Reader and Raelynx (Twelve Houses)

by Sharon Shinn

  Amalie ignored him. “And why are these soldiers allowed access through Tilt waters and Tilt lands?” she demanded.

  The messenger cut his eyes back toward Justin and licked his lips. “Majesty, the marlord is—he is loyal to you—but Halchon Gisseltess made certain threats, and the marlord was afraid. He agreed to allow the Arberharst men into Tilt harbors, but he instantly sent me to warn you.”

  Kirra struck her hands together in extreme frustration. “Oh, this is just like Gregory Tilton!” she exclaimed. “He finds a way to make each side believe he has played the ally!”

  “Well, he has done us some good, if the news is true,” Justin said practically. “It gives us time to prepare.” He put away his knife and glanced at Cammon. “Is it true?”

  Cammon nodded. “At least as far as he knows. He’s not lying.”

  “I saw them,” the courier said. “I saw the ships sail in, and I saw the men in their blue uniforms come to shore.”

  Justin swore again. “Then let’s tell Romar and Kiernan and Tayse.”

  Amalie spoke softly. “Let them finish the day’s fighting first.” She pointed at the messenger. “You will stay with me until my commanders gather tonight, and you will repeat your news. Justin, thank you for bringing him to me. You may return to battle.”

  Justin hesitated. “Majesty—I cannot leave him here with you unguarded. He says he has brought news of a fresh invasion, but perhaps he has a secret mission, and that is to do harm to you.”

  “I didn’t! No! I wouldn’t!” the messenger cried, instantly alarmed.

  “I don’t think so,” Cammon said.

  Amalie just smiled and gestured toward the raelynx, who was sitting quietly nearby, its dark eyes fixed on the newcomer. “I’m not undefended,” she said. “Cammon has a sword, and the raelynx is close by. I’m not afraid.”

  Kirra laughed and clapped Justin on the back. “Replaced by a mystic and a cat,” she crowed. “A bad day for a Rider!”

  Justin merely bowed, his fist against his shoulder. “Majesty,” he said, “I return to fight where I will do the most good.”

  ROMAR and Kiernan read the situation much as Kirra had—a canny ploy by Gregory Tilton to prove his worth to both sides of the warring factions.

  “I despise him, but I admire his strategy,” Kiernan said calmly once the messenger had been dismissed. “This bit of information will keep us from dispossessing him as a traitor if we manage to beat back our enemies and win the war.”

  “Which seems even unlikelier, given this news,” Senneth said. Cammon thought she looked even more exhausted tonight. She had managed to throw and sustain fire several times these past three days, effectively cutting off pockets of enemy troops, but Arberharst soldiers remained on the front lines and made it impossible for her to simply hold back the entire advancing army with a wall of flame.

  “I had wondered why Rayson Fortunalt recruited so few foreigners,” Tayse said in his serious way. He ignored Senneth’s “So few?” and added, “He knew they would be most effective against us. He would have been justified in pouring all his resources into hiring those fighters. He was smart to hire another thousand men.”

  “Let’s spend less time applauding Rayson’s clever investment of gold and more time determining how we can block this new army,” Kiernan said.

  Tayse shrugged. “Unless we can spare forces to meet them somewhere north of Ghosenhall, I don’t know that there is any plan we can make,” he said. “And I don’t think we have the soldiers to send.”

  “No,” Romar said. He looked angry and trapped—not yet beaten, but staring straight at the possibility of defeat. This is how the ending begins, he was thinking. “Well, we thought they would start with a frontal assault, and then, once we were worn down, try a few tricks,” he said. “I suppose that is what has started now.”

  “So then we must be on the alert for more maneuvers,” Kiernan said.

  Romar nodded wearily. “I suppose we must.” He hauled himself to his feet. “Rest while we can. Make ourselves strong to fight another day.”

  It was a plan that Cammon heartily approved. He was not successful in keeping Amalie away from the wounded that night, but he did coax her back to the pavilion before she had used up all her strength. Even when they had blown out all the candles and curled up together in bed, he could see the faint luster of her hair.

  “You’re alight with magic,” he observed, smoothing down the stray strands.

  She laughed sleepily. “And prickly with it,” she agreed. “My skin feels like it’s crackling—like I’m standing too close to a fire.”

  “Do you like it now?” he asked. “Your magic? You were afraid of it before.”

  He felt the nod of her head against the pillow. “I like it so much! Because I can do things with it—things I want to do, good things.”

  “You haven’t been singing the songs Ellynor taught you to honor the Silver Lady,” he observed.

  “I’ve been afraid to, with Coralinda Gisseltess so close,” she confessed. “Maybe the Pale Mother will hear me but help her.”

  “I’m sure the Lestra is offering up plenty of prayers of her own,” he said dryly.

  “But I have prayed to her,” Amalie said hesitantly. “At night. Silently. And when we’ve walked through the rows of wounded soldiers. I’ve asked for her blessing. I think she can hear me—at any rate, sometimes I feel as if someone is peering over my shoulder, smiling when I get something right. I don’t know. Maybe it’s my imagination.” He heard the smile in her voice. “Maybe it’s you that I feel.”

  “But maybe it’s the goddess,” he said. “I hope so. I hope she is watching over you. I hope she is watching over all of us.”

  Amalie fell asleep almost instantly. Cammon, who had trained himself to stay awake as long as she did, just in case she needed him, tumbled into sleep right after her. But even his dreams were not restful these days. It was harder to keep his mental shields up while he was sleeping, and so he was plagued by the unrelenting misery of the wounded men. Images of warfare clattered through his mind. He relived again and again the striking blow, the falling sword, the moment’s inattention that had resulted in a blade through the leg, or the ribs, or the throat.

  It was almost a relief to startle awake, still in the dead of night, and lift his head and wonder what cue had alerted him that something was wrong.

  No sound broke the silence immediately outside the tent. All the souls that Cammon had a particular interest in lay quietly sleeping. He pushed his attention outward, searching for trouble, wondering what spike of violence or fear had ripped through his slumbering mind and jerked him awake.

  There. A slow creeping movement, coming closer. A single soldier, dispatched on a dangerous mission, harboring a steady murderous intent in his heart. It was hard to judge distance, but Cammon thought the man had made it about halfway through the royal camp.

  An assassin. Heading for Amalie.

  Cammon gathered his energy to send an urgent summons to Tayse—but the message went unsent. He became aware of a second stealthy presence, just as intent, just as lethal, prowling through the sleeping rows of soldiers. It moved soundlessly and with a primitive joy, and it was stalking the intruder.

  The raelynx.

  Relaxing a little, Cammon covered Amalie’s mouth and shook her awake. She immediately opened her eyes and rolled over to look at him. When he pulled back his hand she mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

  “Just wait,” he whispered.

  Another few moments they lay there, tense with listening, hearing nothing but silence and their own breathing. Then an unearthly scream split the night—an inhuman sound from a human mouth—and suddenly the whole camp was clattering with the sounds of soldiers jumping to arms.

  “What was that?” Amalie demanded.

  “Assassin. Raelynx,” Cammon answered succinctly.

  Amalie pushed herself upright. “Senneth will be here in a second.”

  “Tayse first.”


  “Then I’d better get dressed.”

  She had no time. That instant, Tayse ripped back the tent flap and bounded in. “Majesty? Cammon?” He was naked except for his trousers. In the faint moonlight, Cammon could just see the gleam of an upraised sword in his hand.

  “I’m fine,” Amalie answered. “Apparently the raelynx caught an intruder.”

  Senneth hurried into the tent, and all the candles instantly winked to life. Her hair was wild, but otherwise she appeared calm. Tayse looked like avenging death, but his expression was beginning to smooth back to normal. Outside the tent, Cammon could hear Justin shouting questions and commands.

  He actually felt like laughing. Impossible for the princess to be any more well defended. What could harm her with safeguards like these in place?

  “What happened?” Senneth asked. “Was that the raelynx?”

  Cammon wanted to get out of bed, but he was completely nude and it seemed like a bad idea. Amalie, who was wearing a thin nightdress, merely wrapped the covers tightly around her body and assumed an expression of great dignity. Cammon tried for a similar look. “I woke up, felt someone sneaking through camp,” he said. “I was just about to call for Tayse when I felt the raelynx. I figured he could take care of whoever was coming.”

  Tayse still hadn’t sheathed his sword. “Then all is clear? The assassin had no companions?”

  Cammon shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  Senneth looked at Tayse. “Unless he brought Arberharst friends with him.”

  “I think the raelynx would have gone for them, too,” Cammon said.

  “We’ll make a circuit of camp,” Tayse said, and ducked back out the door.

  Senneth surveyed them. It was the first time she had been confronted with direct evidence that Cammon was sharing Amalie’s bed. “And now I suppose you’ll tell me to be grateful that you’ve disregarded every warning I’ve given you to keep your reserve with the princess,” she said. She didn’t sound angry, but she didn’t sound elated, either.

  He risked a grin. “Well, actually, it was the raelynx that saved Amalie tonight, so I don’t suppose I can even make that argument.”

  “Senneth, I want him with me,” Amalie said. “I love him.”

  Senneth sighed heavily. “I suppose you do. I would kill him, but he’s too valuable, at least for the moment.”

  Kirra poked her head through the tent flap. “Sen, Tayse wants you outside. Oh, look, Cammon and Amalie are sleeping together. What an interesting development.” She wasn’t surprised, either, Cammon could tell—but neither was she horrified. In fact, in typical Kirra fashion, she seemed to find the awkward situation delightful. “Nothing like keeping your bodyguards close at hand.”

  “Speak with more respect to the princess,” Cammon said, trying to frown her down, but Amalie was smiling.

  “He has continued to render me the most valuable services,” Amalie said.

  Kirra hooted with laughter and didn’t even try to answer. “Sen. Outside,” she repeated and then disappeared.

  Senneth gave them both a darkling look and followed Kirra. The candle flames blew out as the flap fell shut.

  “She didn’t seem too angry,” Amalie said.

  “She’s got other things to worry about,” Cammon said. “At the moment. The conversation isn’t over, I assure you.”

  Nor was the influx of people into the tent. “Is she all right? What was that scream?” came Valri’s voice, and a moment later the queen ducked through the tent door. “Amalie? What happened?”

  Cammon sighed, reached over, and again lit one of the candles as Valri felt her way across the floor. As soon as the light came up, she stopped, and regarded the two of them with disfavor. “The raelynx attacked an enemy creeping through camp,” Cammon said. “Amalie’s fine.”

  “I see that,” Valri said in an icy voice. “But you—what are you doing in here? I thought you were sleeping with the Riders.”

  “Well,” said Cammon. “No.” He remembered their last conversation at Ghosenhall. “I thought you had decided you didn’t mind if Amalie and I—” He waved a hand in lieu of completing the sentence.

  Valri threw her hands in the air. “I didn’t expect you to be so brazen! Now half the camp will be gossiping about your relationship.” She sighed and rubbed a hand across her forehead. “I’ve been too lax. Ever since the attack at the palace—I haven’t been as watchful as I should have been. Time for strict propriety again. Time for me to be sleeping here in Amalie’s tent at night.”

  “Instead of at Arrol’s campfire?” Amalie asked politely.

  Valri’s frown grew blacker. “I don’t think—”

  Amalie sat up straighter in the bed, letting the covers fall to her waist. “Valri, you have guarded me so long and so well. And now there is very little you can do for me. You cannot hide my magic anymore. You cannot keep me safe. You will always be my most treasured friend, but you can spend some attention on your own life now. I hope you are sleeping at Arrol’s side tonight, but I was only guessing. I will be sleeping beside Cammon. Don’t even try to talk to me about it. Just go back to bed.”

  Valri hesitated a moment, obviously unwilling to shirk her duty but unsure of what she might be able to accomplish in the middle of the night in the middle of a war. “You’re still too young,” was what she said, leaving them to guess at the rest. Too young to fall in love. Too young to lose your father. Too young to face armies trying to steal your throne. Too young to make momentous decisions on your own.

  “I better not be,” Amalie said. “For this is what my life holds now.”

  A few seconds longer Valri waited, then she sighed and spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Then sleep now, and talk to me in the morning,” she said, coming close enough to kiss Amalie on the cheek. She just looked at Cammon, then shook her head and quickly left the tent. But he thought she might have been wearing a faint smile.

  “Do you think it’s safe to put out the candle this time, or will someone else come barging in?” he asked.

  “I can’t think who. Blow it out,” Amalie replied, and they snuggled together in the darkness. “Do you really think she’s sleeping with Arrol right now?” she whispered against his chest.

  “That’s the name of Ellynor’s cousin, right? Well, I can’t be sure, but there’s a part of her that seems almost blissful. So I think so.”

  Amalie drew closer. “Good. Valri has given up so much for me. I want her to do something that brings her happiness.”

  They were both silent for a while, thinking their different thoughts. “Amalie,” Cammon said at last in a low voice. “You weren’t controlling it, were you? The raelynx just attacked that man all on its own.”

  She didn’t answer at first, and then she shook her head. “I think I would have slept through the whole event if you hadn’t woken me up. Well, and if that man hadn’t screamed.”

  “That’s a little frightening.”

  She drew closer. “I find it reassuring.”

  CHAPTER

  37

  SENNETH was starting to hate the very feel of fire.

  She had taken to keeping her hands down at her sides so that no one noticed the blisters on her palms. She imagined soot in her hair, cinders under her nails; the smell of ashes clung to her skin. At night she was haunted by images of flames. By day, her whole world was heat and color.

  And frustration.

  It had never been this hard to call fire, to bend it to her will, to make it leap and dance and bow and settle and flare up again. Once she had tried to burn down a house in the middle of a rainstorm, and the timbers refused to light and the soaked thatch of the roof stubbornly resisted every intrusive spark. She had spent a good hour forcing the flames to catch and then willing them to take hold in the water-soaked wood, and when she was finished she had been in such a bad temper that a migraine had dropped her where she stood.

  Trying to cast a spell on the Arberharst armies was very much like trying to ignite a b
uilding in the middle of a downpour. Except it was an exercise that was lasting for days, it was more important, and she was having even less success.

  And when she did succeed in finding a raw pocket of unmixed Gillengaria soldiers, and she was able to ring them with flame and cause their very uniforms to light, then she had to hear the terrified screams of soldiers who were burning to death. Because of the magic in her hands. Because of the conviction in her heart.

  More than once during those opening days of battle, she wished she could not summon fire at all.

  She tried, possibly a dozen times, to direct her smoldering weapon at the enemies she believed most deserved to die. It was hardly a surprise that she was unable to incinerate Halchon Gisseltess. He was inimical to her magic, and apparently his immunity extended even to his clothing and his horse.

  Coralinda Gisseltess was covered in so many moonstones that Senneth’s magic had no real effect on her, either. In fact, Senneth kept remembering what Cammon had said—that moonstones actually stole magic from mystics and fed it to whoever was wearing the gems. In which case, every time she tried to set Coralinda on fire, Coralinda merely grew stronger. Even if the theory wasn’t true, it unnerved Senneth so much that she desisted after the second or third time she tried to make the Lestra’s hair go up in flame.

  She had hoped to have better luck with Rayson Fortunalt. Every morning she prowled through the battle lines, weaving past sword fights, trying to get a better look at the arrogant, disdainful marlord of Fortunalt. As soon as she spotted his puffy red face, she would fling her arms out and wish fire upon him, but it did no good. Oh, twice she caused his horse to go mad, rearing and biting as if to rid itself of hot sparks, and one day a curl of smoke drifted up from the front of his sash. But Rayson himself would not catch fire. She suspected he had dressed himself in Arberharst clothing, or anointed himself with oils imported from Karyndein—something that resisted Gillengaria magic, something she could not penetrate. Who knew, perhaps he had invested in a blessing from a foreign god, and her own goddess could not overcome it.