Reader and Raelynx

by Sharon Shinn

  They had, of course, other ways to communicate.

  You’re getting very good at this, he told her when she wrestled with Wen and Janni. But use your magic. Steal their thoughts from them. If you can tell where they’re going to strike next, you can block them even more effectively.

  Or: Have you convinced Valri that it’s safe to tell Ellynor your secret? I know she’d come talk to you about the Silver Lady.

  And: I wish you could meet me tonight very late.

  And: I hated that Kianlever lord who came calling.

  And: I miss you.

  She was right there in the room. But he missed her anyway.

  She did not often try to reply in the same way, though now and then he would receive hesitant and incomplete messages in return. One day when Valri was deep in conversation with the regent’s wife, Amalie touched her fingers to her mouth, silently told him, Kitchen—kiss, and gave him a private smile. But she did not escape to meet him there that night. Miss you was something she could send him, though, and so she did, at least once a day. It was as if those two words were the abbreviation for everything else she wanted to tell him.

  He wasn’t in the room when she persuaded Valri that it was safe to tell Ellynor her astonishing news, but he was there when the Lirren girl presented herself one morning. Her knock on the door caught him totally by surprise, and he scowled when she stepped in to join them.

  “I hate it that you can do that,” he said. “After all the times I’ve practiced listening for your approach!”

  She smiled. “Maybe you’ve stopped listening.”

  “Maybe you know she’s not dangerous,” Amalie suggested.

  “Everyone is dangerous,” Valri said in her dark way.

  Cammon sighed.

  But it was hard to imagine anyone less threatening than Ellynor that day as she curled up on the chair beside Amalie and began telling stories about the Pale Mother. She was not as small as Valri, but she was dainty and feminine, with a certain innate grace and warmth. The sort of person you might run to when you were hurt and crying.

  “So I understand the Silver Lady has taken you under her protection,” Ellynor said in her gentle voice.

  Amalie grimaced. “That’s what everybody thinks. And I don’t feel blessed at all. I feel cursed. I’m afraid she’s an evil goddess.”

  “Oh, not at all,” Ellynor said, and she spoke with such certainty that Cammon saw Amalie instantly relax. “She’s a complex lady, easy to misunderstand, but she is beautiful and she offers unexpected gifts.”

  Amalie looked hopeful. “But she steals magic. And she’s deceitful.”

  Ellynor smiled. “It’s true that she’s curious about everything, and she looks in private windows and rummages through furtive souls, and it’s true she likes to keep what she finds. But it’s even more true that she reflects, rather than steals. What she loves most is to be bathed in praise and affection. She offers much to those who offer a great deal to her first. The more she is given, the more beautiful—and bountiful—she becomes.”

  Now Amalie’s expression was thoughtful. “But Coralinda Gisseltess—”

  “I believe that the Lestra has misinterpreted the will of the goddess,” Ellynor said sadly. Not until then did Cammon remember that Lestra was the title Coralinda Gisseltess had bestowed upon herself when she founded the Daughters of the Pale Mother. “She is so filled with hatred for mystics that she believes she sees that same hatred mirrored in the Pale Mother.”

  Valri looked over. She and Cammon were sitting nearby, listening. “If she can’t control her followers any better than that, she’s a weak goddess,” the queen said contemptuously. “The Dark Watcher does not let any of us behave so badly in her name.”

  “She’s not weak,” Ellynor answered. “But she is, to a large extent, at the mercy of those who worship her. She can only give back what they give to her. If Coralinda radiates hatred and greed, hatred and greed are all the Silver Lady has to offer.” She paused a moment to think something over, and then smiled. “When I was in the Lumanen Convent, I grew to truly love the Pale Mother. I saw that she could be changeable and moody, and yet at the same time I learned that she could always be relied on. The moon shifts through its phases, but you know what those phases will be. They do not alter. If the moon makes you a promise, she will keep it in her own time.”

  “I am starting to like her a little,” Amalie said cautiously. “If what you say is true.”

  “She helped me on the most terrifying night of my life,” Ellynor said.

  “Tell me!”

  “You remember that we told you about the right Justin was hurt, and I had to go to the nearest town to ask for help. I needed to find one man in that whole city, and all I knew was his name. And she guided me to the very building he was in, and made him cross the room to ask me if I needed aid.”

  Valri looked unconvinced. “That might have been extraordinary luck, but you can’t be sure it was a goddess at work.”

  Ellynor nodded. “It was. She is the giver of extreme and unexpected gifts. I know her hand was on me that night.”

  “And now I like her even better,” Amalie said. “So what must I do? To show her honor?”

  “She likes moonstones.”

  Amalie glanced at Cammon and he rolled his eyes. “It seems a little disruptive when I put one on.”

  “You might carry one with you and only let it touch your skin when you want a stronger connection with the goddess,” Ellynor suggested.

  “That’s a good idea. What else should I do?”

  Ellynor smiled. “She likes music. I’ll teach you the prayers that we would offer up every night. You could almost feel her preening when the songs reached her ears.”

  “I don’t sing very well.”

  “That doesn’t matter. And she likes it when you are mindful. When you know where she is in the sky, when she is scheduled to rise, what phase she will show. She is vain, it’s true, but she’s also generous. Pay attention to her, and she will most definitely pay attention to you.”

  “I wouldn’t have patience for such a goddess,” Valri said.

  “No, but you don’t have to,” Cammon said. “You follow the Dark Watcher, and she’s served you pretty well. I think maybe all of us are drawn to different gods for different reasons. Maybe that’s why there are so many gods.”

  Valri looked skeptical. “Then why are there so many forgotten gods?”

  “Because people got careless and arrogant,” Ellynor said. “They started to think that they were doing everything themselves. They didn’t realize that the gods still watched over them, even though they stopped honoring the gods.”

  “Maybe that’s why the gods created mystics,” Amalie said. “To remind us that they’re powerful—and that they can interfere in our lives.”

  “If, indeed, the gods created mystics,” Valri said. “I think that’s just a theory of Senneth’s.”

  Cammon shrugged. “It makes sense,” he said. “It seems to explain the range of magic.”

  “The only goddess I am certain of is the Black Mother,” Valri said.

  “I know there is at least one more,” Ellynor said softly. “And sometimes she’s powerful, and sometimes she’s lonely, and she is always beautiful.” She smiled at the princess. “And I believe she likes you. And I believe you will be safe in her hands.”

  AMALIE cheered up considerably after that conference. Cammon could see Valri visibly restraining her desire to scoff when Amalie practiced the prayers that Ellynor taught her. Valri would never be particularly open-minded about the deities, but even she could tell that Amalie needed to make peace with her goddess, and so she held her tongue.

  You stayed up last night and sang that to the moon, Cammon thought when Amalie completed one of the prettier songs.

  She smiled and answered indirectly, because Valri was sitting right there. “That’s my favorite one, I think,” she said. “Ellynor says it’s most beautiful when there is a whole chorus of singers, alth
ough some of the prayers are meant to be sung by only a few voices.”

  “Well, I’m not sure we should be inviting acolytes of the Pale Mother to take up residence here and harmonize with you,” Valri said, with a touch of humor. “And surely we should not be sending you to the Lumanen Convent to pray with all the Daughters.”

  Amalie answered, but Cammon lost the thread of the conversation. For the past few minutes, he had been feeling dense with uneasiness, and now suddenly the sensation intensified. Donnal had seen something that distressed him—Donnal was in motion to Kirra’s side. A few moments later he felt Kirra’s sharp concern knife through him, and then Senneth was on guard, then Tayse.

  A hand touched his arm and he almost shivered. Amalie. “Cammon? Are you all right? Cammon?”

  He must look as if he had fallen into a trance. His sensibilities were divided; part of him felt like he was hundreds of miles away, viewing a large, crowded hall from four perspectives. Part of him was sitting in this cozy room, with Amalie’s grave eyes on him and Valri’s face a study in worry. It was hard to speak coherently. “Something’s wrong. In Danalustrous,” he said. “I can’t tell what.”

  “Something’s happened to Senneth?” Valri said sharply.

  “Or one of the others?” Amalie added.

  “No. They’re all just—worried—afraid—grim.” He couldn’t find the right words. “Tayse is preparing for battle.”

  “Battle? In Danalustrous? At a wedding?” Valri exclaimed.

  “I can’t explain it. There’s a mood that settles over him when he thinks he’s going to have to fight. It’s very distinct.” Tayse was preparing for combat, but Kirra was the one who was most upset. Danalustrous, Danalustrous, Danalustrous! “They’re under siege,” he said abruptly. “Someone’s attacking the Hall.”

  Valri jumped to her feet. “I’ll tell Baryn.”

  So, after all, he and Amalie had a moment alone, but it wasn’t likely to do them any good. Cammon couldn’t draw his attention away from his distant friends, couldn’t relax or focus on anything else while they were in danger. He could feel Kirra and Donnal taking the shapes of great winged predators and diving into the fray from above, gouging out eyes, slashing open faces. His arm was heavy with Tayse’s sword, relentless and unfaltering. His hands burned with the heat of Senneth’s fire.

  “Cammon.” That was Amalie’s voice, curiously disembodied, strangely distant. “Cammon, I’m worried about you. You seem to have disappeared. Should I send for Justin? Or Jerril?”

  He managed to shake his head. “No, I’ll be all right. When Justin was hurt, I felt like a knife had gone through my heart, and it took me a couple of hours to recover. But this is—there are four of them, all at once—there’s so much emotion I can’t push it back. But I think it’ll be all right. I think it’ll fade. I’ll be fine.”

  In truth, he wasn’t so certain he would be fine. He had never been buffeted by so many intense emotions simultaneously. Jerril would certainly tell him he needed to pull back, to throw his mental shields up, to conserve his own strength. But he couldn’t. Not while they were so passionately engaged, not while they were in such danger. They were all, in their ways, splendid fighters, but any man could be felled on a battlefield. Any mystic could be cut down by a sword.

  Amalie stood up, drawing her hand away. He felt an instant sense of loss that momentarily jerked his attention back to this room, and he saw her hurrying over to her bookcase of treasures. But then Senneth called forth an incredible burst of power and he was right back in Danalustrous, behind a roaring, impregnable wall of flame. Gods, he could feel the backlash of her power; she could set the entire country on fire.

  Amalie circled his wrist with her hand, and for a moment the world went black.

  No fire. No battlefield. No parlor. Just a blank and empty spasm of existence.

  He gasped for air and reality shifted back into place. He was in the pretty rose-and-cream parlor, sitting in an upholstered chair, facing a window that looked out over the sunny lawns of the palace. Amalie was beside him, her earnest face creased with worry. Danalustrous and his four friends who were defending it were still there at the edge of his mind, but in a muted and shadowy fashion. He could monitor the fight while still existing in his true environment.

  Her hand was still closed over his wrist, and he could feel the sharp prickle of magic in her touch. “What did you do?” he whispered.

  She opened her other hand to show him the moonstone pendant she had been given by the Coravann lord. “I wanted to see if I could steal some of your visions away,” she said. She looked a little nervous, as if she thought he might wrench out of her hold or yell in fury. She also looked stubborn and determined, as if she would yell right back.

  He swallowed. “You succeeded.”

  Now she looked anxious. “And is it all right? Should I let you go? It’s just that—you seemed so far away—and it seemed dangerous. I was afraid you would slip away completely, and I didn’t know how you would get back.”

  “I don’t know. That’s never happened before, but it’s never been so intense before,” he said, his voice a shade closer to normal. “Now—I can still feel them, but it’s a little more bearable.” He attempted a smile. “That’s a trick I would use on somebody. How did you learn it?”

  Her smile was timid. “I don’t know. I just thought I’d try.”

  With his free hand, he gestured at the moonstone. “And how did you keep it from burning me this time?”

  She shook her head. “I just tried to. I didn’t know if that would work, either.”

  Despite his pressing worry, despite his continued abstraction, he felt a tremendous excitement begin to build up in his chest. “Amalie,” he said. “Do you realize what you’re doing? You’re teaching yourself to use your magic. And you’re using it to help and to heal. You’ve been afraid of it, but Ellynor was right. You can make it benevolent. And you can figure it out completely on your own.”

  Now her smile widened. She was pleased that he was pleased with her. “And I helped you come back? I made you feel better?”

  He put his free hand on the back of her neck and drew her forward so that their foreheads were touching. She released his wrist, but only so she could lace her fingers with his. The conflict at Danan Hall was still playing out on the edge of his vision, but Tayse was convinced of victory, and even Kirra had grown calmer. “You made me feel wonderful,” he said.

  That was how they were sitting when Valri came back in the room and found them.

  CHAPTER

  27

  THE afternoon passed in a tangled blur. Baryn wanted whatever details Cammon could supply, and Cammon had to repeat them all to Tir when the older Rider came in for a briefing. They were already armed for war. There was little else they could do to prepare for an assault on the palace, should one be coming, but everyone was shocked at the news from Danalustrous.

  More bad news was to follow. As the day wore on, Cammon became oppressed by other intimations of hostility, and he spread his attention outward toward all the borders of Gillengaria. Violence had always been what registered most sharply in his consciousness, and violence was unfolding throughout the Houses. He had never been good at geography, never been able to tell exactly where something was occurring, but he could tell that blood was being shed in multiple locations throughout the realm.

  After all, Amalie brought Justin into her study. The Rider unrolled a huge map on the floor and weighted its four corners. Then he made Cammon stand on the spot marked as Ghosenhall and face the northern border. “Give me directions,” he demanded.

  Cammon waved to his right. “That way. Not very close to us.”

  “Kianlever,” Justin guessed, placing a rock on Kianlever Court. “Where else?”

  “That way. East. But farther up. North, I guess.”

  Justin’s voice was grim. He placed another stone. “Brassenthwaite.”

  “Although it’s not as intense there,” Cammon added. “I think the
battle is already over. Maybe it was just a skirmish.”

  “Where else?”

  Cammon pointed behind him. “Pretty far. Almost at the edge of what I can sense, so maybe at the coastline.”

  “Rappengrass.”

  “And that way. Toward the Lireth Mountains.”

  “Coravann.” Justin’s voice was cold with fury. “Uprisings at all the loyal Houses, timed to occur on the same day. To make the marlords think twice about sending any reinforcements to the palace once they learn that Ghosenhall is under attack.”

  “Merrenstow’s a loyal House,” Amalie said. She and Valri had watched this whole exercise.

  Justin laughed mirthlessly. “Royal forces have been bivouacked on Merrenstow land for the last six months. It would be difficult to plan an uprising there.”

  Valri was on her feet and pacing. “So does this mean that the Houses where there have not been confrontations are Houses that are not loyal to the crown? So many of them! We always knew that Fortunalt and Gisseltess were against us, and Nocklyn and Tilt have been questionable for a long time, but Storian? Helven?”

  Justin looked grave. “I don’t know. Perhaps those Houses have maintained better relations between the marlords and their vassals.”

  Valri pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Baryn must know.”

  Justin nodded. “I’m assuming the marlords will send word as soon as they can to confirm Cammon’s suspicions.”

  “They’re not suspicions,” Cammon said.

  Justin’s face almost relaxed into a smile. “I know. You’re always right.” He sighed. “I wish Senneth and Tayse were here.”

  So does Senneth, Cammon thought. “They’ll be on their way tomorrow.”

  THE next day, Cammon was briefly confused by the pace at which Senneth and Tayse were covering the ground on their return journey, for he could tell they were keeping up with Kirra and Donnal, which was hard to do.