The Gray Wolf Throne

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Then the fairy tale ended. Queen Lissa died, and Marianna ascended to the throne at fifteen. Civil war broke out in Arden, and the young queen was challenged by an influx of refugees and a decline in trade revenues. The Council of Nobles recommended an isolationist policy and her generals spent vast amounts on mercenaries. Taxes were raised again and again.

  Worried about being drawn into the wars to the south, Marianna passed over the glittering princes and chose to marry Averill Lightfoot—a suitor from inside the queendom who had the strength of the Spirit clans behind him. When wizards and Valefolk complained about their fairy-tale princess marrying a copperhead, Marianna defiantly planned the most elaborate wedding ever seen. It was said to have cost one hundred thousand crowns and beggared the treasury for years to come.

  Even in Ragmarket and Southbridge, people still had souvenirs from that wedding stashed away. Mam had kept a copper coin with Queen Marianna on one side and Averill on the other.

  It’s a sad thing, Han thought, when the best a speaker like Jemson can say about you is that you could throw a good party.

  That wasn’t all he said, of course, but that was how Han’s bitter ears bent it.

  Raisa lit the pyre, and the flames spit sparks into the storm-darkened sky. Lightning flamed over Hanalea, and the wolves lifted their muzzles and howled, a sound that raised gooseflesh on Han’s neck and arms.

  While the queen burned, Raisa called Amon Byrne forward. He stood poker straight beside her while Raisa delivered a eulogy for Edon Byrne, Captain of the Queen’s Guard.

  “I have loved and hated Edon Byrne,” she said. “I have loved him for his clear eye, honest soul, and blunt speech.” She paused. “I have hated him for his clear eye, honest soul, and blunt speech.” She smiled at a smattering of laughter and applause. “Our most valuable servants are those loyal enough to risk telling us the truth—not always what we want to hear, but what we need to hear. Edon Byrne was such a man. In the end, he gave his life for my sake. He will be sorely missed.”

  She walked forward and looked down at the bluejackets surrounding the dais. “The Byrnes are people of few words, impatient with long speeches, and so I will honor him with a short one. I commend him to the embrace of the Spirit Mountains, and know he will watch over his queen and all of the Gray Wolf line in death as well as in life.”

  Her voice rang out, echoing among the peaks. “Enemies of the Gray Wolf line had best take notice.”

  Han looked straight at the Bayars.

  Raisa swung around, facing downslope again. “And so, the unbroken line of captains and queens continues. Amon Byrne, please step forward.”

  Amon took a step forward, standing at attention, chin up, eyes straight ahead.

  “Give me the Sword of Hanalea,” Raisa said, extending her hand.

  Byrne drew his sword and extended it to Raisa, hilt-first. She took hold of the heavy sword with both hands and lifted it so it pointed skyward.

  Strange, Han thought. Raisa didn’t physically resemble the images he’d seen of Hanalea. The legendary queen had been tall and blond and willowy, with long flowing tresses. This queen was small, with a cap of cropped dark hair, her green eyes brilliant against her honey skin. Yet she looked like a warrior, all in armor with the sword in her hand, facing off against the thousands.

  “Ordinarily, this would wait until my coronation,” she said. “Ordinarily, the Lady sword would pass from one captain to another. But these are not ordinary times. Queen Marianna and her captain died within days of each other. It seems important to reforge the link between captain and queen as soon as possible lest my enemies think they see an opportunity in our losses.

  “In the same vein, we will schedule my coronation as soon as it can be arranged,” she added, her eyes sweeping over the crowd and the assembly on the dais. “There is too much business before us to delay.”

  She looked up at Amon Byrne. “Kneel,” she commanded.

  Byrne fell to his knees, still somehow at attention, his eyes fastened on Raisa.

  Raisa tapped each shoulder with the flat of the blade. “Rise, Captain Amon Byrne, Commander of the Queen’s Guard.”

  Han looked over at the Bayars in time to see a quick look exchanged between Micah and Fiona. Lord Bayar tilted his head toward the general next to him, who was filling Bayar’s ear with something. Bayar was completely expressionless.

  Princess Mellony seemed a bit blindsided by the cascade of events. She gripped the arms of her chair, her blue eyes wide, shifting from Raisa to Amon, and then to Micah, as if for a clue.

  But Micah gazed at Raisa with a half smile of grudging admiration.

  They know they’ve been outplayed, Han thought. The more Raisa accomplishes out in the open, in front of witnesses, the less that can be forced on her behind closed doors.

  Han had no illusions that it would stop them, but it would complicate things at least. Raisa had marched into the old neighborhood with her gang, and made show to those who wanted to challenge her.

  It was well done.

  By now the queen’s pyre had burned down to ashes, fueled by the holy oils the speakers used. Raisa smiled at her sister, taking her hands and gently lifting her to her feet. She embraced Mellony again, her younger sister towering over her. She led Mellony over to the bier, where they stood, hand in hand. As Han watched, Raisa leaned over and whispered something in Mellony’s ear.

  Speaker Jemson sprinkled a powder over the flames, and a plume of gray-and-white smoke spiraled up, organizing itself into a sleek, fine-boned wolf with blue eyes. She descended to the ground, landed lightly and walked forward, stiff-legged, her ruff bristling about her head, to touch noses with the assembled wolves.

  Thunder growled over Hanalea, and the rain came slashing down in huge drops that exploded as they hit the dais. The wolves turned as one and loped away, vanishing into the rain-thickened air.

  C H A P T E R T W E N T Y-F I V E

  HOMECOMING

  It was a great day.

  It was a terrible day.

  Raisa had never felt braver.

  She had never been more frightened.

  She had never been lonelier.

  She had never felt more loved.

  And now she was on her way home.

  The fierce courage that had fueled her during the long service at Marianna’s tomb had ebbed, leaving exhaustion in its wake. She rode, embedded within her guard, Amon to her right and forward, Han to her left and behind her, surrounded by Demonai warriors, with Reid Nightwalker and her father, Averill, Lord Demonai, always within sight.

  Behind them came her former nurse, Magret Gray, and the other Maidens of Hanalea, their pendants displayed outside their cloaks, honoring the line they’d sworn to serve.

  The time will come, Raisa vowed, when I’ll be able to ride unescorted through the streets of my own queendom.

  The Princess Mellony rode alongside her, her long golden tresses plastered to her forehead and neck, her lips blue and teeth chattering from the cold. She wore a lightweight silk cloak in black and royal blue, which was soaked through.

  Blinking raindrops from her eyelashes, Raisa tugged her hood up. Like most clanwork, her Gray Wolf cape was a marriage of beauty and function, and its tightly woven oiled wool fibers turned the downpour. Still, her forward motion as she descended the long slope of Marianna slapped the rain into her face. Water ran in rivulets down her neckline and between her breasts.

  Mellony kept twisting in her saddle, looking back to see where Micah was, as if to make sure he was still there. He rode alongside Fiona just behind the Demonai warriors.

  I need to pay more attention to Mellony, Raisa thought. I need to woo her away from those who’ve held her in thrall. She’s all I have left—she and Averill.

  They’d never had much in common. Before Raisa went to foster at Demonai Camp, their three-year age difference had seemed like a chasm that could never be bridged. Raisa prowled the streets with Amon and his older friends while Mellony played with dolls a
nd tea sets under the shelter of their mother’s warm regard.

  Raisa had returned from Demonai to find that Mellony and Queen Marianna had grown even closer, leaving Raisa feeling more like an outsider than ever.

  She leaned toward Mellony. “You look cold and miserable,” she said. “Didn’t you bring anything to shed the rain?” She instantly regretted it. It sounded like she was being critical rather than sympathetic.

  And that’s how Mellony took it. The corners of her mouth curved down. “Who knew it would start to rain?” she said. “The weather wizards did not predict it.”

  “If you ride into the mountains, you have to be prepared for changeable weather,” Raisa said, unable to stop herself in her exhausted state.

  “You should call Micah forward,” Mellony said loftily. “We often go riding together. He knows how to shield against the rain.”

  “Just because he knows how to do it doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to use wizardry for such a purpose,” Raisa said, thinking guiltily of how Han had dried her cloak in Oden’s Ford. “You should be wary of allowing wizards to charm your person.”

  “You’re one to talk,” Mellony said, pouting. “When you show up entangled in a wizard’s fetch.”

  That sounded too much like Lord Bayar’s words.

  This wasn’t going well.

  Before Raisa could think to ask it, Amon Byrne slowed his pace, angling his horse in closer. He draped his thick Guard cloak over Mellony’s shoulders, then spurred ahead again to give them privacy.

  Protector of the line.

  They’d left the slopes of Marianna behind and were now crossing the relatively flat Vale, making better time as the rain had diminished to an annoying drizzle. The hardpan road presented its own hazards, however—huge puddles hid large craters in the surface.

  It needs repair, Raisa thought, like everything else. Where will we get the funds?

  “Where have you been all this time, anyway?” Mellony went on. “We thought you were dead.” She sounded almost as if Raisa had pulled a nasty trick by being alive.

  “I was in Oden’s Ford most of the time,” Raisa said. “Attending classes at the academy.”

  “You were going to school?” Mellony raised her fair brows. “You ran away to go to school?” As if this were inconceivable.

  Raisa glanced about, wary of getting into the meat of the story with so many eyes and ears close by. “They have wonderful teachers there, and students come from all over the Seven Realms. I learned so much.” An idea struck her. “You could go there, you know,” she said. “You could study whatever you like. I think we should send more students to the academy than we do. Not just wizards.”

  Mellony’s eyes went wide with alarm. “Now that you’ve come back, you mean to send me away?” Her voice cracked.

  “No, no,” Raisa said quickly. “Not unless you want to go. I only thought it would be a great opportunity for you. When you returned, you could serve on my council. I’ll have need of counselors I can trust.”

  “I love my teachers and tutors,” Mellony said, her voice rising. “I love being at court. Why would I want to go anywhere else?”

  I would love to go back to Oden’s Ford, Raisa thought. That’s a mistake I make constantly—thinking Mellony wants the same things I do.

  She’s changed while I’ve been gone, Raisa thought. In the past, she’d always relied on her sunny, uncomplicated personality. Now she seems angry and suspicious and resentful.

  Thirteen is a hard age, Raisa thought. She’s had a hard year and a heartbreaking week.

  “Never mind.” Raisa reached across and touched Mellony’s shoulder. “Come, let’s not fight on the day we buried our mother.”

  “It’s your fault she’s dead,” Mellony said, jerking away from Raisa’s hand.

  That fanned the flames of the guilt Raisa was already feeling. And frayed away what remained of her patience. “How can you say that?” she demanded, forgetting to keep her voice down.

  Amon glanced back at them, eyebrows raised, lips tight together. Now Han nudged his horse forward so he came abreast of them. “Your Highness, you and the princess could use some privacy. I’m nearly used up, but I think I can manage.” Touching his amulet, he gestured, and a curtain of silence descended, blocking out sound all around them.

  He reined in his horse so he fell behind them again, following at a respectful distance.

  Mellony raised her chin as if to say, See? You have your wizards, too. But what she said was, “Is it true he’s a thief and a murderer?”

  Maybe, Raisa thought of saying. Or, probably. “He used to be,” she said. “He was streetlord of Ragmarket.”

  “A wizard streetlord,” Mellony said, swiping rain from the tip of her nose. “That’s romantic, in a way.”

  “I doubt he’d describe it that way,” Raisa said. “Anyway, he didn’t become a wizard until after he’d left the streets.”

  “What do you mean, become a wizard?” Mellony said. “Wizards are born, not made. Unless Lord Bayar is right, and he’s made some kind of deal with the Breaker.” She shivered. “Do you think that’s possible?”

  “If he made a deal, he made a poor bargain,” Raisa said. “And I know for a fact that he’s a better trader than that.”

  “He is handsome,” Mellony allowed, “in a wicked kind of way. I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes that blue on a man before. And the way he looks at a person—almost unnatural, like he can look right through your clothes. And dressed all in black like that, his hair…”

  “Mellony,” Raisa said gently. Charm or not, she wanted to stay away from the subject of Han Alister, with him riding so close by. Matters were complicated enough. “You were talking about Mother. How it’s my fault she’s dead.”

  Mellony didn’t speak for a long moment, until Raisa began to wonder whether she would answer at all. “Mother was brokenhearted when you left,” Mellony said finally. “She blamed herself. She thought she should have seen it coming and somehow prevented it. She barely ate or slept, and she grew thin and weepy.” Mellony looked over at Raisa. “So we were all miserable and worried while you enjoyed yourself in Oden’s Ford.”

  “Enjoyed myself? Do you know how hard I was working?” As Raisa said it, she knew she was being dishonest. Despite everything, she had enjoyed herself.

  Mellony rolled her eyes. “You’re a fiend for hard work, and you know it,” she said. “You always had to work harder than anyone else, whether it was schoolwork or hunting or—or anything. You always had to make everyone else look bad.”

  Everyone else, no doubt, meant Mellony.

  It was time to tell the truth. “Did Mother tell you why I left?” Raisa said, leaning close to her sister.

  Mellony nodded. “She said you had a crush on Corporal Byrne.” She jerked her chin toward Amon, riding just ahead. “Mother said you ran off when she insisted you marry someone else.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “And Corporal Byrne was at Oden’s Ford, too. Wasn’t that convenient?”

  “That’s not true,” Raisa hissed, stung. “I did not run away to be with Amon Byrne.”

  “Really?” Mellony raised her eyebrow. “Are you calling Mother a liar?”

  Raisa pressed her lips together to keep any more words from spilling out. She didn’t want to speak ill of the dead. And yet she wanted to honor Mellony with the truth. She was tired of lies, tired of the awkwardness and suspicion between them.

  “You never seemed interested in getting married anyway,” Mellony persisted. “You always said you wanted to kiss a lot of boys before you narrowed down to one.”

  Well, yes. Raisa had said that.

  “I’m not saying Mother was a liar,” Raisa said diplomatically. “I’m saying she did not tell you all of the truth. Yes, I left when she insisted I marry someone else. Do you know who that someone was?”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Mellony said, facing forward as if she somehow knew that she wouldn’t want to hear what Raisa had to say. “You left, and Mother d
ied.” She slammed her heels into her pony’s sides, meaning to ride forward and away, but Raisa caught hold of her horse’s bridle.

  “It was Micah Bayar,” Raisa said. “She wanted me to marry Micah Bayar.”

  Mellony shook her head, slinging water all around. “No,” she said. “That’s not possible.”

  “It is possible because it’s true,” Raisa said.

  “No,” Mellony repeated. “Micah would never—”

  “Micah was willing,” Raisa said. “I was not.”

  Mellony stared at her, tears pooling in her blue eyes. “I don’t believe you,” she said, and wrenched her horse away, spurring him forward until she was beyond the range of easy conversation.

  Well, Raisa thought, so much for clearing the air.

  Someone must have sent a bird to Fellsmarch, or maybe riders with fresh horses had outpaced them to the capital, wanting to be the first to announce the news of Raisa’s return. Or maybe Cat Tyburn had arranged this reception, too. However it happened, the news had preceded them, so that when they entered the capital, the Way of the Queens was lined with people on both sides, cheering and waving scarves and kerchiefs.

  Although the Way was broad, the crowds surged in close, reaching out to touch their returning princess. The Guard tightened its perimeter, and Amon and Han took up positions on either side of Raisa, using their horses to keep anyone from coming too close while the Queen’s Guard forced a path forward toward the castle close.

  To Raisa’s embarrassment, some in the mob of people cursed and jostled the Demonai, calling them copperheads, baby stealers, and worse. They weren’t used to seeing clan in numbers in the city.

  Sweet Lady in chains, Raisa thought. Somehow I have to bring all my peoples together—wizards, Valefolk, clans. We spend too much energy fighting with each other. It makes us vulnerable.

  Speaking of vulnerable. She thrust her finger into the pouch at her waist, pulled out the wolf ring talisman, and slid it once more onto her finger. It seemed unlikely there would be any wizard attacks between here and home, but still. It made her feel safer to have it on.