Amalie offered a tentative smile. “It didn’t seem like Janni and Wen were touched with magic, but I might believe it of Justin. And Tayse. And Tir.”
Cammon shook his head and began pacing again. “I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to say. This changes everything.”
“It changes nothing,” Valri said sharply. “No one else must know.”
Cammon gave her an incredulous look and just kept walking.
“I mean it,” the queen insisted. “No one must know. None of your special friends among the Riders! Not Senneth-no one.”
“If you cannot trust Senneth, if you cannot trust the Riders, then you might as well set the princess outside the gates of Ghosenhall and let her be murdered by the first Gisseltess soldier who rides into the city,” Cammon said. “Do you expect to keep this secret forever? For her whole life?”
“Perhaps.”
“Then you certainly need allies, because once she is queen she will need far more protection than you are able to offer. Do you think you’ll keep this a secret from her husband?”
Valri was silent.
“Well, then, you’d better choose even more wisely than you had planned, because it will have to be an awfully stupid man who doesn’t find it strange that you are hovering behind his wife night and day, never leaving him alone with her for a moment! There’s a fine way to make sure Amalie bears the next heir to Gillengaria!”
He hadn’t meant it to be funny, but Amalie laughed, and even Valri permitted herself a wintry smile. “Perhaps her husband will have to know,” Valri admitted. “But-”
“And Senneth will have to know, and Tayse,” Cammon said. “I’ll let them decide who else is informed.”
“Cammon, you cannot-”
“I cannot keep this secret myself! It’s too big for me! I don’t know what to do! But what I do know is that this secret puts Amalie in greater danger than ever before. And I know-” Thank you, Justin, for this insight. “I know that my task is to keep the princess safe. And I cannot do it alone.”
“Cammon, the more people who know, the greater danger she is in,” Valri said sharply, taking a few steps across the room toward him. “Please. Say nothing to them.”
“Tell them,” Amalie said in a soft voice, and both of them swiveled to stare at her. She looked pale but decisive. “Tell them. Cammon’s right. They are my defenders, and they deserve to know what they’re defending me from.”
“Amalie-” Valri began.
But the princess nodded firmly. “And what they learn about me may help them understand Coralinda Gisseltess, who is an enemy to all of us,” she added. “Valri, we will keep the secret longer if we can-but not from those who must know.”
Valri rubbed her hand along her forehead. She suddenly looked, Cammon thought, very young and very troubled. What a burden for her, all these years! No wonder she had been so fretful, so afraid, during their whole journey last summer. She had had even more to fear than the rest of them realized.
“What about that benighted necklace?” the queen demanded almost petulantly. “You’ll have to wear it when the young lord comes calling. But that means Cammon will have to be a mile away from here, or he’ll be on his knees vomiting from the shock!”
Both Amalie and Cammon laughed aloud at that. Suddenly he was back in a good humor. “Perhaps if we practice a little in the next few days, I will learn how to shield myself from your rapacious magic, or you will learn how to hold it at bay,” he said. “Not today, though. I’m not up to the task.” He was struck by a sudden thought. “But if you want to learn how to control your magic better, my friend Jerril-”
“No,” Valri said sharply. “No. A fine and discreet person, I’m sure, but we cannot have outsiders running tame at the palace-or known mystics coming in to tutor the princess! What kind of secret would we have left then?”
This time he agreed with her. “Well, then,” he said. “You’ll just have to make do with the rest of us.”
Amalie gave him a hopeful smile. “And I think, with your help, I will manage very well.”
CHAPTER 22
CAMMON spent the rest of the day and most of the night trying to absorb everything he’d learned. He was essentially useless at the formal dinner that evening, so it was fortunate that no one made any attempt on the king’s life, and he skipped his usual nightly visit to Justin and Ellynor. He didn’t think he could conceal his shock from them, and it was impossible to put Justin off with vague references to “something I’d rather not discuss.”
The secret about Amalie was enormous all on its own, but what it meant about Coralinda Gisseltess might be even more staggering. Did she realize she was a mystic? Had her persecution of them been the most monstrous act of hypocrisy? Or had she truly believed magic was evil, not understanding that the power she wielded came from the very same source?
There was no way to expose Coralinda without exposing the princess, that was certain. Cammon had seen enough instances of violence directed against mystics to blanch at the thought of revealing Amalie’s ability. Yet could this secret truly be kept from more than a few close advisors? Pella had managed the trick-would Amalie be able to do so as well?
Should she?
If a mystic sat on the throne, would the people of Gillengaria begin to lose their fear of magic? Would they set aside their hatred and embrace their strange brethren? Was that idealistic and unrealistic thinking, or was it the only hope the kingdom had?
Cammon rubbed his eyes. Not a decision he was equipped to make. Sweet gods, bring Senneth home soon. Only a day or so away now, he could tell, and moving quickly. She knew he needed her.
He had gone to his room immediately after dinner, so exhausted from the day’s excesses he wanted to go straight to bed. But now, perhaps an hour before midnight, he found himself restless again. Pacing his room. Staring out the window at the dark lawns unrolling from the castle walls. Needing to talk to someone.
Needing to talk to Amalie.
As soon as he had the thought, he was filled with an absolute conviction. Amalie wanted to talk with him as well. He put his head to one side, thinking. He could hardly go to her room in the middle of the night. Where might they safely rendezvous? Even as he was considering the options, he realized Amalie was on the move. She was gliding along the hallways, stepping down a set of stairs. Heading away from the parlor where she spent most of her days.
He smiled. She was on her way to the kitchens. Even a princess might plead hunger in the middle of the night, if someone saw her ghosting through the halls. Even a serving man. No great scandal if they were to be discovered talking before the enormous banked fire of the central ovens, munching on leftover bread.
He threw his jacket back on and hurried downstairs to meet her.
He was ahead of her by a minute, long enough to make sure no one was lurking in the larder. He had stirred up the fire, fetched plates and glasses from the drying rack, and set out bread and cheese and a pitcher of water, before she slipped through the heavy door. She was dressed in a long white nightdress covered with an embroidered white robe, and her strawberry-blond hair was unbound down her back. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and she put a finger to her lips as she settled onto the stool beside him. He nodded. He had already sensed the presence of the butler making one last circuit of the great hallway before going off to seek his own bed.