The Crimson Crown

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “Guess you never appreciated the advantages of dying young.” Lucius grimaced. He turned to Han. “Now I finally see what you look like, boy. You favor Alger—you really do.”

  “But…but you’re a drunk,” Crow said, looking down at the bottles at Lucius’s feet. “I don’t understand.”

  “I always liked my liquor. You know how we used to—”

  “No.” Crow shook his head. “No. Not like this. What’s happened to you?”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” Lucius muttered. “I wanted you to see the price I paid for endless life. I hoped to stir you to mercy. But maybe this will make it easier for us to talk.…”

  His image shifted, changed, became taller, more erect, broader in the shoulders, until Han saw before him a young man, his hair a silken red-brown color, cut in an old-fashioned style. His solemn student’s attire mirrored Crow’s, but his stoles were emblazoned with crossed keys.

  But something in his features was familiar—the breadth of the nose, the shape of the chin. It was a much younger, civilized version of the old man Han knew as Lucius.

  “Ah,” Crow breathed, his face alight. “That’s the way I remember you.” He gripped Lucius’s shoulders. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you. There are so many questions I want to ask you.”

  The young Lucius fingered his newly luxuriant hair and licked his lips. Han could almost see the courage draining out of him. “You sure you don’t want to just let it be? Will the truth really make a difference after all this time?”

  “I think it will,” Crow said. “You’ve been alive a thousand years, and I’ve been dead, and neither of us has been able to move on. I’ve been demonized, and Hana’s been made a saint, and you’re the only one alive today who knows that neither of those stories is true.”

  “No,” Lucius said. “Hana wasn’t a saint, and you were no demon. You were human, is all, and ambitious, and you trusted the wrong people.” He bent his head, rubbing his forehead. Finally, he looked up, eyes swimming. “I’ll answer any question you ask, and I’ll tell the truth,” he said, “on one condition.”

  Crow cocked his head as if puzzled by Lucius’s unease. “Why would you—?” He stopped then, and nodded. “All right—what is it?”

  “If I tell you the truth, will you remove this curse on me?”

  “What curse?” Crow asked, mystified.

  “This curse of living forever,” Lucius said. “I’m done. I don’t want this anymore.”

  Crow shrugged his shoulders. “I’m dead,” he said. “I have no flash at all. I can’t conjure anything outside of Aediion.”

  “You have the knowledge,” Lucius said. “And the boy has the flash. You can work together. Undo it. Please. That’s all I ask.” It was jarring, hearing Lucius speak through this young man’s body.

  “No!” Han protested. “I’m not going to collaborate in killing you.”

  Lucius leaned forward, looking into Han’s eyes. “Imagine, boy, if you had to live forever, with all your guilt and all your regrets, and there was no escape, ever. Imagine that and ask yourself—wouldn’t it be merciful if someone gave you a way out?”

  “No,” Han said, with less certainty.

  Lucius touched Han’s arm. “By all rights, I should have been dead a millennium ago.”

  “All right,” Crow said. “Of course I will remove the charm, if that’s what you want. After we talk. If the ‘boy,’ as you call him, agrees.” He shot a warning look at Han.

  Lucius smiled, looking happier than Han had ever seen him. “What do you want to know?”

  “Come. Let’s sit,” Crow said, as if he were trying to hold on to this moment, to put his old friend at ease. The scene changed, and they were on Bridge Street, at the Mystwerk end. It must have been near winter solstice—the air was crisp and cold. Crow led the way into a tavern crowded with students wearing old-fashioned garb. All wizards, Han guessed, from the amulets glittering at their necks.

  They found a table by the hearth, each settling into a chair. Three clanks of ale appeared before them.

  Crow took a long draft from his cup and looked around. “This brings back memories, doesn’t it? Sometimes I wish I had never left school.”

  Lucius shifted in his seat, wiping his hands on his shirtfront, leaving his ale untouched. Obviously, he had no intention of reminiscing.

  Crow sighed. “Very well. There is one question that has dogged me ever since the siege at Gray Lady. Why did Hanalea betray me?”

  Lucius began shaking his head, but Crow rushed on.

  “Did she ever say what made her change her mind?” he asked. “She said she loved me even though nearly everybody who counted was against us. And…and we would have won, that’s the thing. I know we would have.”

  It was as if Crow was trying to persuade Han and Lucius. “We were well fortified, well armed, and had the armory at our disposal if we needed it. We’d driven everyone else off the mountain. We had the support of nearly all of the young voices on council. The Bayars were smart enough to know that if they kept slamming their heads against the walls of Gray Lady, they would only injure themselves. They would have come to terms, sooner or later.”

  “Alger,” Lucius said, his voice husky and strange. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

  “And I would have come to terms with them,” Crow went on. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “Once you’d humiliated them,” Lucius said, running his stole through his fingers. “Once you’d taught them a lesson they’d never forget.”

  For a long moment, Crow stared at Lucius. “I suppose I deserve that,” he said softly. “But all I ever wanted was Hana. I did what I did because it was the only way we could be together. And she betrayed me.” His voice broke. “So…did the Bayars get to her? Or were they blackmailing her, holding a hostage—someone close to her? Or was I completely wrong about her?” He blotted his eyes with the heels of his hands and looked up at Lucius.

  “You were never wrong about Hanalea,” Lucius said. “And she never betrayed you. I did.”

  C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - F I V E

  TRUTH OR LIE

  For a moment, the tavern scene slipped, dissolving as Crow lost focus. Bits of other images intruded: an elegant ballroom, a dance of bluebloods, an orchestra playing in the background. A stone chamber—no—a dungeon, deep underground, lined with instruments of torture, blood spattered over the floor and walls.

  A glass garden, rose petals scattered on the stone path.

  The images faded, and then, with a jarring suddenness, Crow, Lucius, and Han were alone in a stark, empty landscape, a cold wind howling around them.

  “You?” Crow splintered, spiraled, reassembled himself. “You betrayed me? I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it,” Lucius said. “Because it’s the truth. I betrayed you not just once, but several times.”

  Crow stared at Lucius—confusion, hurt, and anger chasing each other across his face.

  “But…you were my friend,” he whispered. “I trusted you. I…I—”

  His image rippled, grew in size and brilliance and menace until he might have been the Demon King of the stories.

  Lucius faced him, literally trembling, but still egging him on. “Come on, Alger,” he taunted. “Kill me now, and be done with it. You know you want to, and you know I deserve it.”

  Crow seized Lucius around the throat, lifting him so that he was dangling in the air. Lucius’s face purpled, his eyes bulging. Crow shook him like a rag doll. “Here I’ve been blaming Hanalea all this time. Here I’ve given credit to the Bayars. Why was it I never thought of you?” He slammed Lucius to the ground and kicked him savagely. Conjuring up a large rock, he raised it high over his head.

  Han had been standing, as if frozen, but now he charged forward, knocking the stone away. “Alger! No! This is a waste of time. You know you can’t kill him.”

  Crow’s face was sheet-white, his eyes like twin blue coals. “Maybe not, but I’ll enjoy trying.” He
tried to circle around Han, but Han danced sideways, preventing Crow from getting to Lucius.

  When Crow tried again, Han swept his feet out from under him so he landed flat on his back. His ancestor might be a talented wizard, but he was no good at street fighting.

  “I’m warning you, Alister,” Crow growled, rolling to his feet. “Get out of my way.”

  Lucius dragged in a rattling breath. “Help him, boy! Help him finish me off.”

  Han ignored him, focusing on Crow. “Listen to me. You’ve waited a thousand years for answers. Don’t you want to hear what he has to say?”

  “No!” Crow thundered. “I don’t want to hear excuses.”

  “Then tell me,” Han said to Lucius, while keeping a wary eye on Crow. “It’s my legacy, too. I want to hear what happened. Neither of you is going to get what you want until I do.”

  Now they both glared at Han.

  Han broadened his stance and folded his arms. “Well? You said you’d tell the truth. How could you turn on your best friend?”

  Lucius sighed and sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees. “You win. Let me tell you about young Alger.” He paused and collected his thoughts. “He was the most brilliant wizard I ever knew, and the strongest, too, when it came to flash. He was handsome and charming, and once he determined to do a thing, nobody could stop him.” He swallowed hard, as if downing noxious medicine. “It seemed unfair—all the gifts he was given. Some said he was arrogant—and he was. Others complained that he was ruthless and ambitious—and they were right.

  “But me? I was always content to live in his shadow, proud to bask in his reflected fame. And there were always girls around—they came to him like bees to honey. Some even settled for me.”

  Han glanced at Crow, who stood listening, eyes narrowed, fists clenched.

  “In short,” Lucius said, “Alger was hard on his enemies, but there was never a more loyal friend than he was to me.” His voice trailed off.

  “Apparently, you felt no obligation to reciprocate.” Crow’s voice was as icy as sleet. He sat down, settling in, as if resigned to sit through a long story.

  Lucius shrugged. “I wasn’t ambitious, which is what made us so compatible. There was only one thing in the world I wanted—something I craved more than anything. Something I knew I would never have.” He rubbed his chin, looking at Han. “And that was Hanalea. I loved her long before these two even met.”

  “Hanalea!” Crow repeated, stunned. He turned to Han. “That’s a lie,” he said. “They didn’t even know each other until I introduced them.”

  “My father was an officer of the court,” Lucius said, still speaking to Han. “I spent my childhood in Fellsmarch, and I saw a lot of the royal family. I’d been in love with her since I knew what love was. Lytling love at first, and then adolescent obsession. I knew she was out of my reach. She was a queen, and everyone knew she was going to marry Kinley Bayar.”

  “He never said anything about her,” Crow said to Han. “So how was I supposed to know?”

  “There was no reason,” Lucius said. “It was a pipe dream, a fantasy, embarrassing to share. You see, I wasn’t a fool, like him.” He cocked his head toward Crow.

  “A fool…like me?” Crow said, looking like a bird that staggers about after smacking into a wall.

  “He wasn’t like everybody else,” Lucius said. “He didn’t believe in impossible. He came from a lesser house than mine, but he was as confident as could be. If there were barriers, he’d find a way around, or through, or over.”

  That’s something I’ve heard people say about me, Han thought.

  “By the time I found out Alger was courting Hanalea on the sly, they were head over heels in love.” Lucius snorted. “Somehow, I thought he’d betrayed me by not telling me. Not that I could have competed. But I wasn’t thinking rationally.”

  “Lucas was the first person I confided in,” Crow said. “The only person for a long time. We needed a go-between, a lookout, someone to help us. And he seemed to want to help.”

  “I was hungry for every crumb from his plate, any detail he’d share with me. He shared a lot—too much. And every kiss—every embrace pierced me like an arrow. I was driven mad with jealousy.”

  “Believe me, Alister, I had no idea about any of this.” Crow rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “’Course he didn’t,” Lucius said to Han. “He was so caught up in Hanalea that he never noticed. Plus, he was busy with other things. He got himself appointed to the Wizard Council, and built that stronghold on Gray Lady, and cleared out all those tunnels.” He paused. “He even made off with the armory without anybody knowing it—except for me.

  “He was working a plan. The council didn’t know half of what he was up to, but they were still scared to death.” He finally looked at Crow. “Remember how we used to make fun of the old guard? You had a whole crowd of young powerful wizards who were totally loyal to you. Including me. Or so you thought. But all that power was going to your head, and who knew where it would end?”

  “You were my best friend,” Crow said. “Did it never occur to you to talk to me about it?”

  “I tried—several times,” Lucius said. “You didn’t want any advice. And after that, you kept more and more secrets from me.”

  Crow opened his mouth as if to argue the point, but then shook his head and motioned for Lucius to go on.

  “So. I tipped off the Bayars that you and Hana were seeing each other. They locked her up in her rooms until she could be married off to Kinley and you could have an unfortunate accident. But, no, you’d planned for that, too.” Lucius looked at Han. “He’d already tunneled into Hanalea’s rooms so he could come and go. But he never told me that.”

  “We eloped,” Crow said to Han. “We found a speaker to marry us, and took refuge on Gray Lady.”

  “So none of it’s true,” Han said, thinking of his dance performance at Marisa Pines. “There was no kidnapping. No torture. None of that.”

  “The only one tortured was Alger, later on.” Lucius laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “So—I knew he’d won, even if the Bayars and their allies hadn’t figured it out. I guessed that eventually he’d find out who betrayed him. And I couldn’t stand it—that he had what I’d wanted so badly.

  “I told myself that no one wizard should wield that much power—that he was a danger to the Seven Realms. And he was, but not in the way that anyone expected.

  “So I betrayed him again. I led a small group of wizards through the tunnels, into the heart of Gray Lady, where they hid themselves, waiting for night. Then I went to Alger and asked him to make me immortal.”

  “Why did you ask for that?” Han said.

  “I knew what can happen to traitors.” Lucius grimaced. “And I suppose I knew that the only way to defeat Alger was to outlive him.”

  “I didn’t want to do it,” Crow said. “I’d never tried it before. I didn’t know how it would play out—if he would remain young and healthy or live old and miserable. I assumed he’d need a constant stream of power to maintain himself. I thought it was a mistake.”

  “It was,” Lucius said. “There are worse things than dying—like being trapped in a life that’s no longer worth living. But I insisted.” He sighed. “Once he did as I asked, I was no longer a wizard, since all of my flash was consumed with keeping me alive. He was captured and bound and thrown into the Aerie House dungeons.”

  He turned back to Crow. “Kinley told you it was Hanalea who betrayed you, because he couldn’t stand that she loved you and not him.”

  “I didn’t want to believe him,” Crow said. “But I couldn’t see how else it could have happened. He taunted me with details about our…about us that only Hana could have told him.”

  “Only Hana and me, your best friend,” Lucius said. “But, see, I didn’t know where the armory was.” Lucius looked at Han. “He was smart enough not to tell me that.”

  “I never told anyone,” Crow said. “I still hoped my marriage with Hana would
eventually be accepted and we could be at peace.”

  “Right,” Lucius said. “He was always optimistic that way. The Bayars only kept him alive because they were wild to find out where he’d hidden the armory. Then somehow he got his amulet back.”

  “I told them I needed the amulet in order to conjure the passageway to the armory,” Crow said. “When they gave it to me, I hid inside, under protections so powerful I knew they’d never force me out. I left my body behind, hoping they would think I was dead.”

  “They tore you to pieces,” Lucius said. “They made Hanalea watch, and it nearly drove her mad. They somehow convinced her that she’d done it herself—she’d destroyed the demon who had stolen her away. The revisionists were already at work, you see.

  “Meanwhile, the Bayars were still trying to discover the secret of the amulet so they could find the armory. But what you’d done was way beyond their capabilities. They could not undo it. In the end, their attempts to break the Waterlow amulet nearly destroyed the world.”

  Crow nodded. “Alister’s told me about that. What exactly happened?”

  “The energy released set into motion a chain of events. Earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, huge storms, and floods. Thousands died, and the disaster kept growing. Even the Wizard Council was at a loss for what to do, except blame it on you.”

  Crow nodded. “I can see how it happened. So much energy—everything I had—was put into that barrier. I was determined to stay out of the Bayars’ reach—to frustrate them in that, at least.”

  “The Breaking,” Han whispered, stunned. “The Bayars caused it? Not you?”

  “Why are you surprised?” Crow turned his blue eyes on Han. “Your own experience should tell you—they are masters at shifting blame.”

  Han thought of how it must have been for Alger Waterlow—trapped in an amulet for a thousand years—victim of so many lies and unable to make himself heard.

  “The world is still here,” Crow pointed out. “How did they stop it?”

  “Even the Bayars were scared,” Lucas said, “so they finally allowed Hanalea to go to the clans for help.”