Sharon Shinn - Reader And Raelynx

“Majesty,” Tayse said. “If you will have me, I will offer you my life, my loyalty, my sword, my steadfastness. I will not betray you, and I will not fail you.”

He stayed where he was, head down, so Amalie shook herself free of Cammon’s hold, stood up, and circled the table to place her hand on Tayse’s head. “I accept your vow, I welcome your fealty, I will trust you without reservation.” She glanced between them. “You are now Queen’s Riders, and I will deliver my life into your keeping.”

Senneth felt her throat thicken as she strove to keep from weeping. She glanced at Kirra, who wasn’t even trying. Her blue eyes were huge with tears and her cheeks were wet with them. Such sad poetry on a day of such ugliness. The vows were like miniscule candles held up on a limitless field of black-the smallest, most hopeless attempts to beat back the night. Senneth glanced at Amalie as the princess took her seat again. She thought there was a touch more color in Amalie’s cheeks now, as if these protestations of faith had supplied the princess with an indefinable source of strength. Or maybe Amalie’s face just reflected the pale glow from the late afternoon sunlight, streaming in at an almost horizontal angle through the high windows, and had nothing at all to do with those gifts of love.

THEYstayed another hour in the makeshift funeral chapel, discussing options, reviewing losses. Romar’s captain, a dour man named Colton, and some of the other Riders had pieced together a theory of how the attack had been launched. The city guard had been deployed in a ring outside the city to keep an army from marching on the palace. But these foreign assassins had slipped into the city in ones and twos, over the course of a few days, dressed as ordinary Gillengaria merchants. They were already through the protective ring before the day had even dawned. Still wearing their regular wools and linens, they had slowly spread themselves around the palace walls, loitering until some agreed-upon hour. Then they cast off their disguises and climbed into the compound.

“We found hundreds of jackets and cloaks lying on the ground just outside the palace,” Colton told them.

It made sense, but it was hardly any comfort. And it was only the barest comfort that the Riders and the motley array of mystics had managed to hold off a force about four times their size until reinforcements arrived.

“Did any of the attackers survive?” Senneth said. “Are they being questioned?”

Romar nodded. “About a dozen. And yes. Two of them have already given us names-but the names are hardly surprising.”

“Halchon Gisseltess,” Senneth said wearily. She rubbed the back of her skull. Her head was pounding. She had not employed much of her magic today, since it had proved so ineffectual, but rage-oh, that had sung through her body like a form of ecstasy. Her worst headaches tended to come from a combination of sorcery and anger, but this one was bad enough. “And Rayson Fortunalt.”

Romar nodded again. “I think it’s time we reply to the letter marlord Halchon sent, asking for a conference with the king. We can tell him the princess is not interested in any terms and she will not yield her throne to him. That will let him know she is alive still.”

Senneth gave him a grave look. “It will be his signal to go to war.”

Romar shook his head. “He has already gone to war. It will merely signal that we are prepared to fight back.”

Kirra said, “We need to know where his armies are. And if any of our allies have more troops to send us.”

Romar nodded. “I thought perhaps you and some of your mystic friends might take wing and carry messages across the kingdom.”

“I won’t,” Kirra said instantly. “I’m staying here. But I’m sure Donnal will be willing, and some of Senneth’s recruits.”

“Because now,” Romar said, “we need information almost as much as we need reinforcements. And we desperately need both.”

At last it seemed there was nothing left to discuss, and continued speculation was not benefiting them at all. By this time it was dark, though whether early or late dark Senneth could not tell. She was so weary she would not have been surprised to learn they had passed the last year in the dining hall, talking, after spending an entire year in battle.

“I think, for all of us, food and rest,” Senneth said, feeling her whole body protest as she came to her feet.

“First Amalie must release the Riders,” Tayse said. “And we must determine a schedule for the night watch.”

“No night watch for you ,” she protested. “You patrolled last night.”

He gave her a steady look from those dark eyes. “I am whole, and too many are not,” he said. “I will sleep early and take the later shift.”

If he considered it his duty to pursue that course, nothing she said would dissuade him. She sighed silently and followed the others from the room.

They encountered Justin in the hall, fetching supplies for Ellynor. Before Amalie had even opened her mouth, he dropped to his knees and offered his oath.

“Is it a mere formality, then?” Senneth whispered to Tayse as they proceeded. “All Riders pledge themselves to the new monarch?”

“No. In fact, there have been many instances in which virtually no Riders aligned themselves with a new ruler-and when a new ruler did not invite any standing Riders to ride under his banner. Those usually were cases when there was some tension between the king and his heir, for instance, or when most of the Riders actively disliked the new king or queen. But there are always some Riders who do not want to continue, for whatever reason. They are tired of the role, they are weary of the responsibility, they want to live a calmer life, or marry, or travel. There is no dishonor in declining to serve a new ruler. There is no shame in not being asked back to the royal court.”

“Sweet gods, I hope no one refuses Amalie today. I don’t know if we can spare another sword.”

He gave her an exceedingly sober smile. “No one will desert her. But some of them might relinquish their titles as Riders. They will stay till they are no longer needed, but they will no longer dedicate their lives to her protection.”

He was right, of course. They found about half of the Riders in the makeshift infirmary-the injured lying on their pallets or attempting to sit up, their healthier comrades doing what they could to ease them. Amalie glanced uncertainly at Tayse as they entered. He leaned down and murmured, “Approach them one by one. They will know why you are here.”

So she did, supported by Cammon and trailed by the raelynx. Senneth stayed by the door, leaning her aching head against the wall. She could not hear what passed between Amalie and the soldiers, but it was easy to tell how each case unfolded. Most of the Riders instantly swore their fealty to the princess. Even the hurt ones, those who could not kneel and bow their heads, put their shaky hands to their shoulders and whispered their oaths. But there were three or four who bowed their heads, and clasped their hands behind their backs, and gave Amalie a different answer.

“Will some of them change their minds?” Senneth asked Tayse. “Are they giving conditional responses?”

“Perhaps. We will know more once this war is over.”

She turned her head slightly to watch him. “So how does she find new Riders?”

“The news gets out among soldiers and civil guards-even mercenaries-and those who are interested will wend their way to the palace. Usually candidates are first assessed by other Riders before they are allowed to approach the king or queen. But sometimes royalty makes choices without any advice at all.”

“Yes, but-I mean, how? Amalie will be giving these people power over her life. She will allow them free run of the palace. How can she possibly know, after a few minutes’ conversation, if a stranger is someone she can trust?”