Reader and Raelynx (27 page)

It was so strange. It was Tayse. She could almost see his mind working, hear him assessing how he felt, what his strengths and weaknesses might be in this particular form. He didn’t seem nearly as disconcerted as she felt. Indeed, after only a moment of self-exploration he whipped around in a circle so tight that his long tail almost snapped across Senneth’s face. He was looking at Kirra, and his stance plainly communicated his message:
No more wasting time. Let us leave now.

Kirra laughed and looked over at Donnal. “Successful so far,” she said. “Do you want to be responsible for the Rider or the mystic?”

“I’ll take Tayse,” he said. “Let’s be on our way.”

Senneth had to fight back a moment of abject terror when Kirra and Donnal, suddenly, became two great hawks stalking majestically through the grass.
Kirra and Donnal,
she reminded herself.
Kirra and Donnal.
But the hawks looked ferocious, sharp-beaked, and evil. Her little heart was hammering inside her tiny chest.

And, oh, didn’t
that
get suddenly worse when the nearest one closed its talons around her round brown body and carried her off into the fathomless air.

Senneth shuddered in Kirra’s careful grip, trying not to shake too much for fear the claws would open and send her tumbling to the ground. For the first ten minutes of the flight, Senneth couldn’t even bear to look down. She just concentrated on calming her terror and reminding herself who she was. When she did finally try to peer through the talons to the ground below, she felt another surge of fright. There was nothing—just patches of white that must be bits of cloud, and a blur of dark so far away it had no distinguishing features. They could not possibly be so high in the air; this foolish little creature must simply have eyesight that could not see very far.

Senneth did not know whether to be sorry or grateful.

They flew for what seemed like forever. Once her fear faded, and she realized she couldn’t even entertain herself by watching the landscape, Senneth started to get bored. Two days of this? No conversation, no distraction, nothing but wind and existence? How in the world would she endure? The only real option was sleep, and that was easy enough to achieve, despite the truly extraordinary circumstances. She closed her eyes and let herself be lulled by motion.

Twice during that day, Kirra and Donnal landed and let them attend to their needs. Food was sparse, but they were in agricultural country, so there were seeds to nibble on and water was easy to find. At each stop, Tayse scurried over to nuzzle at Senneth’s ear, checking that she was still whole. At each stop, Kirra conserved her energy by staying a hawk, but Donnal shifted into human shape and asked if either of them wished to be changed back.

Neither of them found that necessary.

They flew on until nightfall, then made a neat landing and a rough camp. Both Kirra and Donnal took human form to lay out bedrolls and hunt for water.

“Feels like it’s going to be a cold night. I think I’ll have Donnal start a fire when he gets back,” Kirra told the mice when Donnal had gone off foraging. “Should be safe enough—I haven’t seen a homestead or another traveler for miles.”

Senneth wrinkled her nose and picked her way off the smooth boulder where Kirra and Donnal had deposited her and Tayse. She used her tiny hands to gather a handful of twigs and pile them together. Could she do this with such an unfamiliar body? Wasn’t the magic an intrinsic part of her? Surely it could not have been changed, actually erased?

“I don’t believe this,” Kirra said and settled on the ground nearby. Tayse had jumped off the boulder and come over to watch, his dark eyes curious. “Even you—”

Senneth patted the kindling with her small, nervous fingers. Her body heat was so high already when she wore this shape; how hard could it be to summon fever, summon sparks? She tapped the twigs again.

A yellow flame licked through the scraps of wood. Senneth backed up on quick legs to get far enough away and then teased the flame higher, hotter. It was hard to gauge from this unfamiliar size. Was that a normal campfire, or too big? Too small?

Kirra was laughing. “How is that possible? Gods, no wonder people hate mystics. The little mouse who could set fire to a house! Who wouldn’t be afraid of such a creature? Senneth, you’re amazing.”

Donnal was back a few moments later, water in one hand and a dead rabbit in the other. He looked at the fire a moment before glancing at Senneth and then over at Kirra. “Did you build it or did she?” he asked.

Kirra was still laughing. “She did! And I assume it will burn all night, no other fuel required!”

Donnal grinned. “Well, then. Let’s cook dinner.”

T
HE
second day was much easier than the first. The fear was completely gone, and all that was left was impatience. On the other hand, Senneth was actually enjoying the chance to simply sleep the day away. She couldn’t remember the last time she had ever been so idle.

“If we continue after dark, we can make Ghosenhall tonight,” Donnal informed them as they took a break in the afternoon. “Do you want to be human before you return or shall we take you straight to your own cottage and change you there?”

Kirra-the-hawk uttered a sharp cry and danced on her thin legs, but no one could understand her. It was important enough to her that she spent the energy to transform herself to human. “We’ll take them to
Justin’s
cottage,” she said, her face alight with mischief. “Don’t you think Justin would love to see Senneth and Tayse as mice?”

“Cammon’s the one who would make this interesting,” Donnal said.

Kirra actually clapped her hands together. “Yes! We won’t change them till Cammon has seen them! Will he recognize them, do you think?”

“He always recognizes
us.
”

“Surely this is different. Oh, I hope it won’t take us too long to find Cammon once we get back.”

Donnal was grinning and shaking his head. “You know he knows we’re on the way. He’ll probably be at Justin’s place, waiting for us to touch down.”

“Then let’s go! No more time to waste!”

Kirra and Donnal each took owl shape so they could see well enough for the nighttime flight. It was full dark and then some when they finally made it to Ghosenhall. Senneth was awake now, and once again trying to see through the prison of Kirra’s talons. They were close enough to the ground that she could make out buildings and spires—unbelievably huge structures—everything half-lit with exterior torches or interior candles. They glided across the guarded walls, and no Rider thought to halt them. They dipped even lower, wingtips almost brushing the rooftop of a long building that had to be the barracks. Lower—silently banking—and toward a boxlike structure that had to be a cottage. Kirra settled to the ground and released her burden, and Senneth came tumbling out into a familiar and utterly alien world. One very large man was just now bursting through the door; two other shapes hurtled after him. Cammon, followed by Justin and Ellynor.

“Look!” Cammon cried. “Kirra and Donnal are back, and they’ve brought Tayse and Senneth!”

C
AMMON
had actually been a little glad that Senneth would be gone for nearly two weeks. Her absence, he’d hoped, would make it easier for him to steal time alone with Amalie. But he had reckoned without Valri, who became more watchful than ever during the time that Senneth was gone. It was as if Valri knew about the kiss.

During this time, the queen did not allow Cammon and Amalie any time alone at all. If she couldn’t be present whenever Cammon was expected in the room, she made sure Belinda Brendyn was on hand. If the regent’s wife was unavailable, Wen and Janni were sure to show up, prepared to offer the princess another lesson in self-defense.

Wen had brought Amalie a wicked little dagger with a carved bone hilt and taught her how to use it. Now not a day went by that Cammon didn’t see Amalie absentmindedly touch her hand to her left knee, where the slim sheath had been buckled on just above the bend of bone.

“Sleep with it, too,” Wen advised one day shortly after Tayse and Senneth had departed. “Only take it off when you’re bathing—and even then, keep it close to hand.”

“Well, she might want to take it off when she’s—you know—I mean, her husband—” Janni said, floundering past what she was originally going to say when she realized that the princess probably had never taken a lover.

Wen gave her a look of exaggerated surprise. “You remove all your weapons
then
? That’s when you need them most.”

The Riders erupted into laughter. Amalie was delighted—she loved it that the other women didn’t guard their tongues around her. Valri, who was present today, tolerated the raillery, though she clearly disliked it. “And these men you spend time with,” Amalie asked, trying to keep her voice grave. “Are they also armed when you are—intimate?”

“The Riders are,” Janni said, still laughing. “But other men? Sometimes I’m amazed at how unprotected they allow themselves to be.”

“But then, who’d want any man but a Rider?” Wen asked. The smile abruptly left her face and Cammon felt her well-worn flare of misery.
But what if the Rider doesn’t want you?
she was thinking. And then, so clearly that he could not have blocked the thought if he tried:
Justin.

Amalie folded her hands in her lap and looked decorous. “I don’t believe a Rider will be my fate,” she said. “So what else should I know in order to protect myself from my husband if he becomes unpleasant?”

“Majesty,” Valri said in a sharp voice. She was sitting halfway across the room, frowning over some correspondence, but this turn in the conversation had caught her attention.

“It’s a fair question,” Janni said, clearly not intimidated by royalty. “Myself, I’d wait till he was asleep, then slit his throat.”

“But if he’s turned violent and wants to hurt her, she can’t wait,” Wen said.

“Please!” Valri exclaimed. “Amalie’s husband will not offer her harm! And if he does, he’ll be imprisoned for treason!”

Wen put her fingers around Amalie’s wrist and pulled the princess to her feet. She was completely ignoring Valri. “I’m going to show you a nice trick,” she said. “Pretend I’m your brutish husband. Now, when I grab your arm—”

Valri flung her hands in the air, watched a moment, and then returned her attention to her letters. Cammon spared her a glance, remembering what she’d said to him more than a week ago.
You think I don’t know how to cut a man’s throat?
He would put his money on Valri, despite her small size, if he had to wager on who would win a fight between an assailant and the queen.

He sighed. She had certainly won this particular contest between the two of them. He wanted to see Amalie, and Valri wanted him to keep his distance. So far, Valri had prevailed.

There had been no more midnight trysts in the kitchen, no more unchaperoned strolls down to the lair of the raelynx. Sometimes, late at night as he walked back up from Justin’s cottage, Cammon let himself hope that Amalie would sneak from her rooms and come meet him on the back lawn. But even though he allowed some of his longing to escape, to whisper in her ear, he never sensed her moving from the upper reaches of the palace down to the public rooms and gardens. He knew she wanted to see him as much as he wanted to see her. But Valri had developed a habit of coming to Amalie’s room at night to discuss the events of the day. On these nights the queen would fall asleep curled up in her chair—too close for Amalie to creep past her without waking her.

At first, Cammon was annoyed and resentful when he realized that Valri was deliberately staying in Amalie’s room to keep her from any secret assignations with him.

Then he was astonished when he realized that Valri had become one of the people whose presence always registered in his consciousness.

He knew when she was in the breakfast room with the king. He could tell when she had gone down to the kitchens to confer with the cooks. He knew when she was in the gardens with the princess, for he could sense them both, a bright shape of gold, a dense shape of shadow, side by side, slowly pacing.

When had that happened? He still could not break through the Lirren magic when she chose to conceal her thoughts, or Amalie’s. He suspected that, if she tried, she could render her body invisible to him while they were sitting in the same room. But he would still be able to close his eyes and know exactly where she was. She had become a part of him, important to him. Her existence had become ingrained into the daily routine of his own.

He didn’t know how to interpret that. Didn’t know why it had happened. But she was there now, along with the others, indispensable and integral. And so he knew where she spent her nights, and he knew he could expect no more stolen moments with Amalie.

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.”

A
MALIE
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, although
some
of the prayers are meant to be sung by only a few voices.”