The Gray Wolf Throne

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Raisa wore the ring he’d given her as a coronation gift. She was sure he noticed it, though he said nothing about it.

  One foreign visitor Raisa was pleased to see was Dimitri Fenwaeter, lord of the Waterwalkers, whom Raisa had met in the Shivering Fens on her way to Oden’s Ford.

  Then, Dimitri had been new to his position, after his father was killed by soldiers from the Fells.

  Dimitri had grown taller and filled out in the year since she’d last seen him, and he had a new confidence about him. He’d brought her a linen marsh cloak, embroidered with leaves and ferns in subtle mist colors.

  To put a fine point on it, Raisa was still Dimitri’s liege lady, as the Shivering Fens was still ruled by the Fells.

  “I hope things are well along our border,” she said in Common, smiling and stroking the fine linen.

  “I would let you know if they were not, Your Highness,” Dimitri said solemnly. “The new commander at the West Wall is a woman, but she is surprisingly fair and easy to deal with.” He was teasing her.

  “Perhaps she is fair and easy to deal with because she is a woman,” Raisa replied.

  Dimitri laughed. “You may be right,” he said. “Speaking of fair, I have not forgotten that you owe me gylden,” he said. “You also promised to send me a clean river.”

  “I’m working on it,” Raisa said with a sigh. “Let’s talk again after the coronation, before you go back home.”

  When Raisa returned to her rooms, Magret helped her strip off her formal coronation clothing. She lay down on her bed in her cami and drawers, meaning to take a nap before dinner. She hadn’t slept much the night before, thanks to Han Alister, and she needed some rest if she hoped to keep her face out of her plate that evening.

  She was just drifting into sleep when a knock rattled the door. Cat came and stood guard at the foot of her bed, while Magret rushed to answer, grumbling under her breath. After a few minutes of whispered conversation, she shut the door and returned to Raisa’s bedside, her face a thundercloud of disapproval.

  Raisa propped up on her elbows. “What is it, Magret?”

  “There’s a messenger from Lord Hakkam outside. He says the king of Arden has finally arrived.” Magret sniffed, to show what she thought of disrespectful, tardy kings. “He and his party are at Regent House and he’ll be joining you for dinner. He’s requesting a brief audience with you before dinner so he can offer his congratulations in person since he missed the ceremony this morning.”

  There goes nap time, Raisa thought. I don’t like King Geoff already.

  Reading Raisa’s expression, Magret said, “Your Highness, I’ll say you’re resting, and the flatlander king will just have to wait until dinner.”

  Raisa shook her head wearily. She sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet didn’t even touch the floor.

  “No, I want to get the measure of the man, and that will be impossible to do at dinner, or at the ball after. And I don’t want to be meeting with him at midnight.” She yawned. “Will the queen of Arden be at dinner?”

  Magret shrugged, frowning. “I’ll find out. There was no mention of her.”

  Raisa sent word to the dining steward to rearrange the seating protocol. Magret helped her into the gown she’d chosen for dinner and the ball after. She brushed out Raisa’s hair and kept Cat on the run fetching and carrying jewelry and brushes and paint and powder. In a spare moment, Cat slid into the red satin dress she’d been saving for the dance. It was sliced high on both sides to afford freedom of movement. Raisa knew her maidservant/bodyguard would have blades hidden beneath the satin, though Raisa couldn’t fathom where.

  Raisa decided she’d like more eyes and ears when the king came to call. “Fetch Lord Alister from next door, if he’s there,” she said to Cat.

  “Lord Alister?” Cat grinned and curtsied. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, and flounced out.

  Magret sniffed. “Lord Alister? You can dress him up in silks and satins, but you’ll never—”

  “Hush, Magret,” Raisa said. She poked her head out the door, bringing Pearlie Greenholt to full attention. “Can you send word to Captain Byrne that I’m receiving the king of Arden in my sitting room and I would like him to be present?”

  And then she thought, Is it even proper to receive a king in your sitting room? Likely not, but state visits had been few and far between when Marianna was queen, so Raisa didn’t have much to go by. Plus, it was his own fault for showing up unexpectedly.

  Cat returned in a few moments with Han in tow. Raisa suspected he had been trying to catch some sleep also, since he was a bit rumple-haired and yawning and he’d missed fastening one of the buttons on his jacket. Amon came soon after and stood against the wall, his uniform perfect as always. He’d been at attention all day, it seemed.

  Raisa settled herself into a chair, spreading her full skirts around her. The chair was on a small riser, which gave her a little height over the rest of the room. They waited. Finally, a commotion in the hallway said the king of Arden and his entourage had arrived.

  Raisa’s uncle, Lord Hakkam, entered, bowing and wringing his hands. He seemed unaccountably nervous. “Your Highness,” he said, his broad forehead gleaming with sweat, “the king of Arden asks permission to bring his guard in with him.”

  “Tell the king of Arden no, he cannot bring his guard in with him,” Raisa said acidly. “The Fells may seem an uncivilized and dangerous place, but surely no more dangerous than Arden has been.”

  “Yes, Your High—Your Majesty,” Hakkam said. “I just want you to know that I—I never realized that—I was as surprised as you at—at what had happened. It was never my intention to keep anything from you. When he—when the king arrived, I sent a messenger to you immediately. I hope you realize that I only have your best interests—and those of the queendom at heart.”

  Raisa stared at him. Is it because I’m still half asleep, or is this man not making sense at all? Or is guilt making him stumble-tongued?

  If she hadn’t been half asleep, perhaps she would have asked more questions.

  “Let’s just get it over with,” Raisa said, feeling the beginnings of a headache.

  Han murmured something to Cat, jerking his head toward the door. Cat followed Hakkam into the hall.

  A moment later, Cat hurtled back into the room as if chased by demons. She stationed herself in front of Raisa, a knife in either hand, all of her genteel patina swept away. “Cuffs! Look sharp! It’s him, the whey-faced, gutter-swiving, prig-napping bastard! He’s here!”

  Han looked as mystified as Raisa. “Who’s here?” He too stepped in front of Raisa, taking hold of his amulet. He looked from Cat to the door, unsure whether to open fire.

  The door opened, and in walked her uncle, Lassiter Hakkam.

  Followed by Prince Gerard Montaigne, youngest of the unhappy Montaigne brothers.

  Raisa stood frozen, staring at them. Montaigne was beautifully turned out in a deep green velvet coat, cream trousers, and tall boots, his cloak bearing the Red Hawk emblem, a circlet of gold on his head. Raisa glanced quickly at his scabbard. It was empty, so her guard must have taken his sword at the door.

  Good, she thought, remembering poor Wil Mathis dead at Montaigne’s hand.

  Raisa glanced at Cat, whose knives were again concealed, but she still stood between Raisa and Montaigne, balanced as if to spring if necessary. When and how would Cat and Han have met Montaigne? Whenever it was, they seemed to have formed a strongly negative opinion.

  The prince of Arden stopped just inside the door, glancing quickly around the room. His eyes narrowed a bit when he saw Han and Cat. So he recognizes them too, Raisa thought.

  Montaigne’s gaze shifted to Raisa. He inclined his head slightly, as appropriate from one monarch to another.

  “Your Majesty,” he said with a thin smile. “Please accept my apologies for not arriving in time for your witness ceremony.”

  “I had expected your brother Geoff, who responded to my invitati
on,” Raisa said, managing to maintain an even tone. “I did not realize that you were coming.”

  “I am here in my brother’s place,” Gerard said. “He cannot be here, unfortunately.”

  A loaded silence thickened the air.

  “I see.” Raisa folded her arms, her mouth going dry, and a leaden weight collecting in her stomach. There was no way Geoff would send Gerard as a representative. “Do go on,” she said.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Hakkam shifting from foot to foot by the door, as if thinking he might need a quick escape.

  “I bring bad news. My brother was attacked by brigands on his way here, and he and his entire family perished,” Gerard said, making no attempt to look sorry.

  “Brigands?” Raisa cleared her throat. “I am most sorry to hear that.” Which was absolutely true.

  Gerard smiled. “Given what happened, you can imagine why I am wary of traveling anywhere without my guard. Still, I felt it was my duty to come since I am the last surviving Montaigne brother. And now the undisputed king of Arden.”

  C H A P T E R T H I R T Y-S I X

  A DANGEROUS DANCE

  Somehow, Raisa managed to get through dinner without throwing up on the new king of Arden or anyone else. She accomplished that by eating very little.

  Montaigne had been placed next to Raisa, as befitted another head of state. He had no gift of social conversation (not that Raisa was in the mood) but talked mostly of armies and politics and the challenges of governing Tamron, crushing resistance, and bringing the nobility to heel.

  Raisa suspected that his choice of topics wasn’t because he saw her as a peer or confidante, but because those were the only things that interested him. Or because he saw this as an opportunity to intimidate her.

  He also asked numerous questions about the military and political situation and structure in the Fells, which Raisa deflected by giving vague answers and then changing the subject. She did not trust Gerard Montaigne, and although he likely had plenty of spies in place already, she was not going to be one of his sources of information.

  All through dinner, Raisa struggled to rein in her acid tongue. You are a grown-up, she said to herself. And a queen. You cannot indulge your temper. You have to be strategic, and weigh every word. He is here to gather information. It’s best if he underestimates you.

  There’s no need to let him know you despise him. Not yet.

  The head table hosted foreign dignitaries mostly, including various dukes and princes from the down-realms, the kings and queens of We’enhaven and Bruinswallow, and a prince from the Southern Islands loaded down with a fortune in jewelry.

  I don’t even like most of these people, Raisa thought. And I trust them even less. She couldn’t help but think back to plainer meals in the barracks at Wien Hall, the easy camaraderie over shared misery.

  Finally they moved on to the ballroom and formed a receiving line to greet guests as they arrived. The Gray Wolves were off duty now. Raisa had ordered that they attend as guests instead of bodyguards.

  “Talia!” Raisa embraced the grinning guard, who had arrived with Pearlie. At last, somebody she wanted to see. “It’s so good to see you up and around.”

  “Captain Byrne, he says I won’t be able to laze about much longer,” Talia said, her voice low and rough but understandable. “I’m back on duty tomorrow. Thanks to you, Your Highness.” Talia squeezed Raisa tight and then backed away as Pearlie looked on, tears standing in her eyes.

  Cat came through the line with Dancer. He wore a clan coat of the finest deerskin, beaded and embroidered with flash symbols and small talismans—a kind of magical armor.

  Cat kept a possessive hold on Dancer’s arm, eyeing the brilliantly plumaged guests uneasily. She was on duty in the ballroom. And still edgy among bluebloods.

  Han passed through the line alone. He bowed low to kiss Raisa’s hand. She felt the quick pressure of his hot hand as he murmured, “Your Highness.”

  Amon arrived with his fiancée, Annamaya, who looked resplendent, practically glowing in canary-colored silk. And all of the Bayars, a study in black and white.

  Reid Nightwalker came by himself also, though Raisa guessed he was unlikely to leave unaccompanied. Though some women in the Vale wouldn’t consider walking out with a copperhead, others found his deadly reputation and exotic good looks intriguing.

  Nightwalker was among the first on Raisa’s dance card, and he requested one of the vigorous clan dances, which left Raisa flushed and breathless and weak in the knees. It wasn’t easy to carry off in a ball gown.

  After, he fetched her a glass of wine. “You dance like a clan princess,” he said, nodding in approval. “I had hoped you might wear clan dress tonight.”

  “We’ll celebrate in the camps as well, after the coronation ceremony tomorrow,” Raisa promised. “My father and grandmother are planning it. And I’ll dress for the occasion then. This is more of a flatland party, after all.”

  “I’ll look forward to having you to myself, Briar Rose,” Nightwalker said. He leaned closer. “It is good to see one of clan blood on the throne of the Fells.” He bowed, then turned and crossed the dance floor toward his waiting admirers.

  After that it was one dance after another, each time with a new partner. It seemed that Raisa was expected to dance with every important male guest at least once. Many of them tromped on her toes, being unfamiliar with northern dances.

  Too bad I can’t dance with two at a time, Raisa thought, and get through this more quickly.

  Micah surfaced midway through her list. She had to admit, it was a pleasure dancing with him after so much wrong-footedness.

  “Well,” he said, looking into her eyes, “there were times that I did not think you would live long enough to be queen.”

  “No thanks to your father,” Raisa said, nodding to where Lord and Lady Bayar stood watching the dancers.

  “No thanks to my father,” Micah agreed.

  “But thanks, in part, to you, I suppose,” Raisa said generously. Micah was looking almost honorable in comparison to Gerard Montaigne.

  Micah smiled faintly and drew her in closer, brushing his lips over her neck.

  Raisa stiffened and drew back. “Careful, Bayar,” she said. She couldn’t help looking around for Han. He’d made her self-conscious, which was maybe the idea. She didn’t see Han, but she did see Nightwalker watching them, his face a thundercloud.

  “Accept my apologies, Your Highness,” Micah said, not looking sorry at all. “It’s just that you are irresistible tonight.”

  “Try harder,” Raisa said bluntly.

  “How does it feel?” Micah asked. “Being queen, I mean?”

  “It’s not official until tomorrow, remember,” Raisa said. “But it’s already a little daunting, I’m afraid. I don’t like it that Gerard Montaigne rushed up here within days of murdering his brother. Now he’s got two big armies and nothing to do with them.”

  “I don’t like it either,” Micah said. “It would help us if his brother had lived a little longer. Do you think the thanes will go with Gerard? Or will those who supported Geoff rally around someone else?”

  “I don’t know,” Raisa said honestly. “We need better intelligence from Arden.”

  “We need better weapons,” Micah said. “Then the intelligence wouldn’t matter so much. If the Wizard Council perceives that Montaigne presents an imminent threat, I cannot say what they will do.”

  “Oh, don’t start,” Raisa said. “Let’s see if we can get through the rest of this dance without talking about politics.”

  “Mmm. What should we talk about instead?” He stroked her hair. “Remember how we used to slip away from boring parties?”

  “Don’t think that’s going to happen tonight,” Raisa said. Lifting her head, her gaze fell on Mellony, who watched, tight-lipped, from the edge of the dance floor. Though her sister had been the object of continuous male attention all night long, she still seemed fixed on Micah.

  I hope
this isn’t going to go on forever, Raisa thought.

  They danced in silence after that, until the song ended. Raisa drew away from Micah, but he kept his hands on her shoulders. “What are you doing after the dance?” he said. “I know somewhere we can go to be alone.”

  “That’s enough, Micah,” Raisa said sharply. “I’m going to be alone in my bed.”

  “Well, now. That’s a shame, Your Highness,” somebody said, practically in her ear.

  They both swung around. Han Alister bowed. “I believe I’m next on the list,” he said.

  “You?” Micah looked him up and down, then turned to Raisa. “Alister’s on your dance card?”

  Raisa looked. “It seems he is,” she said, surprised to see his name there. He’d never danced with her before, not at any of the pre-coronation parties.

  “Why you?” Micah said, his brow furrowed.

  “Why not?” Han said. He stood, chin cocked up, his stance and expression holding a promise of violence. A streetlord challenge.

  “What is that on your stoles?” Micah said, giving back disdain. “A crow? I would have thought a rat would be more appropriate.”

  “It’s a raven,” Han said. “Known for being smarter than you think.” Taking Raisa’s hand, he led her into the dance while Micah stared after them. After the events of the night before, Raisa didn’t know what to expect. But he kept her at a proper arm’s length, as if this dance were something he just had to get through—maybe to make a point with Micah.

  “Try to look like you don’t want to be with me,” Han said, his eyes flicking over the other dancers.

  “How do you know I do want to be with you?” Raisa said tartly. Han looked startled at first, and then his mouth twitched, fighting off a smile.

  Raisa didn’t care. She was tired of being yanked this way and that by Han Alister: hot kisses and intoxicating embraces followed by a stiff arm.

  It was the first time they’d danced together since their lessons in the upstairs room at the Turtle and Fish in Oden’s Ford. She was acutely aware of the distance between them, the placement of his hands on her shoulders and hips.