C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - T W O You have to trust Han Alister, Raisa told herself over and over. Even though he hates you now. You don’t have a choice.
Well, in fact, she did have a choice. Lots of choices. She could go with the well-insulated sneak-in-and-out plan her father favored. Or the abduction plan Reid Nightwalker was pushing.
But she wanted to honor Han by trusting him, since she hadn’t trusted him before. She only hoped she was making the right decision.
It didn’t help that Nightwalker had made it abundantly plain that he didn’t trust Han Alister, or his plan. Han had sketched it out the day before, in a brief businesslike meeting. Just the three of them, like he’d said. And Raisa had approved of it.
Then they had shared it with the others. Who didn’t approve.
Nightwalker could be relentless. And persuasive. The sun wasn’t even up, but he’d been distracting her for the last hour while she tried to get ready to travel to the memorial.
The topic was Han Alister and his plan.
“He’s a jinxflinger,” Nightwalker said. “How can you trust him to side with you against the Wizard Council?”
“Isn’t that the idea?” Raisa said, rubbing her eyes. “Wasn’t that why Elena Cennestre recruited him? He’s supposed to be the secret weapon.”
“I didn’t say we shouldn’t use him. I’m saying we shouldn’t trust him with your life.” Nightwalker leaned against the lodgepole in the Matriarch Lodge, lithe and deadly as a fellscat. He’d dressed for battle, in the sunlight-and-shadow coat and leggings, his Demonai amulet glittering at his neck.
He didn’t look droopy-eyed at all, though no doubt he’d been up half the night reinforcing his rights to the clan name, Nightwalker. Raisa had seen him and Night Bird kissing good-bye outside the visitors’ lodge at dawn when Raisa went out to the privy. So they were still together, apparently.
She forced her attention back to the present.
“Han hates the High Wizard,” Raisa said. “I can’t imagine him throwing in with them.”
“That’s what he’s told you. But he has more in common with them than he does with any of us.”
Raisa sat back on her heels, resting her hands on her thighs. “You’re doing it again,” she said. “Treating me like I’m stupid. I spent time with Alister at Oden’s Ford. I know him better than you do. I know what I’m doing.”
Nightwalker raised both hands. “Forgive me, Your Highness.” He stopped and cleared his throat self-consciously. “It seems that I am always apologizing to you. I think I spend too much time with people who agree with me.” He took a breath. “Despite my lack of diplomacy, it is not my intention to question your judgment. It is just that I’m concerned about your safety.”
Raisa blinked at him, surprised. This was more introspection than she was used to from Nightwalker. But still—she wouldn’t let him off that easily. “I suppose that’s why you want to go to war against my sister. A princess of the blood. When you don’t even know her intentions.”
Nightwalker shook his head. “I only wanted to take her out of play. It would be safer for you, and safer for her as well.”
“There’s not going to be any fighting,” Raisa said. “That will keep us all safe.” She sorted through clothing, trying to figure out what she should wear that would send the right message to those assembled for her mother’s memorial service.
No, she amended, pressing her fingertips against her brow. What can I wear that will honor my mother and her legacy?
She didn’t have much to choose from—only what the clans had provided since her arrival. Everything else had been left behind, in Fellsmarch and Oden’s Ford. She thought of the closets of elaborate dresses back in the capital and sighed.
You are a beggar of a queen, Raisa thought. Always guesting in someone else’s house and wearing borrowed clothes.
She chose a gored clan skirt in boiled white wool and a beaded overtunic in lightweight suede and draped them over her sleeping bench. Willo had given her a fine white deerskin jacket with painted and embroidered Gray Wolf symbols on the back and sleeves. Clan mourning dress didn’t mirror the dark weedy look of flatland funeral garb. It celebrated the lives of the dead and their connections with the living.
“Wait outside for me, please,” Raisa said to Nightwalker, who seemed inclined to remain glued to her side until it was time to leave for Marianna Peak. Elena’s orders, maybe, with two wizards in camp. Or was it his own inclination?
Nightwalker took hold of her elbows and drew her in for a lingering kiss. He smelled of leather and fresh air.
Raisa drew back a little reluctantly. He seemed eager to resume where they’d left off. She knew from experience that Reid Nightwalker could be a welcome distraction from all of her troubles, if she would let him. He could help her forget that Han Alister was treating her like poison.
“Nightwalker. Go. I need to dress. We’ll be leaving soon.”
The warrior’s smoky-eyed smile made it plain that he’d gladly stay and supervise. But he ducked through the doorway into the outer room.
Raisa sighed. Whenever she was with Nightwalker, she felt under siege—personally and in all other ways. She needed to find a channel for his relentless intensity. He wore her out.
She missed Amon’s steadiness. He had ridden back to Fellsmarch so he could accompany his father’s ashes from the Cathedral Temple to their burying place. Averill was also back in the city and would travel to the memorial service with Marianna’s bier. Raisa would have the Demonai with her, and Han Alister and Fire Dancer. That was all, and that would have to be enough. She hoped she could keep them from each other’s throats.
Raisa was just pulling on her boots when she heard raised voices outside, what sounded like an argument. She poked her head through the curtains to find Han Alister and Reid Nightwalker circling each other like alpha wolves, hackles raised and nearly snarling.
Han was dressed more finely than she’d ever seen him, all in black with a pearl gray trim at the neck and on the sleeves. His shirt fit close to his body, showing off his distractingly lean, muscular frame. The Lone Hunter amulet glittered against the matte fabric, and the dark color set off his bright hair and blue eyes.
“What is going on?” she demanded, looking from one to the other.
“I told him he couldn’t go in, that you were dressing. He’s objecting,” Nightwalker said, his posture one of barely contained violence.
“I just wanted to let you know that I was here,” Han said, shifting his eyes to Raisa, then quickly back to Nightwalker. “I have work to do and not much time, if you don’t want to be late for the ceremony.”
“I’m ready,” Raisa said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s begin.”
Han looked pointedly at Nightwalker and jerked his head toward the door. “Out.”
“I’m staying,” Reid Demonai said, folding his arms and widening his stance as if he never intended to budge.
“We should do this in private, Your Highness,” Han said. “If I’m going to protect you, the fewer who know what I’m up to, the better.”
Han spoke to Raisa, ignoring Nightwalker. Well, Raisa thought, this is a welcome change. Ever since Raisa had confessed her true identity, Han hadn’t spoken to her more often or at greater length than he had to. It was as if he had to pay a dear price for every word he spoke.
“I will not leave you alone with the princess heir,” Nightwalker said. “It’s too much of a risk, given the history of jinxflinger interference with our queens.”
These two hate each other, Raisa thought, and it seems to go beyond the usual suspicion between wizard and clan. After all, Han should be comfortable with the Spirit clans. He’d fostered with them throughout his boyhood. He hadn’t even been a wizard all that long.
A clearing of throats startled her. She looked up to find they were both looking at her, waiting for a decision.
“I’ve known Nightwalker for years,” Raisa said to Han. “He’s serving as part of my guard today. If he can be trusted with that, then surely—”
“I don’t want him here, distracting me,” Han said. “This is hard enough as is.”
“So you admit it,” Nightwalker said. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“That’s exactly the kind of flap-jawed, ignorant remark that I don’t need while I’m working,” Han said, looking at Raisa and raising his eyebrows as if to say, See?
“He stays,” Raisa said, feeling like she was refereeing in the school yard. “But be quiet, Nightwalker, and allow Alister to do his work, or you’re out.”
Han jerked his chin at Nightwalker. “You. Sit in the corner and out of the way if you don’t want to get splashed with magic.”
Nightwalker scowled suspiciously but did as he was told.
Han circled around Raisa, appraising her. “Stand still,” he warned her. “I’m going to have to touch you.”
He sounded resigned to it, more than anything else.
Han slid his hand inside his coat, and Raisa knew he was gripping the serpent amulet. Maybe that was why he didn’t want Nightwalker there. He didn’t seem to want to display that amulet to anyone in the camps.
Raisa tensed up, her skin tingling in anticipation of the contact. His fingers hissed and fizzed as they brushed lightly against her head, her shoulders, the back of her neck, her waist. It reminded Raisa of the sculptor who’d struck her portrait for the crown coin, getting the feel of the clay before he shaped it.
Han stepped back and rubbed his chin, frowning. Then his expression cleared as he stared down at her hand. “Oh,” he said. “You need to take off the talisman ring, or it won’t work.”
Raisa looked down at the wolf ring on her right hand.
“Your Highness, Elena Demonai gave you that ring for protection against jinxflinger charms,” Nightwalker said. “Now would not be a good time to take it off. Not when you’re going to be facing the most powerful jinxflingers in the Vale.”
“Now would be a very good time to take it off,” Han said. “If you want this plan to work.”
“Forgetting about Alister and what he might be up to, that ring protects you if one of the wizards at the memorial decides to flame you,” Nightwalker argued. “Without it, you’ll be vulnerable.” He paused, then murmured, not quite under his breath, “Unless that’s the idea.”
“She won’t be vulnerable if you shut up and let me do my job,” Han said, his hand still inside his neckline, his chin cocked up aggressively.
“Stop it,” Raisa said. She slid the ring from her finger and tucked it into a pouch at her belt. “There. I’ll have it right here in case I need it. You’d better hurry. It must be nearly time to leave.”
This time was different. Han murmured charms as he circled around her, his face hard with concentration, his eyes fixed and focused internally. His fingers kindled little fires wherever he touched her. Raisa gasped as the magic slid under her skin, bringing the blood to the surface. She felt glowing and dizzy-headed, like she’d just stepped out of the sweat lodge at Demonai Camp.
Or like a lover after an episode of kissing.
Nightwalker watched from his corner, taut as a bowstring.
Then the wolves came. Singly and in pairs, they slid under the canvas dividers and through the walls, eye bright, tongues lolling, until a dozen were assembled, sitting on their haunches in a circle around them.
It reminded Raisa of the dream she’d had after Byrne was killed in Marisa Pines Pass—the visitation of the wolf queens on the night her mother died. There was gray-eyed Hanalea and green-eyed Althea. Sometimes, for a split second, she thought she saw the queens themselves.
Han glanced at the wolves, then back at Raisa. “Friends of yours?”
Raisa blinked at him. “You can see them?”
“I’ve been seeing them, off and on, since we—since I healed you,” Han said. “I hoped they would come today. I don’t know if this will work, but…” He extended his hands toward the wolf queens. Flame danced on his fingertips. Light arced from his hands to the wolves and back to him.
Hanalea tilted her head, gazing at Han with a wolfish grin.
Why would Han Alister see wolves? Raisa wondered. That was a trait of the Gray Wolf line, linked to the gift of prophesy. It didn’t make sense.
Must be some quirk of the healing process, she thought. Of their joining together.
The wolves closed their eyes and laid back their ears. Lifting their muzzles toward the sky, they began to howl, a mournful cry that raised the hair on Raisa’s neck.
“Oh!” she said, shivering.
Nightwalker came upright, looking ready to spring. “What is it, Briar Rose? What did he do?”
“Your Highness, have you ever noticed how hard it is to concentrate and do things right when somebody’s yammering in your ear?” Han said. “If this goes wrong, I’m just saying, I’m not the one to blame.”
Despite his sardonic tone, sweat pebbled his forehead and dewed his upper lip, like he was expending considerable energy. Or was nervous about the outcome.
The wolves finished their dirge. Hanalea turned toward Raisa and dipped her head. The royal pack melted into shadow and dissipated.
Han withdrew his hand and stood, head down, taking quick shallow breaths like he’d run a great race. The Lone Hunter amulet underlit his face, creating shadows and highlighting planes. Sweat dripped off him, spotting the rug.
Raisa wrapped her arms around herself, gripping her elbows to either side. She still tingled all over, but that seemed to be the only lasting effect. “Was it…did it work?” she asked.
Han raised his head and blotted perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve. “We’ll see soon enough.”
Raisa saw the question on Nightwalker’s face and decided to ask it herself, thinking she might actually get an answer. “What were you trying to do?”
“I was creating a sending.”
“A sending? What’s that?”
“A glamour. An image to use once we’re on Marianna Peak. Something that will impress and confuse the Wizard Council and the rest of the bluebloods. Something that will make you a difficult target.” Han glanced at Nightwalker. “Remember? I said I would create a magical distraction,” he said, as if Nightwalker needed simple speech.
“Can I put my ring back on?” Raisa asked, pressing her fingers against her pouch.
Han frowned, biting his lower lip, then shook his head. “Better not. I think we have to keep the magical connection alive until after.”
Elena poked her head through the doorway. “Are you ready? We must go, granddaughter.”
Raisa would ride hidden amid the Demonai contingent escorting her grandmother to the queen’s memorial.
Fire Dancer waited with the ponies. Han pulled him aside, leaned in, and murmured something in his ear. Dancer nodded, looking at Raisa.
Nightwalker came and draped a Demonai shadow cloak over Raisa’s funeral garb, fastening it at the neck, and letting his hands linger on her shoulders.
The memorial for the queen was scheduled for late afternoon. Their journey would take them the better part of the day since they intended to keep to the mountains, circling around the Vale from Marisa Pines, crossing the Dyrnnewater to the west of Fellsmarch, and coming at Marianna Peak from the northwest.
Elena and Willo rode alongside Raisa, while the Demonai warriors rode ahead and behind. Han and Dancer rode side-by-side, hands on their amulets, stoking them up for what lay ahead. Raisa wondered how much Han’s had been drained by the creation of the “sending.” She hoped it would be worth the cost.
Whenever Raisa looked at them, the two wizards had their heads together, talking quietly as they rode along. Dancer carried two large panniers on his pony, in addition to his bedroll.
It would be a cold, clear day in the mountains, perhaps a bit warmer downslope where the service would be. The stars blinked out to the east as the sun broke over the Spirits, spilling into the Vale below.
“Mother would love this day,” Raisa said to Elena, squinting against the slanting light. “She loved the sun, even if she didn’t love the cold.”
“Mmm.” Elena seemed preoccupied, no doubt worrying about her son, Averill.
Love makes you vulnerable, Raisa thought. And yet she’d always hoped for it.
They crossed the Dyrnnewater in early afternoon, on a high bridge over the river’s foaming roar. Though they were too high to smell it, the water below carried with it all the filth and jetsam of the overcrowded capital to the east.
When I am queen…Raisa thought, as she had so many times before. And stopped.
I am queen.
They climbed high into the northern Spirits again, catching glimpses of the greening Vale below. Raisa eagerly drank in views of the spires, domes, and turrets of faraway Fellsmarch. It glittered in the sunlight like a child’s fairy city, the kind of place that disappeared when you came too close.
I’m coming home, she swore. Tonight, if I have my way.
Northwest of the Vale, they would leave the trail that overlooked it and strike north and east again, to come in behind Marianna and descend between her twin peaks. They paused at the joining of the trails to eat and rest the horses before the long climb ahead.
Leaving Switcher in the hands of Night Bird, Raisa walked a short distance through the trees to where she could take a last look into the Vale before they rounded the shoulder of the mountain and it disappeared from view.
The valley had come alive with people. Travelers clogged the roads, using conveyances appropriate to their stations. Some rode on fine horses, leaving the roads and cutting cross-country when they became impatient with their slow progress. Fine carriages competed for space with wagons packed with those who could spare a girlie for a ride. And some came afoot, even entire families, mothers and fathers carrying small children, scarves wrapped around their faces to turn the dust of the road.
They jammed the roads that descended from Fellsmarch, crossed the Vale, and climbed Marianna to the north. The citizens of Fellsmarch were turning out to say good-bye to their queen.
Raisa was touched and surprised. Marianna had not been popular, at least among the folk in the poorer neighborhoods of the capital. They had exploded in riots when it was rumored that the queen meant to set Raisa aside and name Mellony heir in her place.
“Sweet Martyred Lady,” she whispered. “It looks like the entire city is on the move.”
“Ragmarket and Southbridge, anyway. Plus all the bluebloods, of course.”
Raisa flinched and turned. Han Alister stood next to her, looking down on the Vale. He could ghost about like any clan warrior.
He shaded his eyes, the wind ruffling his hair. “Maybe Westmarket, Roast Meat Hill, and the Bottoms, too.”
“What do you mean?” she said. “How do you know?”
“I sent Cat Tyburn down to the city,” Han said. “Told her to spread the word that the Princess Raisa would be here and might need an assist. That there were them that might try and take her throne away from her. Or hush her on the spot or slap her in darbies.” He slid easily back into the thieves’ cant she’d spent months tutoring him out of.
“What?” She tilted her head, looking up at him. “After we went to all this effort to keep my presence a secret, you spread it all over town?”
Han rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you think Lord Bayar listens to rumors from Ragmarket? Do you think the Council of Nobles meets in the Keg and Crown?” He laughed. “The Raggers and Southies are no danger to you unless you’re carrying a fat purse through the streets. It’s the bluebloods you got to watch out for. I hear they’re rum liars and connivers.” He looked straight at her, his blue eyes hard and brilliant as sapphires.
The pressure of his gaze was like a physical blow, but Raisa forced herself to stand her ground. “Han. I’m sorry I lied to you,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “If I had it to do over, I’d—”
“There are no do-overs, are there, Your Highness?” Han said.
“No,” Raisa said, “but—”
“Anyway, don’t worry about Ragmarket,” Han said, stepping back, pulling free of her grasp. “It’s the shoulder tap in the back hall of the palace you should worry about.” He seemed determined not to get into the unfinished business between them.
“I know that,” Raisa said, giving up. “Despite that, I plan to return to Fellsmarch Castle tonight, as queen-to-be.”
Han glanced over his shoulder to where the Demonai were busy with the horses. “They’re not going to be happy about that idea,” he said. “’Specially Nightwalker. He can’t control you down in the city.”
“He doesn’t control me now,” Raisa snapped.
“He means to marry you,” Han said, staring out over the valley. “Just so you know.”
Raisa resisted the impulse to look back at Nightwalker. “What makes you think that?”
“He’s not that hard to figure out.” He lifted his chin, the angled light revealing a faint reddish stubble in profile.
Raisa wrenched her mind back to the conversation. “Well, if he wants to marry me, he’ll have to stand in line,” she said. “I’m sick and tired of being a means to an end.”
Han turned to look at her, puzzlement flickering over his face. “A means to an end. You? What do you mean?”
“Everybody wants to marry the bloody throne. Nobody would be interested if I lived in Ragmarket. I think I’ll stay a maid.”
“You have to marry, right? So you can assure a peaceful succession?” He’d resumed his carefully blank expression, but she noticed his hands were fisted at his sides.
“Like the one we’re having right now?” She waited, and when he said nothing, went on. “I know you agree with me,” Raisa said. “I need to get back to the palace immediately or chance losing the throne.”
“And you’re telling me this because…?”
“I need your help. To return to Fellsmarch, I mean. I’ll need protection.”
Han shrugged. “Wasn’t that the agreement? That I’d fight the Wizard Council on behalf of the clans and the true line of queens?” That detached, mocking tone was becoming annoyingly familiar.
I’ve hurt him, Raisa thought. I’ve hurt him badly, and violated his trust. Somehow I have to find a way to win it back. To win him back. To prove myself to him.
“I wasn’t there when the agreement was made,” Raisa said, looking into his eyes. “Anyway, that was between you and the clans. I know you’re still resentful of the bargain you made—understandably. I don’t need some grudging, halfhearted letter-of-the-law effort. That will get me killed.”
“That’d be a shame,” Han murmured. He paused, thinking, his fair brows drawn together. “Isn’t that Corporal Byrne’s job? Protecting you, I mean? You planning to make him Captain of the Queen’s Guard?”
Raisa nodded. “He already is, in a way. I’ll make it public at the coronation. But I’ll need both of you,” she said. “Even that might not be enough.”
“What’s in it for me?” Han asked, squinting into the distance. “I’m a sell-sword, after all. What are you offering in trade, since you seem intent on buying me all over again.” His tone was light, but Raisa heard the trader underneath the words.
“What do you want?” Raisa asked.
Han pretended to study on it, but she suspected he had the answers ready. “Well, first off, I’ll need a crib in the palace so I can keep an eye on you and everyone else. A nice place, mind you,” he said, narrowing his eyes as if she might try to cheat him out of his due. “Big enough so guests can stay over. Adjoining your rooms.”
“Adjoining my…” Raisa frowned. “No. That’s not possible.” Having a wizard next door was not a good idea. It had never been done. Even Gavan Bayar and Queen Marianna had kept a gallery between them.
Han raised his hands, palms up. “Do you want protection or not? Do you want me clear across the palace when you need me?” When she still hesitated, he added, “You asked what I wanted, remember? I won’t take a job if I can’t do it right. You know who’ll get the blame if it goes wrong.”
“All right,” she said, wondering how Amon Byrne would react to this idea. “But no guests. Not right next door to my chambers.” For security reasons, she told herself.
He smiled crookedly. “Your Highness, I have lots of friends who’ve never even been in a palace and—”
She held up her hand. “Never mind, Alister. I can tell this isn’t going to work. I’ll take my chances with—”
“You win,” he interrupted, as if knowing he’d pushed too far. “No guests—overnight, anyway.”
She gazed into his face for a long moment, and he looked back steadily. “All right, then, so we are agreed. We—”
“Second, I’ll need a monthly stipend,” he said. “The clans are paying my living expenses, but I don’t want to have to rely on that, in case they get aggravated with me. I got people to keep in the city, so—” He looked sideways at her, as if to assess the size of her purse. “Fifty girlies to start.”
“Fifty girlies!” Raisa rolled her eyes. “Who are you keeping? A harem of fancy girls?” It wouldn’t surprise her, given the stories she’d heard about the streetlord Cuffs Alister.
“It isn’t your business what I do with the money,” Han said. “You just have to decide whether it’s worth it to you.”
Raisa sighed. “All right. Fifty girlies. I’ll speak with the steward when we—”
“Third, you need to keep teaching me manners,” he broke in. “Protocol, dress, dancing, everything I need to know to be at court. Twice a week, an hour, minimum.”
“Really?” Raisa raised an eyebrow. “Seems to me you’re doing all right on your own—when you make the effort, that is. But if that’s what you want, I will arrange for a tutor to—”
“No.” He shook his head. “You. I want you to do it, just the two of us. It will give us a good excuse to meet in private on a regular basis.” There was something in his gaze, something that suggested this was some kind of test that she needed to pass.
Raisa pressed her lips together to keep any words from spilling. And nodded her assent. Access was one of a monarch’s favors to give away, and Han wanted guaranteed access on an ongoing basis. It was clever on his part.
“All right,” she said. “There can’t possibly be anything else.”
“One last thing. I want you to name me to the Wizard Council,” Han said.
Raisa stared at him. “What?”
“Back at Oden’s Ford, when I asked about the council, you said that the queen appoints one member. That’s what I want.”
“I thought you hated the Wizard Council,” Raisa said. “Why would you want to be a member?”
“Maybe I want to be a member of a club that would never let me in otherwise,” Han said. “Just to give them the itches.”
“Isn’t that whom you’re supposed to be fighting?” Raisa’s voice rose.
Han put his finger to his lips. “Shhh. I’ll be hacking at the council from the inside. But the Demonai won’t understand. That’s one reason I need a stipend from you.”
“If they think you’ve turned, you’ll be risking more than your income,” Raisa said.
“I’ll take that chance,” Han said. “I’ll be working for you, and you’re the queen, right?”
Raisa rubbed her forehead. “Are you sure you’re not a trader under the skin?” she asked.
“We’re all traders in Ragmarket,” Han said.
Raisa thought it over. Truth be told, she preferred Han Alister to most anyone else she could think of appointing to the council. He was likely less dangerous, since he had no preexisting alliances or family connections. And she couldn’t imagine that he’d ever ally himself with the Bayars. “All right,” Raisa said. “I’ll appoint you to the Wizard Council.”
Han spit in his palm and held out his hand.
Rolling her eyes, Raisa spit in her own palm and clasped his.
“Briar Rose?”
Raisa looked up, startled. Reid Nightwalker had approached without her noticing. His dark eyes flicked from Raisa to Han. “The horses are grained and rested and we’re ready to go,” he said. “It’s another two hours to Marianna Peak.”
Han smiled. “We’re done,” he said, and walked toward the horses with something of a swagger.
Reid stared after him.
Raisa wondered how much he had overheard.
She wondered if Han had intended that he overhear.
Who was the real player—her or Han Alister? And what was his game?
She was in over her head in so many ways. Vulnerable to him in so many ways.
I’ve got to get better at this, she thought, if I’m going to survive.