Reader and Raelynx (23 page)

“Cammon!” she repeated, her eyes wide with fright. “What happened? Are you all right?”

He stared back at her and felt the world start to wobble again, because he had a terrible suspicion about what had just happened and it struck at the foundations of everything he knew.

“When you wore the moonstone,” he said, his voice sounding a little scraped, as if he had been screaming. “When it touched your skin. It stole my power. It stole my magic, and fed all of it to you.”

Amalie dropped her hand and didn’t say anything. Cammon leveled an accusing stare at Valri.

“
This
is what you have been hiding, all this time,” he said. “She’s a mystic.”

“Amalie is—”

He didn’t let her finish. “A mystic. But not just any mystic. She has thieving magic. If there is a goddess who watches over her, it’s the goddess who only knows how to rob from others—the moon goddess, who takes light from the sun.” He pointed across the room. “That’s why she can wear a moonstone and it doesn’t burn her skin. It’s not stealing from
her
, it’s stealing from any other mystic in the room.”

“I never heard anyone say that moonstones steal a mystic’s power,” Valri said. “Only that they burn a mystic’s skin.”

He pushed himself to his feet, feeling shaky, feeling betrayed, feeling stupid. The others stood when he did, but they just watched him as he took a few clumsy steps away and began pacing. “I don’t think anyone ever realized
why
the moonstones burned us,” he said, trying to think it through. “And I’ve touched moonstones before and never had a reaction like that.” He gave Amalie one quick, hard look, but she didn’t meet his gaze. Her eyes were downcast and her face was shuttered. “Maybe moonstones themselves don’t have much power. They’re like—like—leeches that bite our skin and try to feed on our energy. But they’re not truly harmful to us unless we touch them in the presence of someone who can use them. Who can reach through them as if they were portals and try to drain us of every drop of magic we possess.”

Amalie spoke to the floor. “I didn’t try to do that. I’ve never held a moonstone before. I didn’t know what would happen.”

“I suppose most people who wear moonstones are just ordinary folks, and they can’t use the jewels against us,” Cammon said. “But someone with thief magic—” He abruptly halted in his pacing. “Coralinda Gisseltess,” he whispered.

“Are you saying
she
is a mystic?” Valri asked in an acid voice. “I’ve never heard
that
before.”

“She must be,” he said, resuming his pacing as his agitation increased.
Senneth!
he called, a single almost witless cry. He needed her to help him sort this out. “
She’s
the one who is covered with moonstones.
She’s
the one who wants them handed out all over Gillengaria. She’s using them to draw away our power. And feed it to herself.” He stumbled against a chair, so blind with sudden knowledge that he couldn’t properly navigate the room. “This changes everything we know about Coralinda Gisseltess.”

Neither of them replied to that, and neither did Senneth, to whom he sent another pleading message. He was halfway around the room now, and he whirled around to face them across the intervening distance.

“But
you
,” he said, and he knew that his confusion and his sense of hurt were naked on his face. “Both of you. You have known this awful secret for years now, and you didn’t even tell me, tell
us
, the people who were there to keep you
safe.
Don’t you think we should have known? Last summer when we were at every House in Gillengaria? Don’t you think that we might have needed this information in order to protect the princess?”

“And don’t you think that this is the most terrible secret anyone in the kingdom can possibly know?” Valri shot back. Amalie just stood there looking miserable and stricken, her hands in fists at her sides. “Don’t you think it has cost me something every day to conceal it? I have kept it to myself too long to be offering it up to every random acquaintance, whether mystic or king’s guard! Who can be trusted? The heir to the kingdom is a mystic! Surely that would bring war down on us if nothing else would! And you wanted me to tell you? I have been afraid you would discover Amalie’s secret from the day you first met her! And now that you know, I’m even
more
afraid!”

It was deliberately unkind. Cammon stood straighter, trying to make his expression stern, not wounded. “Who else knows?” he asked in a dignified way.

“No one,” Valri said. “Except the king.”

“Not even her uncle?”

“No,” Valri said, and Amalie shook her head.

“I find that hard to believe,” Cammon replied. “She told me she spent months at his house when she was a child. Surely he noticed something then.”

Finally Amalie looked at him, and her expression was lost and sad. “No,” she said. “My mother and my grandmother were always there, and they kept my magic in check. And they were always very secretive about their own powers. I’m not sure he ever realized what they were capable of.”

“Pella was a mystic, too? Like this?” Senneth had been right in her speculations—though neither of them had suspected the whole truth.

Amalie made a small hopeless gesture. “She didn’t have much power, not nearly as much as my grandmother did. And my grandmother never considered it magic—at least, she didn’t talk about it that way. I don’t think my mother actually realized that she
was
a mystic until she came to Ghosenhall and began to understand what magic was, and how much people hated it.”

“So what could she do?” Cammon asked.

Amalie shrugged. “Small things. It’s hard to explain. Mostly she could learn quickly. Like you said, it’s a thieving kind of magic. It puts on other people’s colors. The funniest thing my mother could do was learn accents. She could spend five minutes with someone and perfectly copy his patterns of speech. When I was a little girl, I loved to hear her talk like the maid from Fortunalt or the lord from Brassenthwaite. She could imitate anyone.”

“And what can
you
do?” he asked in a rather hostile voice.

She lifted her eyes, huge and brown and pleading, and for a moment he felt cruel. That shocked him, because he was never cruel. But he crossed his arms and awaited her answer, for it was desperately important to know.

“I don’t think you have the right to question the princess in that tone of voice,” Valri said.

But Amalie answered. “I’m a mockingbird,” she said. “I can repeat magic. From Valri, I learned how to control the raelynx. From you I’ve learned how to communicate without words. I haven’t been around Kirra and Donnal enough to learn shape-shifting, but watch—” Her face screwed up in concentration, and suddenly her red-gold hair turned a dull and listless brown. Valri’s exclamation of distress led Cammon to believe this was the first time the queen had witnessed that particular trick. “I can’t call fire, though,” Amalie added, allowing her hair to revert to its normal color. “Maybe Senneth is too strong for me—she resists without even knowing it.”

“Maybe if you wore that moonstone necklace you’d be able to steal anything you wanted,” Cammon said, still in a hard voice. He had to admit part of him was impressed, though. What a versatile skill! Justin and Tayse would already be figuring out how to turn it into a fine weapon. “What about ordinary people? Can you steal from them?”

Amalie flinched a little at the word, even though she had used it herself just a moment ago. “I think so, yes. Janni and Wen told me today how quickly I was learning self-defense—although perhaps they were just praising me because I’m the princess—”

“No, you seemed to be catching on faster than most people would,” Cammon admitted. “Although, who knows? Maybe there’s a god of war who watches over gifted fighters. Justin says he’s starting to believe it, anyway. You may have been imitating more magic, you just didn’t realize it.”

Amalie offered a tentative smile. “It didn’t seem like Janni and Wen were touched with magic, but I might believe it of Justin. And Tayse. And Tir.”

Cammon shook his head and began pacing again. “I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to say. This changes everything.”

“It changes nothing,” Valri said sharply. “No one else must know.”

Cammon gave her an incredulous look and just kept walking.

“I mean it,” the queen insisted. “
No one
must know. None of your special friends among the Riders! Not Senneth—no one.”

“If you cannot trust Senneth, if you cannot trust the Riders, then you might as well set the princess outside the gates of Ghosenhall and let her be murdered by the first Gisseltess soldier who rides into the city,” Cammon said. “Do you expect to keep this secret forever? For her whole life?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then you certainly need allies, because once she is queen she will need far more protection than you are able to offer. Do you think you’ll keep this a secret from her
husband
?”

Valri was silent.

“Well, then, you’d better choose even more wisely than you had planned, because it will have to be an awfully stupid man who doesn’t find it strange that you are hovering behind his wife night and day, never leaving him alone with her for a moment!
There’s
a fine way to make sure Amalie bears the next heir to Gillengaria!”

He hadn’t meant it to be funny, but Amalie laughed, and even Valri permitted herself a wintry smile. “Perhaps her husband will have to know,” Valri admitted. “But—”

“And Senneth will have to know, and Tayse,” Cammon said. “I’ll let them decide who else is informed.”

“Cammon, you cannot—”

“I cannot keep this secret myself! It’s too big for me! I don’t know what to
do
! But what I do know is that this secret puts Amalie in greater danger than ever before. And I know—”
Thank you, Justin, for this insight.
“I know that
my
task is to keep the princess safe. And I cannot do it alone.”

“Cammon, the more people who know, the greater danger she is in,” Valri said sharply, taking a few steps across the room toward him. “Please. Say nothing to them.”

“Tell them,” Amalie said in a soft voice, and both of them swiveled to stare at her. She looked pale but decisive. “Tell them. Cammon’s right. They are my defenders, and they deserve to know what they’re defending me from.”

“Amalie—” Valri began.

But the princess nodded firmly. “And what they learn about me may help them understand Coralinda Gisseltess, who is an enemy to all of us,” she added. “Valri, we will keep the secret longer if we can—but not from those who must know.”

Valri rubbed her hand along her forehead. She suddenly looked, Cammon thought, very young and very troubled. What a burden for her, all these years! No wonder she had been so fretful, so afraid, during their whole journey last summer. She had had even more to fear than the rest of them realized.

“What about that benighted necklace?” the queen demanded almost petulantly. “You’ll have to wear it when the young lord comes calling. But that means Cammon will have to be a mile away from here, or he’ll be on his knees vomiting from the shock!”

Both Amalie and Cammon laughed aloud at that. Suddenly he was back in a good humor. “Perhaps if we practice a little in the next few days, I will learn how to shield myself from your rapacious magic, or you will learn how to hold it at bay,” he said. “Not today, though. I’m not up to the task.” He was struck by a sudden thought. “But if you want to learn how to control your magic better, my friend Jerril—”

“No,” Valri said sharply. “No. A fine and discreet person, I’m sure, but we cannot have outsiders running tame at the palace—or known mystics coming in to tutor the princess! What kind of secret would we have left then?”

This time he agreed with her. “Well, then,” he said. “You’ll just have to make do with the rest of us.”

Amalie gave him a hopeful smile. “And I think, with your help, I will manage very well.”

C
AMMON
spent the rest of the day and most of the night trying to absorb everything he’d learned. He was essentially useless at the formal dinner that evening, so it was fortunate that no one made any attempt on the king’s life, and he skipped his usual nightly visit to Justin and Ellynor. He didn’t think he could conceal his shock from them, and it was impossible to put Justin off with vague references to “something I’d rather not discuss.”

The secret about Amalie was enormous all on its own, but what it meant about Coralinda Gisseltess might be even more staggering. Did she realize she was a mystic? Had her persecution of them been the most monstrous act of hypocrisy? Or had she truly believed magic was evil, not understanding that the power she wielded came from the very same source?

There was no way to expose Coralinda without exposing the princess, that was certain. Cammon had seen enough instances of violence directed against mystics to blanch at the thought of revealing Amalie’s ability. Yet could this secret truly be kept from more than a few close advisors? Pella had managed the trick—would Amalie be able to do so as well?

Should
she?

If a mystic sat on the throne, would the people of Gillengaria begin to lose their fear of magic? Would they set aside their hatred and embrace their strange brethren? Was that idealistic and unrealistic thinking, or was it the only hope the kingdom had?

Cammon rubbed his eyes. Not a decision he was equipped to make.
Sweet gods, bring Senneth home soon.
Only a day or so away now, he could tell, and moving quickly. She knew he needed her.

He had gone to his room immediately after dinner, so exhausted from the day’s excesses he wanted to go straight to bed. But now, perhaps an hour before midnight, he found himself restless again. Pacing his room. Staring out the window at the dark lawns unrolling from the castle walls. Needing to talk to someone.

Needing to talk to Amalie.

As soon as he had the thought, he was filled with an absolute conviction. Amalie wanted to talk with him as well. He put his head to one side, thinking. He could hardly go to her room in the middle of the night. Where might they safely rendezvous? Even as he was considering the options, he realized Amalie was on the move. She was gliding along the hallways, stepping down a set of stairs. Heading away from the parlor where she spent most of her days.

He smiled. She was on her way to the kitchens. Even a princess might plead hunger in the middle of the night, if someone saw her ghosting through the halls. Even a serving man. No great scandal if they were to be discovered talking before the enormous banked fire of the central ovens, munching on leftover bread.

He threw his jacket back on and hurried downstairs to meet her.

He was ahead of her by a minute, long enough to make sure no one was lurking in the larder. He had stirred up the fire, fetched plates and glasses from the drying rack, and set out bread and cheese and a pitcher of water, before she slipped through the heavy door. She was dressed in a long white nightdress covered with an embroidered white robe, and her strawberry-blond hair was unbound down her back. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and she put a finger to her lips as she settled onto the stool beside him. He nodded. He had already sensed the presence of the butler making one last circuit of the great hallway before going off to seek his own bed.

They cut off thick slices of bread and layered them with equally thick slices of cheese, eating for a while in companionable silence. Then, “He’s gone,” Cammon said, keeping his voice low.

“I’m glad you were willing to come meet me,” she said straightaway. “I couldn’t bear to have you angry at me all night. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep.”

He poured glasses of water for both of them. “It’s not my place to be angry at the things you tell and don’t tell. I should be apologizing for behaving badly. But I’m still—it’s a lot to try to understand all at once.”

“You think I have a terrible kind of magic,” she said.

He was astonished and turned to stare at her by the rosy light of the half-dead fire. “What? What kind of thing is that to say?”

She nodded. “You do! Magic that steals from other people. What sort of power is that? It’s mean and spiteful, that’s what.”

He took a bite of his bread and chewed it, considering. “Is that what
you
think?” he said at last.

She hunched her shoulders and looked down at her plate. “Maybe. It doesn’t seem very pretty—like Senneth’s magic, or Kirra’s. It just seems—I don’t want to be a thief! I don’t want people to be afraid of me! People already keep their distance from me because I’m the princess. If they think I’ll
take
things from them, just borrow their power whenever I want to—well, no one will be comfortable with me. No one will want to be near me.” She hesitated and then, in a small voice, added, “Particularly mystics.”

It was a reasonable fear, he thought. And yet…“To my knowledge, no mystics have ever been allowed to choose their magic,” Cammon replied. “They were endowed with it, or forced to accept it, no matter what they wanted. So mystics will understand this is not a power you sought out—merely a power you need to comprehend.”

“I think they will hate me,” Amalie said, still in that soft voice. “As they hate Coralinda Gisseltess. As they hate the Pale Mother. I have been touched by the wrong god.”

Cammon cut another slice of bread. “As to that, you might talk to Ellynor—once you’ve decided it’s safe to discuss secrets. She lived at Lumanen Convent for a year and worshipped the Pale Mother along with the other novices. I think she’s rather fond of the Silver Lady, to tell you the truth. She might be able to tell you some tales that will make you a little happier to fall under her protection.”

Amalie glanced over at him, her face showing the first stirrings of hope. “Do you think so? Because right now I don’t think I could ever honor the same goddess that Coralinda Gisseltess loves.”

He wasn’t sure how to phrase this. “Have you been—do you think—have you found yourself hating yourself a little because of the magic in your blood?”

She nodded vigorously. “Yes! Ever since I realized how strong my own magic was. And today I hate it even more because I realize Coralinda Gisseltess possesses the same kind of power. If she’s evil—”

“It doesn’t necessarily follow that
you
are,” he said swiftly. “Though I have to say it makes everything more complicated.”

She brooded a moment. “I wanted to tell you,” she said at last. “Valri was so afraid you would find out, but I wanted to tell you. It’s just been—it’s so
heavy.
Knowing that there is something deep in your heart that will make people despise you, waiting for the day when they learn it—the day they turn away from you in horror. I—I wanted you to find out.” She gave him one fleeting glance and looked away again. “I did foolish things, to give you clues.”

“The raelynx.”

She nodded. “I had to know. What face you would show me when you discovered the truth.”

“I’m sorry it was such a shocked face today, then,” he said, instantly full of remorse. “But—it
hurt
—and there was so much to understand, all at once—”

She laughed softly. “Oh, I thought you would curse me and run from the room. The fact that you stayed and were willing to
talk
to me—I never hoped for so much.”

Sweet gods, what a desperately lonely life she had led. She had no concept of how much strain the bonds of friendship could bear. Without thinking about it, he reached over and laid his hand on her wrist. “Amalie,” he said. “Nothing you do or say or
are
could ever turn me against you.”

She twisted her hand so she could take hold of his, but she didn’t look at him. “I don’t think that’s true,” she said. “People turn against their friends all the time. I don’t know the reasons. Maybe I’ll do something at some point to disgust you or repulse you, and then you’ll leave. That could happen.”

He laughed back in his throat. “I think it’s more likely to work the other way. You’ll get tired of me or annoyed with me and send me away.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Or your husband will. He might not like to have me loitering about the palace all the time, scowling every time I see him.”

That made her smile, and she gave him a sideways glance. “Why would you be scowling?”

“Because I’ll be jealous of him, of course! Married to you!” He said it lightly but his stomach twisted. It was the first time he had admitted the thought out loud, though it had dwelt at the back of his mind for weeks.

She shrugged a little and her fingers tightened. “Maybe I won’t find a husband right away.”

That made his heart leap, though he sternly told it to hunker back down. “I think you’re supposed to. I think that’s what everyone wants you to do.”

She straightened her posture and tossed back a lock of hair. She was recovering some of her habitual poise and a little of her playfulness. “Maybe it’s not what
I
want. Maybe I won’t do what everyone tells me to do.”

“That’s something I’ve noticed,” he said. “Lots of times you don’t.”

“So will you stay then?”

He gave her as much of a bow as he could muster while sitting on a stool and holding her hand in his. “Majesty, I am yours to command.”

She finally turned to face him, frowning a little. “No, I
mean
it. Will you stay as long as I’m not married?”

For a moment, he simply stared at her, and she stared back. They were still handfast; the warm, shadowy kitchen seemed a place of comfort and ease, a place to share secrets. “Amalie, I will stay as long as you want me to,” he replied slowly. “But you should not let—let—your friendship for me stop you from making an advantageous match. Valri and Senneth would banish me from Ghosenhall altogether if they thought that.”

Her dark eyes were extremely wide. “I wouldn’t say it was because of you. I would just say that I don’t want to get married right now.”

He felt a brief smile come to his lips. “They might not find that a very good reason.”

She whispered, “But I
don’t
want to get married just now.”

She was still watching him, and now the expression on her face was half-pleading, half-afraid. Afraid he would not be able to tell what she wanted. Ah, but he was a reader, after all, and she had dismantled her safeguards. He could feel the confused tumble of her emotions—hope, longing, affection, nervousness, curiosity, daring, desire—and knew that he should drop her hand and leave the room. She was so young, she was so precious, and she was even more inexperienced than he was; he was the one who should walk away.

He leaned forward and kissed her.

Immediately he was awash in her feelings as well as his own. He felt as if he had been enfolded in gold, as if the air shimmered when he drew in breath. His own pleasure and excitement were added to hers and multiplied; both of them experienced both of their reactions. She liked the kiss, no doubt about that, and so he continued kissing her, lifting his free hand to draw her closer, bring her into a half-embrace made ridiculously awkward by the placement of their stools. The air grew even more golden; he was enveloped in a haze that replicated, in a translucent fashion, the precise color of Amalie’s hair. He was flushed with heat and tingling with delight—or she was—or they both were.

Kissing Murrie had never been like this.

Kissing Murrie had led to—

Shocked, he lifted his head and stared down at her again. The gold mist abruptly evaporated, and so did Amalie’s feelings of warm satisfaction. She was afraid again.

“What?” she said. “What did I do wrong?”

He pushed himself back on his stool, resettled himself, but didn’t release her hand as he absolutely should have, except she looked so woebegone. “Not you.
Me
,” he said with emphasis. “I can’t be kissing the princess in the kitchens! And—and thinking all kinds of things! Amalie, I’m sorry.”

Now she pouted. “I wanted you to kiss me.” And then a little sideways smile. “And I liked it.”

He strangled on what should have been a laugh. “Well, yes, so did I, but—by the Bright Mother’s burning eye! It’s practically a treasonable offense.”

“I’m sure my father kissed plenty of girls before he married my mother,” she said.

“You know it’s not the same thing. You could probably kiss any number of serramar, too, and no one would think a thing.”

“Toland Storian,” she said in a provocative tone. “He kissed me.”

Cammon felt himself glowering. “I thought he did. I wished I could have punched him.”

“But I didn’t like it when
he
kissed me.”

She didn’t add the obvious corollary. Cammon put his free hand to his forehead and tried not to laugh. “You don’t understand,” he said. “I’m not very good at knowing how to do the proper thing. The expected thing. I don’t comprehend—” He waved his hand as if to indicate the whole kitchen, but he really meant to refer to the entire country. “About nobles and peasants, lords and ordinary people. What’s the difference between them? So part of me doesn’t understand why it is that I’m not good enough to kiss a princess.” He glanced over at her, still rubbing his fingers against his forehead. “And part of me does.”

She assumed her loftiest expression and touched his shoulder with the fingers of her right hand. “If your princess commands you—”

He released her hand and stood up, trying to smile. “Nobody is going to think that’s a good enough reason for me to act so badly.”

She stood up, too, looking a little lost, trying to hide it by smoothing down her nightdress and glancing around the kitchen. Her distress was clear to him, though, and he wanted to put his arms around her again. How was it possible that
he
had to be the one to preach propriety? He was the oblivious and feckless one too blithe to anticipate consequences. Why did
he
have to be the one to behave?