Stranger and stranger. “I suppose you will have to make the search to find out.”
Now she groaned and almost smiled. “I suppose we will. A parade of serramar coming through the palace to woo her! Could anything be more disastrous? There are days, Cammon, when I do not believe I am up to the task before me.”
“Well, on those days maybe you should let other people do some of the work. The Riders. Senneth. Me.”
Now she smiled outright. “You will have your own work cut out for you, just you wait and see. I think there is a young lord coming by tomorrow-or the day after-you will get your chance to eavesdrop on a suitor’s conversation soon enough.”
The tone of her voice made him think she was about to bring the dialogue to a close. He would not put it past her to pretend it had never happened. “I don’t entirely understand what you’re afraid of-or what you’re protecting Amalie from-or what you want from me,” he said bluntly. “But anytime you want my help, just say so. I will do whatever I can.” That sounded too casual, almost lighthearted. He tried for more formality. “I am yours to command, Majesty.”
She turned away from the gate, back in the direction of the palace. “You may escort me to the door, if you would,” she said. “It is almost dinnertime, and we both should be back. I must change my clothes, and you-” She gave him a sideways glance.
He laughed. “I must change, too, or Milo will throw me over the wall and feed me to the raelynx,” he said.
“Well, then,” she said. “Let us go make ourselves presentable.”
THERE was no chance to find Senneth immediately and repeat the gist of the conversation with Valri. While Cammon scrubbed his face and changed into a freshly pressed uniform, he had leisure to consider whether, in fact, he should tell Senneth about the encounter. Valri was a mystic; surely that was something Senneth needed to know. Yet perhaps Valri had been confiding a secret to him, and Cammon knew all about protecting secrets. A reader, as Jerril had told him more than once, had a sacred obligation to respect the privacy of others.
For now, Cammon decided, he would keep the information to himself.
He stood before his mirror and fastened the last three buttons of his coat. He almost looked neat, in the severe black jacket and highly polished boots. He had used water to slick down his reprehensible hair, and, for the next five minutes anyway, it would stay in place. But he doubted he would look anything near this tidy by the time the dinner was over.
With the other footmen, he ate a hasty meal in the kitchen and then took up a post in the dining hall. Tonight, the guests were all from Gillengaria, and most of them exuded goodwill. Cammon’s attention lingered awhile on a sullen young woman who came with her parents and sat only a few places removed from Amalie. But fairly soon he was convinced that her dark mood sprang from resentment and a quarrel among family members and had nothing to do with Amalie or the king. Everyone else made every effort to be cordial, and the collective mood was amiable.
About halfway through the meal, Amalie beckoned him over. For a moment, he didn’t realize he was being summoned. The king would often call over one of the footmen and murmur a private command in his ear, but Cammon had never been singled out, and Amalie had never motioned anyone to her side. Uncertainty kept him in place until she frowned and signaled him again.
He tried to imitate the noiseless tread of the other footmen-who all looked quite amused-and crept to her side. “Majesty?” he whispered.
“Why have you not been to see me in two days?” she asked in a low voice.
Surprise almost sent him crashing into the table. “Majesty?”
Her expression remained serene, her attention still appeared to be fixed on the table before her, but her low voice was furious. “You promised you would be my friend. But for two days you stay away and I only see you when you’re standing in the dining hall, watching all of us eat our food.”
“Majesty-but-Milo told me you didn’t need me,” he said, very quickly and very quietly. “He said he would tell me when you did.”
She compressed her lips for a moment, then smiled and nodded at something a plump older woman had said. “You’ll have to leave now,” she said under her breath. “Go from the room, stand outside for five minutes, then come back in and whisper in my ear.”
Now he was completely confused. “Majesty?”
“Go! Because otherwise everyone will wonder why I called you over. Then come back and pretend to tell me something. Oh, marlord Martin,” she added, speaking suddenly in an ordinary voice, though with a happy lilt to it, “I wish I had been there to see that!”
Cammon gave her a slight bow and exited the room. He was aware of Valri watching him-no doubt wondering why, two hours after promising to guard Amalie with his life, he was deserting his post. Feeling like a fool, he lurked in the hallway for a few moments, still concentrating his attention on the diners in the other room, just in case someone decided to reveal a violent intention. No one did. After the requisite time had passed, Cammon arranged his face into a grave expression, reentered, and headed straight to Amalie.
“Milo told me to check with him every morning, and that’s what I’ve done,” Cammon whispered without preamble. He was feeling a certain righteous indignation, and he didn’t care if she realized it. “I thought you didn’t want to see me. I can’t just come barging into your study anytime I feel like it. You wouldn’t want that, even if I am your friend.”
“Tomorrow morning, then,” she said, not looking at him. “I will make sure Milo realizes that’s my command.”
“It’s not my fault,” he added, even though he realized she had just dismissed him. “I didn’t abandon you.”
“I didn’t say you had,” she hissed. “Lady Belinda, what did you say? I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”
That dismissal he could hardly overlook, so he offered another stiff bow and returned to his station against the wall. He couldn’t tell if he was more angry at being berated or elated at being missed, but he was beginning to think this particular situation was almost unbearably funny. In fact, it was all he could do to keep from bursting into laughter right there in the middle of the dinner, and he thanked the various mysterious gods for choosing to keep Senneth away from tonight’s meal.
But soon enough he became aware of Valri watching him again, her expression unreadable. To Cammon it seemed she was turning a new idea over in her mind and finding it so momentous that she hardly knew whether to be pleased or horrified. What that idea might be he absolutely could not guess.
CHAPTER 6
IN the morning, Milo brought an entire new wardrobe for Cammon, cut and stitched to fit him, and the news that the princess had need of him.
“She is in the rose study,” the steward said. “Do not stray far from the palace today, for you will be wanted in the afternoon, too. A noble suitor will be making his bow to Amalie, and your presence is required.”
Practically a whole day with Amalie. Cammon was so pleased that he managed not to be rude to Milo. He dressed with a little additional care in one of the new uniforms and was forced to admit that quality tailoring might make even him look natty. Certainly the black uniform, with its discreet gold braid and small gold buttons, fitted him perfectly, with no tendency to bunch or bag. It was possible the crisp white shirt would stay tucked in for an entire day. He might actually look presentable for more than fifteen minutes-certainly long enough to stride through the corridors and arrive at Amalie’s study.
She and Valri were seated in the deep chairs set before the window, sipping from teacups. A third chair was pulled up beside theirs; a third cup sat on a table next to the queen. Cammon entered, bowed, and hesitated, but Amalie waved him over.