Sharon Shinn - Reader And Raelynx

IFCammon had had to describe his emotional state during the next week, he would have called it sublimely content. Justin was back-the others had not yet departed-Amalie wanted to see him every morning-and Jerril was coming to the palace to practice magic. Nothing was missing from his life; every ingredient that he considered essential was solidly in place.

Three more suitors arrived that week, so Cammon had little chance for private conversation with Amalie. Instead, he and Valri and assorted Riders spent an aggregate of hours lurking behind the false walls and eavesdropping on three varieties of wooing. This should have been tedious in the extreme, but somehow it was not. Valri had had a couple of chairs and a small table hauled in, all of them just narrow enough to fit in the secret corridor, and she and Cammon sat there during every interview and silently played cards. When part of the conversation caught their attention, they would look up from their game and either laugh silently, or show their surprise, or roll their eyes and grimace in distaste. This made the hours pass in an entertaining fashion and kept Cammon from thinking too hard about the cold reality underlying the whole exercise: The princess was trying to pick her husband. He didn’t know why he so much disliked the idea of her getting married.

One reason, perhaps, was that none of the latest crop of beaux seemed remotely worthy of her. The first one was quite young, rather tongue-tied, and extremely nervous. Amalie was gentle with him, but Cammon didn’t need her critique afterward to know she had not considered him appealing. The second was older, very polished, and superficially agreeable, but Cammon found something about him to be repulsive. Maybe it was that Cammon sensed cold calculation in his admiring compliments and honeyed phrases. Maybe it was that Amalie laughed a great deal during their extended and playful conversation.

“You seemed to enjoy your visit with the Tilt lord,” Valri remarked once the suitor had gone off to change for dinner.

“He’s a toad,” Amalie said calmly. “He kept looking around the room as if wondering what it would be like to own the whole palace. And looking at me like-well. Like he was wondering what it would be like to own me. ”

Valri seemed amused. “You’ve become rather an expert at concealing what you’re thinking, then. I couldn’t tell you disliked him.”

“I find it easier to pretend when I don’t like someone,” she said. “I might be more nervous when I do.”

She was not nervous in the presence of the third suitor, a Nocklyn man old enough to be her father. The noble had seated himself, accepted a glass of wine, and traded trivialities for a few moments before he broke off his speech with a laugh.

“I cannot believe a nineteen-year-old girl looks at me and sees a potential husband,” he said. “I am here because Mayva Nocklyn asked me to make a case for myself, not because I expect to win your hand. So let me enumerate all the advantages of my rank and station, and you can listen politely. Once that is all out of the way, we can talk of other things. I imagine that will be a much more pleasant way to pass the day.”

There was a smile in Amalie’s voice. “I imagine it will.”

Valri, who had been contemplating her discard when the lord started speaking, paused long enough to listen to this little interchange. Now she glanced at Cammon with her eyebrows raised, as if to ask, Is he sincere? Cammon, whose own hand was unplayable, nodded back. There was no lust for power, no lust for a young girl’s body, hovering over this middle-aged swain. Cammon saw Valri’s face sharpen with interest; she started weighing the advantages of an unpretentious, settled older man who treated his young bride with kindness.

Cammon frowned at her and mouthed, Too old . Valri shrugged and pointed at herself. Look at me , she meant, married to a man in his sixties. Cammon’s frown grew more pronounced. Different , he said silently. She gave a half-smile and shook her head. Not really . Cammon disagreed, but it was impossible to explain why, given the circumstances.

Amalie seemed to be enjoying her conversation with the amiable Nocklyn lord, which didn’t particularly cheer Cammon. The visitor was describing the crops his lands yielded and the markets where he sold them.

“Do you trade with foreign merchants?” she asked, as if she was really interested.

“Sometimes with Sovenfeld,” he answered. “I’ve been looking toward Arberharst, but I’m not sure what they produce there that would be worth the exchange.”

Honey spice , Cammon thought, imagining those great fields heavy with bright red flowers.

“Honey spice, perhaps?” Amalie said in the most natural voice.

Cammon laid down his cards and stared at the partition as if he could see right through it. Did she know that? Or had she picked up the thought in his head? Valri looked at him curiously, but he was too focused on the dialogue on the other side of the screen to glance in her direction.

“I’ve heard of it,” the Nocklyn man admitted, “but never tasted it. What’s it like?”

Amalie hesitated for a second. Cammon thought, Richer than cinnamon, and a little rougher . Amalie said, “It’s a little like cinnamon, but the flavor is a bit stronger.”

Cammon felt his hands contract into fists.

“So, it’s used in baking? Sweets and pastries, that sort of thing?”

And some meat dishes like chicken.

“I believe some people also use it when they’re cooking poultry.”

“Might be a market for it in the four corners,” the Nocklyn man said. Fortunalt, Gisseltess, Brassenthwaite, and Danalustrous were the four Houses on the “corners” of Gillengaria and widely regarded as the most sophisticated of the Twelve.

You can buy it in Ghosenhall , Cammon thought, but it’s expensive .

“There are a few specialty shops here in the city that carry it, I believe,” Amalie said. “If you wanted to try it. You might ask them where they get their supplies and if they would be interested in another source.”

There was a smile in the man’s voice. “I’ll do that-if I decide I want to expand my trading circle over the ocean.”

“My father likes the idea of more foreign commerce,” Amalie said, and they were off on a topic that she knew better than Cammon did. He took a deep breath, relaxed his shoulders, and turned to look at Valri again.

The queen was watching him closely, her green eyes narrowed to slits. She did not look happy. He wasn’t sure what to tell her. But it was clear that, no matter what kind of magic Valri was conjuring to keep Amalie safe, it only worked in one direction. Amalie’s thoughts and emotions might be cloaked from the world, hidden so expertly that even a reader like Cammon could not uncover them. But he could communicate with her. He could cast his magic like a net and let it settle invisibly over her shining hair-and Amalie welcomed its arrival, tilted back her head as if to absorb it through her skin. He wasn’t sure which Valri would find more alarming-that Amalie was susceptible to enchantment, or that she delighted in it.

The instant Amalie accompanied the Nocklyn lord out of the room and the door shut behind them, Valri clutched Cammon’s arm. “What did you do?” she demanded. “Were you putting thoughts in her mind? How can you do that?”

He didn’t know how to play this. “I’m not exactly sure,” he said cautiously. “She did seem to be picking up on some of the things I was thinking.”

Valri shook his arm. “You shouldn’t be able to do that. She shouldn’t be able to hear you.”