by Sharon Shinn
But that had not made it any easier for Amalie. She had been pale but tranquil at the graveside, quiet but functional as she made the day’s decisions, but as soon as she stepped into her room that night, she broke down completely. When Cammon tried to take her in his arms, she pushed him away.
“I want to get it out of me,” she sobbed. “All this sadness. I want to cry it away. Magic isn’t enough. I have to let it go.”
So he let her weep unrestrainedly for half an hour and then, when she was too tired to resist, he lay beside her on the bed and gathered her close. Still sobbing, she turned in his arms and buried her face against his shoulder. She let his hands play across her back, let his magic coax away her frenzy. The grief stayed inside her, black and silver and razor sharp, but he sprinkled it with peace, he blunted down its cruelest edges. He didn’t think he could take it away from her, didn’t think he should, but he could make it bearable, at least long enough for her to sleep.
Tayse, too, endured the funeral day with little outward emotion, though Cammon could tell that the Rider carried a heavy stone of sadness. But Cammon could practically see the marks of Senneth’s hands on Tayse’s heart; if there was healing that could be done there, Senneth was doing it.
Valri’s grief was just as deep and more unexpected. The day after the funeral, Cammon woke in the middle of the night with his stomach so tight he felt he had been dealt a physical blow. For a moment he thought he would be the one to start vomiting, but then he realized the pain was not his own. He kissed Amalie on the cheek and left her sleeping, though the raelynx lifted its head to watch him slip through the door. He need have no fear about leaving Amalie unguarded.
The pain was so strong that, at first, Cammon could not attach a person to it; he just held up his candle and followed the beacon of woe. But he recognized the door to Valri’s room and hesitated before he knocked. So many reasons not to seek out the widowed queen in the middle of the night, in her bedroom, unchaperoned. But then he rapped his knuckles against the wood.
“Valri? It’s Cammon. I know you’re awake. Let me in.”
He could feel her surprise and hesitation, but in a minute she opened the door. She had been crying; her porcelain face was blotched and red, her short black hair wild. “What’s wrong?” she asked in a low voice, raspy with tears.
“I came to see what’s wrong with you,” he replied, and stepped inside without an invitation.
Again she hesitated, then she shut the door and followed him inside. Like Amalie’s, her room was tasteful but luxurious. It was spacious enough to practically be two rooms, with a grouping of furniture on one side creating a sitting area, while the bed and dresser were arranged on the other side. Plush rugs on the floor held back the chill; the curtains and bed linens were colored in soft mauves and pinks and grays. Valri wore a dark green robe over a long nightdress but it was clear she had not yet been to bed.
“I thought you could not sense the Lirrenfolk and their emotions,” she said, sinking down into a well-padded armchair. He took a seat across from her.
“I can sense yours,” he said simply. “And you’re so distressed that you woke me from a sound sleep.”
She laughed shortly. “Now must be an uncomfortable time for a man with magic like yours.”
“It is,” he acknowledged. “I can’t even tell how much grief I might be feeling on my own, because everyone else’s is pressing so hard against me.”
She leaned her head against the back of the chair. “And yet you could still feel mine.”
“I don’t mean to be rude,” he said quietly. “I didn’t realize you loved Baryn so much.”
“I was not in love with him, no, but I loved a great deal about him,” Valri said. “I would have done anything he asked. I believed that while he was in the world, there was goodness and justice and order. Now I’m not sure any of those things still exist.” She flung up a hand as he started to answer. “And Baryn’s death makes me remember Pella’s, and remembering Pella, I remember all the things I left behind to be with her. And so loss piles upon loss and it becomes too much to bear. Do not worry about me, Cammon. I am touched that you heard my despair and came to comfort me, but I am not your burden. I will mourn, and I will recover, and you will need to do nothing for me at all.”
“It’s just that I don’t think you have anyone to comfort you,” he said. “And that makes you even more lost.”
She did not answer for a moment, just surveyed him. Against her red-rimmed lids, her eyes were even more impossibly green. “Who comforted you, when everyone you loved died?” she asked. “I heard the stories you told Amalie. No one cared for you. And yet you survived.”
“I did not survive very well.”
She shook her head slightly. “Do not try to take me on, Cammon. I am too dark for you. I want you to pour all your light and all your goodness into Amalie. I don’t want you to spare any of it for me.”
He smiled slightly. “That’s an odd way to hear oneself described. As being full of light and goodness.”
“You are, though. And that’s what she needs most at this moment.”
“I thought you wanted me to keep a proper distance from her.” Cammon did not particularly want to be discussing Amalie with Valri right now, but the conversation distracted her, eased some of her grief, and so he didn’t try to change the subject.
Valri lifted a hand and began picking at the fabric of the chair where her head rested against the upholstery. “You can’t marry her, of course,” she said, almost absently. “But I think I don’t mind if you love her for a while. She is happy when you are nearby, and fretful when you’re not. There is something about you that gives her peace. And right now, Amalie deserves to hold on to anything that gives her joy.”
“I love her,” Cammon said. “And I know you care for her as much as I do.”
“I love her as if she was my sister’s child. I didn’t think I would. I came here for Pella’s sake, and because my goddess asked me to. I thought I would find Amalie a duty, not a delight.”
“But you’re thinking of leaving her,” he said.
Now she narrowed her eyes and watched him silently a moment. “I don’t think I like how easily you are picking thoughts out of my head,” she said at last. “Clearly you have learned to break through the shroud of Lirren magic.”
“Only yours. But, yes, to some extent I can read your thoughts and feelings. And I know that you are planning to leave Amalie once you think she is settled.”
Valri made a helpless gesture with the hand that had been picking at threads on the chair. “A dowager queen—and such a strange queen as I have been!—is more an encumbrance than an advantage. Amalie will have plenty of other problems to deal with. I am not going to add to her troubles.” He started to speak and she kept talking over his words. “Besides, I have been tied to Ghosenhall too long. I want to see my family. I want to see the land I left behind. I want to see what else I might make of my life, when I might make my life about me.”
“Will you go back to him?”
She gave him an icy look, but he could tell she was unnerved. “Back to whom?”
“That man in the Lirrens who loves you.”
She turned her head away. “Who may still love me.”
“Will you seek him out?”
She was silent a long time, her head still turned to the side. “I will try to discover if his heart is still unclaimed. And if it is…I may look for him. I may travel to wherever he is. I’ll try not to hope he still loves me. But I’ll try to discover if he does.”
“And are you too dark for him?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking.
That made her smile, barely, thinking about this man she loved. “Oh, he is like winter, in a way. He has a still beauty all his own. Sometimes when I would come to him at night, he would seem to glow like moonlight against snow. I don’t think my darkness would trouble him at all.”
Anyone who could talk like that about a man she hadn’t seen in six years cer
tainly deserved to hope he had waited for her the whole time they had been apart. But. “Don’t leave Amalie too soon. Don’t assume she doesn’t need you, just because so many people are clamoring for her time now,” he said. “But I think, once the war is over, you should definitely go searching for this man.”
“His name is Arrol,” she said. “And I will.”
He straightened in his chair, ready to stand up. “Do you think you will be able to sleep now?”
She turned her head to look at him again, and the expression on her face was both puzzled and sweet. As if she had been surprised by benevolence. “Yes. Thank you. You have done me a great kindness, Cammon.”
“I don’t want you to think you have to be alone, even when you’re sad.”
She watched him rise to his feet but made no move to get up herself. “Then I won’t be. I’ll know you are worrying about me, and that will lift my spirits.”
He wanted to give her a hug, or take her hand, or in some physical way make a farewell; he wanted to infuse just a whisper of his magic into her veins, diffuse just a little of her remaining heaviness. But she merely settled more deeply in her chair, her arms along the armrests, and watched him pick up his candle and shuffle to the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned to give her one last look.
“You’re sure you’re all right?”
“Don’t divide your loyalties,” she said softly. “Give Amalie your whole heart.”
“Nobody’s heart is whole,” he said.
“No,” she said, “but don’t squander love.”
He opened the door and stepped into the hall. “I don’t think I ever have,” he said quietly. “I don’t think it was ever wasted.”
She was smiling again as he shut the door between them.
CHAPTER
32
IN the morning, messengers arrived from all directions. From Brassenthwaite and Rappengrass came brief reports of uprisings at their Houses and promises of troops on the way. Ariane Rappengrass’s note contained additional dire news: “My spies have seen armies forming in Fortunalt and Gisseltess. Majesty, they have described hundreds of foreign soldiers disembarking in Forten City. If they do not turn toward Rappen Manor, I am certain they will come for Ghosenhall. Prepare yourself.”
Romar’s cousin, the marlord of Merrenstow, had sent more than a letter—he had sent thousands of troops, in addition to the royal soldiers who had been quartered on Merrenstow land for the past six months. The promised troops from Kianlever also arrived, and a small contingent from Helven showed up with a brief note from marlord Martin: “I cannot spare any more. I see the dust of Fortunalt armies headed my way.” Heffel Coravann did not send any men to swell the royal army but did relay a message to Ghosenhall: “I am restoring order to my own House. We will not war with either faction.”
There was no word from Tilt. No word from Nocklyn or Storian.
Donnal and two of the Carrebos shape-shifters had returned from reconnaissance missions flown over the southern half of the kingdom. The news was worse than they had feared. Yes, there was an army cutting northeast from Fortunalt. Half of its soldiers marched under the pearl-sewn flag of Fortunalt, half under the blue triple pendant of Arberharst. And yes, there was an army from Gisseltess, wending its way between Nocklyn and Coravann. Every soldier in the ranks wore the Gisseltess standard, a black hawk carrying a red flower in its talons.
But there was a third army, smaller, more nimble, roving just ahead of Halchon Gisseltess’s forces. These riders wore black and silver and rode under a flag emblazoned with phases of the moon. Coralinda Gisseltess was riding alongside her brother, bringing her soldiers to war against the crown.
“Why? What can she offer on a battlefield?” Senneth demanded. They were holding a conference in the smaller dining hall, which was big enough to hold everyone who might need to consult but small enough to allow them to do so comfortably. Today the group held Amalie, Cammon, Kirra, Romar, Tayse, and Senneth. Someone had tacked a large map of Gillengaria to the wall. The long table was covered with papers and messenger’s pouches and letters full of promises or bad news. “Her few hundred men are not enough to affect the outcome—unless they are much better than I think they are.”
“Justin and I defeated four of them last fall,” Cammon said. “And then a few weeks later he defeated five all by himself. So I don’t think they can be that good.”
“Then perhaps she believes she herself will be the advantage on the battlefield, and the soldiers accompany her merely to give her consequence,” Tayse said.
Kirra snorted. “She comes to bring magic to the battlefield,” she said. “The magic she claims she doesn’t have.”
Senneth nodded. “I think that’s what we have to assume. Though I’m not sure how she intends to wield it.”
Everyone sent sideways glances in Amalie’s direction. The princess widened her eyes and said, “I have no idea how such magic could be used! It is pointless to ask me.”
“Then we cannot plan how to defeat it,” Romar said briskly. He was always the one who kept any conversation going forward, pushing aside fruitless debates and focusing on the major problems. “We need to look instead at the forces we understand.”
“Tilt worries me, because everyone forgets about Tilt,” Kirra said.
“Tilt’s army is scarcely bigger than Coralinda’s guard,” Romar said dismissively. “Whether they send men to aid us or attack us, it will hardly matter either way.”
“And it is just that attitude that makes them dangerous,” Kirra muttered.
Cammon could tell she was surprised when Tayse agreed with her. “Kirra’s right. Tilt men could easily come upon us from the north, a direction from which we do not expect danger, and enact sabotage.”
Romar shrugged. “I will ask my cousin to step up patrols between the Merrenstow borders and Tilt,” he said. “If trouble comes from that direction, he will let us know.”
“We have to assume Storian and Nocklyn have joined the rebels,” Senneth said. “And that the ranks of the armies will be swelled by their soldiers as they pass through.”
Romar nodded. “I have sent messengers to Rafe Storian and Mayva Nocklyn and gotten no word in reply,” he said. “I am greatly afraid you’re right.”
“Well, there was never a prayer Mayva would be strong enough to oppose her husband—and he’s Halchon’s cousin, so of course he will war against us,” Kirra said. “But I admit I kept hoping her father would rise up from his sickbed and wrest back control of Nocklyn Towers. I’m sorry it hasn’t happened.”
“And I admit I kept expecting better of Rafe Storian,” Senneth said. “For him to side with Rayson Fortunalt! How could he do it?”
“That matters less to me than the number of additional men he may offer to our enemies,” Romar said. “For now, if the shape-shifters have estimated correctly, there will be nearly ten thousand soldiers arrayed against us. Assuming Brassenthwaite and Kianlever send the men they’ve promised, we will muster only about seven thousand.”
“Then we should pick our ground, for whatever advantage that affords us,” Tayse said.
“You do not think we are wiser to stay in Ghosenhall, where we can withstand a siege?” Romar asked.
“I think in Ghosenhall we have enemies on multiple sides,” Tayse said, standing up and moving toward the map. “Tilt to the north of us, Storian to the southwest, and armies from the south. If we move here”—he indicated a spot in the middle of unaligned territory between Brassenthwaite, Merrenstow, and Kianlever—“it will be harder for enemies to surround us. And if Amalie needs to flee, she will have two escape routes to the oceans, and one over the mountains.”
“The mountains!” Romar repeated. “You’d send her to the Lirrenlands?”
“With her Lirren stepmother. I would.” He glanced briefly at Amalie, and Cammon could just barely see his smile. “I would send her now, before battle is joined, except that I do not think she would go.”
“No, I most certainly wou
ld not!” Amalie declared. “If you are fighting for me, I will stand beside you.”
Romar gave her a serious look. “But Tayse is right. The entire war is pointless unless we are able to secure your safety. If it becomes clear that we are overmatched and we fear for your life—will you promise then to seek refuge? In the Lirrens with Valri, or wherever else we determine is your best hope for safe haven?”
She didn’t even hesitate. “I will.”
“Then perhaps Tayse is right, and we should engage these rebel armies on ground of our choosing. Leave Ghosenhall behind.”
“The city’s already half empty,” Kirra said. “Ever since the attack, people have been abandoning their shops and houses.”
“I would wish the whole city deserted before the armies arrive,” Amalie said. “Send criers out—let them know war is upon us.”
Romar nodded. Cammon knew that the regent had already sent his own wife back to Merrenstow, though she might find only a relative safety even there. “We have done so,” Romar said. “But some people won’t leave. They’re more afraid of looters left behind than soldiers marching through.”
“Their choice,” Amalie said. “But they need to know how quickly danger comes.”
The debate went on but Cammon did not follow it closely. He was not a strategist; he was not particularly good at considering the future and how he might improve its bleak picture. What he knew was that the people in this room, and a few of them outside it, the ones he cared about most in the world, were about to fling themselves headlong into danger. And he had enough experience with calamity to know that devastation could blight the most ordinary day. He could not imagine how it might come calling when times were so desperate.
AMALIE had been thinking somewhat along the same lines, as became clear that night when they finally made their way to her bedroom. The raelynx preceded them down the hallway, sniffing at promising corners and pausing every once in a while to look over its shoulder and make sure they were still following. Nonetheless, it seemed to lose all interest in them as soon as they pushed through Amalie’s door. It headed to its favorite spot beside the freshly built fire and curled up to sleep.
