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?”
His smile was faint. “Ah, perhaps that is the magic inherent in the crown. In all the history of Gillengaria, there is no story about a king or a queen who has chosen Riders unwisely. Is it that only honorable men and women seek the office of Rider? Is the monarch blessed by the gods with some supernatural powers of perception?”
“Are the stories truly complete?” she asked with some acerbity.
His smile widened. “I like to believe they are.” His gaze went to the princess and her small entourage. “In Amalie’s case, she will have Cammon to guide her. I cannot imagine she will chose ill.”
Senneth shook her head. “One more hard task that falls to her all at once. I hope she is not crushed under her responsibilities.”
“We are here to support her,” he said softly. “But I think she is strong enough to survive it.”
ONCE they had toured the sickroom, Senneth insisted Amalie come to the smaller dining hall for a rather slapdash meal. Some of the servants had died in the day’s assault, and the rest were understandably traumatized, and Senneth was grateful that the cooks managed to assemble a meal at all. It was a simple buffet, and there were signs that Valri, Romar, and a few others had been at the table before them.
Riders continued to seek them out for the next half hour, presenting themselves, being released from service, and then either offering their fealty or calmly stating that they planned to leave once the princess had found their replacements.
“That’s everyone,” Tayse said when Coeval exited after swearing his loyalty. Apparently Tayse had had better luck keeping track of the numbers than Senneth had. “Except the three who were too injured to speak. Majesty, ask them again tomorrow.”
Amalie nodded. She looked so tired Senneth thought she might tip over and bury her face in her platter of food. “And then? Tomorrow? What else must I do?”
“We will know when tomorrow arrives,” Senneth said gently. She tugged on Amalie’s shoulder. “Come. To bed with you. If you don’t think you will be able to sleep, Kirra can make up a potion.”
“She’ll sleep,” Cammon said.
Senneth glanced at him. He had not been more than a step away from the princess since they came running back from the garden with the raelynx in tow. Clearly the connection between them had intensified during the days Senneth had been gone, but she found herself deeply reluctant to discover how far their relationship had progressed. She kept remembering Tayse’s comment: Amalie would be safe if Cammon were sleeping by her side. After today, Amalie’s safety mattered much more than Amalie’s virginity.
“I will be grateful if you, indeed, will use your magic to help her relax,” Senneth said. “But what of the raelynx? Are we to attempt to cage him again for the night?”
“No,” Amalie said. “He will stay with me.”
Of course she should protest, Senneth thought, but the raelynx had certainly earned its right to freedom today. And if danger did manage to force its way through Amalie’s door, the raelynx would almost certainly pounce on it and kill it. And eat it.
“Then, Majesty, I will see you in the morning.”
True to his word, Tayse accompanied Senneth back to the cottage to sleep at least some portion of the night. She had overheard him making murmured plans with his fellow Riders, dividing up the shifts. There had never been a hope he would be comfortable allowing ordinary soldiers the solemn responsibility of guarding the palace.
At the cottage, they had water enough to bathe, and Senneth heated it to the point where it almost blistered the skin. In silence, they took turns discarding their ruined clothing, washing themselves thoroughly, and climbing into bed. Not until Tayse put his arms around her did Senneth feel she could find even the most fleeting moment of real peace.
“In the morning, you will have to tell your mother that Tir is dead,” she said. “And tell your sisters.”
“And let them know the city is not safe. They can take refuge with my aunt.”
“Your mother will be heartbroken, I think. I am convinced she still loved him, despite the fact that she left him so long ago.”
She felt him shrug slightly. He was a dutiful son, but his mother exerted no pull on him, as she had exerted no pull on Tir after the first few years of their doomed marriage. Tayse changed the subject. “How’s your head?”
“Hurts,” she said. “How’s your heart?”
“Hurts.”
“If I’m not better in the morning, I’ll ask you to scare away my headache,” she said. “But Tayse, my love, my dearest one, I do not know how to scare away your pain.”
“These are losses too great for magic to heal,” he said. “I know my father’s only regret about his death would be that it did not save the king. If it had, he would have gladly given his life.”
“And that is how you want to die someday, is it not?” she murmured into his chest. “Defending Amalie? Or her son or daughter?”
He was silent a moment. “Once that would have been true,” he said. “Now I want to live as long as you are alive, and die when you are not. And if I do not fall in battle, but instead die when I am an old man, bent and crippled and useless, except that you still love me, then I will consider that a better death than my father’s.”
She was so stunned she almost could not answer. Tayse was so much a soldier that she had always accepted she had been grafted onto his life. Important to him, essential even-transcendent-but only a part of his life, not the center, not the whole. “Oh, then I have to hope that is what happens,” she whispered. “That you are ancient and demented and blind, and everyone despises you, and laughs at you behind your back, and cannot believe you have lived so long. But I will still love you. I will be glad to see you, every time your scowling face comes into view.”
That made him smile, as she hoped it would. “And you will be a doddering old woman yourself, mumbling around the house, constantly setting small unintentional fires and causing the curtains to go up in flames. We will have to live in a house of stone, so it doesn’t burn down around our heads. We will be buying new furnishings every week and my eyebrows will be singed off my face. But I will still love you.”