Behind them came Amalie on the arm of the Karyndein ambassador. Cammon allowed himself a moment to be pleased at the picture she made-gold hair, gold dress, gold jewelry, smiling face-before turning his attention to the man at her side. The Karyndein man was not particularly tall but solidly built, with thick dark hair, swarthy skin, and a pronounced mustache. A certain coarseness to his look was counteracted by his smile, which was wide and seemed genuine. Cammon guessed him to be in his midthirties. Young, for an ambassador. Maybe he was the same age as the prince they wanted to force poor Amalie to marry. Even so, thought Cammon somewhat darkly, thirty-five made a bad match for nineteen.
Cammon couldn’t get a true read of either Amalie or the ambassador, and he was starting to feel aggrieved. From Amalie, he picked up a froth of excitement and happiness-she loved being in company, she loved all the attention and the scripted flattery-but the information was faint, little more than he could have gleaned from merely watching her face. Someone, sometime, had taught her how to shield. He had not expected to be able to scan the ambassador’s thoughts, but he tried anyway, circling the other man’s mind like a hawk quartering a meadow, seeking elusive prey. But the quarry was all burrowed in, safe underground, not to be flushed out.
Senneth was right behind Amalie, escorted by the regent, and both of them were so easy to read that Cammon relaxed again. Senneth’s mind, as always, was full of glancing observations, quick assessments, and equal parts worry, humor, and readiness. Romar Brendyn, on the other hand, was all business. He was here to support his king, protect his niece, make alliances with foreign nations, and stop trouble from coming to the realm. Very little pretense or subterfuge about Romar Brendyn.
The others filed in and Cammon scanned them all, but everyone seemed to be just as they presented: aristocrats eager to serve their liege, thinking of little more than prestige, honor, and reputation. No one posing a danger.
“Thank you all for coming,” Baryn said, and nodded at his wife. “My dear, shall we be seated?”
The meal seemed to go on forever, and Cammon was soon wishing he’d eaten something before taking up his position, because it was torture to stand so close to such delicious food and know he couldn’t even snatch a morsel. He couldn’t resist, just once, sending Senneth a quick, pitiful wail of I’m hungry!-not as plain as that, of course, because she wasn’t sensitive enough to pick up actual words, but clear enough for her to get the idea. She started, gave him one narrowed, reproving look, and then turned her attention back to the ambassador. She tried to keep her face serious, but he could tell she was having trouble holding back a smile.
Cammon had been so intent on listening to the interior monologues that he hadn’t paid much attention to the audible conversation, but that changed when the Karyndein ambassador abruptly came to his feet.
“Esteemed king, gracious queen, noble guests, most beautiful princess,” he said, bowing in the appropriate directions as he spoke. His voice was heavily accented, but his pronunciation was perfect. “I have so much enjoyed my brief stay here and am looking forward to another week in your excellent company. I would like to express my appreciation-indeed, the appreciation of all Karyndein-with a humble gift. May I have my servants bring it in now?”
Cammon doubted there was anything humble about the offering. It was no doubt the item that Areel had sensed “glowing” in the foreigner’s carriage when it arrived at the gates of the city. He straightened a little (it seemed he had started to slump), but so did everyone else in the room. What might a man from Karyndein consider rich enough to serve as a gift to a king? It would have to be quite special.
“Most certainly you may send for it,” Baryn said, and one of the footmen disappeared out the door. “But my dear Khoshku, how unexpected! You did not have to buy our favor with lavish attentions.” This was a lie, as Cammon could plainly tell. Everyone expected an exchange of expensive gifts. Baryn had a pile of them ready to give Khoshku before he sailed for home.
“Just a trifle, a small sample, something that is very common in Karyndein and we thought perhaps would be unusual and welcome in Gillengaria.”
Talk continued in the same vein while they awaited the arrival of Khoshku’s servants. Footmen circled the table, refilling glasses and removing plates. Some of the guests whispered to each other, speculating about the nature of the gift.
It took two men to carry in the long, slim casket that held Karyndein’s treasure. The box was made of a bright metal that looked more yellow than gold, and it was randomly studded with an array of jewels. The servants carried it by handles welded to either end, and they wore gloves on their hands to keep from leaving fingerprints.
One of the men was from Karyndein and impervious to Cammon’s quick scrutiny, but the other was from Gillengaria. That’s odd, Cammon thought. The Gillengaria man wore Karyndein livery and kept his head ducked down as if overwhelmed by such unfamiliar surroundings. Cammon wondered if one of Khoshku’s own servants had fallen ill on the road, and this man had been pressed into service, hired at a roadside inn, perhaps, or even supplied by Baryn when Khoshku arrived shorthanded.
Cammon pressed a little harder, poking at the other man’s mind as he might poke at an anthill, waiting for something to spill out. There was a furtive excitement there, belying the stoic attitude, and it was starting to expand to almost uncontainable proportions with every slow step the two men took toward Baryn’s chair. Then an image flashed into the man’s mind-brief and clear-a vision of himself dropping his end of the casket, pulling free a hidden knife, leaping for the king-
“Senneth!” Cammon cried, and then the whole room went mad.
Chairs crashed to the floor as people jumped to their feet; the air was full of shouting. A column of fire suddenly danced around Amalie, and several women were shrieking. Through the kinetic swarm of bodies, it was hard to sort out exactly what was happening, but the actions of two people were absolutely clear: Senneth had vaulted across the table to stand beside Amalie, safe within the circle of fire, and the regent had drawn his sword and hacked his way to the king. Both Senneth and Romar Brendyn looked absolutely murderous.
“My liege! What is happening? What is this outrage?” the ambassador was shouting. Those were the last words he had a chance to say, because doors blew back from two ends of the room, and King’s Riders poured in. Within seconds, the ambassador had Tayse’s sword at his throat, and every other guest had been shoved away from the table and against the wall. The Riders were taking no chances. They didn’t know why the alarm had been raised and who might be guilty of what crime. They were ready to destroy anyone in the room.
“Cammon,” Senneth said over her shoulder. “What is it?”
“That man-the one kneeling on the floor in front of the regent,” Cammon said in a shaky voice. “He’s got a knife and he was going to attack the king.”
An incredible outcry at that. Wen spun away from the well-dressed couple who were cowering in front of her sword, and dropped to her knees beside the disguised Gillengaria man. He yelped and tried to scrabble away, but she caught him by the collar, jerked him back, and planted her knee on his spine. It wasn’t long before she’d uncovered the blade-a long, sharp kitchen knife, wicked and finely made.