Sharon Shinn - Reader And Raelynx

“Oh, so now she wants you to lecture me while she’s gone?”

Justin shook his head. “I’m just wondering if it’s true.”

Cammon used his fingernail to pick at a drop of gravy crusted on the table. “We’re a lot alike.”

“You and the princess ?”

“We are. We grew up lonely. We’re happiest when there are people around us-some activity going on. You know I hate to be by myself. So does she, except there’s no one she can make friends with, so she is by herself a lot of the time. It makes me want to-It just makes me want to spend time with her. Chase away the loneliness.”

Justin nodded. “You could probably do that, you know, despite what Senneth says. You could be her friend. Maybe she’d turn you into her steward someday. You could be like Milo, always around the palace, someone she could rely on completely. It wouldn’t be a bad life.”

Cammon felt a sharp well of dissatisfaction at the picture, but couldn’t exactly say why. “I hate Milo!”

Justin grinned. “He does his job. And Baryn trusts him absolutely. And if the princess trusts you-well, it might be a good fit.”

Cammon shrugged, then nodded. It was hard to imagine wanting to hold any position at the palace once Amalie was married. Why would she need him? Why would he want to stay?

“So where are they now?” Justin asked, changing the subject without a transition. But Cammon was used to the question, since Justin had asked it daily. “Are they still in Carrebos?”

“I think so. They seem to be staying put at the moment.” He sipped his beer. “And they seem to be pleased with whatever they’re doing.”

Justin stretched out his long legs and shook back his sandy hair. He looked utterly at ease, almost sleepy. Cammon felt someone in the bar gaze over at them with sharpened attention.

“You haven’t had too much to drink, have you?” he asked softly.

Justin gave him a slow grin. “Why? Some hot-blooded young kid with a sword thinking he wants to start a fight with a drunken Rider?”

“Something like that.”

Justin seemed to relax even more. “That won’t go so well. But thanks for the warning.”

“Thoughts of violence are like shouts in my head. I can block out almost everything else, but those always come through.”

“What I find interesting is that you always know where we are.” Justin never specified “we.” It was always clear whom he meant. “Without even thinking about it. We’re just there, in your head, all the time.”

Cammon nodded. “Pretty much.”

“What about Ellynor? Does she register with you the same way?”

Cammon leaned forward and used his finger to make a circle on the table from a few spilled drops of beer. “I can only sense Ellynor when you’re with her-and then only because I can feel her effect on you. It’s like she pulls part of your attention in her direction.” He drew his thumb through the circle to create a short streak of wetness. “So, I can tell if she’s with you, but that’s the best I can do.”

“Still. That’s not bad,” Justin said. “Who else? Your tutor friend, what’s his name?”

“Jerril? I can find him right away if I look for him but he’s not always there in my mind like the rest of you are.”

“The king?”

“Same.”

“The princess?”

Cammon opened his mouth to answer and then jerked his head back and stared at Justin-who stared right back at him, his expression just slightly edged with malice. A trap, and Cammon had fallen into it. Cammon hadn’t even realized it, hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t examined it. But there she was, Amalie, a faint and flickering light on the border of his consciousness. Cammon could leave this bar, head back to the palace, climb any set of stairs, traverse any corridor, and go directly to whatever room held Amalie. He knew where she was, he could feel her, she had become one of his constant internal beacons, part of the ordinary and familiar texture of his life.

And this despite Valri’s magic.

And this despite the fact that Amalie had scarcely spoken to him in a week.

“That’s what I thought,” Justin said.

He wasn’t sure what to say. “It’s not something I have any control over.”

“It might not be something you ought to mention too often.”

“Don’t tell Senneth.”

Justin grinned crookedly. “She seems to be working it out for herself.”

There wasn’t a good answer for that, either, but fortunately there was a distraction as the restless young stranger across the room stood up. “Justin,” Cammon said in a low voice. “He’s going to try.”

Justin’s body went even looser. “I suppose he is.”

There was a sudden hurtling shape, and the stranger practically dove toward Justin where he lolled back in his chair. Justin’s glass went crashing to the floor, and the table legs screeched across the stone. Justin was on his feet before the attacker’s first punch landed. He responded with a furious battering of his fists that had the young man tripping backward and holding his arms up, trying to shield his face. Across the bar a woman screamed, and a few of the other patrons were shouting. Cammon sensed a wash of mixed emotions from the foolhardy young man-rage, then pain, then fear-but from Justin, only calm focus and precise, almost mechanical decisions. Justin was born to fight; he was absolutely and completely in control when he faced any kind of opponent. He wasn’t even unleashing his full strength on this poor excuse for an assailant. He hadn’t drawn a blade and wasn’t trying to inflict any damage. A few rough minutes-incontestable proof that he was not to be beaten, at least by this foe-and Justin raised his arms and backed away.

“All done here?” he asked, and the stranger gasped out what was almost a sob and stumbled away. A few of the men who had witnessed the fight offered light applause. Cammon heard one or two of them make derisive comments about the young man’s ill-advised attempt to take on a Rider .

“Drunk or sober, I’d as soon box with a wildcat,” one of them said. “I’d rather take my chances with that raelynx they’ve got penned up at the palace.”

Justin grinned at Cammon, tossed a few coins to the table to pay for any damage, and nodded his head for the door. “I think the night’s already been interesting enough,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

INthe morning, Cammon had just slipped into one of his black uniforms when Milo arrived at his door.

“You won’t be needed this morning,” the steward informed him. “The queen is better but plans to keep to her room today. You are not to attend the princess.”

Cammon felt rebellious. “Perhaps I should check with the princess and see if she might want company today after all.”

“She is in her parlor,” Milo said, giving him a very stern look, “and left strict orders that she was not to be disturbed. Particularly by you.”

Cammon made a childish face at the door after it had closed behind Milo. Had the steward added that particularly by you bit, or had Amalie actually said the words as she stepped into the room that morning?

Cammon’s hands stilled midway through the act of undoing his jacket buttons. Except Amalie wasn’t in the parlor. She wasn’t even in the palace proper. Close-still on the grounds-but out of the building. And alone.

Valri would like that even less than she would like Cammon to spend the day with her.

He quickly rebuttoned his jacket, pulled on his boots and headed out, moving almost blindly through the corridors, following the insistent pull of Amalie’s presence. He almost tripped a scullery maid as he cut down a service stairway, which his instincts indicated was part of the shortest route to Amalie. He wasn’t even paying attention to what part of the palace he was in and found himself a little surprised when he emerged near the back garden.