Kirra smiled with an effort. “I suppose he is.”
Comprehension came to Tayse’s face. Not until that moment did he sheathe his weapon. “Well, one thing we know,” he said, not sounding at all disgruntled about rushing to a rescue that turned out to be unnecessary, “Cammon can certainly grab our attention when he needs us. That’ll work in our favor someday.”
Cammon nodded. Senneth took Kirra’s arm. “Are you expected in the salon? Or can you come with us?”
Kirra nodded her head toward Cammon. “He came in and announced that you needed me. So I don’t think anyone will mind if I disappear with you now.”
“Good. Then come back and help me go through all the linens we bought today. You know I’m hopeless with household goods.”
Kirra smiled. “That sounds like a marvelous idea.”
They turned toward the door to the kitchen, Tayse in the lead, Senneth still keeping one hand firmly on Kirra’s arm. But Kirra turned back once to give Cammon a wide-eyed look and mouth the word thanks. Senneth also glanced back before she disappeared through the door, but her own expression was narrowed and thoughtful. He had surprised her again, he could tell, and she was annoyed at herself for continuing to be astonished. As the door closed between them, she kept her eyes on his face, and he could practically hear the words in her head: What else is this boy capable of?
IN the morning, Delt Helven was gone and no new beaux were expected until tomorrow. Milo, clearly disapproving, told Cammon that the princess wanted his company anyway. Cammon donned another clean uniform and hurried to the rose study.
He was surprised to find Donnal leaving just as he arrived. Donnal must have interpreted his expression, for a smile showed through his dark beard.
“What are you doing here?” Cammon asked.
“I always visit the princess whenever Kirra and I first arrive,” Donnal replied. “We became friendly last summer when I guarded her rooms, so she likes me to drop by.” He shrugged slightly. Donnal was used to obeying the orders of imperious women. It wouldn’t occur to him to refuse. “I think she enjoys the company now and then.”
It was stupid to feel even the smallest spurt of jealousy. Donnal had only recently become Kirra’s lover, but he had been devoted to her most of his life. Lucky for Cammon, Donnal was a shape-shifter, not a reader. “That’s kind of you,” Cammon said. “I think she’s often lonely.”
“She has the queen for company,” Donnal replied.
Cammon laughed. “I’m not sure Valri is always entertaining.”
Donnal nodded expressively and departed. Cammon shook off his mood and pushed open the study door.
Valri was sitting at a desk in the corner, apparently writing out correspondence. She glanced up when Cammon entered, but immediately returned her attention to her letter. Amalie waved him over from where she sat in one of the chairs grouped before the window. On a table nearby rested a whole tray full of after-breakfast treats.
Cammon settled beside her and happily picked out a tart. “What horrible weather,” Amalie said in greeting. Instead of the sunshine they had enjoyed for the past few days, lashing winds tossed around low gray clouds, and angry rain spit against the glass.
“Glad I’m not a Rider today,” Cammon said with some satisfaction. “These are the days they make it a point to practice outside. Just to prove to themselves weather won’t slow them down in a battle.”
“That would seem to be a very welcome sort of magic,” the princess observed, “the ability to dissipate the weather. Bring on the sun, or call in the rain. Do any mystics have such a gift?”
“Not that I’ve ever heard,” he said. “But that would be an excellent gift.”
“I don’t know much about magic,” Amalie said. “What kinds there are-and why some people have it and some people don’t.”
“Senneth thinks magic is a gift from the gods,” he said. “And that there are a dozen or so gods-most of them forgotten. The Bright Mother is the goddess of the sun, and she passes on the ability to call fire, at least that’s what Senneth thinks. Kirra has begun to send her prayers to the Wild Mother, who watches over all the beasts.”
“That makes sense, because Kirra so often takes animal shape,” said Amalie. “What other gods are there?”
“The people of the Lirrens worship the Dark Watcher, or the Black Mother, who apparently offers them all sorts of powers. Justin’s wife, Ellynor, is a healer, but she also has the ability to hide herself, literally make herself disappear. She says her brothers can do the same thing. I suppose the Black Mother is a goddess of secrets. Things you whisper in the middle of the night.”
Amalie smiled. “I like that. But what about you? Who gives you your power?”
“I have no idea. I can sense things that have intensity and motion. Does that ability come from a god of air or water? I see people’s true souls and hear their true thoughts. Perhaps there is a god of mirrors, and whatever glass he holds up only reflects the truth. I don’t know.”
She put her head to one side, and even without benefit of bright sun, her strawberry hair shone with a captive gold. “I wonder where you might find legends about the ancient gods. Perhaps in the palace library there are old theology books.”
Cammon wrinkled his nose. “I don’t bother much with reading,” he said. “I’d much rather hear someone tell a story.”
“I used to read a great deal,” she said. “There was nothing else to do.”
He found that impossible to understand. “I suppose a princess doesn’t really have work to do, but-shopping? riding? entertaining visitors? Anything except reading!”
Amalie glanced at Valri, but the queen appeared deeply engrossed in her letter. “My father was always afraid for my safety,” she said. “For years, he didn’t want me to leave the palace at all. And even when visitors were here-oh, I almost never got a chance to meet them. Kirra has spent half her life at the palace, you know, and I never spent more than a few hours with her until she joined us at Rappengrass last summer.”
“But then-who did you talk to?” Cammon asked. His parents had left him pretty much to his own devices, but it wasn’t like they had locked him in a room. He had always struck up acquaintances with the kitchen maids or the carters’ sons. He had hated to be alone-still did. He didn’t think he would have been able to bear the sort of solitude Amalie described.
“My mother and I were very close, while she was alive,” Amalie said. She had dropped her gaze. He had the sudden swift impression that this was something she found difficult to talk about, yet yearned to confide. “And I had nurses and tutors who were kind to me. My old nurse only died a year ago, and I would spend the day with her sometimes. She could hardly see at all by the end, so I would read to her for hours.”
He was staring at her, but she had not lifted her eyes. What a terrible existence! Bleak beyond description! “And you never left the palace?” he asked in a quiet voice.
“Not to go shopping in the market. Not to visit friends.” She glanced up now, and there was a faint smile on her face, but it was wistful. “My mother and I would go to Merrenstow for weeks at a time, and I always liked that. Uncle Romar was her brother, you know, and he has a wonderful house. Of course, none of my cousins were allowed to visit while I was there, but my grandmother always insisted on coming, and she was my favorite person in the world when I was little. She taught me how to bake bread and pluck a chicken. She was Twelfth House, you know, very noble, but she said even a marlady should be able to cook a meal if she had to, and she thought a princess should as well.”
So many things to answer in that particular anecdote, but Cammon stupidly found himself asking the most ridiculous question. “You know how to pluck a chicken?”