But their presence was exhausting, and Tayse chased them out before an hour was up. “We want her to be well enough to travel in the morning,” he said. Not until he lifted the tent flap to encourage them to leave did Senneth realize that it was nighttime again. Excellent. Time to go back to sleep.
But she was still sitting upright on the bed when Tayse sat beside her, taking both of her hands in his. It was so odd to feel his body warming hers, instead of the other way around.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“My magic is gone,” she said bluntly.
“I don’t love you for your magic,” he replied.
That made her smile, just a little. She moved over to lean against him, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Then why do you love me, Tayse, Queen’s Rider?” she asked. “If not because I have bespelled you?”
“Because you own my soul.”
She lifted one hand and laid it against his cheek. His skin was rough; he still had not bothered to shave. “Ah, that was magic,” she said. “I beguiled you and I stole your heart.”
He turned his head to kiss her palm. “You didn’t steal it,” he said. “I had already tucked it inside your hand. Not my fault you didn’t realize it was already yours, so you had to waste your time with sorcery and theft.”
That made her laugh. As always, his body against hers was feeding her power. She absorbed him, the way others might absorb sunlight, and she felt restless energy kick through her tired bones. She shifted in his arms, locked her hands around his neck, and kissed him on the mouth. “Whose tent is this anyway?” she whispered. “Amalie’s? Would it be an affront to the throne if two lesser mortals made love inside the queen’s private quarters?”
“You are barely returned from death,” he said against her mouth. “You can’t possibly have the strength for such a thing.”
“It would give me strength,” she said, kissing him more insistently, feeling her skin flush with a different kind of heat. “You would pour yours into me.”
He laughed softly. “Well, I’ve never heard it described quite that way-”
She tugged him down onto the bed beside her, still covering his face with kisses. “Love me,” she whispered. “Or I think I truly will die.”
And so he did.
CHAPTER 43
DURING the journey back to Ghosenhall-which took four days and was exceedingly tedious-Senneth recovered rapidly, though not to what she considered her full strength. She was well enough to ride, hungry enough to eat, tired enough to sleep dreamlessly, and not required to do anything else. At odd moments during the day, surreptitiously, she would curl and uncurl her fingers and check the tips for flame. But there was no fire in her. Her body was healing, but her magic was still broken.
She couldn’t bear to think about it. She would wait until the rest of the world was settled, and then she would grieve.
Their march down the streets of Ghosenhall was hardly a triumphal victory parade. The town itself had been largely spared by the rebel army, but random buildings had been destroyed, particularly those nearest the palace, and many residents had flown the city, which was still half empty. A few ragged crowds gathered on the street corners to cheer Amalie’s appearance, but among the applauding merchants Senneth could spot a few glowering individuals with their hands clenched on their moonstone pendants. The princess was a mystic, that had been pretty well established. Clearly many people were unhappy about the idea of a sorceress taking the throne.
Cammon rode close beside Amalie, turning his head this way and that, scanning the crowd for dangers. Six Riders ringed her to prevent any malcontents from drawing too close. But Amalie peered around these protectors, and smiled, and waved, and even the scowling men, the frowning women, smiled at her and waved back.
Senneth thought, Amalie will have to address this concern about mystics, and soon. How will we respond if we have another rebellion on our hands?
THEY had been back three days before it became apparent that there was another crisis brewing inside the palace, of a smaller and more intimate nature, to be sure, but one that could rock the kingdom just as surely as magic.
During those three days, a great deal of effort had been spent trying to restore some normalcy to the city’s routines. Shop owners and residents were flooding back into Ghosenhall; every day, dozens of nobles and merchants requested an audience with the princess. A flurry of messages arrived, from Danalustrous, from Helven, from Coravann. Couriers rode out with stern summonses for the heirs of Fortunalt and Gisseltess and Storian. Senneth didn’t have the knowledge to steer Amalie through these political tangles. She allowed Valri and Romar and Kiernan-even Ariane Rappengrass, who had stayed behind-to offer advice and hammer out strategies. She stayed mostly in her own cottage and mended.
Until Kiernan came to her door one night, fuming. “You must talk some sense into that young woman,” he said. “I have come to admire her greatly through this ordeal, but she is behaving like a silly schoolgirl now, and we can’t have her jeopardizing the future of the whole kingdom.”
Senneth opened her eyes wide. Kiernan was always an impressive figure, but when he was in a rage, he could be overpowering. It was hard to imagine that Amalie hadn’t instantly acceded to anything he had promoted while in such a mood. Casually Tayse came to sit beside Senneth on the sofa, but she wasn’t fooled. She knew he did it to protect her in case Kiernan became violent, and the thought made her grin. “What’s Amalie done now?” she asked. “Decided to show off her magic in some public venue?”
“She’s already done that, I think, and rather spectacularly,” Kiernan replied. “No! She won’t listen to reason! Her uncle and I believe that the sooner she marries, the better, but she says-she says-” He was so furious he couldn’t get the words out.
Senneth rather enjoyed the thought of Kiernan being balked by a nineteen-year-old girl, but she happened to agree with him on this particular issue. “Amalie met a number of young lords before the war interrupted everything,” she said. “I don’t believe any of them caught her eye-but there were a few I thought she would be willing to consider. Did she turn down your best candidate? Who did you have in mind?”
“I had thought Ryne Coravann, though I mislike the fact that his father held back from the war,” Kiernan replied. “Alternatively, we could salve some wounds by marrying her to a Fortunalt man, or a Gisseltess man. Even Storian! Though not Rafe’s eldest son, he’s unreliable and stupid.”
“So far I agree with you,” Senneth said, somewhat regretfully. “What’s the problem?”
“She says she won’t marry any of them! It’s that-that-mystic boy of yours or no one, she says!”
“Cammon?” Senneth said faintly. Beside her, Tayse was laughing.
“It’s not funny,” Kiernan snapped.
“I apologize, marlord,” Tayse said. But he was still smiling.
“I thought she understood-I thought Cammon understood-I mean, they’ve been very close these past few weeks,” Senneth said, floundering through the words. “But-she always knew, he always knew, that she would have to marry nobility.”