Reader and Raelynx (45 page)

“You are barely returned from death,” he said against her mouth. “You can’t possibly have the strength for such a thing.”

“It would give me strength,” she said, kissing him more insistently, feeling her skin flush with a different kind of heat. “You would pour yours into me.”

He laughed softly. “Well, I’ve never heard it described quite that way—”

She tugged him down onto the bed beside her, still covering his face with kisses. “Love me,” she whispered. “Or I think I truly will die.”

And so he did.

D
URING
the journey back to Ghosenhall—which took four days and was exceedingly tedious—Senneth recovered rapidly, though not to what she considered her full strength. She was well enough to ride, hungry enough to eat, tired enough to sleep dreamlessly, and not required to do anything else. At odd moments during the day, surreptitiously, she would curl and uncurl her fingers and check the tips for flame. But there was no fire in her. Her body was healing, but her magic was still broken.

She couldn’t bear to think about it. She would wait until the rest of the world was settled, and then she would grieve.

Their march down the streets of Ghosenhall was hardly a triumphal victory parade. The town itself had been largely spared by the rebel army, but random buildings had been destroyed, particularly those nearest the palace, and many residents had flown the city, which was still half empty. A few ragged crowds gathered on the street corners to cheer Amalie’s appearance, but among the applauding merchants Senneth could spot a few glowering individuals with their hands clenched on their moonstone pendants. The princess was a mystic, that had been pretty well established. Clearly many people were unhappy about the idea of a sorceress taking the throne.

Cammon rode close beside Amalie, turning his head this way and that, scanning the crowd for dangers. Six Riders ringed her to prevent any malcontents from drawing too close. But Amalie peered around these protectors, and smiled, and waved, and even the scowling men, the frowning women, smiled at her and waved back.

Senneth thought,
Amalie will have to address this concern about mystics, and soon. How will we respond if we have another rebellion on our hands?

T
HEY
had been back three days before it became apparent that there was another crisis brewing inside the palace, of a smaller and more intimate nature, to be sure, but one that could rock the kingdom just as surely as magic.

During those three days, a great deal of effort had been spent trying to restore some normalcy to the city’s routines. Shop owners and residents were flooding back into Ghosenhall; every day, dozens of nobles and merchants requested an audience with the princess. A flurry of messages arrived, from Danalustrous, from Helven, from Coravann. Couriers rode out with stern summonses for the heirs of Fortunalt and Gisseltess and Storian. Senneth didn’t have the knowledge to steer Amalie through these political tangles. She allowed Valri and Romar and Kiernan—even Ariane Rappengrass, who had stayed behind—to offer advice and hammer out strategies. She stayed mostly in her own cottage and mended.

Until Kiernan came to her door one night, fuming. “You must talk some sense into that young woman,” he said. “I have come to admire her greatly through this ordeal, but she is behaving like a silly schoolgirl now, and we can’t have her jeopardizing the future of the whole kingdom.”

Senneth opened her eyes wide. Kiernan was always an impressive figure, but when he was in a rage, he could be overpowering. It was hard to imagine that Amalie hadn’t instantly acceded to anything he had promoted while in such a mood. Casually Tayse came to sit beside Senneth on the sofa, but she wasn’t fooled. She knew he did it to protect her in case Kiernan became violent, and the thought made her grin. “What’s Amalie done now?” she asked. “Decided to show off her magic in some public venue?”

“She’s already done that, I think, and rather spectacularly,” Kiernan replied. “No! She won’t listen to reason! Her uncle and I believe that the sooner she marries, the better, but she says—she says—” He was so furious he couldn’t get the words out.

Senneth rather enjoyed the thought of Kiernan being balked by a nineteen-year-old girl, but she happened to agree with him on this particular issue. “Amalie met a number of young lords before the war interrupted everything,” she said. “I don’t believe any of them caught her eye—but there were a few I thought she would be willing to consider. Did she turn down your best candidate? Who did you have in mind?”

“I had thought Ryne Coravann, though I mislike the fact that his father held back from the war,” Kiernan replied. “Alternatively, we could salve some wounds by marrying her to a Fortunalt man, or a Gisseltess man. Even Storian! Though not Rafe’s eldest son, he’s unreliable and stupid.”

“So far I agree with you,” Senneth said, somewhat regretfully. “What’s the problem?”

“She says she won’t marry any of them! It’s that—that—mystic boy of yours or no one, she says!”

“Cammon?” Senneth said faintly. Beside her, Tayse was laughing.

“It’s not funny,” Kiernan snapped.

“I apologize, marlord,” Tayse said. But he was still smiling.

“I thought she understood—I thought
Cammon
understood—I mean, they’ve been very close these past few weeks,” Senneth said, floundering through the words. “But—she always knew,
he
always knew, that she would have to marry nobility.”

“She seems to think otherwise,” Kiernan said. “So you must talk to her.”

Senneth glanced at Tayse and bit her lip. “I am not, perhaps, the best example of marrying to oblige one’s family.”

“Well, she trusts you,” Kiernan said. “And I believe that, whatever your faults, you have the well-being of the kingdom at heart. So talk to her tomorrow. Take care of this. We are dealing with too many other problems to add this absolutely unnecessary one to the mix.” He nodded curtly and let himself out of the house without another word.

Senneth looked at Tayse again. “You see why I didn’t talk to my brother for seventeen years.”

“What will you tell Amalie?” he asked.

Senneth sighed. “That if she’s going to rule the kingdom, she must first rule her heart.”

“Will she listen to you?”

“She’s an intelligent girl, our young princess. I think she will.”

S
ENNETH
brought Kirra with her the next day to the rose-and-cream parlor that Amalie had apparently made her headquarters. Baryn had always done most of his work in a very masculine-looking study, so for a moment Senneth was disconcerted by the sheer frilly
girlishness
of the room. Life would be very different when Amalie wore the crown. But maybe that would not be such a bad thing.

Valri met them at the door, looking stormy. “I wash my hands of this matter,” she said. “She will not listen to
me
. See what the two of you can accomplish.” And she shut the door behind her with rather more force than was necessary.

“Well! You’re putting
all
your friends in a frenzy,” Kirra said in her cheerful way, advancing deeper into the salon. “What a pretty room this is! Oh, can we sit in those chairs in the sunlight?”

“That’s my favorite spot,” Amalie said, leading the way. She perched rather primly on the seat she selected, and Senneth sat very upright on her own, but Kirra frankly lounged in her chair.

“I suppose you know why we’re here,” Senneth said.

Amalie nodded, and a faint smile crossed her pretty features. “To dissuade me from marrying Cammon.”

That caused Kirra to scramble to a more or less upright position. “You can’t
marry
Cammon, even if you keep him around,” she said. “I thought we were here to persuade you to marry someone else.”

“Well, I won’t,” Amalie said in a very pleasant voice. “Shall I have Milo bring us some refreshments?”

“If you want,” Senneth said impatiently. “Amalie. You do understand, don’t you? You must marry a nobleman. You will be the queen and your children will be crowned after you. This war was fought to prove that you have the right to be on the throne. You cannot throw away all the sacrifices made by everyone who fought for you by marrying a man who isn’t fit to be the king.”

“Cammon will be a splendid king,” Amalie said calmly. “He’s wise. He’s honest. He’s incapable of being unfair. He supports me completely, and I trust him utterly. Even if I didn’t love him, I would want him at my side.”

“Certainly, and he
can
be at your side,” Senneth said. “Many monarchs have trusted advisors with whom they can talk over the most serious problems—men and women with no official titles but a great deal of power and respect. Cammon can be such a man for you.”

Kirra added, “And many kings and queens have married for the sake of allies but kept lovers on the side.” She ignored Senneth’s hiss of reproof and said, “Your husband might have his own arrangement. It is not necessary that you love the man you wed. Cammon need not be absent from your life just because he isn’t beside you on the throne.”

“But I want him beside me on the throne,” Amalie said. “I will be queen. I should be able to marry whomever I want.”

“Unfortunately,” Senneth began, but Amalie interrupted her.

“Both of
you
should have married nobles, and both of
you
married commoners.”

“
I
had renounced my heritage, however, and you have not,” Senneth replied.

“I haven’t married anybody,” Kirra said blithely.

Amalie folded her arms. “And I might not, either.”

Senneth took a deep breath and slowly released it. “Well. Perhaps you might not—right away. Perhaps in a year or so you will think differently. Perhaps it would be better to let the dust of battle settle. Then we can all make a wiser choice about who should be named king.”

Amalie leaned forward a little. The sun caught that red-gold hair and burnished it to a high gleam. She looked perfectly composed, Senneth thought—and completely intractable. “You don’t understand,” she said. “I will marry Cammon, or I will marry no one. Ever. I won’t change my mind in a year. I won’t change my mind no matter who rages at me or tells me I’m a foolish girl. I’m not a foolish girl. I’m a very serious woman. I’ve always been serious. And I tell you now that Cammon will be my king, or no one will be my king. And you can either find a way to make that decision palatable to your brother or you can continue to argue with me, but in the end nothing will change. I will be queen, and I will marry Cammon.”

There was a long, long silence. Senneth stared at Amalie and Amalie stared back, while Kirra sat absolutely motionless. Amalie raised her eyebrows. “
Now
should I have Milo bring us some refreshments?” she asked and leaned over to tug on the bellpull.

Senneth turned to gaze at Kirra, the only possible ally in such a situation. “How,” she murmured, “
how
can we make this acceptable to the marlords of Gillengaria?”

Kirra was already thinking, tapping a slim finger against her perfect nose. “We make him one of us,” she said. “Someone’s lost son.”

Senneth snorted. “Too convenient! No one will believe it.”

“Perhaps not, but they won’t be sure. There might be whispers, but there wouldn’t be proof.”

“Whose?” Senneth demanded. “I tell you now I don’t believe Kiernan would go along with such a charade, even to save the kingdom. Would your father?”

Kirra thought about it. “Lay claim to a bastard son? I doubt that would trouble him—and he likes Cammon—oh, but I simply can’t! Pretend Cammon is my brother? It’s offensive on so many levels.”

She shuddered delicately, but Senneth ignored Kirra at her worst. “I didn’t mean for him to be your father’s son. Surely we can step down a few rungs in the hierarchy. Enlist one of your father’s vassals, perhaps. Would they be willing to pretend Cammon was a child set adrift some dark night? He’s got magic in his blood—surely it wouldn’t be too great of a disgrace to admit they had abandoned him for that reason? And now. Well! The kingdom embraces mystics again, and they’re ready to atone!”

“That might work,” Kirra said. “But I wonder if Danalustrous is the place to be looking for Cammon’s mythical parents. Everyone knows my father is loyal to the crown. They would suspect a lie.”

“Then what other House?” Senneth said. She tilted her head to one side. “Rappengrass?”

Kirra considered the name and liked it. “Oh, yes, Ariane might be just the marlady to back us in this,” she said. “And remember, she owes a debt to Cammon! He helped me last summer when I saved her granddaughter’s life. I think she would be most willing to find some hapless vassal to claim Cammon as his son.”

“Good, then we have solved this problem,” Amalie said.

“Not quite so fast,” Senneth said. “We still must ask her! And she must agree! And then we must fabricate some story and—”

“If not Ariane, then Eloise Kianlever,” Amalie said. The door opened, and she waved Milo inside. “Or Mayva Nocklyn. Someone will be willing to earn my lifelong gratitude by telling a simple lie. I’m very glad the two of you came to me this morning. I knew you would solve this problem, and you have, very neatly.”

For a moment, Senneth stared, for that had not been her intention when she entered the room this morning—far from it. Beside her, Kirra started laughing helplessly, both delighted and appalled. Senneth spread her hands because she couldn’t think of an answer. In the end, all that was left was to laugh along.

S
ENNETH
and Kirra tracked Ariane down in the sculpture garden. The day was exceedingly fine, and the marlady and her youngest child sat in the sun on one of the marble benches, deep in earnest conversation.

“I’m so glad to see there has been a rapprochement between mother and son,” Senneth greeted them.

Darryn smiled and came to his feet. “We’re still finalizing the terms of our accord.”

“I hope they’re favorable to all parties,” Senneth said.

Kirra put her hand on Darryn’s shoulder and gave him a little push. “Go away. We need to talk to your mother about Amalie’s matrimonial prospects.”

Darryn’s pleasant face darkened. “Then I think I’d better stay.”