CAMMON 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?
“I guess this is the reason Valri didn’t think I should spend too much time alone with you,” he said, attempting to speak lightly.
She gave a little shrug. “I think she was more afraid of what you would find out about my magic.” She was completely depressed.
He couldn’t bear it. “Amalie.” When she didn’t look at him, he put his hand under her chin and tilted her face up. “Amalie. You’re wrong in what you’re thinking.”
She jerked her head away. “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“Oh, yes, I do.”
And, because it was so much easier not to say the words aloud, he let them reach her silently. You’re embarrassed. You’re afraid I think you’re silly. You’re afraid I don’t like you. You wish you knew what I was thinking, because maybe I do like you. You wish you weren’t the princess. You wish that I was somebody else.
“No,” she said. The rest of his words had only made her blush, but this last sentence made her speak up. “No. I want you to be exactly who you are.”
He smiled. Maybe that was me, wishing I was somebody else. Someone who had a right to court a princess.
She turned away, blushing still, but a little less forlorn. “I can’t do that,” she said. “I can hear you, but I can’t put thoughts in your head that clearly.”
Whatever else you take away from this night, you should know at least two things, he said. I never, never, never want to hurt you. And I am pretty sure you’re going to break my heart.
Her chin went up at that. “Why would I? And say it out loud.”
He smiled, shrugged, looked away, smiled again. “Because one day pretty soon, you’re going to marry one of those serramar after all.”
That made her happy. His wretchedness and jealousy chased away her own insecurities, and now she was just another pretty girl who’d been kissed by a man she liked more than she wanted to admit. She smiled, ducked her head, failed to keep another blush at bay, and suddenly whirled around and headed for the door. He didn’t follow. She paused with her hand on the frame and gave him one quick look over her shoulder. Her words came to him, shaky and tentative and not entirely intelligible.
Maybe I won’t.
And then she giggled and swept through the door, into the dark corridor.
Cammon stood there a long moment, wondering exactly what she’d meant.
Maybe she wouldn’t marry? Or maybe she wouldn’t break his heart?
HE met Senneth and Tayse on the outskirts of Ghosenhall two days later. He had borrowed a horse and gone riding toward their small party, grinning at the exasperation Senneth was feeling toward her fresh recruits. Tayse exuded far more patience, though Cammon guessed it hadn’t been an easy trip for any of them. He could pick up a motley impression of their varied companions, full of awe and excitement and the sheer love of change that was inherent in every mystic. The city loomed before them, dazzling with promise. All of them were both eager and uneasy at the thought of stepping through the gates.
“A good trip, I take it,” Cammon greeted them as he pulled his horse around to ride alongside Senneth.
She gave him one quick, irascible look and decided not to answer. Tayse said, “We had a few inconveniences along the way.”
Cammon grinned. Just having them nearby was righting his sense of balance, seriously off-center for the past two days. “Why don’t you introduce me to everybody?”
Senneth arched her eyebrows at him, clearly asking why he had called her back to Ghosenhall so urgently if he was just going to engage in small talk when she arrived. “Do you have a few moments?” she asked pointedly.
He nodded. “Yes, of course. Though I have something I need to tell you.”
“I can take this lot to Jerril’s house,” Tayse offered.
“All right,” Senneth said. She turned in her saddle and began motioning people forward. “This is Baxter, he’s a shape-shifter.”
It took about fifteen minutes to go through the roster. Cammon picked up significant reserves of power from three of the mystics and made it a point to memorize their names. The others had a range of talents that would come in useful, but not as much ability as those three.
“Cammon’s a reader,” Senneth finished up. “So only think kind thoughts when he’s around.”
He grinned. “Something she herself never bothers to do.”
Tayse put up his right hand and motioned the others forward. They were nearly at the city gates now, and they were encountering all sorts of traffic. “Come with me. I’ll take you to the house where you’ll be boarding.”
Cammon and Senneth reined their own horses to a walk as the mystics pulled away. “You got a few really good ones,” he said. “That redheaded girl? She’s strong.”
“Really? She was so quiet on the whole journey that I began to wonder if I should even have brought her along.”
“Oh, I think so.”
“Now, what’s going on here? Why did you call me?”
So many parts to this tale. And the parts that would shock her most he wasn’t even going to share. “We were right. Amalie is a mystic. And so was her mother.”
Senneth took a deep breath. “How did you find out? Did she confide in you?”
“It gets much worse. So stay calm.”
“Just tell me.”
“Some young lord from Coravann is going to come calling next week, and he sent her a gift in advance. A moonstone necklace. She put it on and-”
“And it burned her skin? Bright Mother strike me blind. She’s going to be in all sorts of situations where people wearing moonstones will approach her and take her hand-”
“That’s not what happened,” he said quietly. “It burned me.”
She pulled her horse to a stop. “I don’t understand.”
“You remember that little lioness charm that Kirra carries around with her? I could take it in my hand and I could use it to pour some of my power into her. You remember that?”
Senneth was clearly bewildered. “Yes, but-”
“The moonstone is like that, I think. It can channel power. Or, more truly, it can steal power. Take it from a mystic and give it to whoever is wearing the charm.”
Now she was frowning. “But that can’t be true. I’ve been around plenty of people who were wearing moonstones and they didn’t seem to pull any power from me.”
“Well, you’re different anyway. You can wear a moonstone and it scarcely bothers you. But the real reason those people couldn’t pull power from you, I think, was because they weren’t mystics, too.”
“That makes even less sense! Kirra and Donnal can’t touch a moonstone, let alone use it to-”
Her voice trailed off. She was staring at him. He nodded. “It only works for a certain kind of mystic. A true Daughter of the Pale Mother.”
“Coralinda Gisseltess,” Senneth whispered.
“A thief mystic,” Cammon said. “Just like Amalie.”
“By all the forgotten gods.” She took a moment to absorb the information, turn it over in her mind, seek out the logical implications. She urged her horse forward again and Cammon rode beside her in silence while she worked it out. “Does Coralinda know she’s a mystic? Has this whole persecution been a sham?”
“Only she could tell us that. But I think she’s a sincere fanatic. You remember, I met her when we were in Coravann. She’s awfully powerful, so she could have been shielding, but I didn’t pick up anything from her but blazing righteousness.”
“Well, you didn’t pick up magic, either, so obviously you weren’t reading her entirely right.”
He gave her a hurt look. “It doesn’t read like other kinds of magic. It’s the opposite of magic.”
“Wait a minute,” Senneth said. “When we were in Coravann. You escorted Coralinda across the room. She took your arm. She was dripping with moonstones. And that didn’t bother you? That didn’t burn your skin?”
He shook his head. “No. But when she touched Kirra, Kirra was desperately in pain.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s easier for thief mystics to steal from some than from others. Maybe Amalie’s stronger than Coralinda and can pull power from farther away.” Maybe I am more attuned to Amalie and thus she finds it easier to rifle through the pockets of my soul.
“Oh, I don’t even want to think about what this means!” Senneth groaned. “It was too complicated before!”
He smiled briefly. “And it might be even more complicated.”
She gave him a suspicious look. “Why’s that?”
“I keep wondering. If the moonstones feed the energy of other mystics to Coralinda, why does she want them dead? That just eliminates her source of power.”
“But if she doesn’t realize she’s a mystic, she doesn’t understand what she’s doing to herself,” Senneth pointed out.
“I guess that could be the reason.”
“You have a different theory.”
“Well. She hates us so much. She believes so passionately that she’s right to hate us. I have to assume that every time a mystic dies, she feels an intense sense of satisfaction-a validation of what she’s done. A sense of well-being…”
He let his voice trail off as he watched understanding come to her face. Understanding and horror. “You think she feeds off death? That’s what boosts her power?”
“I think it’s possible. She might feed off of torture as well.”
“Bright Mother burn me,” Senneth said. “I think I’m going to be sick. And this is the power that Amalie carries? This dreadful kind of magic?”
“Don’t say that!” he cried.
Senneth looked surprised. “Well, I wouldn’t. Not to her. But-”
“She had that very thought herself, and she was so upset, but it’s not the same! Magic responds to the will of the man-Jerril taught me that, and I have to guess he taught you, too. Coralinda has chosen to twist and misuse her power, but Amalie won’t. Amalie will make something good and useful out of it. But not if people-especially other mystics, who ought to know better!-treat her like she’s corrupt and evil!”
Senneth’s eyes had widened at this impassioned defense. “Of course I don’t believe Amalie is evil. But to learn that the heir to the realm is another Daughter of the Pale Mother-Cammon, I have to admit that gives me pause. That gives me nightmares.”
“The Pale Mother is not evil, either,” he said stiffly.
“She rejoices when she sees mystics burned to death!”
He shook his head. “No. Coralinda does. Not the goddess.”
“You can’t possibly know that! You might be a powerful reader, but I don’t think you can scan the minds of the gods.”
“Ask Ellynor,” he said. “She knows more of the Silver Lady than any of us do. Except-well, you can’t ask Ellynor because Valri made me swear to tell no one about Amalie.”
“I’m glad you didn’t keep that promise!”
“I told her there was no way I could try to keep the secret from you. And that you wouldn’t keep it from Tayse, but that we would tell no one else. At least right now.”
Senneth sighed and slumped in her saddle. “And I thought the trip was the hard part. I thought life would get easier once I was back in Ghosenhall. Though I have bad news of my own.”
“I could tell something went wrong,” he said, “but I couldn’t tell what.”
“Old mystic from Carrebos. Couldn’t travel with us but he came in to show off his magic. He has some control over water, it appears. He said the ocean revealed to him that there is a fleet of ships gathering off the coast of Fortunalt. Sounded like warships, full of foreign soldiers.”
Cammon felt alarm register separately in his skull, his stomach, his elbows, and his knees. “Come to war on Gillengaria?”
“That’s what it looks like. Imported by our rebel southern Houses.”
“Then-why haven’t they landed and come to attack us?”
“Tayse says they’re waiting for spring.” She held a hand up as if to test for reprieve in the air. “And it’s not that far off. A month, maybe less, and this hard weather will be over.”
Cammon swallowed against a lump of fear. “Senneth-what do we do?”
She gave him a grim smile. “We prepare for war.”