Chapter 8 - Cammon
Cammon
VIII
As I’d hoped, the mage didn’t notice me when she stepped into the inn, but any intention I’d had of forming a refreshed opinion of her disappeared with the last of my brandy.
Everything about her confirmed my first impression.
This woman was as buttoned-up as a fanatical cleric and had the travelling instincts of a pampered noble.
She hadn’t even bothered to dress for the journey, sporting a similar outfit to what she’d worn to my estate yesterday.
The ankle-length skirt would keep the bugs off her, sure, but she’d be tripping on every single branch and bush we passed.
And in that waistcoat, with the heavily starched cotton shirt underneath, she’d be sweating by the time we reached the end of the road.
The king of this country had roped me to an uptight city girl who likely had never stepped so far into a forest that she couldn’t reach a bottle of wine and a comfy seat by lunch time.
My attention fell on her pack, and I rubbed my brow with a stifled groan. It looked like she’d stuffed her entire apartment in there. Was she bringing a team to help her carry it? Because she better not expect me to share her load.
Along with the bag that bulged at the seams, an entire rolled tent dangled beneath it, with a thick blanket tying everything together.
I’d heard of people who went camping in the woods expecting every comfort of home, but I’d never met anyone who practised it.
I’d never travelled with anything as sturdy as a tent, and I would stand amazed if it lasted the first few days with the pace I meant to keep.
I wished I had another sip of brandy to wash away my dread of what the coming weeks would bring but accepted it was for the best I didn’t. I might lose my ability to hold my tongue, and wouldn’t that be a great beginning.
“Hey, Buttons—over here,” I called, and kicked myself. Apparently the brandy I’d already consumed had been enough to lower the barriers between my brain and my mouth.
The mage tensed and turned to face me, a flush of indignation creeping up her neck and spreading across her cheeks. I couldn’t help but notice the way her hazel eyes sparked with anger or the way her lips pursed ever so slightly in a fascinating moue.
Gloria walked towards me without the slightest glance at the patrons who’d filled the common room over the course of the evening.
She stopped behind the chair across from mine.
This close, the flavour of her anger tickled the back of my throat, and I let it linger there like a sip of wine.
Not a bad vintage by any means. A little smoky, a touch bitter, but with impressive depth.
If she kept this up, I wouldn’t need to worry about becoming emotionally starved on this trip.
I shoved the chair backwards with my foot, pushing it away from the table to give her space to sit.
“You may as well take a seat. We’re not leaving until tomorrow.
Have a meal, grab a drink, tell me why you thought it necessary to pack half the country for a rough four-week hike.
I’m surprised you don’t already have the amulet in there somewhere. ”
Her eyes narrowed, their rich green-brown catching the light of the candles flickering in the chandeliers overhead.
“King Evaniel emphasized the importance of our timeline. It’s bad enough we’re not starting until tomorrow, but I don’t think either of us should be drinking if we want to ensure an early start.
” Her gaze dropped in pointed disapproval to the empty glass at my elbow.
I had planned to be finished for the night, but at that look, I gestured to Lana to refill it.
Gloria’s eye twitched, drawing a smirk from me, but all she said was, “You are correct, though, that we should discuss expectations before we set out. First, I am the one who has put years of research into this amulet. As such, you will listen to what I have to say on every signpost we find. You are here to serve as my guide through the wilderness and my protector should we come across any danger, but this is the culmination of my work, and I will not have you stealing credit for it.”
I blinked at her. “Believe me, I have no interest in throwing my name on some long-winded academic report no one will ever read.”
She worked her jaw, then continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Second, in order to make the entire trip within the mandated four weeks, we should aim to move forward as far as we can each day. I’m not sure how you usually carry out your… expeditions, but I don’t foresee much lazing about.”
I pressed my lips together to keep myself from laughing.
It was precious that she thought this journey would involve the same energy output as debating national policy around a table.
I predicted that by day three I’d need to drag her out of bed before midday if we wanted to get moving.
Whether or not we made it to Blue Harbour within four weeks would rest on my shoulders.
I accepted it and wondered if she’d be ready to admit it when she realized.
Gloria cleared her throat, and I noticed that red flush from earlier crawling up her ivory neck to spill into her cheeks. I leaned forward, eager to hear what third item had caused such a reaction. The taste of embarrassment wafted off her, thick as soup—a touch salty.
“Third, I am well aware of demons and their reputations, and I want to state up front, with absolute clarity, that I have no desire—no interest in exploring or experimenting with them.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “Reputations?”
Her flush spread, the flavour of her embarrassment growing headier. “Yes.”
“What kind of”—I dropped my voice to a deeper note, one full of sin and temptation—“reputations?”
Her anger returned, mixed with something else that was quickly choked by an undertone of yet more embarrassment.
“That right there,” she said. “That’s what I mean.
I understand that your ability to read my emotions is ingrained in what you are, and I accept that you’ll be feeding off them to an extent, but under no circumstances do you have permission to take more than you need or to try to manipulate them to derive the ones you prefer.
I won’t have any of that, Mr. Ruxo. I’m not to be trifled with, or seduced, or any such manner of behaviour. ”
I grinned, and she stumbled over whatever else she’d been about to say.
“What?” she demanded.
“It’s not Mr. Ruxo, it’s Cammon.”
Her spine straightened. “I think it would be best if—”
I cut her off before she could continue with any more prudishness.
I couldn’t handle her throwing that word around the entire trip.
Not until I could rightfully wear it. “Ruxo is not my surname. It’s my title.
I was next in line for my father’s throne, and Ruxo marks me as such.
It means ‘prince’ in your tongue. My surname would be beyond your pronunciation. ”
Her throat bobbed with a hard swallow. “I see. My apologies for the misunderstanding, Your Highness.”
My lip curled, and I waved my hand in dismissal. “That’s not necessary either. If I were still next in line, you wouldn’t find me here in Golthwaine. Ruxo is a fragment of my past. We’ll pretend it’s not there, and you can call me Cammon, Gloria.”
My aim to needle her paid off, but if I’d expected her to push back with a request to stick with Mage Dolan—a request I had no intention of respecting—she surprised me.
“If we’re dealing with first names, then call me Glory.
Very few people call me Gloria.” Her voice was stiff, as though she begrudged even this limited camaraderie, and I did her the benefit of biting back a laugh at her expense.
Though I couldn’t help but smirk at the nickname.
Glory, indeed. Quite the lofty choice for such a dull, lifeless creature.
“Well, then, Glory, may I suggest you enjoy your dinner and take advantage of a semi-comfortable mattress while you can? We leave at first light, and it might be the last good sleep you have for a while.”