Sharon Shinn: Reader And Raelynx

“Just wait and see how invisible I can be.”

She disappeared, and there was a long, boring wait before anything happened. Cammon perched on the edge of one of the chairs and talked idly to the footmen who would be stationed at other posts around the room. When they heard a rumble of conversation in the adjoining room, they all took their places and assumed solemn expressions, folding their hands behind their backs.

Finally, finally, the door swung back and King Baryn entered, followed by about twenty guests. The king was tall and thin, with wispy gray hair and a mischievous expression. Queen Valri, who entered at his side, could not have looked more different. She was small-boned and delicate, with a porcelain-white face set off by very short, very lustrous black hair and eyes of an incredible shade of green. She was also at least forty years younger than her husband-twenty-five or so to his sixty-five. In no way did they appear to be well suited. Yet, as always, Cammon picked up from Baryn a strong sense of affection and trust for his young queen, underlying all the complicated intellectual exercises that the king was engaged in as he prepared to entertain a foreign dignitary over a meal.

From Valri herself, Cammon received no impressions whatsoever. So it had been last summer, no matter how much time they spent together. It was as if she had built herself that walled stone structure that Jerril had described, and set herself within it, and refused to let anyone else inside. If she loved her husband, if she hated him, Cammon could not tell from magic. But she stationed herself at the foot of the table, facing him; she watched him closely; she seemed to pick up his unspoken signals with the ease of long companionship. Cammon’s guess was that she was devoted to him, but he had nothing he would consider to be proof.

Behind them came Amalie on the arm of the Karyndein ambassador. Cammon allowed himself a moment to be pleased at the picture she made-gold hair, gold dress, gold jewelry, smiling face-before turning his attention to the man at her side. The Karyndein man was not particularly tall but solidly built, with thick dark hair, swarthy skin, and a pronounced mustache. A certain coarseness to his look was counteracted by his smile, which was wide and seemed genuine. Cammon guessed him to be in his midthirties. Young, for an ambassador. Maybe he was the same age as the prince they wanted to force poor Amalie to marry. Even so, thought Cammon somewhat darkly, thirty-five made a bad match for nineteen.

Cammon couldn’t get a true read of either Amalie or the ambassador, and he was starting to feel aggrieved. From Amalie, he picked up a froth of excitement and happiness-she loved being in company, she loved all the attention and the scripted flattery-but the information was faint, little more than he could have gleaned from merely watching her face. Someone, sometime, had taught her how to shield. He had not expected to be able to scan the ambassador’s thoughts, but he tried anyway, circling the other man’s mind like a hawk quartering a meadow, seeking elusive prey. But the quarry was all burrowed in, safe underground, not to be flushed out.

Senneth was right behind Amalie, escorted by the regent, and both of them were so easy to read that Cammon relaxed again. Senneth’s mind, as always, was full of glancing observations, quick assessments, and equal parts worry, humor, and readiness. Romar Brendyn, on the other hand, was all business. He was here to support his king, protect his niece, make alliances with foreign nations, and stop trouble from coming to the realm. Very little pretense or subterfuge about Romar Brendyn.

The others filed in and Cammon scanned them all, but everyone seemed to be just as they presented: aristocrats eager to serve their liege, thinking of little more than prestige, honor, and reputation. No one posing a danger.

“Thank you all for coming,” Baryn said, and nodded at his wife. “My dear, shall we be seated?”

The meal seemed to go on forever, and Cammon was soon wishing he’d eaten something before taking up his position, because it was torture to stand so close to such delicious food and know he couldn’t even snatch a morsel. He couldn’t resist, just once, sending Senneth a quick, pitiful wail of I’m hungry! -not as plain as that, of course, because she wasn’t sensitive enough to pick up actual words, but clear enough for her to get the idea. She started, gave him one narrowed, reproving look, and then turned her attention back to the ambassador. She tried to keep her face serious, but he could tell she was having trouble holding back a smile.

Cammon had been so intent on listening to the interior monologues that he hadn’t paid much attention to the audible conversation, but that changed when the Karyndein ambassador abruptly came to his feet.

“Esteemed king, gracious queen, noble guests, most beautiful princess,” he said, bowing in the appropriate directions as he spoke. His voice was heavily accented, but his pronunciation was perfect. “I have so much enjoyed my brief stay here and am looking forward to another week in your excellent company. I would like to express my appreciation-indeed, the appreciation of all Karyndein-with a humble gift. May I have my servants bring it in now?”

Cammon doubted there was anything humble about the offering. It was no doubt the item that Areel had sensed “glowing” in the foreigner’s carriage when it arrived at the gates of the city. He straightened a little (it seemed he had started to slump), but so did everyone else in the room. What might a man from Karyndein consider rich enough to serve as a gift to a king? It would have to be quite special.

“Most certainly you may send for it,” Baryn said, and one of the footmen disappeared out the door. “But my dear Khoshku, how unexpected! You did not have to buy our favor with lavish attentions.” This was a lie, as Cammon could plainly tell. Everyone expected an exchange of expensive gifts. Baryn had a pile of them ready to give Khoshku before he sailed for home.

“Just a trifle, a small sample, something that is very common in Karyndein and we thought perhaps would be unusual and welcome in Gillengaria.”

Talk continued in the same vein while they awaited the arrival of Khoshku’s servants. Footmen circled the table, refilling glasses and removing plates. Some of the guests whispered to each other, speculating about the nature of the gift.

It took two men to carry in the long, slim casket that held Karyndein’s treasure. The box was made of a bright metal that looked more yellow than gold, and it was randomly studded with an array of jewels. The servants carried it by handles welded to either end, and they wore gloves on their hands to keep from leaving fingerprints.

One of the men was from Karyndein and impervious to Cammon’s quick scrutiny, but the other was from Gillengaria. That’s odd, Cammon thought. The Gillengaria man wore Karyndein livery and kept his head ducked down as if overwhelmed by such unfamiliar surroundings. Cammon wondered if one of Khoshku’s own servants had fallen ill on the road, and this man had been pressed into service, hired at a roadside inn, perhaps, or even supplied by Baryn when Khoshku arrived shorthanded.

Cammon pressed a little harder, poking at the other man’s mind as he might poke at an anthill, waiting for something to spill out. There was a furtive excitement there, belying the stoic attitude, and it was starting to expand to almost uncontainable proportions with every slow step the two men took toward Baryn’s chair. Then an image flashed into the man’s mind-brief and clear-a vision of himself dropping his end of the casket, pulling free a hidden knife, leaping for the king-

“ Senneth !” Cammon cried, and then the whole room went mad.