The Demon King

by Cinda Williams Chima

  She shook her head. “But you can’t stay here, you know,” she said. “He’ll catch you sooner or later.”

  “I know. I’m going back to Marisa Pines. I’ll stay up there until things calm down.” He hesitated. “What are you doing home? I thought you’d be at work.”

  “I’m not working up at the castle close anymore,” Mam said, releasing him and stirring the cabbage on the hearth. “But it’s good, because it makes it easier for me to take Mari to school.”

  That had been his job. To convey his sister safely to Jemson’s care.

  “You’re not working for the queen anymore?” Han gently detached Mari from his leg and led her over to the hearth, sat, and pulled her onto his knee. “Why? What happened?”

  “I ruint one of the queen’s gowns.” Mam shrugged. “The seed pearls were made of paste, that was the problem. Didn’t like it there anyway. Fellsmarch Castle, I mean. People were snooty. At least in Ragmarket they treat you like you’re human.”

  “But what are you going to live on?” Han said. “It’s going to be hard for me to come into town, to carry for Lucius, or sell what I glean up mountain.”

  “We’ll get by,” Mam said. “There’s always rags and laundry. And now they’re giving away food at Southbridge Temple two or three times a week. It’s part of that Briar Rose Ministry Princess Raisa started.”

  “Princess Raisa?” Han repeated, surprised. Was she slumming in Southbridge or what? “Huh. I wonder how long that will last.”

  “She’s doing good work,” Mam said. “Everyone says it’s a blessing. And it helps until I can find something steady again.”

  Han thought of the girl Rebecca Morley. She knew people in the castle close. Maybe she could pull some strings, help Mam get her job back, or get another job, just as good.

  Or maybe it was just an excuse to see her again.

  But no. He couldn’t risk giving away his connection to Mam and Mari. He liked to think of them as safe, separate from his life in the gangs, hidden away in the room above the stable.

  “Hanson,” Mam said, in the manner of a person launching a prepared speech.

  Han sighed. He should have known there’d be a lecture, by and by.

  “You can’t just hide in the mountains all the time,” Mam said. “And you can’t seem to be here athout getting into trouble. You’re sixteen now, and you’ve got to find a vocation. You could go to Oden’s Ford, enter the warrior school, and become a officer. That don’t take no connections, and there’s lots of call for soldiers these days, so they don’t ask a lot of questions.”

  Officer? Most of the soldiers he knew were in the Guard, and they’d never take him. Plus he couldn’t see himself smashing heads on the street. But what if he could be an officer in the regular army? He’d have armor and a sword, and his enemies would be out in front of him. He wouldn’t always have to be looking over his shoulder.

  Only there was one big barrier to all of this. “It costs money to go to Oden’s Ford,” he said. “And we don’t have any.”

  And then he had a thought. He scraped back his sleeves, exposing the silver cuffs. “We could sell these,” he said. “They ought to bring enough money to live on for a year or more.”

  Mam shook her head, looking from the cuffs up into his eyes, her face pale and strained. “I think you’d best leave well enough alone. They ain’t meant to come off. Not ever.”

  Han stared at Mam. There was some knowledge in her eyes, and fear as well.

  He wanted to grip her by the shoulders and shake her. He wanted to yell, What do you want from me? It’s that or thieving! I got nothing else. But he couldn’t, not with Mari in the room.

  “I’ll ask Willo about it again,” he said, tugging his sleeves back into place. “There must be a way.”

  There was a way. One good taking, one good mark with a heavy purse, and Mam and Mari would be set for a while. A few more takings and he might have the swag to go to Oden’s Ford.

  He thrust the idea from his mind.

  Fetching his rucksack from the corner, he stuffed his spare breeches and shirts into it. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled his Ragger neck scarf from under the mattress. He thought about the amulet buried out in the yard. His fingers itched, longing to touch it again. But no. It was safer where it was. If anything happened to him, it would rest there forever, out of reach of the Bayars. It gave him some small satisfaction.

  Mam handed him a cloth bag. “Here’s some bread and an end of cheese for the road,” she said. “Tell Willo thanks for your keep,” she said roughly. “Tell her . . . tell her I’m sorry I can’t provide for my own son.” Her lower lip trembled, and tears stood in her eyes.

  “It’s all right, Mam,” Han said. “Willo doesn’t mind. And it’s my own fault I have to leave.”

  Mari was crying too, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You can’t go away again,” she said. “You only just came back.”

  Han attempted a smile and ruffled her hair. “I’ll be back before you know it. And I’ll expect you to read to me when I come back.”

  “I can read to you now,” Mari said, grabbing up her book and extending it toward him. “Stay and I’ll show you.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve got to go.”

  And there was nothing else to be said, so he left.

  By now it was dead dark, so he wound his way through backstreets, alert for Guard patrols and other inquisitive folk. Once or twice he thought he saw movement in the spaces between buildings, or heard soft footfalls behind him. But each time he turned around, there was nobody there.

  It had begun to rain, a cold constant drizzle that sucked up the light and added to his misery. Two blocks over from home he stopped in at Burnet’s Meats. Out in back of the butcher shop, a long trough carried blood and offal into the gutters. Han soaked his spare breeches and shirt and neck scarf in the blood.

  He came at the river a mile east of the bridge, where there’d be less traffic. Scrambling down the bank, he arranged his bloody clothes at the edge of the river, finishing with his gang scarf. He wrote “CUFFS—DUBL CROSSR” in the mud with a stick. It was crude, but it might fool the Guard anyway.

  The bells in Southbridge Temple tower were sounding two as he trotted across the bridge, keeping close to the wall. Over the temple’s side entrance hung a new banner, proclaiming, THE BRIAR ROSE MINISTRY. And, in smaller letters, BY THE GRACE OF HER HIGHNESS, PRINCESS RAISA ANA’MARIANNA.

  Huh, Han thought. Seems like Her Worship is everywhere.

  He kept in the shadow of the temple for two long blocks, thinking of Jemson, somewhere within its walls, probably sleeping.

  “Sorry, Jemson,” Han whispered. “Sorry I let you down. Don’t let it keep you from believing in somebody else.”

  Tears came to his eyes, and he scrubbed them away, feeling sorry for himself.

  The streets were deserted, unusually quiet, save for the Guard. They were thick. Twice he ducked into a doorway as a triple of guardsmen passed. Fortunately, they were loud as barroom brawlers and easy to avoid. So he turned east, away from the temple, meaning to travel through Southbridge on backstreets. He’d cut back to the Way as it exited the Vale and hope patrols were less frequent up that way. Once or twice he thought he heard footsteps behind him, but when he swung around, no one was there.

  You’re jumpy as a fellsdeer, he thought. Good thing you’re leaving town.

  He was just crossing a small cobblestone courtyard, when they materialized from the darkness, three tall cloaked figures who came at him from three directions, seeming to drift soundlessly over the pavement.

  “Blood of the demon,” Han muttered, backing away, his mouth going dry and metallic with fear.

  Their hoods were pulled forward, obscuring their faces (if they even had faces), and they wore black leather gloves so there was nothing about them to even suggest they were human. They seemed to glow through the misting rain, smears of light all around them that spoke of sorcery.

  He’d heard of thin
gs like this, demons who walked the streets, seeking souls for the Breaker when business was poor.

  “Don’t go so soon,” one of them said, his voice as sibilant as a snake’s. “We want to talk to you. We’re looking for someone.”

  “I . . . I can’t help you,” Han said, his back coming up against a wall. “I . . . don’t know where anyone is.”

  The monster’s laugh was bone chilling. “I think you do. I think you can help us. In fact, you’re going to be very, very eager to help us before we’re through.”

  “If you help us, we’ll let you go,” the tallest demon said. “Such a pretty boy. A shame if anything happened to you.”

  “Who are you?” Han asked, his voice squeaky with fear.

  “We’ll ask the questions,” the snake-voiced demon said. “We’re looking for a boy named Shiv.”

  And then Han knew. The dead Southies. These were the ones responsible. He thought of the burned and mutilated bodies, and his insides seemed to liquefy.

  “I never heard of him,” Han said, sidling along the wall, trying to escape the circle they’d put around him; but the tallest demon stuck out his arm, preventing further progress.

  “Oh, I think you have,” he said. “And I think you’ll tell. But first, we’ll take you somewhere more private.”

  The three demons seemed edgy, looking over their shoulders, like they were worried about being interrupted. Which was odd. Why would demons be afraid of the Guard?

  The third demon reached under his cloak, as if groping for a weapon, and Han knew it was now or never.

  “Murder! Bloody murder on the streets!” he screamed. “Somebody call the Queen’s Guard!”

  The demons flinched, and the one with his hand inside his cloak reached out and grabbed Han’s arm, but screeched and let go quickly like he was burnt, slapping his hand against his side.

  Han kept screaming, and then he heard the pounding of feet and someone calling out, “Hold in the name of the queen!”

  The demons hesitated for two long seconds, the dark holes of their hoods pointed toward Han, then, hissing, they melted into the nearby streets.

  It was the second time in less than a month that he’d been happy to see the Guard arrive. Which said something about how his life was going.

  Only now he had to avoid being taken himself. He pulled his sodden cap low on his head and pointed in a random direction, forcing his voice into a plaintive whine. “They went that way. Bloody street rats took my purse and threatened to cut my throat, they did! Hurry or they’ll get away.”

  Han reasoned that if demons were mentioned, the bluejackets would be less likely to pursue.

  The Guard charged off in the direction he pointed. “There’s a reward in it if you get my purse back!” he called after them, for good measure.

  Han stumbled away on shaking legs in a completely different direction, not really watching where he was going, focusing only on putting distance between him and the place he’d encountered the demons.

  As he ran, he noticed that his wrists were warm. When he yanked back his sleeves, he saw that the silver cuffs were glowing. What was that all about? Had the demons done something to him, done something to his cuffs? Could they use the cuffs to track him? Desperately, he tried to pry them off, mangling up his hands in the process, but with no more luck than any time before.

  Thoughts spiraled through his mind. Who were the demons and why were they looking for Shiv? Had his sins been so great that the Breaker sent a special team of servants to claim him?

  Or was it some kind of war among the Southies themselves? Or between the Southies and another gang? If so, he’d put his money on the side with the demons.

  Finally, exhaustion made him slow his pace to a walk, and his pounding heart began to quiet. By then he was thoroughly lost. He looked up at the sky, but got a faceful of rain for his trouble. He sniffed the air. The stink of the river seemed to be behind him, so he should strike the town walls before long if he headed the other way.

  A sudden flurry of sound behind him made him fling himself sideways. A body flew past him and hit the ground hard. At first Han thought it was the demons come back again. But no. This figure was much smaller than the demons had been— only a boy with a knife in his hand. Han released a long breath in relief, but then realized his troubles were far from over. The other boy was up like a cat and moving toward him, leading with the blade.

  This can’t be happening, Han thought dispiritedly. Oh, go away, he felt like saying. I’m at my limit.

  The boy came forward, passing under the streetlight, and Han started in surprise. It was Shiv Connor, looking gaunt and hollow-eyed, all of his manic confidence evaporated.

  “What do you want?” Han demanded. “I don’t have anything worth stealing this time.” Unless you mean to chop off my hands again, he thought, but he wasn’t going to bring that up.

  “Call them off,” Shiv whispered, glancing about as if they might be overheard.

  “Call who off?” Han asked, bewildered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Those . . . those things.” Shiv licked his lips. “Your demons.

  Call them off or I’ll cut you. I’ll kill you, I swear. I got nothing to lose.”

  “You’re talking about those . . . those monsters?” Han asked, his mind clearing. “I can’t call them off. I don’t even know what they are.”

  “So it’s coincidence, is it, that we beat you up in the street, and right after, they come hunting me?” Shiv tried to sneer, but sneering’s not easy when you’re as scared as Shiv seemed to be.

  Han shook his head. It was like the Maker’s hand was pointing at him all the time. He’s the one. Blame him.

  “I don’t know who they are,” Han said, lowering his voice. “I just ran into three of them, north of here.”

  “And you come out of it alive?” Shiv forced a laugh. “Fought ’em off, did you?”

  Han just shook his head wordlessly, keeping his eyes on Shiv’s blade, his hand on his own.

  “I can kill you, you know,” Shiv said wildly, cutting the air with his knife. “I’m better’n you with a blade, one on one.”

  Han knew Shiv was right, but he was not about to admit it. “I don’t want to fight anybody,” he said, and that was the absolute truth.

  “Why would you? You got demons to do your fighting for you.” Shiv swung his head from side to side, as if the monsters might suddenly appear. “The Southies, they’ll turn on me, you know. Give me up to save themselves. There’s eight dead a’ready, and they . . .” His voice trailed off and he swallowed hard, as if he’d said more than he meant to.

  Han regarded his enemy with more sympathy than he’d ever have imagined possible. “Maybe you should leave,” he suggested. “Hide out somewhere until things . . . cool off.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Shiv snarled, on the defensive again. “All of Southbridge under your lordship.” He raised his scarred hands, spreading his ringed fingers, indicating their surroundings. “I built this,” he said. “I fought for it. It’s my turf. Mine. I got no place else to go.” His voice actually broke at the end.

  Han recalled the demon’s snakelike hiss, and shuddered. “There’s some things you can’t fight,” he said softly.

  Shiv stared at him a moment, his eyes narrowed. “What is it about you? People can’t stop talking about you. Telling stories. It’s all I hear about. Cuffs Alister this, Cuffs Alister that. It’s like you’re golden.”

  Han was speechless. Golden? He’d just faked his own death and was sneaking out of town with the Guard on his heels. He couldn’t even support his mam and little sister.

  Shiv rattled on. “I need to know. How’d you do it? Conjure them demons? Did you sell your soul to the Breaker? Did you make some kind of . . . of deal?”

  Shiv looked desperate to make a deal of his own.

  Han was growing impatient, eager to bring this awful encounter to an end. “Look, it don’t matter how many ways you ask i
t; I got no idea what’s chasing you.”

  Shiv stared at him defiantly for a long moment, then his body kind of settled, almost shrunk into itself. “All right. You win.” He took a deep breath, then fell to his knees in the streaming street. He looked very small amid the shadows of the buildings. Bowing his head, he extended his knife, hilt-first, toward Han.

  “I, Shiv Connor, pledge fealty to Cuffs Alister as streetlord of Southbridge and Ragmarket. I . . . pledge my loyalty and my blades and weapons to his use and place myself under his protection. I promise to bring all takings to him and to accept my gang share from his hands as he sees fit. If I break my promise, let me be torn apart by . . . by . . .” Here his voice faltered.

  If it was possible to feel more miserable, Han did. “I can’t protect you,” he said. “I’m sorry. My advice is to run.”

  He left Shiv kneeling in the rain.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Party Warfare

  There was a spate of name day parties in June, because most who shared Raisa’s birth year preferred to avoid competing with the princess heir’s festivities in July. Some, perhaps, hoped to secure matches before the stakes were raised by her entry into the marriage market, while the more optimistic among the boys might be saying, “Why not me for royal consort?”

  The gifts still came thick and fast, and it gave Raisa a fierce pleasure to redirect them to her father and, through him, to the temple school. Not that it was easy. Queen Marianna was most displeased with her husband, following Raisa’s supposed “visit” to Demonai Camp. She made it clear that Averill was not welcome at court in all the various ways available to queens.

  So even though her father was back in the Vale, Raisa didn’t see as much of him as she would have liked.

  Would her own marriage be like this, Raisa wondered— this constant sparring, shifting alliances, hidden agendas, the gaining and losing of ground? She loved both of her strong-willed parents, but it wasn’t easy to be caught in the middle.

  If Raisa had felt trapped before, she felt stifled now, the cage of expectations closing tightly around her. She was almost never alone, and there were always spies, servants, lords, and ladies ready to carry tales. Queen Marianna meant to make sure her headstrong daughter took no more unauthorized excursions.