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.”
CHAPTER 17
IN the 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.
That way. As if he could hear a bell clanging or see the smoke of a signal fire, Cammon felt absolutely certain of his direction. He started out at a walk, speeded up to a half-trot, scrambled over obstacles like benches and hedges instead of detouring around them. Past the barracks, past the training yards, past the follies, straight to the walled enclosure that held the raelynx.
She wasn’t outside the fence-wasn’t just inside the wrought-iron gate-and the raelynx itself was nowhere in sight. But she was there; Cammon could feel her. He tugged on the gate, but it wouldn’t open, and a quick inspection convinced him that the lock had been engaged. By the Wild Mother’s woolly head, Amalie had locked herself in with the most dangerous creature in the realm.
He closed his hands on the bars as if he might tear them wide enough to admit his body. “Amalie?” he called. “Amalie? I know you’re here but please prove to me that you’re still alive.”
Although he knew that, too-alive and unhurt. Still, he was uneasy. He wanted to see her; he wanted absolute reassurance.
Which he did not get. No reply, no glimpse. “Amalie? Damn. I don’t think I can climb this-Amalie! If you don’t show me you’re all right, I’m going to fetch some Riders and breach the walls.”
Maybe the threat moved her; maybe she just liked knowing she had alarmed him, but on those words, she strolled slowly into view. She was wearing a black cloak that completely covered her clothing and a black hood that hid her bright hair. The raelynx fluidly paced beside her like so much domesticated fire, its eerie eyes fixed on Cammon, its tail slowly flicking from side to side. Her hand rested lightly in the red fur around its neck. In such a fashion might any noblewoman go out walking with her favorite hound.
“I wasn’t sure you’d know where I was,” she said, walking straight up to the gate. “But you found me right away. Milo could hardly have left your room ten minutes ago.”
For a minute he just watched her in silence. “Did you want me to come looking for you?”
She looked as if she was considering not answering. But then, “Yes,” she said, and hunched a shoulder. As if to add, I don’t know why, but there it is.
“I don’t suppose you’d come out of there if I asked you to,” he said.
“I like it here.”
“I know you think you’re safe, but-”
“You could come inside if that would make you feel more secure.”
He nodded. “All right.”
She looked both surprised and pleased. “Really? You’re not afraid?”
“Princess, if he’s going to eat one of us, I’d rather it was me.”
“He won’t eat one of us. He’s not even hungry.”
Cammon could tell that as well. The big cat was sated from a recent meal. Didn’t mean the raelynx might not suddenly develop a taste for human flesh-or a dislike for having its sanctuary invaded. “Let me in.”
She turned the lock and he stepped in so quickly the raelynx didn’t have time to consider what an open gate might mean. Now, of course, he was only inches away from the great red beast, who examined him with unblinking and unfathomable eyes. Gingerly Cammon reached out to touch its mind, a complex but undefended swirl of thoughts, all of them foreign, all of them brutish and beautiful.
“I don’t think I should touch him,” he observed presently. “If he’s going to give his affection to a human, I think it should only be you.”
“You really aren’t afraid of him,” Amalie said. He thought her voice was admiring.
Cammon shook his head. “We crossed Gillengaria with him in our party last winter. I learned to control him then. Of course, he was just a baby. I’m not sure I could do it now.”