Sharon Shinn - Reader And Raelynx

“I’m proud of you, Benton. You fought well for me today. I am lucky to have soldiers like you in my army.”

“Majesty, I was glad to fight.”

The man was filthy, and streaks of blood still colored his face, but Amalie impulsively put her palm against his cheek. “Heal quickly,” she said in her soft voice. “May your pain be gone.”

As if he were that soldier lying on the ground, Cammon sensed the heat of her touch, experienced a jolt of magic along his bones, a golden sparkle, then darkness. Benton’s voice was thick with wonder. “Thank you, Majesty.”

She nodded, straightened up, and moved to the next bed. Again, she asked for the soldier’s name; again, she laid her hand against his skin and offered a quiet benediction. Again, Cammon felt that flare of magic, felt the pain ease back, grow tamer, more bearable. This soldier turned his head and pressed his lips against her wrist. “Thank you, Majesty,” he whispered.

At the third pallet, it was the same. At the fourth, Cammon caught her before she could speak to the soldier. “Amalie, what are you doing?” he murmured in her ear.

She turned toward him; the footing was so tricky that she practically had to lean against him to reply. “What do you mean?”

She didn’t even realize it. “Your touch. It’s acting like a narcotic. You’re taking away the pain-and I think you’re helping the healing begin. You’re dusting them with magic and it’s having a true effect.”

She was pleased. “Really? Is that why my hands tingle?”

“How did you learn to do that?”

“I don’t know. I saw Kirra lay her hands on a soldier’s face, so I thought I would just try it. I didn’t think it would do any good.”

He was indecisive. “I don’t want you to wear yourself down, using up magic you don’t even know you have.”

“Yes, but if I can give a few soldiers some comfort-after they have earned their wounds fighting for me !-I should do that, don’t you think? For as many as I can?”

“Maybe for the ones who hurt the most.”

She glanced around. “How can I tell that?”

He smiled a little grimly. “Oh, I can help you there.” He thought a moment. “Give me your pendant.”

Willingly, she reached up to unclasp it, but her expression was inquiring. “Why?”

“I have a strange kind of power,” he said. “Sometimes I can feed it to others. Especially when I hold something that belongs to them. Well, it worked once with Kirra. Maybe it’ll work with you.”

“I bet it would if I had my moonstone necklace,” she said, handing him the pendant.

His fingers closed around the braided circle of gold. “I bet it would, too.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh! I felt that! What did you do?”

He smiled in the half-light. “Just-directed a little energy your way. I think if you use my magic in addition to yours, you won’t be so exhausted by the end of this exercise.”

She turned away from him. “All right. Tell me, then-who needs me the most?”

AMALIEspent the next hour moving through the ranks of wounded men as Cammon directed her to those who were experiencing the most severe agony or the deepest hopelessness. Cammon felt a fresh charge against his skin every time Amalie put a hand to another man’s cheek; he felt her draw upon the core of his own power. But it was peculiar, it was unexpected-the expenditure of magic did not seem to be draining her at all. In fact, every time she spread her glittering gift along another man’s wound, she seemed to brighten a little, to expand. Her candle-flame hair held a richer color. Her pale hands seemed to be touched by stray moonlight.

It was the response of the soldiers, Cammon decided-their awe, their appreciation-these things were filling her up, making her glow. She basked in their adoration and grew stronger.

Amalie had visited the beds of maybe forty soldiers when Justin pushed his way out of one of the tents and joined them. “Majesty, if you have the strength, there’s a man inside who I think would like to meet you. I saw him fight today, and he was unstoppable. Not particularly well trained, but he just wouldn’t give up. Saved two of his companions when they were overmatched. But he’s in bad shape now, and I’m just not sure-” He shook his head. “If he saw you, it might give him heart.”

Amalie instantly turned toward the tent. “Of course. What’s his name?”

Justin glanced at Cammon, grinning. “I don’t want to tell you. I want to see if Cammon remembers him.”

Cammon was surprised. “This is someone I know?”

“Well, you only met him once, but it was a memorable experience.”

They stepped inside the tent. Instantly, the scents, sounds, and emotions of wounded men were intensified; Cammon had to pause a moment to fight for balance. A dozen men moaned and thrashed on low cots, or lay dangerously still. The air smelled of alcohol and wet linen and blood. Three branches of candles offered more than enough light to see by. Cammon wished he couldn’t see-or hear-or hear with his inner ear.

Justin pointed toward one of the sickbeds, and Amalie went to her knees beside the cot, surveying the soldier. He was maybe twenty years old, with thick black hair matted with blood, a wide peasant’s face, a full mouth crimped with pain. His eyes were shut tightly; his whole face was creased in an effort to hold on to consciousness.

Cammon stared at him, frowning. Familiar, and yet-

“I hear you fought very bravely today,” Amalie said in a coaxing voice. “Won’t you open your eyes and tell me your name?”

The young man’s mouth moved, but no words came out. Cammon looked over his clothing to see if it held any clues to his identity. Not really. He wore a black-and-white checkerboard sash, so he’d ridden in with the Merrenstow contingent, but he had a black-and-gold scarf tied around his upper arm. An indication that he rode for the royal army, or a leftover dressing from rough battlefield medicine? His uniform bunched up under his arms to make room for the great swaddling of bandages that covered his lower torso. Gut wound-unlikely to live.

“I know you must hurt a great deal,” Amalie said. “I’m not much of a healer, but perhaps my touch will bring you some peace.” She leaned closer and spread her fingers gently over his bandage.

Cammon felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach; he actually made a little whoofing noise as air punched out of him. He caught Justin’s questioning look but didn’t pause to explain. He was too absorbed in watching the patient’s face as that infusion of magic raced through his body. First the lips pursed in surprise, then the clenched muscles of the jaw relaxed. Then slowly the soldier’s eyes opened, and he looked straight up at Amalie, dazed and dazzled.

“Majesty,” he whispered.

Now Cammon could sense Justin’s intense curiosity, for the Rider had witnessed enough magic to realize when it was being worked in his presence. An even stronger emotion emanated from Amalie: fierce delight that her touch had eased this man’s pain. But she kept her voice in a soothing register. “You fought valiantly on the field today,” she said. “I want to thank you for riding to war on my behalf.”

“Princess,” the soldier said, still in a weak and thready voice. “I joined your father’s army to make reparation.”

She kept one hand on the bandage and used the other to smooth the dark hair back from his face. “And what were you atoning for?”

“I was stupid. I believed false promises. I-I joined the soldiers at Lumanen Convent because I believed the Daughters of the Pale Mother were good.”

That was the instant Cammon recognized him. “Kelti! You were with the Lestra’s soldiers the night Justin and I found you-” Found you torturing a mystic. “Found you near Neft,” he finished lamely. “So you left the convent and became a king’s man!”