The Gray Wolf Throne

by Cinda Williams Chima

  To everyone else, an unmarried crown princess was seen as a loose end that should be either clipped or knitted up as soon as possible.

  Dissonant messages of consolation on her mother’s death and congratulations on her impending coronation arrived from the other monarchs in the realms, salted with opening bids in the marriage auction. Some offered younger sons who needed thrones to sit upon, others suggested the joining of the Fells to “kingdoms” as far away as Bruinswallow and We’enhaven.

  Although Raisa ana’Marianna was not yet crowned, and rumor had it she was keeping a thief as a paramour, and that she likely had a hand in Queen Marianna’s death, most were willing to overlook that in consideration of the queendom’s mineral-rich holdings. They’d heard the northern queens were all witches anyway.

  Everyone abroad seemed eager to help a young orphaned queen govern her queendom. Everyone at home seemed anxious to get her married off as soon as possible, as long as it was to their favorite.

  The Klemath brothers reemerged as suitors amid a plethora of local hopefuls.

  The foremost marriage candidate from the uplands was Reid Nightwalker. He spent more time in the capital than Raisa could ever remember, because of his assignment to Averill’s guard. The Demonai warrior launched a quiet courtship—bringing gifts of fur throws and leatherwork and clan-made jewelry, perfumes and aromatics from the markets. Clearly, he hoped to follow in Averill’s footsteps, and marry a queen.

  Raisa and Nightwalker took long walks through the gardens sometimes, her Gray Wolves following a respectful distance behind. Sometimes they rode into the hills surrounding the Vale, but always with an escort. Nightwalker listened more than he spoke, and he didn’t push as hard as he had in the past to go beyond kisses and caresses.

  I could do worse, Raisa thought, as a political match, anyway. She ticked off the advantages: Nightwalker was unquestionably committed to Fellsian interests. He wouldn’t be trying to make the Fells a minor province in a faraway realm. He would support her efforts to clean up the Dyrnnewater and keep the Wizard Council in check. A marriage to him would reinforce the ties between the clans and the Gray Wolf line.

  And it would serve the Bayars right, after all of their plotting and scheming to marry Raisa off to Micah.

  All in all, Nightwalker seemed like the safest choice, the same one her mother had made. On the personal side, at least he was closer to her age than Averill had been to her mother’s. He was lithe and graceful and handsome. Although it was unlikely he would remain faithful to her, that wouldn’t affect the line, at least.

  Micah Bayar was another matter. With Raisa’s return, he abruptly left off his pursuit of Mellony. As a result, Mellony moped about, tearful and sullen much of the time, trying Raisa’s patience.

  You’re just thirteen, Raisa thought. And a princess. Get used to it.

  Me, I’m done with romantic entanglements. Everybody I get involved with is either forbidden or unavailable or mad at me.

  For instance: Han Alister was by turns brisk and businesslike, cold and unreadable, or slightly mocking. He deftly deflected or ignored Raisa’s many attempts to restore or rekindle their friendship.

  They’d had one “tutoring session,” and it had been a disaster. Alone together in her privy chamber, she’d rattled on like a runaway horse, dissecting the politics at court until she was entirely bored with herself.

  Han had sat there clenching the arms of his chair, stony-faced and glaze-eyed, like he wasn’t hearing half of what she said. Raisa was exquisitely aware of him, constantly measuring the physical and emotional distance between them.

  Their next two sessions had been canceled and rescheduled—once by him, for undisclosed reasons, and once by Raisa because of a conflicting meeting.

  Why does he even bother? she thought. I am at a total loss for what to say to him that would do any good. I don’t know how to go about rebuilding trust between us—or if that’s even possible.

  There is one thing I can do, Raisa thought. I can’t give Han Alister a pedigree, but I can give him a title. And a home to replace the one that was burnt on Marianna’s orders. Maybe that would make him feel more secure—more at ease at court.

  She thrust away the nagging thought that neither her father nor the Bayars would be happy about it.

  I’m not here to make them happy, she told herself.

  Plans for her coronation proceeded amid the hard work of governing. Invitations to the coronation ball were sent out, and acceptances flooded back from throughout the Seven Realms. Some were likely curiosity-seekers who wanted to see what the headstrong princess heir would do next now that she was on her own, without maternal supervision.

  Those who hoped to woo and wed her would come, for fear she might be married off in a hurry and they would miss an opportunity.

  Others were no doubt looking to enjoy a week of hospitality at somebody else’s expense. Or maybe they were eager to see what a real witch looked like.

  Most of the thanes from Arden declined, citing the demands of the ongoing war. But, to Raisa’s surprise, King Geoff Montaigne of Arden sent word that he would attend, along with his queen and two children.

  He must be feeling more confident about his hold on the throne, Raisa thought; to leave Arden at this time. From what the queendom’s spies reported, Geoff had mustered near unanimous support among the war-weary southern thanes.

  Raisa hoped he wasn’t another Gerard. At least this Montaigne was already married.

  There was no response from Tamron, either from the Tomlins or Gerard Montaigne. She guessed that was a good thing—it would be awkward to have two kings of Arden in attendance. Meanwhile, Lord Hakkam’s negotiations with Gerard’s representatives dragged on.

  Raisa submitted to multiple fittings under Magret’s supervision. She needed a dress for the coronation ceremony itself, a gown for the ball, dresses for all the parties that would occur before and after. It wouldn’t do for Raisa to wear the same thing to more than one party.

  “Maybe I could just swap with somebody,” Raisa groused. “We shouldn’t be spending this kind of money on clothes I’ll probably wear once.”

  Magret rolled her eyes. “As if anyone could fit into your clothes,” she said. “And you would swim in anybody else’s. A coronation happens once in your life, Your Highness. As does a wedding,” she added pointedly.

  Raisa made sure that Mellony was well outfitted also. She hoped that the series of social events would lift her younger sister out of her funk. And, indeed, while Raisa tolerated the fittings, they seemed to cheer Mellony considerably. Raisa’s younger sister loved trying on clothes. Like Marianna, she was fond of parties.

  There were long sessions in the Cathedral Temple with Speaker Jemson, rehearsing for the coronation. That’s my life from here on in, Raisa thought dispiritedly. One ceremony after another. But Speaker Jemson was kind and funny. He took the coronation seriously, but it helped that he didn’t take himself too seriously.

  The Gray Wolves had been assigned to Raisa’s personal guard, and so would play an important role in the coronation ceremony. At rehearsals, they stood stiff and solemn, brows furrowed in concentration. In a way, it made it worse that they were friends. Raisa knew they would never forgive themselves if they made some misstep that marred her big day.

  Raisa missed her easy camaraderie with the Wolves. They were constantly around her, but now the barrier of rank stood between them. It was hard to relax with someone who came to attention whenever you entered the room.

  Amon had carried the Waterwalker staff Dimitri had given Raisa all the way from Oden’s Ford. They resumed practice with it, three times a week, in the barracks yard. It was a good workout but, more important, it was the only alone time she had with Amon these days. It allowed them private conversations, away from listeners in the palace walls.

  Four days after she announced her appointment of Han to the Wizard’s Council, Raisa walked back from the stables at dusk after a long ride across the Vale with Reid Demon
ai and an entourage of guards. She was flushed and sweaty, muscles loose, the tension dissipated by hours in the saddle. She and Nightwalker had parted with a kiss at the stable door.

  He wanted more than that, of course. Expected more by now. She just wished she could conjure up a little more enthusiasm.

  Talia Abbott and Trey Archer were on guard outside her room. Raisa paused in front of her door and smiled at Talia. “How is Sergeant Greenholt settling in?” she asked. Pearlie Greenholt, Talia’s Ardenine girlfriend, was new to the Fells. The former weapons master at Wien House, she’d been named sergeant under the new Captain Byrne.

  “She likes it well enough, Your Highness,” Talia said with studied politeness. “Thank you for asking.”

  Raisa raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  Talia snickered. “She says it’s too bloody cold up here and she’s tired of walking on a slant all the time. Plus she misses the fresh fruits and greens we had year ’round at the Ford. Says all the turnips and cabbage give her the farts.”

  Raisa laughed, knowing Pearlie would be mortified if she knew what secrets Talia was sharing with the queen of the Fells. But Talia, at least, was short on formality.

  Back in Raisa’s room, her bath waited on its burner, steaming in the chilly air, but Magret was nowhere to be seen. She must be down with one of her headaches, Raisa thought. She ordered a light supper sent up, and wearily stripped off her riding breeches, jacket, and underclothes. As she sank into the hot water, her thoughts returned to the question that had been deviling her since she lost her temper with her advisers.

  Had she made the right decision in putting Han Alister on the Wizard Council?

  Would Han be able to help her on the council, or would he be shunned as the outsider he was? Or worse, murdered for his arrogance? Averill had made it clear he disapproved. It was what Han had wanted, but…

  She must have fallen asleep. She woke to a hard rap on the door, and assumed it was supper arriving. Climbing from her bath, she toweled off and shrugged into her dressing gown. She walked into the sitting room, but when the sound repeated, she realized it came from the inside door to Han’s suite.

  She put her lips to the door. “What do you want?” she said.

  “I believe we have an appointment, Your Highness,” Han said through the door.

  Appointment? Oh. Right. It was time for their rescheduled tutoring session.

  Blood and bones. She wasn’t ready to face another evening with a cold, distant Han Alister. It was just too painful.

  “This isn’t a good time, after all,” Raisa said, looking down at bare toes peeking out from under her dressing gown. “Could we meet later in the week?”

  “I need to talk to you. Now,” he said brusquely. After a pause, he added, “We had a bargain, right?”

  Raisa sighed. “Yes,” she said. “We did.” She unlocked the door and yanked it open. Han brushed past her into the room, not seeming to notice her state of dress.

  She noticed his. Her tailors had been busy. He wore a blue silk coat that matched his eyes, and black trousers made to fit.

  Maybe I should ask them to dress him in a burlap, she thought. He’d be easier to resist.

  He walked to the window, rested his hands on the stone sill, and looked out over the city. Han’s back was board straight, feet slightly apart, shoulders square and tense.

  He’s angry, Raisa thought. What now?

  “I’ve ordered supper,” she said. “Have you eaten? We can talk while we eat.”

  “I’m not hungry,” he said, still staring out the window.

  “Look,” Raisa said, goaded beyond endurance. “There’s no point in meeting if you’re going to—”

  “I hear I have a castle on the Firehole River,” Han said to the window. “And a title.”

  “Oh. Yes,” Raisa said, in a rush. “I meant to tell you, but I haven’t seen you since I worked out the details. Ravengard, it’s called. The castle is good sized, stone and timber, though in need of repairs. There’s quite a bit of property with it, good hunting and pasturage. A few outbuildings. Not so good for farming, but—”

  “Don’t you think it would have been a good idea to tell me?” Han said, swinging around to face her. “It’s the talk of the court. I’m the last to know about it.”

  “I meant to tell you,” Raisa said. “It just slipped my mind. I didn’t realize word was out.” But of course it was. Rumors spread at court like the night itches in Ragmarket. “I thought you’d be happy. To have a home, I mean,” she added lamely. She’d hoped that property and a title would help bridge the chasm between them.

  “And maybe I would be, if it was done differently.” He shook his head. “Don’t you get it? It makes me look a fool that I didn’t even know about it. Like you were gifting a favorite instead of meeting an obligation.”

  Raisa winced, biting her lip. “I was tired of Lord Bayar calling you ‘Alister,’ and ‘the thief,’ so I thought I’d give you a title.”

  “Do you think that will stop him?” Han snorted. “Alister and thief don’t bother me so much. At least they’re accurate. It’s when they call me your doxy that I object.” His voice shook, and it seemed to take a moment to master himself. He was all sharp corners and frayed edges tonight.

  Raisa blinked at him, but he swung away again, scowling into the fireplace.

  His anger confused her. She hadn’t thought of him as someone who would be overworried about gossip.

  Maybe even the rumor that they were lovers repulsed him.

  She came up behind him and touched him on the elbow. He flinched but didn’t turn around.

  “People will talk at court,” Raisa said. “There’s no way to stop them.”

  He said nothing.

  “They’re talking about me as well,” she said. “It’s my reputation too.”

  “You think I’m worried about my bloody reputation?” Han finally turned and looked at her. “If they think you favor me, if they think I’m your pretty-boy plaything, they’ll come after both of us. The only thing that stands between me and them is fear and respect. I’ve got to make show.”

  “We’re not in Southbridge anymore,” Raisa said. “It’s not like you’re muscling into another gang’s territory.”

  “No?” Han raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you think. Walking into the Wizard Council house will be a lot like walking into Southbridge after midnight wearing Ragger colors and carrying a sack full of gold.”

  “You’re the one that demanded a room next to mine,” Raisa retorted. “You’re the one that asked to be on the council. What did you think would happen?”

  “The thing is, you can’t be waving me like a red flag in front of the Wizard Council.” He gripped her arms and looked down at her. “Listen. For both our sakes, you have to act like you hate me. Like you don’t want me here at all.”

  “I hate you?” Raisa rolled her eyes, exquisitely aware of his hot fingers on her upper arms. “Well, that makes sense. That’s why I gave you the room next to mine and named you to the Wizard Council.”

  “Let them think you’re doing it against your will,” Han said. “Maybe you’re doing it under pressure from Dean Abelard. They already think I’m crewing for her. Or maybe I’m blackmailing you. If they think you don’t really want me on the council, they won’t guess I’m your pair of eyes.”

  “I don’t want people to think I can be bullied,” Raisa countered.

  “Better that than they think we’re allies,” Han said. “We got to amuse them for a while until I get my game going. After that it won’t matter.”

  What is your game? Raisa thought. Are we really allies? What are you really after? Revenge on the Bayars? Is it all about that?

  “It’s a little late to convince them we’re enemies, don’t you think?” Raisa said. “After the Queen’s Council meeting and all.”

  Han laughed, but it had a bitter edge. “Nah, they’ll go for it. Despite the rumors, bluebloods don’t want to believe you could be allies with
a streetrat. It turns their stomachs. They’d be happy to know different.”

  We’re not all like that, Raisa wanted to say. But knew it would do no good.

  “But that still puts you at risk,” Raisa said. “If people think you’re my enemy, it’ll be open season on you. Everyone—even my friends—will be out to get you.”

  “Trust me, it’s even riskier if they think you and I are tight,” Han said. “That makes nobody happy. The Wizard Council begins to think about hushing both of us and putting Mellony on the throne. The clans’ll be all over me if they think there’s something between us. Your father is already jumpy because you put me on the council.”

  “But you’ll be all alone,” she said. “You can’t fight everybody.”

  “I’ll be alone?” He looked her up and down, his mouth quirking into a half smile. “Who’s more alone, you or me? I don’t have many friends, but at least I can count on those I have. Nobody’s cozying up to me in order to get ahead.”

  Raisa took a quick breath, meaning to disagree. Then released it without speaking. He was right, of course.

  Han smiled like he knew he’d scored a point. “I can take care of myself. I have some allies, and I’ll find some more; you’ll see.” He paused, searching her face, his gaze traveling from her eyes to her lips. “I’m really very personable when you get to know me,” he whispered.

  Releasing his hold on one arm, he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

  Raisa was acutely conscious of how close he was, the pale stubble on his cheeks, the memory of past kisses.

  Coming up onto her toes, she reached up with her free hand and pulled his face down toward her. She kissed him with a kind of desperation, winding her fingers into his hair to prevent escape.