilities are most under siege is the time we most need to observe them.”

  “Sire, I’m not sure I can persuade Tayse to stay behind. He knows his first duty is to you, but he—”

  “I am the one who commanded him to protect you, and he obeys me very well,” the king said, his eyes crinkling up with laughter. “I
require you to defend the realm, and therefore I require him to keep you safe. There is no conflict here.”

  “I am not comfortable leaving you behind without either of us in your arsenal.”

  “I believe that my safety can be reasonably assured by forty-nine Riders, several thousand soldiers, and this highly unusual troop of mystics you have assembled for my protection.”

  That made her groan. “Oh, those mystics from Carrebos! Two of the shape-shifters have proved to be quite talented, and they prowl around the palace grounds all day, sniffing for trouble, but the rest of them are a very mixed blessing. Jerril and Areel have rented another house and turned it into a dormitory of sorts, and I believe Jerril is actually enjoying himself, but training a mystic is like trying to train a raelynx. It pretty much does what it wants to, no matter what you tell it—and it’s dangerous even when you think it’s tame.”

  “I quite like having them here. Amalie tells me she has met them all. She has become most interested in magic, you know.”

  He looked at her over the tops of his spectacles, and she was forced to laugh. “You know I have learned Amalie’s secret.”

  “And you are very shocked.”

  “Yes.”

  He picked up a quill pen in his right hand and lightly brushed the feathers across the back of his left hand. “Pella’s magic was a true gift to her,” he said quietly. “It enabled her to analyze any situation, fit into any group, put anyone at ease. It was as if she could almost instantly become anyone else for just as long as she needed to. It made her very popular—everyone loved her.”

  “I think Amalie’s gift is a little different. But since I’m not sure even she knows the extent of it yet, it is hard to gauge.”

  “I have spent her whole life concealing it from others,” the king said. “This does not seem to be the time to announce to the world that she is a mystic.”

  “No! But I would want your permission to tell a select few—those I trust the most—those of us you trusted to guard her last summer.”

  “I will tell Tayse he may inform the Riders. I assume you wish to give the news to Kirra.”