The Gray Wolf Throne

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “Look who’s here,” he said. “No doubt you’ll be in good hands now.”

  The market square was crowded with people. A group of riders was dismounting in front of the common lodge, surrounded by the usual gaggle of children and curiosity-seekers. Raisa recognized their horses—the best mountain ponies the clans could provide—and their distinctive winter travel garb. The unlidded eye glittered at their necks.

  Demonai, Raisa thought, picking out Reid Nightwalker’s tall frame among them. So these must be the warriors quartered in Fellsmarch, who had served as guard to her father.

  Reid walked toward them, having handed off his horse to one of his comrades, a girl Raisa recognized as Digging Bird. She had been with the party of Demonai warriors that had rescued Raisa and Amon from Robbie Sloat and his renegade guards back the past summer. Now Digging Bird wore a Demonai amulet too.

  “Your Highness!” Nightwalker said, in Clan, his relieved smile softening the honed planes of his face. “Or should I say, Your Majesty. I am relieved to see you up and walking around.”

  He bent his knee before Raisa, bringing his fist to his forehead, clan style. “The Demonai are ready to serve you, Briar Rose,” he said, raising his head to look at her. “We will fight relentlessly against those who tried to murder you and who continue to endanger the realm.” Clan always sounded more formal than Common.

  Nightwalker came back to his feet, graceful as any predator. His braids glittered with owl feathers and bits of silver, and his jacket and leggings were embroidered over with subtle Demonai symbols. His winter travel cloak was sunlight and shadow on snow—nearly invisible in the forest.

  One braid per wizard killed—that was the old rule of the Demonai. Most still went braided, centuries after the wizard wars supposedly ended.

  “Good you’re back from the city,” Raisa said to Nightwalker. “I’m told it’s a dangerous place these days.”

  The Demonai warrior shrugged. “I can look after myself,” he said. “Even though there is no safety for uplanders anywhere within the Fells anymore.” Reaching out, he put his fingers under Raisa’s chin and tilted her face up, examining the fading bruises on her cheekbone. “Of course, I don’t need to tell you that,” he said. “When I saw what had been done to you, I wanted to lead a party of warriors onto Gray Lady and rid ourselves of this infestation of wizards for good.” His voice shook a little, and it appeared to take some effort to regain his composure.

  “We have to resist a rush to judgment,” Raisa said. “While it’s tempting to blame my mother’s death on the gifted, we need better evidence before we—”

  “We do have better evidence,” Nightwalker interrupted. “We’ve learned something more about the queen’s death.”

  Raisa gripped his arm. “What is it? What did you find out?”

  Nightwalker shook his head, grimacing. “I should not have spoken prior to our meeting. It’s actually Lord Averill’s and Night Bird’s news to share.”

  “Night Bird?”

  Nightwalker nodded toward the warrior Raisa knew as Digging Bird, who was striding toward them from the pony corrals, a frown on her face. “Night Bird is her Demonai name,” he said.

  When Night Bird drew closer, her eyes fixed on Raisa, then went wide in recognition and surprise. The new warrior dropped to one knee before Raisa, her soft curls flopping forward as she bowed her head and brought her fist to her forehead. “Your Highness. I am sorry. I did not recognize you at first.”

  “Night Bird, I haven’t forgotten your brave service at the turning of the leaves,” Raisa said. “The Demonai warriors saved my life that day, and you played a major part.”

  Night Bird came back to her feet, seeming eager to escape the attention she was getting. “I am honored that you remember me.” She shifted her eyes away and bit her lip, her cheeks pink under her coppery skin. “Please accept my condolences at the loss of your mother the queen.” She seemed badly rattled for one who was usually so self-assured.

  Raisa inclined her head. “Thank you. Congratulations on being named to the Demonai. In these dangerous times, I’m grateful to have warriors like yourself that I can trust.”

  Night Bird raised both hands as if to ward off the compliment. She looked almost stricken. “Thank you, Your Highness,” she whispered through stiff lips.

  Ah, Raisa thought. She’s probably heard that Nightwalker and I have a history together, and she’s wondering what my return will mean to their relationship. Though she had better get used to it. Nightwalker has been making history for years, throughout the uplands.

  “Speaking of dangerous times,” Nightwalker said, breaking into Raisa’s thoughts, “Elena Cennestre tells me that Fire Dancer is here at Marisa Pines. Is that a good idea—to host two jinxflingers in camp at once? Especially given all that’s happened already. I understood that Dancer was to stay in the flatlands and continue his studies when Hunts Alone returned home.”

  “I can’t speak to that since I’ve just heard about this plan for the Demonai to train up wizards,” Raisa said dryly.

  “It was Lightfoot and Elena Cennestre,” Nightwalker said. “They did it without my knowledge. I found out about it only by chance. Briar Rose, it is risky to recruit jinxflingers to fight jinxflingers. Fire Dancer should adhere to the bargain that was struck.”

  “My cousin Dancer is Marisa Pines bred,” Night Bird said. “And that is the extent of his obligation.”

  Startled, Raisa and Nightwalker swiveled to face her.

  “As son of the matriarch, Willo Watersong, Dancer doesn’t answer to Elena Cennestre or Lord Averill,” Bird went on. “Unlike Hunts Alone, he made no bargain with the Demonai. Although he’s agreed to work with us, he does so on his own terms. When Fire Dancer learned that Hunts Alone had been recalled to the Fells, nothing I said could keep him in the flatlands.”

  “Then you should not have told Fire Dancer that Hunts Alone had been recalled,” Nightwalker said, lips tightening in annoyance. “I still don’t understand why you did that.”

  “I have known Fire Dancer since we were lytlings,” Night Bird said, putting her hand on Nightwalker’s arm. “I trust him. He is someone that we want to have on our side.”

  The girl is different than last time I saw her, Raisa thought. She’s less bedazzled by Nightwalker. She’s speaking up more.

  “Under the terms of the Næ´ming, wizards are not allowed in the Spirits,” Nightwalker said. “It is an accommodation to have them here at all.”

  “Even though Hunts Alone saved my life?” Raisa said.

  Nightwalker rolled his eyes. “If it’s even true, then the jinxflinger is merely keeping his end of the bargain.”

  “What do you mean if it’s true?” Raisa shivered and pulled her jacket closer around her shoulders.

  “Don’t you think it’s an odd coincidence that he just happened along when you were under attack?” Nightwalker said. “It’s almost as if it had been planned that way. And what better way to win your trust?”

  “What are you saying?” Raisa knew perfectly well what he was saying, but she wanted him to articulate it clearly.

  “Is it really believable that he could pluck you away from a crowd of assassins and emerge unscathed himself?” Nightwalker shrugged as if to say, Believe what you will, but…

  “He wasn’t unscathed,” Raisa retorted. “He used high magic to turn the poison. He’s been deathly ill for days from the effects of it.”

  “Hunts Alone is ill?” Night Bird looked from Raisa to Nightwalker. “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “There’s not a mark on him, Elena says,” Nightwalker said. “It’s some mysterious jinxflinger illness, supposedly caused by the fact that he healed Briar Rose. It would be easy enough to fake.”

  “Perhaps you should speak to Willo, then,” Raisa said acidly. “And explain to her how Hunts Alone fooled her so adeptly.”

  “I’m not saying he’s lying.” Nightwalker raised both hands. “I’m just saying it’s a possibility. We should
be wary of jinxflinger lies, especially given what’s happened to the queen.”

  Amon spoke up for the first time. “Alister’s illness seems authentic enough to me,” he said. “It’s my guess that he would be more than happy to leave the queen’s service and have nothing to do with the fight that’s coming. Those of us who are concerned about the safety of the Gray Wolf line will do everything in our power to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “He stays,” Nightwalker said, as if Han might try to weasel out of his obligation. “He doesn’t have a choice. Now that we’ve trained him, he’s committed to fight with us against the Wizard Council.”

  “There’s always a choice,” Amon said. “Alister goes his own way. Don’t underestimate him.” He turned to Raisa and inclined his head. “By your leave, Your Highness. I’d best be going if I’m to be back by tomorrow afternoon.”

  Raisa nodded distractedly, and he walked away.

  Nightwalker looked after him, frowning, then turned to Night Bird, his expression softening. “Night Bird, please see whether our quarters are assigned in the visitors’ lodge and arrange for the ponies to be grained tonight. And, one more thing.” He leaned close, speaking softly so Raisa couldn’t hear. He smiled at Night Bird, and she smiled back, then walked away, a bounce in her step.

  Well, she’s still somewhat bedazzled, Raisa amended.

  Nightwalker waited until she was beyond overhearing distance, then said to Raisa, “Corporal Byrne seems to believe Hunts Alone’s story,” he said.

  Raisa had been surprised by Amon’s defense of Han, but endeavored not to show it. “His father was murdered by the men who attacked me,” she said. “If Corporal Byrne is convinced that Han is telling the truth, perhaps that should be evidence enough for you.”

  “Please don’t be angry, Your Highness,” Nightwalker said, smiling ruefully. “You know I have no love for wizards. I was raised to mistrust them, and nothing they’ve done while you’ve been away has allayed that mistrust. The situation has gone from bad to worse. No doubt you’ve heard that Queen Marianna changed the succession and set you aside.”

  “Well,” Raisa said, her heart contracting painfully, “not exactly.”

  Nightwalker hesitated. “It is not proper or safe to speak ill of the dead, but I believe that was her intention. Perhaps she couldn’t help herself—she was under the Bayar’s influence. Or perhaps she was looking for an heir that looked more like a flatlander.”

  Raisa came up on her toes, seizing hold of the front of Nightwalker’s coat, pulling his face down toward her. “You have no right to say that,” she said fiercely, tears stinging her eyes. “You have no idea what my mother’s intentions were.”

  Nightwalker reared back a little, focusing on Raisa’s face as if truly seeing her for the first time. For a long moment, they stared at each other, Demonai warrior and princess heir.

  “Briar Rose,” he said finally. “Again, I am sorry. It seems that I have misjudged your feelings about the queen, especially after what happened a year ago. I need to listen more before I speak. This has been a difficult season for all of us.”

  “That’s something we can agree on,” Raisa said, releasing her hold on Nightwalker’s front.

  Nightwalker still seemed eager to explain himself. “You see, in recent months, there have been multiple jinxflinger raids on our villages on the lower slopes.”

  “Why would charmcasters attack the villages?” Raisa asked.

  “The clans have cut off trade in magical objects—amulets, talismans, and the like,” Nightwalker said, with grim satisfaction. “Our Demonai metalworkers no longer make them, having shifted production to other goods. Given their other actions, no doubt the wizards are preparing for war against us. They are hoping to spoil the villages and come away with enough magical weaponry to fill their armories.”

  “The villages wouldn’t keep amulets on hand, would they?” Raisa asked. “What would they do with them? They’re traded mostly at Marisa Pines.”

  “The jinxflingers don’t know that,” Nightwalker said. “There have been more and more incursions into the Spirits, more and more pressure from them. Lord Averill and I are endeavoring to provide better protection to the villages, but the Demonai are spread thin. So you can imagine how I felt when I heard about the attack on you. I’m sorry, Briar Rose, but I’m not in the mood to believe pretty words from jinxflingers.”

  “Has my father brought these issues up with the Queen’s Council?” Raisa asked.

  Nightwalker nodded. “Repeatedly. Lord Bayar excuses violations of the Næ´ming, saying that the Spirit clans must resume production of flashcraft and make it freely available. He claims that under the circumstances bad jinxflinger behavior is understandable.”

  “Have the Demonai considered a compromise?” Raisa said. “Could you make some less-powerful amulets available to them?”

  “Not when they are conspiring against you,” Nightwalker said. “The last thing we want to do is arm our enemies prior to a war.”

  Once again, Raisa felt the crush of responsibility.

  “I am sorry,” Nightwalker said. “You have troubles enough to think about. All will be well—you’ll see. I am glad you are recovering, and it is a relief to have you back in the mountain home. I’m looking forward to getting reacquainted.” He brushed his knuckles lightly across her cheek, his eyes searching her face. “It’s good to see you in clan garb again. It suits you.”

  “You’re looking well also,” Raisa replied. And it was true: Reid Nightwalker Demonai always turned heads when he walked through camp.

  He smiled, meeting Raisa’s eyes. “Right now, I’d better go and find Elena Cennestre.” He paused. “Where will you eat tonight, Your Highness? Will you be at the visitors’ hearth or… ?”

  “I’ll probably stay at Willo’s hearth,” Raisa said. “I’m still under her care, strictly speaking.”

  “So you are staying in the Matriarch Lodge?” When Raisa nodded, he said, “I will come to dinner, then. I would like to ask Willo about some treatments for laminitis in our ponies.”

  “Well, then, perhaps I will see you later,” Raisa said.

  She watched him walk away, toward the visitors’ lodge, feeling as if she had a dozen fellscats on leashes snarling and snapping and going in different directions.

  C H A P T E R S I X T E E N

  A WAY FORWARD

  Han waited until everyone else was gone, then said to Dancer, “Didn’t you hear Willo? I need my rest.” He closed his eyes and folded his hands across his chest, assuming a sleeping position.

  “Hunts Alone,” Dancer said. “Let me explain about Elena Cennestre.”

  “There’s nothing to say,” Han replied without opening his eyes. “Good the two of you were able to work out a plan to fix me up and get me back in fighting shape.”

  “We didn’t work out a plan,” Dancer said. “Willo was the one who suggested I might be able to help you heal by using flash. You and I both know Elena Demonai will bleed us dry if that’s what it takes to keep wizards off the throne in Fellsmarch. She won’t wait until you’re healthy and fit to go forward. You can’t go up against the Bayars in a depleted state.”

  Han said nothing.

  “There’s one thing Elena and I agree on—we don’t want to see wizard kings,” Dancer went on, “especially not the Bayars. I’d be willing to stand in for you, but I can’t do what you do. We took the same classes, and I’ve worked hard all year, but you’ve gone beyond me. I’d like to think it’s your amulet, but I don’t think so.” He hesitated. “I think it’s what you’ve learned from Crow. And the way you’re made.”

  “What makes you think I’ve gone beyond you?” Han said, scrunching down in the bed. “If I have, it’s likely because you’ve been focusing on flash metalsmithing.”

  “I’m not being modest.” Dancer shrugged. “We have different skills. I’m getting better and better at making tools, but that won’t help in the middle of a firefight.” When Han said nothing, he
added, “You saved the Princess Raisa’s life. I couldn’t have done that.”

  “It wasn’t because I knew what I was doing,” Han said.

  “Even more impressive.”

  “And it wasn’t because she’s a princess,” Han went on, slitting his eyes and squinting at Dancer through his lashes.

  Dancer brought up both hands. “I know.”

  “I hate bluebloods like her,” Han said. “They put on Ragmarket clothes and go slumwalking, but underneath they’re still wearing We’enhaven lace and Tamron silk. For them it’s an experience, like holding séances or smoking razorleaf. And when they get back to the palace, they shed their slum clothes and climb into the bath and wash you right off.”

  Han forced an image of Rebecca/Queen Raisa in her bath to the back of his mind. He stowed it away with the image of Raisa in We’enhaven lace and Tamron silk smallclothes.

  “I tried to tell you not to get tangled up with her,” Cat said, startling him. Han had forgotten she was there. When Han frowned at her, she added, “You know. Back in Ragmarket.”

  “I’m not tangled up with her,” Han said.

  “Huh.” Cat drew out a small blade—it looked like a new one—and began flipping and catching it.

  Wishing Cat wasn’t there to hear and comment, Han turned back to Dancer. “The thing is, it doesn’t change them. They just keep going on being bluebloods. They think we’re amusing, like monkeys in a traveling show. We’re something to do for a day or two, when things slow down at the palace. Something to talk about at parties.”

  Han unstoppered the tea and took a long drink right from the jug. No point in working on his manners now.

  Though he hadn’t been doing it for her anyway. He’d been doing it for himself. Hadn’t he?

  “Eventually, they leave for good,” he said, setting the jug down. “They don’t care if they leave holes behind.”

  “You’re the one who always leaves,” Cat said. “Is that it?”

  “It’s not that,” Han said. “She used me.”

  “How did she use you?” Dancer said. “By tutoring you? By kissing you? By—”