The Gray Wolf Throne

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “What do you suggest, Nightwalker?” Elena said, leaning forward.

  Nightwalker looked around the circle as if searching out allies. “I suggest that we send a small band of Demonai into Fellsmarch tomorrow. Some of us are familiar with the city now, and Lightfoot can easily gain us access to the palace. We seize the Princess Mellony and carry her back to Demonai Camp. Once we have control of both princesses, the Wizard Council would have no option but to give in.”

  “Is that what you think?” Raisa said, her voice cold and brittle as river ice. “That you have control of this princess now? I am not a game piece or a strategic castle you are trying to breach.”

  That’s where you’re wrong, Han thought. Nightwalker thinks every girlie is a castle to be breached. Best to keep your drawbridge up.

  But maybe she knew that already, since the princess heir had fostered at Demonai Camp. Han studied the two of them, wondering just how well they knew each other. Jealousy flamed within him. He knew what Nightwalker wanted—he could see it in his face.

  With some effort, Han wrenched himself back to what Elena was saying.

  “Nightwalker could have phrased that more appropriately, Granddaughter, but do not be too quick to dismiss his suggestion,” Elena said. “It would put an end to any plan to crown Mellony in your place. And it would minimize the danger to you.”

  “I’ve already lost my mother,” Raisa said. “I will not risk losing my sister as well. You should understand this, Elena Cennestre. Must I remind you that Mellony is your granddaughter, too. I will not be a party to any kidnapping. I have to think that we can come up with a better plan.”

  Nightwalker shrugged as if it didn’t matter either way to him, but Han could tell his pride was wounded.

  Much as Han hated to admit it, he agreed with Nightwalker about one thing—the time had come to quit sneaking around and do something dramatic.

  Everyone had an idea of how to manage the memorial service. Lord Averill suggested that Raisa arrive at the funeral buried in the midst of a crew of Demonai warriors, display herself, and then return to Marisa Pines when the service was over. Elena offered powerful talismans that might protect the princess from magical attack by the Wizard Council. Everyone agreed that the element of surprise was key, that the safest thing was to whisk her in and out before the Wizard Council could organize some sort of attack.

  Han was happy to let everyone else talk while he and Dancer examined Corporal Byrne’s sketchy map of the burial area. He wanted to discuss all this with Dancer and come up with his own plan. But all of a sudden he heard his name and looked up to find everybody staring at them.

  “What?” he said, irritated to be caught napping.

  “We’ve run through all our ideas,” Nightwalker said. “And we wondered what the charmcasters had to offer.” The Demonai warrior looked from Han to Dancer, his expression alert and interested, but Han guessed that Nightwalker’s expectations were low.

  Han shrugged. “I don’t think much of what you’ve come up with so far,” he said.

  Elena’s lips tightened. “I see. Well, then. Perhaps you can tell us what you suggest.”

  Han glanced at Dancer. “Me and Fire Dancer need to talk it over,” he said. “We’ll tell you what we come up with tomorrow. But if the Princess Raisa is queen of the realm, then everybody, including her, ought to start acting like it.”

  “What do you mean?” Raisa said, sitting up very straight, her green eyes fixed on him in that unnerving way she had.

  The problem wasn’t Raisa, Han thought, recalling how she’d walked into Southbridge Guardhouse like a lioness to face off with Gillen. She was fearless. Too fearless, sometimes.

  “I’m just a streetlord,” Han said. “Or used to be. But you don’t get to be streetlord by hiding in your crib.”

  “We understand that,” Averill said, his voice edged with annoyance. “But there has already been one likely regicide, and at least one attempt on the princess heir. There is a very real danger that—”

  “I get that,” Han said. “Believe me. But, say I’m streetlord of Ragmarket. Even in Southbridge, I don’t sneak around hoping nobody notices. No, I strut in like I own the place. I walk right down the Way. I have my Raggers with me—I’m not stupid—but the point is, my enemies should be worrying about themselves and what’ll happen if they get in my way. They should be wondering about my plans and what I know and who I’ve got on my side.

  “The Princess Raisa? This is her turf. They’re the trespassers. If she comes off like she’s scared of them, it’s over. She’s got to go back to Fellsmarch. She’s got to move back into the old neighborhood and clean out the riffraff rivals. Long as she’s up here, she’s out of power.”

  “We’re not really asking for political advice,” Elena said, her black eyes narrowed. “We were more interested in what you had to offer in terms of charmcasting.”

  Raisa surged to her feet, looking around at the others. “He’s right, though. I cannot rule from here. The longer I stay hidden, the more time my enemies have to dig in. We’ll never dislodge them if we wait.”

  Averill rolled his eyes. “He’s telling you to do what you’ve wanted to do all along,” he said. “That doesn’t make it the right thing to do.”

  “We cannot afford to lose you, Granddaughter,” Elena said. “If the jinxflingers kill you too, the line will be broken.”

  “Then we make sure that doesn’t happen,” Raisa said, looking around the room.

  “The Demonai will do our part,” Nightwalker said. “But it’s going to be more difficult for us to protect you in the city. Hunts Alone has no real stake in this. We do. We haven’t seen anything from the jinxflingers to suggest they’ll contribute at all.”

  “Dancer and I will meet with you tomorrow, Your Highness,” Han said to Raisa, using the formal title on purpose. “Just the three of us. I’ll tell you what we have in mind, and you say yes or no. You’re the princess, so it’s your call. What you need is some firepower—enough to scare off the Wizard Council so they leave you alone, for a while, anyway. What you want is to make show. We can help with that.”

  C H A P T E R T W E N T Y

  LUCIUS AND ALGER

  Han asked Dancer to walk back with him to the visitors’ lodge. When they emerged from the Matriarch Lodge, powdery snow swirled around their feet in little devil dances, and Han’s nose crackled in the icy air. Even in spring, it was still plenty cold at this altitude once the sun went down.

  The visitors’ lodge was nestled in the pines a short distance from the rest of the camp. Han and Dancer were single-filing it on the path when Han heard a step behind them.

  Whirling, he gripped his amulet and extended his hand, his fingers tingling with flash.

  “It’s just me, Hunts Alone,” Bird said, raising her hands and backing away, eyes wide.

  Han lowered his charmcasting hand. “You can’t ambush me like that anymore,” he said. “Not a good idea.”

  “I can see that.” Bird attempted a smile. “You’ve never been easy to sneak up on, but now you’re jumpy as a fellshare.”

  “That’s how I stay alive,” Han said. After an awkward pause, he said, “Did you want something?”

  Bird glanced over her shoulder to verify that no one was within hearing distance. “I heard you were hurt, saving the queen’s life,” she said. “I wanted to see if you were all right.”

  “I’ve been better,” Han said. “But I’m all right.”

  “Good,” she said, glancing at Dancer, whose face offered no clues as to what he was thinking. “I’m glad to hear that.” She paused, scuffing at some leaves with her moccasin. When Han said nothing, she continued. “I’m off duty tonight. Could we—could I share your hearth? I would like to talk to both of you.”

  “Did Nightwalker send you here?” Dancer asked. “Was there something he wanted you to tell us? Or something he wanted you to find out?”

  Bird blinked at him. “No. I came on my own. Why would you—”


  “We have plans,” Han said. “Jinxflinger business. Sorry.”

  They circled around her and walked on. Han resisted looking back. He wasn’t proud of what he’d said to Bird. It felt petty and mean. But he did have other plans—plans he couldn’t share with her. And it was jinxflinger business.

  Choose sides against a streetlord, and you pay a price.

  The visitors’ lodge was deserted. The other guests, like Averill, would be plotting long into the night. Han led Dancer into his room and shut the door.

  Dancer rekindled the fire and laid on another stick of wood. “I’m glad to be back in the mountains,” he said, shedding his warm coat. “It’s good to be back at my mother’s hearth.” Sitting down on the rug, he leaned his back against the hearthstone.

  Han eyed him curiously. “You seem different. Like you’re easier with being a wizard here in camp.”

  Dancer shrugged. “My time in the flatlands opened my eyes. Here, people mistrust us for being wizards. Everywhere else, people mistrust me for being clan.” He smiled at Han’s puzzled expression. “It’s taught me that the flaw is in them. Not me. When I first found out I was gifted, I felt ashamed, like it was a fault or a curse. I’d been taught all my life that it was. I would have done most anything to get rid of it. I wanted to kill my wizard father for inflicting it on me.” He half smiled.

  “But what I’ve come to realize is, it’s not a curse. It is a gift. Like my mother’s gift for healing. I can do things that others can’t do. I refuse to apologize for it anymore.”

  Han found himself wishing he had the same clear-eyed view. Lately it seemed like all he did was react to others and their plans. He’d never get anywhere if he didn’t know what he was after and where he wanted to go.

  “Like I said, it’s good to be here,” Dancer went on, “but I would have liked to stay longer at the academy. I was making progress with Firesmith. I think he was flattered to have someone who was actually interested in metalcraft and flash. He gave me some of his rare books to bring along.” Dancer paused. “But you didn’t bring me back here to talk about my plans.”

  “Well, in a way I did. Partly. I’m trying to figure out what weapons we have going into this.”

  Dancer nodded. “I can add more flash capability to the amulet I made for you now, if you want,” he said. “Still won’t be as powerful as the one I’m using. Elena’s. Or the one you took from the Bayars.”

  “No rush,” Han said, touching his replica amulet. It brightened fractionally. “I’m not really using this anyway, except for show.” He paused. “You don’t have to keep using my old amulet, you know,” he said. “You could have another one made specifically for you.”

  Dancer stroked the amulet Elena had made for Han—the one he’d been using since he lost his in Arden. “I’m used to it now. And it’s loaded with power. No reason to make a change.”

  Han understood. Once linked with an amulet, it was painful to give it up.

  “I have friends at Demonai Camp,” Dancer went on. “Not warriors. Craftspeople. Depending on what happens with the coronation, I’d like to go over there if I can be spared.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous, going to Demonai Camp?” Han said. “As a wizard?”

  “Everything is dangerous,” Dancer replied, shrugging. “Though it will be easier if you can keep Elena and Nightwalker away.”

  Han nodded. “I’ll do my best to keep them busy keeping an eye on me.” He paused. “I asked you to come because I have a confession to make—I met with Crow again, on my way here.”

  Swiveling away from Dancer’s incredulous expression, Han filled a teapot from the water jug and set it on the hearth.

  “You’re not serious,” Dancer said finally. “You do have a death wish, I believe.”

  “Everything is dangerous,” Han said, cocking an eyebrow at Dancer. He sat down on the edge of his sleeping bench and pulled off his boots. “But I need your advice.”

  “Hmmm. Never go back?” Dancer rolled his eyes. “Somehow I don’t think you’ll take it.”

  “It’s not as dangerous as you think,” Han said. “As I told you before, Crow doesn’t have any power of his own.”

  “Then how, exactly, does he get to Aediion?” Dancer said. “When almost nobody else can get there?”

  “He uses mine. My flash. Without me, he can’t do anything,” Han said. “But he’s incredibly knowledgeable about magic.”

  “Then who is he in real life?” Dancer persisted. “And why won’t he agree to meet you on your home ground?”

  “If you can believe what he says, he doesn’t exist in real life,” Han said, serving up his story in small bites. “He exists only in Aediion. He’s a remnant of a wizard who lived long ago.”

  “A remnant?” Dancer said skeptically. “He’s been in Aediion all this time? And he just happened to find you the first day you visited?” Dancer pulled free a lock of hair, combed it straight with his fingers, split it into sections, and started interlacing them to make a braid.

  Han pulled the serpent amulet from under his shirt and tapped it with his first two fingers. “Not in Aediion. Here. He’s been waiting here for a thousand years. In this amulet.”

  Dancer stared at the amulet. Then looked up at Han. “He’s been hiding in an amulet? I know a lot about flashpieces, and I never heard of that.” He bit off a piece of string from a bundle in his pocket. “There are lots of wizards in Oden’s Ford,” he said. “Even more in the Fells. Don’t you think it’s more likely Crow is one of them?” He finished one braid, wrapping the lower end with colorful thread, and began another.

  Han spooned highland leaf into cups, then poured boiling water over it.

  “And why won’t he tell you who he is if he wants to partner with you?” Dancer continued.

  “Originally he meant to use me—not partner with me,” Han said. “But the talisman you made put a stop to that. So last time we met, he told me who he really is.”

  Dancer leaned forward. “And?”

  Han took a breath and spit it out. “He claims he’s Alger Waterlow. The last Wizard King of the Fells.”

  Dancer’s hands stilled themselves, and he frowned. “So you’re meeting with someone who claims to be the Demon King, who nearly destroyed the world.”

  Han nodded.

  Dancer gazed at him, speechless, for what seemed like forever. “And you mean to keep meeting with him?” he said finally, shaking his head.

  Han nodded again.

  “I don’t like it,” Dancer said, with his usual gift for understatement. “Either he’s lying, which is bad. Or he could be telling the truth, which is worse.” He blew on his tea to cool it. “Much worse.”

  “I don’t like it either,” Han admitted. “But it’s the only hand I have to play. That’s why I asked you here—to get your opinion.”

  “How am I supposed to give you an opinion when I’ve never even met him?” Dancer said. He sipped his tea, brow furrowed. Then he thumped the mug down on the hearthstone. “That’s it. I need to meet him and see for myself.”

  “Well…” Han thought about this. “He can’t come here, so you’d need to go back to Aediion. And he’ll be furious that I brought you along.”

  “Why is that?” Dancer said. “Why doesn’t he want anyone else to see him? What is he hiding?”

  “He says he knows secrets the Bayars are hot for. If they find out I can talk to him, we’re done.”

  “That’s convenient, don’t you think?” Dancer snorted. “Why should you believe him, Hunts Alone? What has he ever done but try to use you to get what he wants?”

  Dancer was right. In truth, since Rebecca had turned into Raisa, Han had lost faith in his own judgment. How could he have been so wrong about her? How could he have missed that he was walking out with a princess?

  Why should Han be following other people’s rules when they broke the rules themselves?

  Dancer was his best friend and ally—it was time to begin treating him that way.

 
“All right,” Han said. “Come with me to Aediion and meet him and tell me what you think. If he’s lying, the two of us might outsmart an imposter. Besides, I’ve arranged to—” He stopped and cocked his head. “Someone’s coming.”

  Immediately there came a tapping at the door. Han levered to his feet and crossed to the entrance.

  It was Willo, with Lucius Frowsley in tow.

  It had been nearly a year since Han had seen his former employer, but the thousand-year-old man had retained the veneer of polish he’d sported at their last meeting. His hair and beard were trimmed and in order, his clothing tidier and in better repair than in the past.

  Lucius looks better off, and I’m probably worse off than before, Han thought. The recluse had been more than an employer—Han had trusted him. Until he’d found out that Lucius had known the truth of Han’s magical heritage and had never told him. What other secrets was Lucius hiding?

  One thing hadn’t changed—the old man carried a bottle of product in one hand and a fistful of cups in the other.

  “I sent a runner after Lucius, as you asked, Hunts Alone,” Willo said, looking from Lucius to Han.

  “Hello, Lucius,” Han said, touching his arm to orient him.

  “Boy!” Lucius closed his eyes and smiled. His face crinkled like well-weathered badlands, as if he were basking in the warmth of Han’s presence.

  “Is there anything else you need, Hunts Alone?” Willo asked.

  Han shook his head. “Thank you, Willo.”

  “Send word to me when he’s ready to go,” she said, turning away and slipping out of the visitors’ lodge.

  “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re still alive.” Lucius raised the bottle and waggled it suggestively. “We have something to celebrate.”

  Lucius always had something to celebrate. Han ushered him toward the hearth, his hand on the blind man’s elbow. “Here. Sit by the fire,” he said. “Fire Dancer is here, too. Want tea?”