The Gray Wolf Throne

by Cinda Williams Chima

  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.”

  C H A P T E R T W E L V E

  BEQUEST

  Raisa twisted away from her father’s touch, shaking her head.

  “No,” she snapped. “That can’t be. That’s not possible.” Her eyes searched the faces around her, looking for reassurance, finding none. Willo’s expression said that this news was not unexpected, that it confirmed her worst fears. Raisa could tell that her grandmother, Elena, was already strategizing, turning this over in her mind, assessing what this might mean to the Spirit clans—the Demonai, specifically.

  Averill looked as if he wished he could somehow shield Raisa from this news and all its implications. He was widower and parent, both, in that moment.

  “Oh,” Raisa said, her voice trembling, “this is a dark season.”

  Elena Demonai dropped to her knees and bowed her gray head. “Long life to Raisa ana’Marianna, named Briar Rose in the uplands, Gray Wolf Queen of the Fells.”

  Amon drew his sword. He fell to his knees in front of Raisa, laying the blade at her feet. “My sword and my life in your service, Your Highness.”

  Like a stand of lodgepole pines in a gale, they all went down, leaving Raisa standing alone.

  That’s the way it’s going to be, she thought. There’s no shelter for me—not from any of this. I’ll stand alone the rest of my life. She stood, fists clenched, head bowed, allowing a shuddering sob to pass through her body as her dreams of a reconciliation with her mother collapsed into dust.

  Flower Moon came up behind her with a cushioned chair. Bright Hand brought a fur throw, and Raisa wrapped it around herself gratefully, wishing she could pull it over her head and hide. Wishing she could be alone with her grief. Successor queens traditionally retreated to the temple for three full days of mourning before assuming their duties.

  But, no. That was not possible—not now. Even though her insides ground together like shards of shattered glass.

  She gestured at the people on the floor. “Please,” she said. “Get up. Or sit down. Make yourselves comfortable.” She blotted tears from her face with the heels of both hands. “Tell me what happened. Tell me everything.”

  “Briar Rose…” Averill stopped and swallowed hard, glancing around the common room. “We don’t need to do this now—in public. Your mother—”

  “My mother is dead, and I feel like I’m hanging by a thread. I need you to tell me everything—what you know, and what you only suspect. Then we’ll decide what to do, and if we can allow time for mourning.”

  Her father blinked at her. Took a second look. Then inclined his head in assent.

  The apprentices brought in cushions to sit on, and Raisa managed to get everyone off their knees. Amon sat at her right-hand side, Willo on her left. Averill and Elena sat cross-legged in front of her.

  Willo spoke to Bright Hand, who brought a cup of steaming tea to Raisa. She sipped at it, trying to ignore the cross signals her nerves were
sending her, feeling strength coursing through her.

  Willo put her hand on Raisa’s shoulder, and the healer’s touch calmed her and cleared her head. Raisa closed her eyes, wishing she could sink into the sleep of forgetting.

  One thought was uppermost in her mind: This is all my fault.

  “How did it happen?” Raisa said, opening her eyes. “And when?”

  “She fell from the Queen’s Tower four days ago,” Averill said, looking down at his hands. “In the early evening. She fell from her balcony, landed in the courtyard, and was killed.”

  Raisa thought back. That would have been the night the wolves appeared to her. The night eight renegade guardsmen did their best to kill her. The night after Edon Byrne died. It was too much of a coincidence. The events were linked—they must be.

  She remembered Althea’s words: The Bayar blocked up Queen Marianna’s ears so she could not hear our warnings. And now she will pay the price.

  Willo stroked Raisa’s hair, gesturing for more tea. “You were both in the city at the time?” Willo asked, looking from Amon to Averill.

  Averill nodded. “Corporal Byrne had just arrived from the West Wall with the news that Briar Rose had disappeared from Oden’s Ford.”

  “I knew you were in the north, with…with my father, trying to get home,” Amon said, looking at Raisa. “I knew you were in danger, but still alive. So Lord Demonai and I met with Nightwalker to strategize. To discuss whether to send a guard to meet you.”

  “Nightwalker was there too?” Raisa looked from her father to Amon. She knew that Nightwalker rarely descended into the Vale if he had a choice.

  Averill nodded. “He’s been there, off and on, for two months. I asked him to come and attend me, with a handful of Demonai warriors.” He hesitated, as if not wanting to introduce more trouble into the present disaster. “Tensions have been running high with the Wizard Council, and I needed a guard I could trust.”

  The implications of this settled like a heavy wet cloak, adding to Raisa’s misery. The queen’s consort and the Wizard Council had clashed for as long as she could remember, but the former Demonai warrior Averill Lightfoot had never felt the need for a handpicked guard before.

  “We decided Nightwalker should go to Marisa Pines Camp to see if there’d been any word of you. He’d already gone when…when word came of Marianna’s death.”

  “Did anyone see it happen?” Elena asked.

  Averill shook his head. “The queen was resting in her bedchamber,” he said. “When Magret went in to wake her for dinner, her bed was empty, and the doors to the balcony stood open. Magret looked off the terrace and saw…she saw Marianna lying on the pavers below.”

  Raisa fought to drive that image from her mind. “Magret?” She looked from Averill to Amon. “Magret Gray was attending the queen?”

  Averill nodded. “Marianna had requested her specifically in recent weeks. She seemed more at ease with Magret than with anyone else.”

  Raisa’s dream came back to her, the one in which Queen Marianna stood on her terrace. She heard a noise and turned.…

  “Was Magret in the outer chamber the entire time?” Raisa whispered.

  Averill shook his head. “She divided her time between the Princess Mellony and Queen Marianna. Since Marianna was asleep, she was attending the princess.”

  “And the Queen’s Guard? Where were they?” Elena demanded.

  “They were outside her door the entire time,” Averill said. He paused, glancing at Amon. “That’s what they say, at least.”

  “Who was on duty?” Raisa asked. “Are they…are they trustworthy?”

  Clearing his throat, Amon named them off, a half dozen guards, none of whom Raisa knew. “I know three of them,” Amon said, as if reading her thoughts. “The ones I know are good soldiers. And loyal.”

  “Loyal or not, how difficult would it be for a wizard to get past them?” Elena said. “You should be asking where the Bayars were during that time.”

  Willo’s hand tightened on Raisa’s shoulder. “Elena,” she said. “We don’t need to—”

  “All right—where were they?” Raisa asked, wrapping the furs more closely around her. “Does anyone know? Have Micah and Fiona returned from the flatlands?”

  Averill nodded. “They returned at least a week ago, though they stayed holed up in the Bayar compound on Gray Lady until the past few days. Lord Bayar has been in frequent meetings at the Council House. That’s where he was the night Queen Marianna died—if you are willing to take his word for it, that is. No one else was there as witness, save other members of the council.”

  “And no one—no one saw the queen’s body in the courtyard before Magret raised the alarm?” Raisa asked.

  Averill shook his head. “The balcony overlooks the queen’s private gardens,” he said. “Marianna wasn’t fond of gardens, so she never spent much time there. Only her gardeners would have reason to enter.”

  Raisa shivered. How long had her mother lain there, helpless and broken and alone, before she died? I should have been there, she thought miserably. She shouldn’t have been alone with this.

  “Magret Gray was the first…was the first to see to the queen?” Raisa asked. Averill nodded.

  “Have you spoken with Maiden Gray?” Elena asked. “What does she say?”

  “That is why I took so long to bring the news,” Averill said. “I would have come sooner, but I didn’t know that Briar Rose was at Marisa Pines until yesterday. I wanted to…gather as much information as I could before I came.”

  Before evidence could be destroyed or covered up, was the implication.

  “I hope you are being careful, Lightfoot,” Elena said. “If it was murder, the perpetrators wouldn’t hesitate to kill a troublesome consort, too.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Averill said, managing a faint smile.

  “What did she say?” Elena asked. “Was there any sign that there was more to it than a fall from a balcony?”

  Averill shook his head. “No obvious sign. It appeared Marianna was killed by the fall and not by anything else.”

  Would a wizard’s touch have left traces behind? The trauma of the fall could have covered over any subtle signs of foul play. Or a wizard could have clouded Marianna’s mind and made her think she could fly. Or planted the impulse to kill herself.

  “However,” Averill continued, “the queen had this in her fist.” He drew a small pouch from his pocket and emptied the contents into his hand. It was a length of heavy gold chain, the links twisted and broken at either end. It was fine work—clan made, no doubt.

  It was the kind of chain often used to carry amulets and talismans.

  “Magret found it,” Averill said, “when she was preparing Marianna’s body.”

  Elena reached her hand toward it, her face grim and hard. She poked the chain with her forefinger. “So. It seems that the queen’s murderers left clues behind.”

  “We don’t know there was a murder, Elena,” Willo said. “Not for sure.” She turned to Averill. “Did they find anything else?” she asked. “Anything else that would help us?”

  Averill shook his head.

  “Let’s think about this,” Raisa said, her voice low and wooden. “What if someone pushed my mother off her terrace? And what if she reached out and grabbed the chain around the killer’s neck, trying to save herself? And when she fell, it broke.”

  “That’s plausible,” Averill said. “I must admit, that’s what I thought too.”

  “But it’s not enough, that it’s plausible,” Willo said. “We still have no proof that—”

  “It was the Bayars and their allies,” Elena said. “You know it was. Who else stood to gain from the queen’s death? Nightwalker is ready to go to war, and I don’t blame him. The Demonai will not continue to stand by and see the Næ´ming violated without retaliating.”

  Raisa fought down the voice in her head, the Demonai voice that said, Yes! Go to war against my mother’s murderers. Shed their blood as they she
d hers.

  “You need better proof if you launch a war in the Fells,” she said wearily. “The Bayars are guilty of plenty, but we don’t know that they had a hand in this. I will maintain a rule of law, even if it’s inconvenient.”

  “It’s the rule of law that has brought us here,” Elena said, fingering her braids. “It seems that those who follow the law become victims.”

  “And those who do not follow the law become tyrants,” Raisa said. “No one has more reason to demand revenge than me. But it’s the Queen’s Guard’s responsibility to bring my mother’s killer to justice. If there is a killer.”

  “Where was the Guard when Queen Marianna was murdered?” Elena said. “Captain Byrne was dying in Marisa Pines Pass, and Corporal Byrne was in the flatlands. Who was in charge of keeping the queen safe?”

  There was dead silence for a long moment. Amon sat up straighter, fixing his gray eyes on Elena, the fingers of his right hand beating a tattoo on his thigh. Raisa knew that he was furious, but doubted that anyone could tell who didn’t know him as well as she did.

  These are the people I am going to have to manage, Raisa thought, if I am to succeed as queen.

  “Elena Cennestre,” she said. “That’s enough. I would ask you to remember that ten members of my guard gave their lives in Marisa Pines Pass for my sake.” At least anger and frustration were potent distracters from the grief that threatened to overwhelm her.

  “Forgive me, Granddaughter,” Elena said. “I apologize for my blunt words. I mean no disrespect to the Guard, or to you, Corporal Byrne.” She looked at Amon, who nodded fractionally. “I still believe that we Demonai can contribute more. You need more protection in these times than your Guard can offer. We would like to help.”

  “I will keep that in mind, Grandmother,” Raisa murmured.

  “Has anyone searched the queen’s rooms?” Elena asked, looking at Amon and Averill. “If the broken chain carried an amulet, it might have fallen to the floor.”