by Sharon Shinn
“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.”
SENNETH 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 mus
t 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.
SENNETH 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.”
“Trust me, you’re not the one we’re going to try to marry her off to,” Senneth said. “You’re perfectly safe to go.”
He left, though with some reluctance, and Ariane sighed. “Much as I’d like to see him beside Amalie on the throne, I have to admit I’ve come to like his little Sosie very much,” she said. “I have no other unmarried sons, so how can I help you?”
“Amalie has her heart set on marrying Cammon, the young mystic boy you met last summer,” Senneth said bluntly, seating herself next to Ariane. Kirra settled on Ariane’s other side. “She swears she will accept no other bridegroom, and I have come to believe her. Kirra and I hoped you could help us fashion a pedigree for him—find some Rappengrass nobles who are willing to claim him as their son, cast off long ago. These would have to be vassals you trusted absolutely, of course, for the only thing worse than foisting off such a lie on the people of Gillengaria would be having that lie discovered.”
Like Malcolm Danalustrous, Ariane Rappengrass was rarely shocked, and Senneth watched the marlady as she analyzed the situation. “How old is Cammon?”
“Twenty.”
“So this couple would have to be in their forties or fifties. And why did they abandon him?”
“He’s a mystic,” Senneth said dryly. “It was the fashion twenty years ago for nobles to rid themselves of such inconvenient encumbrances.”
“Still, if he was only a baby—”
“Perhaps they kept him until he was three or four, when his powers began to manifest,” Kirra suggested.
Ariane pursed her lips. “Or perhaps they did not give him up at all. Was Coralinda Gisseltess actively persecuting mystics so long ago? Perhaps she stole him from his parents, and they have spent all this time grieving.”
Senneth laughed. “By all means, tailor the story however you wish! All we need is someone willing to embrace it—and withstand a certain inevitable scrutiny.”
Ariane had folded her hands together and rested her fingers under her chin. “But who…” she said in a ruminative voice. “My daughter Bella is too young, of course…and my friend Amanda would be willing, though she does not lie well….”
“Oh, a talent for prevarication is essential in this case,” Kirra said.
“But if we changed the story…” Ariane said, and then fell silent. Senneth watched the older woman’s face as her eyes narrowed and her thoughts settled on a new possibility. The marlady meditated for a few moments, and then gave a decisive nod. “Why not me?”
Senneth peered around Ariane to give Kirra one quick look of surprise. “You?” she repeated.
“Well, I’m not that old,” Ariane said with some asperity. “I’d have been forty-three when Cammon was born. That’s not unheard-of.”
“Yes, but wasn’t your husband dead by that time?” Kirra said. “We don’t want to ruin your reputation! If you claim Cammon as your son—”
Ariane nodded. “Easy enough to explain away. An indiscretion. My husband had been dead a couple of years, and I was lonely. I began seeing an unsuitable man. Everyone was quite shocked and pressured me to give him up, so I did. But it was too late by then, and I was already pregnant.” Ariane unfolded her hands and tapped her fingers together lightly. “Yes, I think that will serve.”
Senneth felt Kirra’s eyes on her face and knew Kirra was thinking exactly what she was: This actually happened. Kirra said softly, “What’s the rest of the tale?”
Ariane gave her a quick sideways glance. “For the purposes of this story, I made it known that I was ill, and I retired to a secluded house where I could make an unobserved recovery. There I delivered the child—a boy. I planned to keep him with me, pretending he was my maid’s son, but my advisors spirited him away in the night. I never knew what happened to him after that. But then—last summer when you brought him to my house—I felt a strange affection for this complete stranger. I began to make inquiries, and I learned he was the son I had given up so many years ago. Naturally, I was overjoyed.”
Senneth laid a hand on Ariane’s arm. “What happened to your baby?”
Ariane didn’t reply at first, as if unwilling to admit the tale was true. “He arrived two months early and stillborn,” she said at last. “I didn’t believe them when they told me he was dead. I had to see for myself. But it was true.” She shook off a spell of melancholy and said more briskly, “Enough people know part of the story to be able to confirm that I indeed took a lover and bore his child. Very few people were present at his death, and all of them would tell any lie I asked. The dates are not exact, for my son would only be eighteen now, but no one will remember that.”
“Ariane—” Senneth said, and then stopped, not sure of what to say. “I hate to take advantage of your personal tragedies in such a way.”
Ariane gave her a somewhat painful smile. “You have lost a child yourself, Senneth, though the story is not generally known. And I believe you would exploit your own sad history if you thought it would help Amalie in any way. Permit me to do the same thing. I will be happy to claim Cammon as my own. I have always longed for that sixth child, the one I lost so long ago.” Her smile widened. “And, of course, I am not at all reluctant to have Ghosenhall indebted to Rappen Manor.”
“No, indeed, there are benefits all around,” Kirra agreed.
“There’s just one more thing,” Ariane said. “Before we buried him, I had him branded with a housemark. Anyone who knows me realizes I would never have given up my child without stamping him as my own.”
“That will be tricky,” Senneth said. “We can give him a Rappengrass housemark, of course, but it won’t look twenty years old.”
Ariane stood. “I’m sure you can find a way around the difficulty. Bring me my son, identified with my emblem, and I will give your princess her husband.”
CHAPTER
44
CAMMON was wholly bewildered by the sudden changes in his fortune that unfolded after their return to the royal city. He had never, not in any scenario he’d been able to devise, imagined that he would be allowed to marry Amalie. All his energy had gone to trying to figure out a way to stay at the palace, a way to serve her—a way, even, to be her lover, if she was willing, if her powerful protectors did not find it preferable to separate them completely. Of course, he was profoundly relieved that the war was over and all his friends had survived it whole, but it had always been clear to him that the cessation of hostilities would signal the end of his idyll with Amalie. What was allowed on the battlefield during tumultuous times could not be permitted in ordinary life. Now that she had won the right to take the throne, Amalie mu
st prove herself a worthy ruler. And her first act must be to choose her husband wisely, with an eye to placating the marlords.
But she loved him. He knew she loved him. And the minute they had five minutes of privacy, he promised he would stay in Ghosenhall as long as she needed him.
“In any capacity,” he added. They were alone for the first time since their return to Ghosenhall, as Amalie awaited the arrival of yet another visiting lord, come to swear fealty. “I will work in the kitchens if that is the only job open to me. I will stay on as a footman. As long as you want me here, I will stay.”
She was almost crying, and he risked taking her in his arms, though he was supposed to be standing impassively behind her throne, scanning the emotions of petitioners. “But that’s not fair to you,” she said against his chest. “To make you live a life in shadows! Just waiting for the few minutes I have free! I wouldn’t be able to do it! If you were king, and I was some serving girl they wouldn’t allow you to marry? I’d run away. I would! I’d marry the first handsome soldier who marched through the city, or the first merchant who brought me a bunch of ribbons for my hair.”
He laughed helplessly and stroked that hair, just now free of ribbons, though a small silver tiara kept its radiance somewhat in check. “Well, I’ve never been good at running away,” he said. “Whenever anyone has loved me, what I’ve always wanted is to stay nearby. As long as you love me, I think, I won’t be able to leave you.”
He was prepared for it to be hard. He was prepared for it to be heartbreaking. But he was not prepared for his life to be lived without Amalie in it.
Two days after that declaration, she called him to the rose-and-cream parlor where, for a wonder, she was completely alone. Naturally, he did not lose an opportunity to kiss her right away. She was bubbling with happiness, but he could not sift through her thoughts and tell what had elated her.
“I have good news,” she said, standing still with her arms twined around his neck.
