Sharon Shinn - Reader And Raelynx

“Don’t dawdle on your way, now,” Lynnette had told him as she fixed his breakfast and fussed over him a little. He loved it when Lynnette fussed. Her fluttering attention could drive Areel mad, but Cammon couldn’t get enough of the quick pats on the arm, the additional offerings of food, the questions, the worrying. “Keep in mind that you have a destination , and don’t let yourself get sidetracked.”

Cammon grinned. Lynnette had been with him often enough when a quick walk to the marketplace had resulted in five detours because Cammon sensed someone needing assistance. Once they had come upon a man brutalizing a girl in the alley, his hand across her mouth to keep her from screaming. Lynnette had screeched for help and hit the attacker in the head with a rock, and other passersby had taken him down when he tried to run. Another time, Cammon had insisted they go inside a tumbledown, uninhabited building, and they’d found a baby whimpering there, half dead from neglect.

“Not even if it’s something important?” he teased.

“I think the princess is even more important,” she said in a firm voice.

So he’d bundled up some spare clothes and headed out for the palace, his mind half shielded to keep out the incessant rumble of other people’s thoughts. Mostly he managed to ignore the stray spikes of strong emotion that intruded anyway-a shrill scream that modulated into a laugh, a spasm of grief, a flare of anger-none of them seemed urgent or desperate. He did stop twice to give directions to individuals who stood on street corners looking confused and feeling helpless, but those moments of kindness took very little time, and anyone else would have done the same thing.

The gate to the palace grounds was guarded by four Riders, all of them familiar to him. “Hey, coming by to visit for a day?” one of them greeted Cammon. “Tired of playing at being a mystic, so now you want to play at being a swordsman?”

Cammon grinned. “I’ll never be as good at fighting as I will be at magic.”

“Is Justin coming back?” asked another. Her name was Wen and she was one of only five or six women good enough to be a Rider. She wasn’t very tall, but she was stocky and strong; Cammon had practiced against her often enough to know she was an excellent swordswoman. “Is that why you’re here?”

“He’s still in the Lirrens, from what I can tell,” Cammon replied.

“First Tayse married, and now Justin,” said one of the other Riders. “Makes you think anything can happen. The whole world can turn upside down.”

Wen laughed along with the others, but Cammon caught her buried pulse of regret. She had been half in love with Justin, not that Justin would ever have realized it. And now he’s gone and married himself some strange little creature from the Lirrens. Never even thought about me . Cammon hastily shut his mind, not wanting to eavesdrop on her thoughts, but he felt sorry for her all the same. He liked Wen a great deal, and he knew Justin considered her an excellent comrade. Clearly, that wasn’t enough for Wen.

“I’m here to see Senneth,” he said.

“At the palace,” Wen replied. “Go on in.”

It was still another twenty minutes before he tracked down Senneth. First he had to traverse the wide lawn from the gates to the palace doors, pass another checkpoint there, and then be escorted through the large, sumptuous building. The footman took him to a sunny room decorated in yellow and blue, where Senneth was writing someone a letter. Her brother, Cammon guessed, since she didn’t seem to feel especially warm toward the recipient.

She laid aside her pen with alacrity, and greeted him with a smile that turned quickly to a frown. “Is that the best you have to wear?” she asked. She was most unusually dressed-for her-in a long-sleeved blue gown with bits of lace at the throat and cuffs. Her white-blond hair was almost styled, pinned in place with a clip that sported a row of Brassenthwaite sapphires.

He glanced down at his clothes. “This is the sort of thing I always wear,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“You look like a street urchin, that’s what’s wrong.”

“I always look like a street urchin, according to you and Kirra.”

“And when’s the last time someone actually trimmed your hair ?”

“Maybe you should have cut it yourself last night.”

She sighed. “Come on. Let’s see if I can find any clothes that make you look more respectable.”

They both knew it was a hopeless task-no matter what he was wearing, Cammon always managed to look like he’d just come back from the ragpicker’s shop. He just didn’t care enough about things to figure out how to wear clothing. He was too focused on people.

But they hunted up Milo, the king’s steward, who took them to a huge and starchy-smelling room filled with hundreds of uniforms hanging from two levels of rods. Cammon wandered between the rows of jackets and trousers, fingering the woven cloth and elegant braid, and wondered what Areel would make of all these discards from previous fashions for royal servants. Between them, Milo and Senneth quickly culled out a half dozen outfits that they thought would be suitable, and then insisted that Cammon try them all on, one right after the other. He didn’t mind the part about getting half naked, but he was just a little annoyed about all the bother over outward appearances. As if that were what mattered.

They picked one, black with gold trim, and handed it back to Cammon. “We’ve set aside a room for Cammon’s use,” Milo said in his stately fashion. He was a staid and portly man who behaved with far more formality than King Baryn himself usually displayed. “Perhaps he would like to get himself cleaned and dressed.”

Now Cammon was surprised. “I’m to live here? I didn’t realize that.”

“No, but you might need to stay overnight when there are visitors for several days,” Senneth said. “We’re still working out some of the details.”

“If you’d come with me,” the steward said, and Cammon and Senneth followed him down the halls and up to a room on the third floor. It proved to be somewhat smaller than the ones reserved for Senneth and Kirra and other visiting serramara, but spotless.

“Quickly, now,” Senneth said as Milo departed. “We want you stationed in the dining hall before all the guests come in.”

So he changed into the black uniform, submitted to Senneth’s ruthless combing of his hair, washed his face again although he didn’t really think it was necessary, saw her roll her eyes and shrug at the scuff marks on his shoes, and finally she was willing to call him ready. Back down the stairs and through the hallways, past marble archways and rooms decorated with both gold and silver leaf, past statuary, past guards, past every variant of opulence.

She led him to the grand dining hall, very formal, the walls covered with murals interspersed with gilt-edged mirrors. Servants were busy laying the table, lighting candles, and checking the silver for invisible spots of tarnish.

“The king will sit here-Amalie here-the Karyndein envoy here,” Senneth said, pointing. “You could stand either there or there. What would work best for you?”

“It doesn’t really matter. If I could read him, I’d be able to read him from anywhere in the room, but Senneth-”

“I know. Just do what you can. I’ll be sitting on the other side of him, if that helps you any.”

He grinned. “Probably the opposite. You’re so clear in my head that you’ll probably just cover up anything he might be thinking.”

She looked annoyed, then she laughed. “I’ll try to keep my mind quiet. You try to stand there and do nothing to draw attention to yourself.”