C H A P T E R E L E V E N Raisa woke to the sound of women’s voices and the aroma of food cooking slow. For a while she only listened and breathed, afraid to open her eyes. Her entire body tingled and burned, as if pins and needles were being driven into her skin. It was much like the sensation of blood returning to fingers and toes after a day out in the cold. Hearing, smell, touch, taste: each was exquisitely sensitive to her surroundings. Even the quiet conversation clamored in her ears.
The women spoke the upland dialect. She heard other familiar sounds: the whirr of a spinning wheel, the thump of the overhead beater on a loom, the hiss of flames on the nearby hearth. Raisa knew where she was before she opened her eyes—in one of the upland clan lodges.
She lay sprawled on her stomach on a deep feather bed under a light blanket, her sleeping bench close to the fire. She wore a loose garment, a white flax tunic that tied at the neck. A dull pain in her back drew her attention, insistent as a toothache. Gingerly, she slid her hand into her neckline and explored the area with her fingers, encountering layers of bandages.
She must be at Marisa Pines. How had she come there? It was like opening a book at random, or walking into the middle of a scene in a play without knowing what had come before.
It didn’t matter, she thought, closing her eyes. All would be well now. She could finally rest after her long struggle to stay alive. Somebody else could take responsibility. She would tell her mother what had happened, and Marianna and Averill would do something about it. With that reassuring thought, she drifted back into a more peaceful sleep.
When she woke again, it was late afternoon or early evening. Light leaked in around the doors and windows, but lanterns had already been kindled against the encroaching darkness.
A disturbing image surfaced: Captain Byrne on his face in the trail, his blood black against snow, his back bristling with arrows.
Other memories elbowed forward. Mac Gillen, the renegade officer who’d carried her off, had, in a peculiar twist of fate, saved her life. She’d killed him and had taken his horse. But they’d waited for her at the pass and chased her down the long slope into a canyon, until a bolt had flung her from her horse. She’d managed to kill one more, but the poison was spreading, she was growing weak, and they were closing in. And then…
When she closed her eyes, she saw a familiar face, lit by torchlight, sculpted by pain, a landscape of high cheekbones, long straight nose, intense blue eyes, framed by fair hair.
Han Alister. He’d intruded into her personal nightmare somehow. It didn’t make any sense. She’d left Han back in Oden’s Ford. As far as she knew, he was still there, thinking she’d abandoned him.
She shivered, remembering the burn of his hands against the cold, spreading stain of poison, and the power that bled into her, thawing the frozen places.
She’d fought with him. She’d tried to escape into oblivion, but he’d followed her, breached her defenses, and…and what? They’d intertwined, joined together like fire and ice, and he’d sheltered her from the insidious cold.
She’d never felt safer—she’d never felt more alive than when she lay dying in Han Alister’s arms.
There was something—something about her ring. He’d taken her ring from her. She lifted her hands, and the wolf ring was right where it belonged, on the forefinger of her right hand.
So maybe it had been a dream, she thought, disappointed. She’d meant to die with his face before her, and she’d hallucinated the rest.
That should have been reassuring, but all she knew was that now she felt empty. Bereft. Alone as she’d never been before. There was something else—something lurking in the back of her mind. Something she didn’t want to remember.
Raisa pushed up on her elbows, suddenly aware of a raging thirst and a crashingly bad headache. The women by the fire must have been watching, because two of them rose, setting aside their needlework, and came and knelt next to the pallet.
One of them was her grandmother, Elena Demonai, Matriarch of Demonai Camp. The other was Willo Watersong, healer and Matriarch of Marisa Pines Camp. Raisa had met her at the renamings and other feast days during her time fostering at Demonai.
Both women were dressed in white—white woolen shawls and white-cured deerskin shirts and long full skirts. Worry shivered down Raisa’s backbone. White was the color of mourning among the clans.
“Granddaughter, it’s good to see you open your eyes,” Elena said. “You’ve slept for three days.”
Willo inclined her head and made the sign of the Maker. “Briar Rose, welcome to our fire. Please share all that we have.” The upland greeting to the guest.
“I’m thirsty,” Raisa whispered.
Willo maneuvered Raisa into a sitting position, supporting her with an arm about her shoulders. Elena raised a cup of water to Raisa’s lips.
She took a long swallow. It burned her lips and tongue and scalded her throat, bringing tears to her eyes. She shook her head, refusing more. “It’s too hot!”
Willo and Elena looked at each other, and both nodded.
“It’s the poison,” Willo said. “It confuses the nerves in those who survive. Hot things seem cold, and cold hot. Some say it’s like being set aflame.”
“Do you know what it is? The poison, I mean.” Raisa looked from Willo to Elena.
“It’s made from tree fungus,” Willo said. “It grows on the north side of slopes. We use it sometimes to harvest fish for smoking.”
Elena offered the cup again, and Raisa did her best to drink, ignoring her reverberating nerves. Afterward, she ran her tongue experimentally over her lips, and was surprised to find them unblistered. “How long…how long does this last?”
Willo shrugged. “Hard to say. Most don’t survive.”
Elena set aside the cup when it was clear that Raisa would drink no more. Her grandmother, who was always so calm, seemed twitchy and nervous.
“Let me take a look at your wound, as long as you’re awake,” Willo suggested. “I’ve packed it with snakebite root, though it’s a bit late to draw the poison.”
Obediently, Raisa lay down on her stomach, cradling her face on her arms. Willo drew up her shirt and cut the bandage away from her wound. Elena fetched a pot of hot water from the fire.
“Can you tell us what happened?” Elena asked, sitting down next to her again. Her grandmother was always one to go straight to the point. “Who attacked you?”
“Only if you feel up to talking about it, Your Highness,” Willo murmured.
Raisa fought back a prickle of unease. This was her grandmother, after all, and Willo was known throughout the Spirits as a gifted healer. Surely she could trust them. She’d always felt safe and cared for in the upland camps, away from the politics at court.
Yet she felt besieged by enemies—so much of what she had once believed had turned out to be false.
“Those who attacked me were renegade members of the Queen’s Guard,” Raisa said finally. “The only one of them I knew was Mac Gillen, and he is dead.” She drew a sharp breath, gritting her teeth as Willo scraped the poultice away from her wound. “This is the second time my own guard has betrayed me. They came after us before, on the way to Oden’s Ford. That was Gillen’s doing too, though he wasn’t actually there.”
Elena nodded. “Nightwalker said as much.”
The Demonai warrior, Reid Nightwalker, had rescued Raisa and her escort from Gillen’s renegade guards.
“Last time, they seemed to want to take me alive. This time, they obviously meant to kill me.” So what had changed in the interim?
Willo plastered more snakebite root over the wound. It was gloppy and unpleasant, but felt faintly warm. Which meant it was probably cold.
“Captain Byrne is dead,” Raisa went on. “He died defending me in the pass. I believe the rest of our party was killed at Way Camp, or thereabouts. We need to send someone to collect their bodies.”
Elena nodded as if this were old news. “Nightwalker and a party of warriors retraced your trail back as far as the pass.” She paused. “He’d just returned from the city when you came here. Nightwalker was so worried about you—but he was also furious. He only left your side because he intended to hunt down and…question…those who attacked you.” Elena’s face hardened, eyes glittering. “But he was too late. He found Captain Byrne and several groups of unbadged soldiers dead. Some killed with crossbows, others with a longbow.”
“A longbow?” Raisa mumbled into her pillowed arms. “I remember crossbows, but I don’t remember anyone shooting with a longbow.” All dead, she thought. Well, maybe that explained the mourning dress. Except…Raisa twisted her head, trying to look up at them. “Have you sent word to my mother? Does she know about Captain Byrne? Is she on her way here?”
Willo’s hands stopped moving for a long moment, and she and Elena exchanged glances again.
“We don’t know, granddaughter,” Elena said. “We sent a messenger to Fellsmarch, and we’ve not heard back.”
“You’ve not heard back in three days?” Raisa’s voice rose. It’s been three days, she thought. Why haven’t you come? The memory of the wolf dream crashed in on her again. She didn’t want to speak about it, because saying it aloud would make it real.
“Something’s happened,” Raisa said. “Something’s wrong. She would answer. She couldn’t ignore this. She wouldn’t.”
“Nightwalker left for Fellsmarch yesterday, to speak directly to your father,” Elena said. Her fingers twisted in her skirts. “The speakers say that…” Willo shook her head quickly, and Elena didn’t finish.
“We’ll just have to wait to hear from the Vale,” Willo said. Raisa could feel the power in Willo’s hands soothing her, making her sleepy. “It should be soon.”
Raisa closed her eyes and breathed out slowly, trying to relax under Willo’s hands. But new questions kept bubbling up as she sorted out what she did and didn’t know. “How…how did I get here? I was wounded, and they were coming for me, and—I don’t remember.”
“Hunts Alone brought you here,” Willo said.
Raisa searched her memory. “Hunts Alone? Who’s that?”
“Well.” Willo hesitated. “Perhaps you know him by his Vale name—Hanson Alister.”
It hadn’t been a dream, then. Han Alister had come to her in the middle of the Spirit Mountains. Han Alister had saved her life.
How did all of these people get tangled up together?
“Briar Rose?” Willo prompted, when Raisa didn’t say anything.
“Why would Han Alister have a clan name?” Raisa blurted. “He’s Valeborn and a wizard besides.”
Elena cleared her throat. “I did not realize that you two had met.” She didn’t sound happy that they had. “He seemed confused—or maybe delirious. He called you Rebecca.”
“I went by that name in Oden’s Ford,” Raisa said. “We were in school together there. He didn’t know who I really was.”
But now he would find out. He probably already knew.
Raisa’s stomach clenched miserably. She’d wanted to tell him herself—to explain. She didn’t want him to hear it from somebody else.
Elena leaned forward, fingering her Demonai amulet. “Was Hunts Alone one of those who attacked you?”
“Why would he attack me?” Raisa asked irritably.
“No one thinks Hunts Alone attacked the princess heir except you and Nightwalker,” Willo said, scowling at Elena. “Sit up, Your Highness.”
Willo helped her sit up again. Raisa felt as weak as a day-old kitten.
“The jinxflinger had my granddaughter’s talisman ring in his possession,” Elena said defensively. “And Hanalea’s Sword, and the ring that belonged to Captain Byrne.” She turned to Raisa, as if looking for allies. “And we still don’t know how Hunts Al…how Alister came to find you.”
“However he found her, Hunts Alone saved her life,” Willo said, reordering Raisa’s hair with her fingers. “He had to remove the talisman ring in order to do it.”
Raisa wasn’t following this conversation at all. “But there were eight of them,” she blurted out. “Eight men attacking me. What happened to them? How did he get me away from them? Did they leave me for dead or…”
“We just don’t know,” Elena said, sliding a look at Willo. “That’s just it—everyone is dead, and there are too many unanswered questions.”
“Well, what does Han—what does Alister say about it?” Raisa asked impatiently. It was like the two matriarchs were being confusing on purpose.
Willo shook her head. “He has been too ill. We’ve been unable to question him.”
“He’s ill?” Raisa leaned forward. “Was he injured? What happened? Where is he?” Every answer seemed to spawn more questions.
“Hunts Alone knew you had been poisoned,” Willo said. “He used high magic to save your life. Wizard healers treat patients by taking on the injuries of their patients. It’s a risky business, and Hunts Alone is relatively untutored.” She looked at Elena, and her gaze hardened. “He should not have been put into this position. He should not be here at all. He’s had only a few months of training.”
A tension crackled between the two women that Raisa had never seen before.
“No,” Raisa whispered, shaking her head. “He should never have risked it if he didn’t know what he was doing.”
But neither woman seemed to hear. They were focused on each other.
“It was his duty to save her life, if indeed he did,” Elena said, returning Willo’s glare.
Raisa looked from one to the other. “What do you mean, it was his duty?”
They both looked at her, mouths clamped shut, as if wishing they could call the words back.
There was something in Willo’s face—some secret she did not want to reveal. She cut her eyes to Elena as if to say, This is your fault. You tell her.
“Hunts Alone is sworn to serve the clans and the Gray Wolf line,” Elena said.
“What?” Raisa headache was growing worse with every revelation. Her sleepiness had fled, despite Willo’s efforts. “What are you talking about? Han hates the Gray Wolf line.”
Elena raised her eyebrows and looked at Willo, as if to say, Ha! Willo rolled her eyes and bent her head over her bandages.
None of this made any sense. Han Alister blamed the queen, her mother, for the deaths of his mother and sister. Why would he sign on in their service?
As Willo wound a bandage around Raisa’s middle, Raisa caught hold of her wrist. “Somebody had better tell me what’s going on,” she said, glaring at the two matriarchs.
Willo turned her head and looked pointedly at Elena. It was still her turn, apparently.
“Marisa Pines and Demonai Camp agreed to fund Alister’s schooling at Oden’s Ford in exchange for his future service,” Elena said, shrugging.
“The clans are training a wizard?” Raisa wondered if it were possible she was still dreaming. “But that…but that…”
“It’s complicated, granddaughter,” Elena said, patting her knee. “Perhaps we can discuss this further when you—”
“Then why isn’t he at school, if you’re sponsoring him?” Raisa asked. “Why did he come back here?”
“This is, it seems, the future,” Willo said, biting off each word. “The Demonai called him home. He was not allowed to finish his course work, nor serve an apprenticeship.” She wrapped a wide piece of linen over Raisa’s shoulder and around her waist, tying it off neatly.
Elena stood then, and strode back and forth, talking with her hands as usual, directing her arguments at Willo.
“Willo Watersong, the attack on the princess heir more than justifies our decision to bring Alister back. If what you say is true, and he did save her life, this single act has repaid our investment twice over. It was worth it.”
“Do you think it was worth it to him?” Willo whispered.
“Where is he?” Raisa demanded, struggling to rise from her pallet. “Where is Han? I want to see him.”
“Granddaughter…” Elena said, furrowing her brow. “You should rest now. I’m afraid this has been—”
“No!” Raisa said, louder than she’d intended. “If I’ve been sleeping three days, then four days have passed since somebody tried to kill me. I want straight answers to my questions, and I want to see the person that you say saved my life. I want to see what price he’s paid for it.”
“If you insist,” Elena said, her face tight with disapproval.
Willo helped Raisa to her feet, keeping one hand clamped around her elbow. “He’s in the next room,” Willo said. The Matriarch Lodge had several sleeping chambers walled off with curtains, where patients could stay under the watchful eye of the healer.
Willo pulled aside the deerskin drape and they ducked through. Elena remained in the common room, as if Han’s ailment might be catching.
A ceramic stove glowed in the center of the room, kept stoked by two apprentices, a boy and girl a little older than Raisa. A stub of sweetwood smoldered in a burner, and one of the apprentices waved the smoke toward their patient with a large fan.
Han Alister lay on a pallet close to the fire, smothered in blankets, his face pale and glistening with sweat in the firelight. His hair was damp, plastered down on his head, and he twitched and trembled under the blankets, mumbling and muttering to himself.
“Sweet Lady!” Raisa said, looking down at him. The skin seemed tightly stretched across his bones. Usually he blazed with life. Now it looked as though the vital essence had been wrung from him. Tears stung her eyes. She sank to her knees next to the sleeping bench and gently raked strands of golden hair from his forehead.
Don’t you die. Don’t you dare. I forbid it.
As if Han Alister had ever listened to anything she said.
Raisa swallowed hard and looked up at Willo, who was looking down at her, eyes narrowed, lips pursed thoughtfully. “Isn’t it too hot in here? He’s sweating.”
“We are drawing the poison out of him,” Willo said, “with heat and smoke and purgatives. Because there is no entry point, we can’t use snakebite root, the way we have with you. We’ve taken him to the healer’s spring also, but the heat is nearly intolerable to him, and he fights us. Last time, he nearly drowned Bright Hand.” Willo nodded toward one of the apprentices, a boy about Raisa’s age. “I imagine the poison has affected him the same as you—it has confounded his senses.”
Raisa imagined being dipped in a hot spring just now, and shuddered.
“He’s been having seizures,” Willo went on, “but that seems to be easing off some.” She turned to her apprentice. “Bright Hand, has Hunts Alone eaten? Has he drunk anything?”
The apprentice shook his head. “We’ve tried. He refuses. He’s been confused.”
Even if he lives, what if he never recovers his wits? Raisa thought.
“Shouldn’t you—shouldn’t you try a wizard healer?” she asked. “There might be something that could be done for him with high magic.”
Willo nodded, seeming unoffended. “I agree. We don’t know much about high magic and charmcasters. They usually refuse to allow us to treat them. But who could we trust from Fellsmarch? We could fetch someone from the academy at Oden’s Ford, but I believe Hunts Alone will either recover or die before someone could make it there and back.”
Raisa took Han’s hand. Power buzzed weakly through his fingers, a faint shadow of his usual leakage. Which made her think.
She lifted the blanket that was drawn up to his chin, and peeked underneath. Then looked up at Willo.
“Where is his amulet?” Raisa asked.
“He carried two,” Willo said. “I hid them away before the Demonai could take them from him.” She reached underneath his pallet and pulled out a deerskin pouch. “I didn’t want anything to happen to them.”
Raisa weighed the pouch in her hand, then untied the strings and dumped the contents onto the coverlet next to Han. There were, indeed, two amulets—one the serpent amulet she remembered, the other unfamiliar—a bow hunter carved out of gemstone.
“Mother Elena made the Lone Hunter amulet for him,” Willo said. “This other one—I’ve never seen it before.”
“He wore the serpent amulet at Oden’s Ford,” Raisa said, remembering how it had reacted to her the last time she’d touched it. “Maybe one of the masters there gave it to him.” She bit her lip, looking down at it. “I don’t really know anything about it,” she admitted. “But I think it might help him, to have it on. It might keep his magic from leaking away.”
Willo glanced toward the common room, then looked back at Raisa, put her finger to her lips, and nodded.
Raisa lifted the serpent amulet by its chain, careful not to touch it directly. She and Willo stripped back Han’s blanket, and Raisa carefully unbuttoned the heavy wool shirt he wore underneath.
Unfastening the clasp on the chain, she lowered the amulet until it rested on his bare chest. Immediately, it began to glow, as if in greeting.
What if it does more harm than good? Raisa thought. Amulets draw away power, don’t they? But they also store power and provide it to wizards who need it.
Would there be any left after he’d used it to heal her?
Pushing his damp hair out of the way, she fastened the clasp and tucked the chain under the collar of his shirt. Taking his hand, she poked it up under the loose shirt and closed the fingers around the amulet. Then she slid the blanket back up to his chin.
Still on her knees, Raisa looked up at Willo. “Oh, Willo,” she whispered, stroking Han’s cheek, stubbled with a shadow of reddish beard. “This is all my fault.”
The healer smiled, tears standing in her dark eyes. “Really? I was thinking that it was all my fault.”
“I remember…something of what he did to heal me,” Raisa said. “I know I fought him. I have so many secrets. I tried to keep him out. He didn’t save me because I am the heir to the Gray Wolf throne. He…” Her voice broke.
Willo put her hand on Raisa’s shoulder, and power trickled in. “Heart’s ease, Your Highness,” she said. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“If you…if you think I can be of any help,” Raisa whispered, “I would be willing to sit with him, or take over the fans, or…”
“Thank you, Your Highness, but perhaps you’d better rest another day or two before you take on the role of healer’s apprentice.” Willo took Raisa’s arm and helped her to her feet. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
As they shuffled toward the entrance, Raisa heard voices in the next room. They ducked through the deerskin curtain to find three new arrivals in the Matriarch Lodge.
It was Raisa’s father, Averill. And Amon Byrne.
Amon! Raisa’s heart lurched in relief.
Amon’s eyes fixed on Raisa immediately, raking her from her tousled head, over her knee-length shift, to her feet in their ridiculous heavy wool socks. He closed his eyes and lifted his face toward the sky as if sending up a prayer of thanksgiving. Then fixed his eyes back on her as if to make sure she didn’t disappear on him.
Amon looked awful. He might have come straight from hell to the Matriarch Lodge, with the memory of that place still engraved on his face. He looked years older, and yet dreadfully young. The gray eyes were clouded with pain and grief, and his face was layered with weariness under a stubble of beard.
“Sweet Lady of Grace,” Raisa whispered. “Thank the Maker you’re safe.”
She wanted to throw her arms around him, to tell him how sorry she was, to tell him how his father saved her life, to tell him that none of this was his fault. She wanted to ask him a thousand questions. She wished she could banish everyone else from the room.
“Corporal Byrne,” she whispered, her voice still hoarse from the effects of the toxin. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”
She took a faltering step toward Amon, stumbled, and would have fallen, save that Averill leaped forward and caught her in his arms.
“He already knows, Briar Rose,” her father said. “Nightwalker brought us the news.”
“Nightwalker?” Raisa looked past Averill, toward the door. “Is he…?”
“He stayed on, in the city, to…to…” Averill’s voice broke, and he cradled her close, kissing the top of her head as if she were a young child. “Thank the Maker you are alive. You have no idea what I…When Nightwalker told us what had happened, that you were badly wounded, I was afraid we had lost you too.”
For a long moment, Raisa allowed herself to be Averill’s daughter, to slide her arms around her father and press her face into his leather shirt. To rest there a moment, safe.
I’m finally home, she thought. Things have to get better from here on.
Averill set her down on her feet, carefully, as if she might break, keeping one arm around her shoulders for support.
“Corporal Byrne,” Raisa said, struggling for calm composure. “Your father was one of the bravest and wisest men I have ever met, and he was so proud of you—justifiably so.”
“Your Highness,” Amon said. “I am so sorry. I should have been there. It should have been me.”
“No,” she said, raising her hand to stay him as tears streamed down her face. “Had you been there, I would have lost you too, and I could not bear that, to lose both of you.” She faltered, trying to regain control of her voice. “As it is, it is a grave loss to the line, and to me, personally.”
Amon nodded once, looking straight ahead, his eyes pooling with unshed tears. A muscle moved in his jaw, and she knew he was clenching his teeth. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he managed to say. He swallowed hard.
Raisa mopped at her face with her sleeve. It’s all right to cry, she told herself. Soldiers and queens are allowed to cry, aren’t they?
She was half Demonai. Demonai don’t cry.
“Captain Byrne and his triple were not the only heroes,” Raisa continued, determined to shape the telling of this story before it got away from her. “After I was wounded, Han Alister risked his own life to save mine.” She paused, watching their faces closely. “I understand that some of you know him as Hunts Alone.”
Averill glanced at Elena, raising an eyebrow. Elena nodded, her lips pressed tightly together.
“Alister’s here?” Amon said. His gray eyes searched the room.
Raisa tilted her head toward the back room. “He’s in there, fighting for his life.”
“Blood of the demon!” Amon took a step toward the partition. “Was he wounded? What did he…?”
“There’s more news, daughter,” Averill said quickly, a warning in his voice. “More news that cannot wait.”
Raisa turned around and looked up into her father’s haggard features, newly engraved with loss and grief—yes, and fear. For once, her father’s trader face betrayed him.
“Lightfoot,” Elena said. “What is it? What’s happened?”
Averill put his hands on Raisa’s shoulders and looked down into her face. “She’s gone, Briar Rose,” he said. “Your mother—Queen Marianna—she is dead.”