by Sharon Shinn
Kirra was nodding. “That’s good. That offers a hope of continuity without a sense of fevered rushing. It shows judgment and a focus on priorities.”
Tayse spoke up in a heavy voice. “Majesty, there is something you cannot wait a year to do. You must release all the Riders from your employ.”
Senneth jerked around to stare at him, and everyone else let loose exclamations of surprise and dismay. Everyone except Janni, who was nodding.
“This is not the time to be casting off the finest fighting force in the kingdom!” Romar exclaimed.
“She has to,” Janni said. “Our vows are made only to the king. He is dead, and we have no fealty.”
“But none of you would harm Amalie!” Senneth said.
“Of course not,” Tayse said. “But the king—or the queen—selects his or her own Riders. There is a personal and close connection between the soldier and his liege. That connection does not transfer. Amalie must choose her own Riders—and they must choose her.”
In Amalie’s place, Senneth thought, she would have wailed, But I want all of you! But Amalie merely nodded, her tight face a little tighter, and said, “Then I release you, Tayse and Janni. You are free to serve any master or mistress you choose.”
At the same instant, both Riders dropped to their knees, bowing their heads and slapping their fists to their shoulders. “Majesty,” Janni said in a quiet voice. “If you will have me, I will serve you with my life. I will be loyal to you above all others—I will defend you against all dangers. I will not betray you till the end of the world itself.”
Amalie leaned forward and pressed her free hand to Janni’s shoulder. “Yes. I accept your vow. I welcome your fealty. I will trust you without reservation.”
“Majesty,” Tayse said. “If you will have me, I will offer you my life, my loyalty, my sword, my steadfastness. I will not betray you, and I will not fail you.”
He stayed where he was, head down, so Amalie shook herself free of Cammon’s hold, stood up, and circled the table to place her hand on Tayse’s head. “I accept your vow, I welcome your fealty, I will trust you without reservation.” She glanced between them. “You are now Queen’s Riders, and I will deliver my life into your keeping.”
Senneth felt her throat thicken as she strove to keep from weeping. She glanced at Kirra, who wasn’t even trying. Her blue eyes were huge with tears and her cheeks were wet with them. Such sad poetry on a day of such ugliness. The vows were like miniscule candles held up on a limitless field of black—the smallest, most hopeless attempts to beat back the night. Senneth glanced at Amalie as the princess took her seat again. She thought there was a touch more color in Amalie’s cheeks now, as if these protestations of faith had supplied the princess with an indefinable source of strength. Or maybe Amalie’s face just reflected the pale glow from the late afternoon sunlight, streaming in at an almost horizontal angle through the high windows, and had nothing at all to do with those gifts of love.
THEY stayed another hour in the makeshift funeral chapel, discussing options, reviewing losses. Romar’s captain, a dour man named Colton, and some of the other Riders had pieced together a theory of how the attack had been launched. The city guard had been deployed in a ring outside the city to keep an army from marching on the palace. But these foreign assassins had slipped into the city in ones and twos, over the course of a few days, dressed as ordinary Gillengaria merchants. They were already through the protective ring before the day had even dawned. Still wearing their regular wools and linens, they had slowly spread themselves around the palace walls, loitering until some agreed-upon hour. Then they cast off their disguises and climbed into the compound.
“We found hundreds of jackets and cloaks lying on the ground just outside the palace,” Colton told them.
It made sense, but it was hardly any comfort. And it was only the barest comfort that the Riders and the motley array of mystics had managed to hold off a force about four times their size until reinforcements arrived.
“Did any of the attackers survive?” Senneth said. “Are they being questioned?”
Romar nodded. “About a dozen. And yes. Two of them have already given us names—but the names are hardly surprising.”
“Halchon Gisseltess,” Senneth said wearily. She rubbed the back of her skull. Her head was pounding. She had not employed much of her magic today, since it had proved so ineffectual, but rage—oh, that had sung through her body like a form of ecstasy. Her worst headaches tended to come from a combination of sorcery and anger, but this one was bad enough. “And Rayson Fortunalt.”
Romar nodded again. “I think it’s time we reply to the letter marlord Halchon sent, asking for a conference with the king. We can tell him the princess is not interested in any terms and she will not yield her throne to him. That will let him know she is alive still.”
Senneth gave him a grave look. “It will be his signal to go to war.”
Romar shook his head. “He has already gone to war. It will merely signal that we are prepared to fight back.”
Kirra said, “We need to know where his armies are. And if any of our allies have more troops to send us.”
Romar nodded. “I thought perhaps you and some of your mystic friends might take wing and carry messages across the kingdom.”
“I won’t,” Kirra said instantly. “I’m staying here. But I’m sure Donnal will be willing, and some of Senneth’s recruits.”
“Because now,” Romar said, “we need information almost as much as we need reinforcements. And we desperately need both.”
At last it seemed there was nothing left to discuss, and continued speculation was not benefiting them at all. By this time it was dark, though whether early or late dark Senneth could not tell. She was so weary she would not have been surprised to learn they had passed the last year in the dining hall, talking, after spending an entire year in battle.
“I think, for all of us, food and rest,” Senneth said, feeling her whole body protest as she came to her feet.
“First Amalie must release the Riders,” Tayse said. “And we must determine a schedule for the night watch.”
“No night watch for you,” she protested. “You patrolled last night.”
He gave her a steady look from those dark eyes. “I am whole, and too many are not,” he said. “I will sleep early and take the later shift.”
If he considered it his duty to pursue that course, nothing she said would dissuade him. She sighed silently and followed the others from the room.
They encountered Justin in the hall, fetching supplies for Ellynor. Before Amalie had even opened her mouth, he dropped to his knees and offered his oath.
“Is it a mere formality, then?” Senneth whispered to Tayse as they proceeded. “All Riders pledge themselves to the new monarch?”
“No. In fact, there have been many instances in which virtually no Riders aligned themselves with a new ruler—and when a new ruler did not invite any standing Riders to ride under his banner. Those usually were cases when there was some tension between the king and his heir, for instance, or when most of the Riders actively disliked the new king or queen. But there are always some Riders who do not want to continue, for whatever reason. They are tired of the role, they are weary of the responsibility, they want to live a calmer life, or marry, or travel. There is no dishonor in declining to serve a new ruler. There is no shame in not being asked back to the royal court.”
“Sweet gods, I hope no one refuses Amalie today. I don’t know if we can spare another sword.”
He gave her an exceedingly sober smile. “No one will desert her. But some of them might relinquish their titles as Riders. They will stay till they are no longer needed, but they will no longer dedicate their lives to her protection.”
He was right, of course. They found about half of the Riders in the makeshift infirmary—the injured lying on their pallets or attempting to sit up, their healthier comrades doing what they could to ease them. Amalie glanced uncertainly at Tayse
as they entered. He leaned down and murmured, “Approach them one by one. They will know why you are here.”
So she did, supported by Cammon and trailed by the raelynx. Senneth stayed by the door, leaning her aching head against the wall. She could not hear what passed between Amalie and the soldiers, but it was easy to tell how each case unfolded. Most of the Riders instantly swore their fealty to the princess. Even the hurt ones, those who could not kneel and bow their heads, put their shaky hands to their shoulders and whispered their oaths. But there were three or four who bowed their heads, and clasped their hands behind their backs, and gave Amalie a different answer.
“Will some of them change their minds?” Senneth asked Tayse. “Are they giving conditional responses?”
“Perhaps. We will know more once this war is over.”
She turned her head slightly to watch him. “So how does she find new Riders?”
“The news gets out among soldiers and civil guards—even mercenaries—and those who are interested will wend their way to the palace. Usually candidates are first assessed by other Riders before they are allowed to approach the king or queen. But sometimes royalty makes choices without any advice at all.”
“Yes, but—I mean, how? Amalie will be giving these people power over her life. She will allow them free run of the palace. How can she possibly know, after a few minutes’ conversation, if a stranger is someone she can trust?”
His smile was faint. “Ah, perhaps that is the magic inherent in the crown. In all the history of Gillengaria, there is no story about a king or a queen who has chosen Riders unwisely. Is it that only honorable men and women seek the office of Rider? Is the monarch blessed by the gods with some supernatural powers of perception?”
“Are the stories truly complete?” she asked with some acerbity.
His smile widened. “I like to believe they are.” His gaze went to the princess and her small entourage. “In Amalie’s case, she will have Cammon to guide her. I cannot imagine she will chose ill.”
Senneth shook her head. “One more hard task that falls to her all at once. I hope she is not crushed under her responsibilities.”
“We are here to support her,” he said softly. “But I think she is strong enough to survive it.”
ONCE they had toured the sickroom, Senneth insisted Amalie come to the smaller dining hall for a rather slapdash meal. Some of the servants had died in the day’s assault, and the rest were understandably traumatized, and Senneth was grateful that the cooks managed to assemble a meal at all. It was a simple buffet, and there were signs that Valri, Romar, and a few others had been at the table before them.
Riders continued to seek them out for the next half hour, presenting themselves, being released from service, and then either offering their fealty or calmly stating that they planned to leave once the princess had found their replacements.
“That’s everyone,” Tayse said when Coeval exited after swearing his loyalty. Apparently Tayse had had better luck keeping track of the numbers than Senneth had. “Except the three who were too injured to speak. Majesty, ask them again tomorrow.”
Amalie nodded. She looked so tired Senneth thought she might tip over and bury her face in her platter of food. “And then? Tomorrow? What else must I do?”
“We will know when tomorrow arrives,” Senneth said gently. She tugged on Amalie’s shoulder. “Come. To bed with you. If you don’t think you will be able to sleep, Kirra can make up a potion.”
“She’ll sleep,” Cammon said.
Senneth glanced at him. He had not been more than a step away from the princess since they came running back from the garden with the raelynx in tow. Clearly the connection between them had intensified during the days Senneth had been gone, but she found herself deeply reluctant to discover how far their relationship had progressed. She kept remembering Tayse’s comment: Amalie would be safe if Cammon were sleeping by her side. After today, Amalie’s safety mattered much more than Amalie’s virginity.
“I will be grateful if you, indeed, will use your magic to help her relax,” Senneth said. “But what of the raelynx? Are we to attempt to cage him again for the night?”
“No,” Amalie said. “He will stay with me.”
Of course she should protest, Senneth thought, but the raelynx had certainly earned its right to freedom today. And if danger did manage to force its way through Amalie’s door, the raelynx would almost certainly pounce on it and kill it. And eat it.
“Then, Majesty, I will see you in the morning.”
True to his word, Tayse accompanied Senneth back to the cottage to sleep at least some portion of the night. She had overheard him making murmured plans with his fellow Riders, dividing up the shifts. There had never been a hope he would be comfortable allowing ordinary soldiers the solemn responsibility of guarding the palace.
At the cottage, they had water enough to bathe, and Senneth heated it to the point where it almost blistered the skin. In silence, they took turns discarding their ruined clothing, washing themselves thoroughly, and climbing into bed. Not until Tayse put his arms around her did Senneth feel she could find even the most fleeting moment of real peace.
“In the morning, you will have to tell your mother that Tir is dead,” she said. “And tell your sisters.”
“And let them know the city is not safe. They can take refuge with my aunt.”
“Your mother will be heartbroken, I think. I am convinced she still loved him, despite the fact that she left him so long ago.”
She felt him shrug slightly. He was a dutiful son, but his mother exerted no pull on him, as she had exerted no pull on Tir after the first few years of their doomed marriage. Tayse changed the subject. “How’s your head?”
“Hurts,” she said. “How’s your heart?”
“Hurts.”
“If I’m not better in the morning, I’ll ask you to scare away my headache,” she said. “But Tayse, my love, my dearest one, I do not know how to scare away your pain.”
“These are losses too great for magic to heal,” he said. “I know my father’s only regret about his death would be that it did not save the king. If it had, he would have gladly given his life.”
“And that is how you want to die someday, is it not?” she murmured into his chest. “Defending Amalie? Or her son or daughter?”
He was silent a moment. “Once that would have been true,” he said. “Now I want to live as long as you are alive, and die when you are not. And if I do not fall in battle, but instead die when I am an old man, bent and crippled and useless, except that you still love me, then I will consider that a better death than my father’s.”
She was so stunned she almost could not answer. Tayse was so much a soldier that she had always accepted she had been grafted onto his life. Important to him, essential even—transcendent—but only a part of his life, not the center, not the whole. “Oh, then I have to hope that is what happens,” she whispered. “That you are ancient and demented and blind, and everyone despises you, and laughs at you behind your back, and cannot believe you have lived so long. But I will still love you. I will be glad to see you, every time your scowling face comes into view.”
That made him smile, as she hoped it would. “And you will be a doddering old woman yourself, mumbling around the house, constantly setting small unintentional fires and causing the curtains to go up in flames. We will have to live in a house of stone, so it doesn’t burn down around our heads. We will be buying new furnishings every week and my eyebrows will be singed off my face. But I will still love you.”
Now she was giggling, and laughter felt so good, so hopeful, when weighed against all the misery of the day. She tightened her arms around him, felt the strength of his body even through his exhaustion and sadness. “War will come, and heartache and betrayal, and friends will die and all of Gillengaria may be lost, and I will still love you,” she said against his mouth. “And if I accidentally set your hair on fire in a few years’ time, well, let me just say now tha
t I didn’t mean to do it. Unless you made me angry, of course, but even then I will only make a little fire. Hardly enough to hurt you.”
“And who could mind that?” he said. “I look forward to a happy old age.”
She snuggled against him even more closely. “I hope we live to see it.”
CHAPTER
31
CAMMON had lived through some wretched days, but none as bad as the ones that followed the king’s death.
There was just so much grief. So much anxiety. Fear and tension and anticipation of violence. It lashed against him from all directions, impossible to block out. He tried to close his mind, concentrate only on the people who desperately mattered to him—but those were some of the people who were suffering most.
In public, Amalie maintained a steely calm that had everyone marveling. She listened closely to advice, made sometimes surprising decisions, exhibited only a decorous grief, and seemed ready to assume the heaviest burdens of government.
But at night, in her room, she broke down and wept so hard that she sometimes threw up whatever meal she had forced herself to eat last. Cammon could calm her—more quickly as the days went on, as he learned the trick of it—but sometimes she didn’t want him to touch her, didn’t want to be comforted.
That was especially true two days after the attack, when they had spent the morning burying bodies. Baryn and his fallen Riders had been interred in a cemetery on the palace grounds not far from the raelynx’s old haunt. Ghosenhall residents had not been allowed past the gates, but thousands of mourners had gathered around the walls, offering prayers and songs and leaving behind small tokens. It was not nearly the grand farewell a king deserved, but they did not have time for pomp. They did not dare parade the princess down the city streets as she followed her father’s casket through weeping crowds. They were forced to keep the ceremony small, private, and secure.
