The Gray Wolf Throne

by Cinda Williams Chima

  She was a feast for the eyes, even in Han’s present debilitated state.

  Han looked down at himself, thinking he could use some cleaning up.

  Hey, now, he thought. She’s the reason you look and feel like you’ve been run over by a muckwagon in Pinbury Alley. But looking at her, seeing her alive and looking so well—it was all worth it. He’d do it all over again.

  “Han,” she said, stopping just inside the door as if unsure of her welcome. “May I come in?”

  “It depends,” Han said, trying to gather his wits. “Last time I saw you, I believe you tried to cut my heart out.”

  “Last time I saw you, I believe you spit porridge on me,” she shot back. Then she flinched, probably remembering that she was the ultimate cause of the porridge spitting.

  She tried for a smile, but her face looked pinched and ashen, nervous even, and her eyes avoided his. “Do you feel up to talking for a few minutes?”

  Han shrugged, looking around the room. “I got no—I have no plans, as far as I know.” It seemed like a long time ago that she was his tutor and he was a student of pretty speech, but he couldn’t break himself of the habit of correcting himself in her presence.

  Rebecca looked at Dancer and Cat. “Could you give us a few minutes?”

  Cat didn’t want to leave, Han could tell. But Dancer took her elbow and firmly ushered her out of the room.

  Rebecca plunked down on a chair next to his sleeping bench. She was very pale, and her nose was pink, her lashes clumped together as if she’d been crying.

  “I am…so relieved to see you looking so well,” she said, smoothing her skirts with her hands. Her eyes flicked up to his face. “You are feeling better, I hope?” she said in a rush.

  He studied on it. Even though Dancer had left off stoking his amulet, he felt restored, comfortable, happy, almost sleepy.

  His luck had finally changed. Rebecca was alive. He was alive. They were together. That was all that mattered.

  “I’m good,” he said, smiling up at her. “Though I guess I’m in no hurry to suck up more of that poison any time soon.”

  “Nor I,” she said, shaking her head. “Did you have that—that reaction where water felt boiling hot? And where you…where you…”

  “Where you felt like you had the night itches?” She nodded, her cheeks stained pink, and Han rolled his eyes. “I swear I must’ve had every possible symptom.” He frowned at her. “Didn’t you try to drown me once?”

  “Well, we were trying to sweat out the poison, and so we took you to the healer’s spring.…” Her voice trailed off when she saw he was teasing.

  “I was so worried about you,” she went on. “I don’t think I could have endured it if you had been…permanently…If you had…” She stopped and breathed out, gripping the arms of the chair. “Anyway, I wanted to thank you for saving my life. Whatever happens, however we go forward, I will never forget your service to me.”

  Service? She seems different, Han thought. Oddly formal. Nervous and ill at ease. “Captain Byrne is dead,” he said. “Did you know? I found him in Marisa Pines Pass, shot full of arrows.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I know. I saw…I saw it happen. We’ve fetched back his body. Maybe…maybe Dancer told you?”

  He nodded. “I have his sword. Or at least I did when I arrived. It’s fancywork. I thought maybe Corporal Byrne would want it.”

  “That’s thoughtful of you,” Rebecca said. “I know he will want it.” She rushed ahead. “He’s here, you know. Corporal Byrne. He’s just outside. He asked to speak with you when I’m…when I’m finished. He’ll want to ask you questions, and to…to thank you.”

  Maybe that’s why she’s so twitchy, Han thought. Last time they were all together, Han had jumped out Rebecca’s bedroom window so Amon Byrne wouldn’t run him through with his much plainer sword.

  Rebecca seemed to have something important to say to him, but couldn’t quite spit it out. So she asked him a question.

  “I wanted to ask you how it happened that you saved my life,” she said. “I don’t really remember much, and people have been asking…lots of questions.”

  “When you disappeared from Oden’s Ford, I headed for Marisa Pines Pass, looking for you, asking about you all along the way.” Han paused, waiting for the holes to fill in. “In Fetters Ford, this innkeeper’s boy remembered someone that looked like you—but said your name was Brianna and you’d been murdered by rovers.”

  “Ah,” Rebecca said, nodding. “Simon.”

  “There was nothing else until, north of Delphi, I saw where some bluejackets had been killed at Way Camp. They were out of uniform, but they carried bluejacket gear and papers. It must have happened in the middle of the snowstorm.” He looked at her, and she nodded but didn’t volunteer more. “Then, farther on, I found Captain Byrne’s body in the pass. I couldn’t make sense of it. They were all done by crossbows, not clan arrows. I couldn’t figure out what had happened, who was fighting who, and why.”

  Rebecca plucked at the folds in her skirt, straightening the fabric.

  Han continued on. “After I came through the pass, I heard horses coming, what sounded like a hunt going on. I saw them chasing you, shooting at you, though I didn’t recognize you at the time.” He rubbed his chin. “I decided to follow along and see if I could help you.”

  Rebecca looked up, tilting her head. “Really? If you didn’t know me, what made you decide to intervene?” She waved her hand. “After all, I could have been a criminal being chased by the Queen’s Guard.”

  “It was six on one,” Han said, thinking, This shouldn’t be that hard to figure out. “Eight on one at the end. From your size, I guessed you were a woman or a child—and you weren’t shooting back. Plus, they were out of uniform—for all I knew, they were bully ruffins.

  “Even if they’d been badged up and wearing their blue jackets, it just seemed unfair to me. I didn’t know the background, but I can’t believe it’s in the queen’s interest to send eight men out to kill a girlie like you.” He looked at Rebecca very directly. “And if the queen approves of that, there’s something wrong with her.”

  Rebecca got that slapped look she wore sometimes.

  Han ran back over what he’d said. No, it all made sense, and nothing offensive that he could see.

  “S—so, what happened then?” Rebecca croaked.

  “By the time I caught up with you, you were holed up in the canyon and they were closing in on you.” Han took a long drink of tea. His mouth was still wicked dry.

  “It wasn’t until I pried you out of your hidey-hole that I realized it was you. I couldn’t figure out what you were doing there. Once I took a look at your wound, I realized the arrow was a poison daub, and—”

  “Wait a minute,” Rebecca said, putting up her hand. “What happened to the men who ambushed me?”

  Han hesitated, wondering what she would think of him, then shrugged. “I killed them.”

  Rebecca stared at him as if waiting for the rest of the story. “All of them? None of them got away?”

  He nodded, beginning to wonder why she was so hungry for details. Was she vengeful, or bloodthirsty, or scared they’d come back? “I didn’t have much choice.”

  “You killed eight men all by yourself?”

  “Well,” Han said patiently, “I took them by surprise.”

  “Did you…did you use magic?”

  He shook his head. “There wasn’t any reason to. My bow was good enough.” When she said nothing, he added, “One of my teachers says that the most important thing a wizard needs to learn is when not to use flash. Otherwise, you’ll be caught without when you really do need it. You conserve it, you save it, and when you do need it, you use only as much as necessary.”

  He stopped, knowing that was too much information. Why would she be interested in what Crow had to say?

  “So, what happened after you killed them?” Rebecca prompted. She still seemed to be wrestling with the notion that he’d put eight men dow
n on their backs with a longbow.

  “I knew my only chance of saving you was to bring you to Marisa Pines Camp and to hope that Willo was here.”

  “Right. You knew Marisa Pines,” Rebecca said, her brow furrowed. “Willo said you’d fostered here every summer?”

  Han nodded wearily. It was so good to see her—he was desperate to stay awake and enjoy it—but all of this talking was wearing him out.

  “But you were the one who saved my life,” she said. “You used high magic. That’s what Willo said.”

  “Well. I realized that if I didn’t do something, you’d be dead before we got here.” He grimaced. “So it’s a good thing I didn’t use up my flash hushing those ruffins or we’d both be dead.”

  “You nearly died as it is,” Rebecca said, taking both his hands. “I am so, so sorry. So sorry for everything.” Her expression said she was sorry for things he didn’t even know about yet.

  It was almost like she was worried he’d think badly of her. Did she think he resented the fact that he’d nearly died saving her life?

  It was worth it, he thought. He gripped her hands, pulled her face down close, and kissed her, long and slow, savoring it, despite his frayed nerves. She broke it off before he did, pulling back, her face pale, her green eyes large and haunted.

  Maybe it was the aftereffects of the poison, but he found himself saying something he’d never ever said to any girlie ever before. “I love you, Rebecca. And I’m not sorry. I would do it all over again, even knowing the cost of it. I couldn’t face losing you.”

  Rebecca’s reaction to this was peculiar, to say the least. She reared back, looking almost panicked. She was the one so good with words, but now she was stammering and stumbling like her tongue was tangled up.

  “I think you’re supposed to say you love me too,” he said finally. “Just so you know, for next time.”

  “I do,” she said, her cheeks bright with embarrassment. “I do love you.” She said it quick, but it was still too late.

  After an awkward silence, Han cleared his throat. “So, Rebecca,” he said, “what’s your story? Why did you disappear from Oden’s Ford? And who were those riders and why were they after you? Was it because you saw them murder Captain Byrne and they didn’t want you telling tales?”

  Rebecca took a deep breath, seeming to brace herself. “Micah Bayar kidnapped me from Oden’s Ford,” she said. “He said he’d kill me if I didn’t go along.”

  “Bayar,” Han murmured. It confirmed what he had suspected all along. “I knew it. Do you…did it have to do with the fact that we’d been walking out?”

  Rebecca shook her head, looking surprised. “No. It’s…it’s a long story, but it’s something between me and Micah. Nothing to do with you.”

  “Something between you and Bayar?” Rebecca nodded. Han didn’t much like that. “Then who were the riders who came after you?”

  “They were renegade members of the Queen’s Guard,” she said. “One of them, at least, you know. Sergeant Gillen.”

  Han frowned, puzzled. “I don’t remember seeing Gillen.…”

  “I killed him myself,” she said. “When I escaped from them the first time.”

  Right. They’d said as much, there in the canyon. He’d known she had starch—he’d known it since she’d rescued the Raggers from the Southbridge Guardhouse. But still.

  “I was the one they were really after,” Rebecca went on. “They killed Captain Byrne—they killed everyone to get to me.”

  “Why would they be after you?” Han said, mystified. “I mean, they went to a lot of trouble, didn’t they? There couldn’t be much swag in it. They didn’t even spoil the bodies, not that I could tell.”

  “My real name is not Rebecca Morley,” she said, lifting her chin and looking him straight in the eye, almost defiantly. “The first time I ever used that name was the day we met, at Southbridge Temple. I had gone down there to see Speaker Jemson about providing funds for his ministry. Amon—Corporal Byrne—suggested that if I were going to walk through Ragmarket and Southbridge, I should do so in disguise.”

  Han was a long step behind. “You were going to give money to the Temple School? Since when does a tutor make that kind of iron?”

  “I lied to you when I told you I was a tutor,” Rebecca said.

  “So you never worked for the Bayars?”

  Rebecca shook her head. “My family is quite wealthy, although I don’t have ready access to the money.” She paused. “Or I didn’t, at least,” she added, almost to herself.

  So she was more than just an upstairs servant. She’d been a true gilt-edged lady slumming in Ragmarket? Was that what she was saying?

  Apprehension roiled Han’s stomach. He knew something about gilt-edged ladies and what they expected from him.

  “When you abducted me from the temple, I didn’t want you to know who I really was,” she went on. “So I kept on with the pretense. I didn’t know you—but I’d heard that you were a thief and a ruthless killer.”

  She paused, and Han wondered if she was thinking about the eight bluejackets he’d just done.

  “I never had the chance to tell you the truth, even after I went into the Southbridge Guardhouse after the Raggers. I didn’t want anyone to trace what happened back to me. Anyway, I never thought I’d see you again.” Rebecca looked down at her hands.

  It was a peculiar conversation. Emotion crackled in the air, much more than seemed called for. Rebecca was practically down on her knees apologizing for lying to a former street thief about whether she was a little rich or a lot rich.

  “Well,” Han said cautiously, “I guess I knew, going in, you were a blueblood. To someone like me, nearly everyone is.”

  Now that Rebecca had begun this story, she seemed determined to finish it. “When I went to Oden’s Ford, I was running away from a forced marriage, and I didn’t want my mother to find me. Rebecca Morley had served me well before, so I used the name again.”

  Han’s neck and shoulders prickled. This story was familiar. Where had he heard it before—a story about a blueblood running away from a marriage?

  “Who were you running from?” Han asked, his mouth dryer than ever. “Why were those bluejackets trying to kill you? If you’re not Rebecca Morley, then who are you?”

  Leaning forward, she gripped his right hand and looked into his eyes. “I ran away to avoid marrying Micah Bayar,” she said. “My mother, the queen, insisted.” Turning his hand palm-up, she dropped a coin into it.

  He looked down at it—a girlie coin, the familiar portrait in profile glittering in the light from the lanterns. He looked up at Rebecca, down at the coin, and the holes filled in. Why hadn’t he seen it before?

  It was like she thought if she fed him poison in little bites, it’d be easier to swallow.

  “My real name is Raisa,” she said. “Raisa ana’Marianna, soon to be Queen of the Fells.”

  C H A P T E R F I F T E E N

  THE PRICE OF DECEPTION

  It seemed to Raisa that time slowed to a crawl. Han looked down at the crown coin, then back up at Raisa. He extended his forefinger, tracing her profile, then shook his head.

  Raisa cradled Han’s hands in hers, holding her breath. She didn’t know what reaction to expect—anger, revulsion, cold disdain, disappointment, disgust. He’d made it clear enough what he thought of queens and their kind.

  He looked up, his blue eyes meeting hers directly, and there was her answer. Betrayal. His eyes were filled with betrayal, anger, and loss. It was all she could do not to look away. She forced herself to hold his gaze. She owed him that.

  Han gently pulled his hands free, leaned back, and closed his eyes. “No,” he said, lacing his fingers across his middle. “That’s not true. It can’t be.” His voice tremored slightly.

  “I’m sorry,” Raisa said. “I’m sorry I lied to you, and I’m sorry it has to come out now, in this way.”

  Han didn’t open his eyes.

  “I didn’t want to burden you now,
when you’re still recovering,” she said. “It’s not right, and it’s not fair. But I knew if I didn’t tell you, someone else would, and I wanted to do it myself.”

  Han said nothing. He kept his eyes closed, the lashes dark against skin as pale and hard as We’enhaven marble, flawed only by the ragged knife scar over his right eye.

  “This doesn’t have to—to change things between us,” Raisa said. “I mean, of course it will change some things, but…”

  Han opened his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was low and deadly cold. “What kind of a fool do you take me for?”

  There was something frightening in his face. Something that said she was the enemy now, and he would never trust her again.

  Raisa shook her head. “I don’t take you for a fool,” she said. “I know that you—”

  “Do you think I don’t know how the world works?” he said. “Do you think I don’t know how it is between people like you and people like me? D’you think I’ve never been with a blueblood girlie before?” He snorted. “They used to come down to Ragmarket looking for adventure. Looking for a quick tumble with someone who wouldn’t complicate their lives in the long run.”

  “That’s not how I look at you at all,” Raisa said, stung.

  “Or maybe I’m part of your, what do you call it, your ministry,” he said bitterly. “A bit of personal hands-on charity. A chance to raise up the unwashed and ignorant.…”

  “You came to me, as I recall,” Raisa retorted, unable to help herself. “I wasn’t looking for a job. You asked me to tutor you, and I agreed.”

  “Trust me to pick a princess out of everyone in Oden’s Ford,” Han said. “I do have an eye. I always could spot a heavy purse in the street.” He unconsciously fingered his wrists as if the cuffs were still there. “It must have been amusing for you to hear me prattle on like a love-struck fancy. How do I say this—poor Alister is getting above himself.”

  “I am not laughing at you,” Raisa said. “How could I? I care about you. I—”

  “You care about your pony too,” Han said. “Your pony provides a useful service.” He closed his eyes again, as if he couldn’t bear to look on her anymore.