C H A P T E R F I F T Y - E I G H T Raisa and her party declined to remain at Marisa Pines Camp until Nightwalker returned. The atmosphere had been poisoned by the revelations about Demonai treachery and Averill’s and Elena’s continued and vocal opposition to the marriage. Raisa worried that they might yet make an attempt on Han’s life. His death was the one argument she could not counter.
Back in Fellsmarch, they proceeded with plans for a small wedding—suited to a country at war. Nothing like the extravaganza her parents had enjoyed.
Han wanted Dancer to announce the marriage to the Wizard Council, as representative of the queen.
Raisa argued the point. “When I confronted the Demonai, you came with me,” she said. “You and Dancer shouldn’t have to face the council alone.”
“You’ve already done the hard work,” Han said. “The majority supports us. If you come before the council, it will look as if you are asking permission, which you are not.”
“Are you tutoring me in politics, Alister?” Raisa tapped her foot.
In the end, she conceded that Han and Dancer would go on their own, with backing from Gryphon and Mordra.
“We’re going by way of Ragmarket,” Han said. “Dancer and I still keep our horses down there, and that way I can check in with my eyes and ears. I need to talk to Jemson, too. Something about a wedding.” Han grinned and tilted her face up for a kiss. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”
When he left, it was like he had taken the failing daylight with him.
I can’t protect him all the time, Raisa thought. Just like he can’t protect me.
It wasn’t that she didn’t have plenty to do. Raisa plowed through a mountain of paperwork—requisitions for supplies for the new quartermaster, trade agreements with Carthis and other overseas countries, since trade to the south had been stymied by the war.
Until there came a pounding on the door. “Your Majesty? It’s Mick.”
“Come,” Raisa said, putting down her pen.
Cat was halfway to the door when Mick burst into the room, waving an envelope. “This just came in from the guardhouse. Message from Lord Alister. I’m told it’s urgent.”
Already? It’s too soon to be an answer from the council, Raisa thought. She surged to her feet and extended her hand.
Mick handed her the envelope. It was sealed with Han’s streetlord symbol, a vertical line with a lightning bolt across it. The staff-and-flash.
“Wait outside, in case we need to send an answer,” Raisa said.
Mick bowed himself out.
The note was written in Han’s upright, scrawling hand.
Raisa, I’m at the warehouse. I have some new information about the wizard killings. We’ve had it all wrong. Come right away. Bring Cat, keep it quiet, and be careful. H. Alister
“What is it?” Cat was trying to read upside down. “Is Dancer with him? Is he all right?”
Raisa shook her head, glancing at the message again. “I don’t know. It doesn’t say. He’s in Ragmarket—at the warehouse.” She looked up at Cat. “The warehouse? What warehouse?”
“I know where it is,” Cat said, her voice low and strained. “Dancer has a metalshop there. It’s in Pilfer Alley, where Han’s old crib was. That’s where he meets his eyes and ears.”
Pilfer Alley! The night that Ragmarket burned, Micah Bayar had shown her a warehouse he described as Han’s headquarters, one of the few buildings spared in all of Ragmarket.
“All right, then,” Raisa snapped. “Let’s go.” Shrugging into her cloak and grabbing her battle staff, Raisa slammed open the door, nearly hitting Mick.
“Mick—go find Captain Byrne. Give him this note. Don’t give it to anyone else but him. Tell him I’ve gone to meet Lord Alister.”
Mick rubbed his chin. “Your Majesty, why not wait here and see if Captain Byrne wants to—”
“Don’t worry,” Raisa said. “I’ll have my bodyguard with me. Come on, Cat.” Closing her ears to Mick’s mumbled protests, Raisa strode down the corridor.
All the way to the Market Temple, Raisa grappled with the possible meaning of Han’s message. We’ve had it all wrong.
Cat ranged out in front of her, driving a wedge through the crowds of people heading home to hearths and suppers.
When they arrived at the temple square, Cat led Raisa to the east, into a snarl of narrow streets and alleys. The buildings here had not yet been rebuilt or reoccupied, and so the streets were largely deserted, save for those who preferred the dark. The shadows seemed alive with these. More than once, Cat drove off skulking footpads and slide-handers.
Ahead, Raisa could see the second story of the warehouse looming over the ruins of the surrounding buildings. As they drew closer, she could see no signs of activity around it. Above the door was scrawled the staff-and-flash.
Impulsively, Cat reached for Raisa’s hand and squeezed it.
Wolves crowded in front of the doors, whining and snapping their jaws. Their voices clamored in Raisa’s head: Beware, Raisa ana’Marianna.
I know, Raisa growled to herself. We’re in danger, or something bad is about to happen, or something’s about to change. That’s my life, up to now. Get out of the way.
She and Cat each gripped a handle and flung the double doors wide.
Raisa squinted into the darkness. The only light seeped in through soot-filmed, narrow windows. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out the hulking shapes of furniture and equipment, like beasts crouching, ready to spring.
“Han!” Raisa shouted, her voice echoing in the cavernous space. “Dancer!”
No answer.
“Han?” Raisa repeated, and waited. Nothing.
“Where could he be?” Raisa looked at Cat. “We couldn’t have come here any sooner.”
“We don’t know how long it took the note to get to us,” Cat said. “There’s a second floor. Han likes to come in over the rooftops.”
“All right. You search down here, and I’ll look upstairs,” Raisa said. “Shout if you find them.”
Raisa loped up the wide staircase, stumbling as she crossed the splintered landing. The second level wasn’t entirely floored in, consisting of wide planks laid in over the rafters, connected by catwalks. She forced herself to slow down. It wouldn’t do Han any good if she slipped and broke her neck.
“Han?”
Down below, she heard a muffled shout and a thump, as of a body hitting the floor.
The back of her neck prickled. “Cat?” she called down. No answer. “Han!”
No answer. But she heard a floorboard creak at the foot of the stairs. Someone was coming up. And she had a feeling it wasn’t anyone she wanted to see.
Raisa soft-footed it along the catwalk to the far end of the building. Whoever was stalking her knew she was up here. She either had to hide long enough for Amon to arrive, or find a way out and over the rooftops.
The catwalk trembled under her feet. He was coming. She’d better get out.
Raisa ducked into a side room, half full of boxes and bins. A pallid light leaked into the room from high overhead. There must be a window up here, she thought. She hoped it would be big enough to squeeze through.
Threading her way to the back, she stood her staff against the wall and began to climb, finding handholds where the mortar had cracked and chunks had fallen down, finding footholds on the unstable stack of crates. But when she reached the window, her heart plummeted. It was barred; of course it was, in this neighborhood.
She looked back toward the door. A tall dark silhouette filled the doorway, and Raisa froze, her feet braced against the stone wall, her back against the stacked boxes, holding her breath. And then it happened. A bit of mortar, dislodged by her foot, broke free and hit the floor below with a ping.
“Briar Rose? Is that you?” A familiar voice, with an upland accent.
She released a long breath of relief. It was Nightwalker. But…what was he doing here? Why hadn’t he answered her call? And where was Cat?
This wasn’t right. All of her instincts screamed danger. And if instinct weren’t enough, wolves milled and circled on the floor below. Her mind churned furiously. Nightwalker knew she was there—there was no way he’d overlook her. And it would be easy enough to get her down from her perch on the wall. Well…maybe not that easy.
She made a quick decision. “Nightwalker? Thank the Lady! I didn’t know it was you.”
Now she saw him standing below her, looking up, his face obscured in shadow. “Come down,” he said. “Before you fall.”
“I seem to be stuck,” she said. “I’m afraid to move. Amon and the others are on their way. Could you meet them and tell them to fetch a rope?”
She saw the flash of his teeth in the gloom, as if he found this ploy amusing. “Just let go,” he said, extending his arms. “Don’t worry. I’ll catch you.”
“Where’s Cat?” Raisa asked. “Didn’t you see her?”
“Your black-skinned maid?” He paused for a heartbeat. “Yes. I saw her.”
Raisa’s stomach clenched. Cat! Surely he wouldn’t…“She won’t trouble us,” Nightwalker said. “If she wakes at all, it won’t be soon. We have all the time we need.”
And Raisa knew, with a crushing certainty, what he intended to do.
Somehow, she managed to keep her voice steady when she said, “You’ve heard, then, that I intend to marry Hunts Alone?”
“Yes. I heard that,” Nightwalker said, his voice soft and even. “From Lord Averill.”
She cleared her throat. “I hoped you’d be at Marisa Pines,” she said. “I wanted to talk to you in person.”
“And yet you didn’t wait for me,” Nightwalker said. “I arrived the day after you left.”
“Let’s talk now,” Raisa said, playing for time. As soon as Mick found Amon, he’d be on his way.
“Come down,” Nightwalker said, “and we’ll talk.”
“How did you find me?” Raisa asked, making no move to do so. “I didn’t realize that you knew Ragmarket so well.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time in Ragmarket since I came to the city,” Nightwalker said, his voice laced with contempt. “I’m very much at home here now.”
Nightwalker’s business was at the palace. Why would he spend time in Ragmarket?
Her mind raced. Nightwalker had lured her here with a note stamped with Han’s street symbol. The staff-and-flash. The symbol that had been painted on the bodies of dead wizards.
Raisa’s heart lurched, then began to pound. “Blood and bones! You’re the one murdering the gifted!”
“I hate the city,” Nightwalker said. “But it’s a good place to hunt jinxflingers.”
She should have known. And, knowing Nightwalker, he’d want to talk about it.
“How did you ever manage it?” she asked, playing for time. “No one ever saw you. Everyone suspected Hunts Alone.”
“As I intended,” Nightwalker said. “Averill and Elena should never have made that bargain with him. And so I killed wizards and put his mark on their bodies. I even took his rowan talisman from under his bed at Marisa Pines and left it at the scene of one of the killings. And yet he still walks free,” Nightwalker said bitterly. “Knowing what I know now, I suppose you intervened.”
Keep him talking, Raisa thought. “How did you know what his gang mark was?” Raisa said. “I didn’t recognize it at first.”
“Bird overheard Hunts Alone talking about it in the visitors’ lodge,” Nightwalker said. “She told me.”
This was like a punch to the gut. “Night Bird is in on this?”
Night Bird, whom she’d thought might be one of a new generation, someone who could learn to live with her former enemies.
Nightwalker laughed softly. “She is Demonai, and my bed partner. She does my bidding, of course.”
Night Bird. Raisa shuddered. One more disappointment in a lifetime rife with them—and now it might be drawing to a close.
“Kill me, and Mellony ascends,” Raisa said. “Is that what you want?”
Nightwalker brushed away Mellony with a wave of his hand. “Your pale sister won’t outlive you for very long.”
Raisa had one more card to play. She didn’t think it would win the hand, but she wanted to see what Nightwalker’s countermove would be.
“Han and Dancer won’t be fooled,” she said. “You won’t outlive me for very long, either.”
Nightwalker laughed. “You are more slow-witted than I thought. Hunts Alone wrote the note that called you into this trap, didn’t he? He will cut your throat and paint his mark on your body with your blood. And this time, you won’t be here to save him.”
Would it work? Maybe. Han had enemies who would be glad to pin her murder on him. And Nightwalker had gotten away with murder so far.
“You should have accepted my handfast gift,” Nightwalker said. “We would have established a dynasty of clan royalty to replace the usurpers who have ruled for thousands of years. We could have driven the gifted from the mountain home. Now I will have to do it on my own.”
Raisa said nothing, too stunned to conjure speech.
“I had such high hopes for you,” Nightwalker continued. “You carried Averill’s blood, and you thrived in the upland camps like a true clan princess.
“And then it all fell apart. Your mother was a fool—seduced by Lord Bayar’s honeyed words. Bayar cuckolded your father even while he schemed to reestablish jinxflinger rule. It dishonored Lord Averill, a Demonai. It could not be tolerated.”
Raisa sucked in a breath. What had he just said?
Nightwalker continued, as if compelled to explain himself. “With Marianna gone, I hoped you would be the upland queen we had longed for—the first clan queen since the Invasion. I was wrong. You were clan on the surface—but a flatlander inside.” He spat the word flatlander like an epithet.
“You murdered my mother,” Raisa said, resting her head against the brick wall. She felt hollow, scalded inside, emptied of a thousand assumptions and beliefs.
“I did not intend to,” Nightwalker said. “When I learned that she meant to change the succession, I went to see her, to persuade her to change her mind.”
“Oh, no,” Raisa said. “You went to kill her, Nightwalker. You did not come through the front door like a man. You came over the roof, or slipped in through a window so the guards in the hallway wouldn’t see you.” That wouldn’t have been difficult for a Demonai.
“I wanted to speak with her, only,” Nightwalker insisted. “But she ordered me out. She said it wasn’t my place to question her decisions. I became angry. We struggled, and she fell.”
Nightwalker’s inability—or unwillingness—to control his temper was well known.
“My mother grabbed your Demonai talisman, didn’t she?” Raisa said. “The chain broke.” Raisa recalled the meeting at Marisa Pines—Bird unwrapping the wizard amulet the murderer had supposedly left behind. Raisa remembered Bird’s odd demeanor at the time. “And Night Bird covered for you. She lied. She pretended she’d found that amulet in the garden.”
“She did find the amulet in the garden,” Nightwalker said. “I put it there after Averill showed us the broken chain. I think she suspected something, since she’d searched the garden already. But she said nothing, of course.”
Raisa could already see the lie perpetuated through the ages. Han would be blamed for her murder, and she would be blamed for the flatland invasion. They’d say that she was just another Gray Wolf queen who’d loved unwisely. Who’d given in to lust and nearly broken a queendom.
No. She would not see that happen.
She fingered the hilt of her belt dagger. He was Demonai. She had no illusions about outfighting Nightwalker. But if she could make him angry, maybe he would make a fatal mistake. Or at least kill her in a way that would implicate him, and not Han.
“I must say this—you are consistent, Reid Nightwalker Demonai,” Raisa said. “You are a coward who preys on women. You earned your Nightwalker name between the blankets and not on the battlefield.”
“Be quiet,” Nightwalker said. “This will not help you.”
Raisa raised her voice. “Instead of confronting Gavan Bayar, who was the real villain of the piece, you murdered my mother. That was, no doubt, easier and safer.”
“That’s a lie.” Nightwalker slammed the wall with his hand. “Shut your mouth and come down. I am done talking.”
“And now you will murder me,” Raisa continued, as though she hadn’t heard. “And why? Here’s what I think.”
“I said be quiet.” Nightwalker shoved viciously at the stack of crates. “Be quiet or I’ll come up after you.” He circled the base of Raisa’s perch, looking for a way up.
“Here’s what I think!” Raisa practically shouted, like she was speaking at temple. She layered her voice with as much scorn as she could muster. “My mother was unfaithful to my father, which was their business, not yours. And I had the temerity to say no to you.”
With that, Nightwalker began to climb, cursing under his breath. He was bigger, though, and when he tried to use the stacked crates to brace himself, they wobbled dangerously.
Raisa fingered her dagger, debating. If she threw and missed, she’d be weaponless. But she didn’t want to come within arm’s reach of him, either.
When he was too close for her to wait any longer, she threw, but Nightwalker flung himself sideways, somehow clinging to the wall but sending the stack of boxes tumbling.
The blade hit the floor below with a clatter.
Not good enough. Nightwalker’s arm was bleeding, but it was superficial. He bared his teeth in a smile, and kept coming.
Raisa climbed higher, until her head hit the underside of the roof, then jammed her heels together and jumped, aiming both feet at Nightwalker’s head. If they both died here, Han couldn’t be blamed.
This time she hit true, sending them both tumbling nearly a story to the floor. Raisa tried to land, rolling, but smashed her shoulder when she hit. The pain was blinding, but she rose to her feet and staggered over to where her staff leaned against the wall. She gripped it with her good arm and turned.
Nightwalker was on his feet also. Scooping up Raisa’s knife, he padded toward her like the predator he was, a knife in each hand. “Now,” he said. “Now you will pay for your disrespect of me. But I will make sure you are still recognizable when they find your body.”
Raisa tried to raise her staff, but it was difficult to do so with her left arm hanging uselessly at her side. She was basically defenseless.
“Nightwalker!” The voice came, strong and clear, from behind him. “Let her go. There has been enough bloodshed.”
Nightwalker stopped in his tracks and turned to look.
“Night Bird?” Nightwalker looked astounded. “What are you doing here?”
She stood atop a stack of pallets, feet braced apart, an arrow nocked and her longbow drawn back to her ear.
“I’m here to keep you from killing anyone else,” Night Bird said. “I’ve been watching you ever since Queen Raisa announced her betrothal.”
“Whatever you think you heard, I can explain,” Nightwalker said.
“More lies?” Night Bird snorted. “Save your breath. When I found the amulet in the queen’s garden, I guessed you had planted it there, since I had searched the area thoroughly the day before.” She shook her head. “I thought you’d done it to strengthen the case against the wizards for those who still doubted. I thought the Bayars were guilty, so the end justified the means.”
Nightwalker opened his mouth to speak, but Night Bird spoke over whatever he’d intended to say. “I never wanted anything more than to be Demonai. I never would have believed that a Demonai warrior would creep into a bedchamber and murder a weaponless woman. And then blame it on somebody else.”
“Night Bird,” Nightwalker said, keeping his eyes on Raisa. “Don’t be a fool. Leave us. I will come to you later, and we will talk.”
“I’m done talking,” Night Bird said. “And I’m done being a fool. I won’t wait for you to come murder me in my bed. I’m here to restore what’s left of Demonai honor. Elena and Averill betrayed Hunts Alone when they enlisted his help against the Wizard Council. And now this.” She paused, her voice faltering. “When I was named to the Demonai, I was not sure that I was good enough. Now I don’t think they are good enough for me.”
Raisa held the staff loosely in her right hand, balanced to leap to one side or another, near fainting from the pain in her shoulder.
Nightwalker’s eyes shifted to Bird, as if to assess whether she really would act. He spun, cocking back his arm, and threw his blade, hard, at Bird. Then he sprang toward Raisa, leading with her knife.
Night Bird’s bow sounded, but he kept coming. Raisa swung her staff the best she could. It struck Nightwalker in his midsection, stopping his forward momentum, but it was by no means a disabling blow. For a long moment, he stood upright, extending the blade toward her as if he could reach across the distance between them. The bow sounded again, and he flinched, eyes widening, then toppled to the floor, two black-fletched arrows centering his back.
Raisa shuddered, remembering Bird’s furious reaction to Elena’s betrayal of Han. You’re the fool, Nightwalker, she thought. You never bothered to get to know your bed partner, as you called her.
She looked up at Bird. Bird gazed down at Nightwalker as if to verify that he wouldn’t be getting up. Her eyes shifted to Raisa, and she pressed her fist to her chest, a clan salute.
And Raisa saw what she hadn’t before. Nightwalker’s blade had struck true—through the base of Bird’s throat.
“Bird!” Raisa screamed. “Sweet martyred Lady!”
Bird swayed, eyes wide, groping at her neck with both hands. Blood bubbled from her lips. And she fell, landing like a rag doll on the warehouse floor.
When Amon Byrne found them, Raisa was sitting on the blood-spattered floor, cradling Bird in her arms, crooning a clan requiem.