The Crimson Crown

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “That must have been a pretty piece of persuasion,” Raisa said, “even for you.”

  “My father wants to establish a dynasty—one that will last for centuries. Control of the armory gives him tremendous power—but he understands its limitations. Alger Waterlow controlled the armory, and it didn’t save him.

  “He will need every surviving wizard on his side, since he must handle the southerners without the help of the copperheads. He’ll need to win over the Vale-dwellers as well. That shouldn’t be difficult—they already despise the clans. But you are very popular with Valefolk, especially here in the city. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t care, but this is a vulnerable time for him as he consolidates his power.”

  “And your father’s political machinations are important to me because…?”

  “My father needs legitimacy, and he needs it now. He needs allies, and he needs them now. And so he has agreed to a marriage between us. You will remain on the throne, on the condition that I am crowned the next gifted king and our children inherit.”

  Lightning flashed, followed by a crack of thunder. Large drops of rain splatted against the glasshouse—a few at first, building to a low roar. Raisa looked around the garden to see lupine eyes shining out of the darkness—gray and green and blue.

  She shivered, grateful that the staccato pounding of the rain made conversation difficult. She fingered the moonstone-and-pearl ring Han had given her as a coronation gift. That and the hole in her heart were the only remnants of a star-crossed love.

  What if she had agreed to marry Micah a year ago? How many people would still be alive? Her mother? Han Alister? The guards who had died defending her on Marisa Pines Pass? Trey Archer and Wode Mara? All of those people had died, and what had she gained by it? Now she was in a worse position than before.

  When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft that Micah had to lean close to hear it.

  “And so…a year later…I am back where I started. Contemplating a forced marriage between us.” She looked up at Micah, blinking away tears. “Turning my back on my clan heritage.”

  Micah had the grace to look uncomfortable. “I wish it were otherwise. I wish that you loved me.”

  “This isn’t about love, Micah,” Raisa said. “This isn’t at all about love.”

  “For your part, maybe.” He seemed to be casting about for what to say next, knowing she would disdain his usual flattery. “I am arrogant enough to hope that you will come to love me. And, for now, I am willing to do whatever it takes to have you.”

  Something about the way he said it pinged a warning in Raisa’s head. She looked up sharply, but he was gazing down at his hands.

  What does it matter? Raisa thought wearily. Why should I worry about what the future holds? Right now, I have very little future to look forward to. I’m a soldier on the eve of a battle I cannot win. Marry a wizard? I’ve already crossed that line. I was willing to, as long as it was Han Alister. Now he’s dead, and another wizard has stepped into his place, offering a fragile hope of survival.

  A Fells ruled by wizards is better than a Fells ruled by Gerard Montaigne. If the line survives, we’ll find a way to regain power.

  “All right, Micah,” she said. “Suppose I agree to marry you. Do you have some kind of plan for that?”

  Micah straightened, looking faintly stunned, as if he’d never expected her to say yes. Then he nodded. “I penetrated Klemath’s lines, using glamours. It’s more difficult now, with Montaigne’s mages, but I think I can get us both out. We’ll go to Gray Lady, since the armory is there. We will marry, followed by my coronation. That will bring all of the gifted in line.”

  Once again, Raisa was seized by a prickling unease. She didn’t want to go to Gray Lady, where she would be under the Bayars’ control. Any negotiating power she had would be gone immediately. Micah was convincing, but who knew what Gavan Bayar had planned?

  “We’ll govern from Gray Lady until we can retake the city,” Micah said, rushing past the marriage/coronation part. “Hopefully, the copperheads will realize that it is to their benefit to join us. Either way, with the armory at our disposal, we will—”

  “Wait a minute, Micah.” Raisa raised both hands, palms out. “I have no reason to trust your father. How do I know he won’t renege once I am under his control?”

  “I will make him keep his word,” Micah said, his voice low and deadly. “He’ll keep it or else.”

  “I am not traveling to Gray Lady on that frail promise,” Raisa said, dropping her hands into her lap. “Do you take me for a fool?”

  “Then what do you propose?” Micah said, his voice edged with frustration.

  “Go back to Gray Lady,” Raisa said. “Meet with the Spirit clans and enlist their help in organizing a counterattack. Show me what you can do.”

  “The copperheads will never countenance a marriage between us,” Micah said. “You know that.”

  “You don’t need to tell them that we plan to marry. They may not agree to help you, but I want you to try. With or without their help, use the armory to break through the siege and free the city. When you’ve done that, I will marry you, with or without the approval of the clans.”

  She’d put Micah into a spot. He’d asked her to trust him. Either he had to admit that he didn’t trust her to follow through on her promise, or he could do as she said.

  Micah scowled out at the rain-smeared glass, a muscle working in his jaw. “Raisa, please. I beg you. Come with me now. I’m afraid that if I leave you, I’ll never see you again.”

  “No.”

  He sighed and nodded, looking sideways at her. “All right. I need a token from you, something to prove to my family and the council of Wizards that we are betrothed. Something to show the copperheads that I am acting on your behalf.”

  As Raisa cast about for something, Micah’s hand snaked out and closed on her wrist. “What about this ring?” he asked, touching the ring Han had given her.

  “No!” she said, snatching her hand back. “Not that one.”

  Micah stared at her, brows drawn together. Impulsively, Raisa tugged off the wolf ring, the talisman that had once been Hanalea’s. The one her grandmother Elena had given her.

  “Use this one,” she said, extending it toward him. “It will be instantly recognizable. They’ll know I wouldn’t give it up except as a promise to you.”

  He weighed it on his palm. “It’s getting warm,” he said, after a moment.

  “It’s a talisman, remember. It reacts to high magic. You should be all right as long as you are wearing your amulet.”

  Micah slid it onto his little finger. “Since we are betrothed, I think we should exchange rings,” he said abruptly. Slipping the falcon signet ring from his finger, he held it out to her.

  “After what happened last time, do you really expect me to put that on?” Raisa said, folding her arms.

  “Someday,” Micah said, “I hope you can find a way to forgive me. And then to trust me. And after that, maybe love me.” He smiled slightly. “It’s just a ring, Raisa. Nothing more. There’s no magic about it.”

  Raisa looked at the ring, then up at Micah’s face. What did it matter, really? She took the ring and slid it onto her forefinger, where the wolf ring had been.

  Micah leaned toward her, sliding his arms around her, pulling her tightly against him. “Now kiss me,” he said. “For luck.”

  C H A P T E R F O R T Y - F O U R

  A MEETING

  UNDERGROUND

  Han yearned for his amulet like a razorleaf user who’d missed a dose. Without it, he couldn’t even conjure light reliably. So he stayed just ahead of Bayar, using the faint light that flowed out ahead of his enemy, keeping him close enough to keep him coming on.

  Sometimes too close. Once, Bayar rounded the corner and launched an immobilization charm at him, the glow from his amulet lighting the arrogant planes of Bayar’s face. Han flung himself sideways, plowing headfirst into a stone wall. He saw stars for a moment, but staggered ba
ckward, narrowly avoiding another strike. He turned and ran, keeping stone between them so that Bayar couldn’t get another clean shot.

  “Surrender, Alister,” Bayar called after him, his nasty laughter following Han down the passageway. “How long do you want to continue this dance in the dark? I wouldn’t want you to get hurt too badly before you tell me what I want to know.”

  Han had to get his amulet back or he wouldn’t survive. Which meant he’d have to take it off of Bayar’s dead body. He needed better turf for this fight. And he knew where to find it.

  He ran on, heading directly for the armory, noisily and slowly enough to bring the wizard along, disabling magical barriers along the way. This was unfamiliar ground to Bayar, which was to Han’s advantage.

  He jogged down the side corridor, to the wooden door at the end. The only one not protected by magic.

  He waited, pretending to fumble at the door, until the light of Bayar’s amulet washed over the stone toward him.

  As Bayar prepared to launch his charm, Han opened the door and slipped through, crossing the room to the far door.

  “Don’t prolong this,” Bayar said, slamming open the opposite door and following after. “You’re beaten, Alister.” He conjured light on the tips of his fingers, scanning the room for Han.

  “Look up,” Han said, pointing toward the ceiling.

  Bayar did, still keeping a wary eye on Han.

  Overhead, dozens of birds opened their eyes, cocked their heads, and ruffled their bright feathers.

  “Birds, Alister? Is that all you have?” Contemptuously, Bayar lifted his hand and launched a bolt of flame into a row of birds perched together by the door. They exploded in all directions like a gaudy fireworks shell, then settled back onto their perches. They’d sucked in Bayar’s magic, and looked bigger and brighter than before.

  And then the birds began to sing.

  Han covered his ears and bellowed out a song about pirates in Carthis that Mam had taught him when he was a little boy. It was one of Mari’s favorites, too. He used to sing her to sleep with it when she was too hungry to settle easily.

  Three brothers sailed from Baston Bay

  From Baston Bay sailed three.

  Fair Ailen wept to see them go

  Saying you’ll not come back to me.

  The brothers laughed to see her tears,

  Saying, Lass, you must be brave.

  No pirate born in Carthis

  Will make of me a slave.

  Bayar stared at Han, brows drawn together. Then he looked back up at the birds, extending his hand toward them as if he meant to flame them once again. Slowly, his arm drifted down to his side as he gazed up at them, transfixed.

  As the birds sang on, Bayar dropped to his knees like an acolyte on Temple Day, raising both hands in affirmation. His eyelids drooped shut, his face gone slack as a turtled mark. He knelt there, eyes closed, a beatific smile on his face.

  Birds gently coasted toward him, circling to land on his shoulders, his arms, his back.

  A handful scouted Han, but he swatted at any that came near. All the while, he continued to sing as loudly as he could, desperate to block out the deadly music.

  They’d sailed for only three long nights

  And three short winter days.

  When the Dragon sailed from out the west

  And set them all ablaze.

  Now Ailen haunts the Widow’s Walk

  And mourns her brothers three.

  For there is blood upon the Indio

  And three graves beneath the sea.

  It was rather grim for a lullaby, but Mari had always liked it.

  Bayar slid forward onto his face, his arms outstretched in front of him, the serpent amulet still clutched in his right fist. He was so covered in seething birds that he looked like he’d grown feathers himself.

  Still singing like a Mad Tom, Han crossed to where Bayar lay. Taking his hand off his right ear, he scooped up the Waterlow amulet. The birds scarcely noticed him, intent as they were on Bayar.

  Blood spattered onto the stone floor around Bayar’s body and pooled under him. Birds rose, their beaks smeared with blood and flesh, then settled again, fighting for access.

  Say hello to the Breaker, Bayar, Han thought. Time to answer for Dancer and all the rest.

  Shuddering, he staggered out the door, slamming it closed behind him. He fell to his knees and was violently ill.

  When he’d retched his last, he sat back on his heels. Now that the battle was over, he took no joy in the winning. He rocked, tears stinging his eyes, sick with grief and despair. Bayar was gone, but so was Dancer—his best friend. Dancer had come to help him, and now he was dead.

  How could he possibly tell Cat? If she cut his throat, he deserved it. It would break Willo’s heart, after a lifetime spent trying to protect her only son.

  Gingerly, he explored his head with his fingers, found the lump where he’d hit the wall. Questions still rattled around in his grief-muddled mind. How had Dancer found his way into this area? How had he passed the barriers meant to keep him out?

  He stood and lurched down the corridor, his amulet lighting the way. He would carry Dancer’s body to the entrance on Hanalea, close to Marisa Pines Camp, then go to Willo and tell her what had happened. Somehow, he had to get word to Cat; but if he went down into the city, he stood to be arrested.

  But the Bayars had said the city was under siege. His steps faltered, his plans dwindled to dust. He’d nearly forgotten the story the Bayars had told, to try to get him to tell them where the armory was.

  No, he decided. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.

  Ahead, he saw a faint glow that might be torchlight. He was close to where he’d left Fiona, where Dancer had died. Han eased forward, peering around a rock, to see somebody in clan garb kneeling next to a body. He seemed to glow, illuminated like an angel come to claim a soul.

  “Dancer?” Han breathed, thinking he must be hallucinating.

  Dancer looked up at the sound of Han’s voice. They stared at each other for a long moment, each startled into silence.

  “Hunts Alone!” Dancer exclaimed, pushing to his feet. “Thank the Maker you’re alive! I need your help.” He focused in closer. “You look terrible!”

  Han careened into speech. “You’re dead!” he said. “I saw it. Bayar destroyed you.”

  Dancer shook his head. “That was a shade,” he said. “A projection. Crow suggested we send it ahead to draw the Bayars’ fire, because we weren’t sure exactly where you were. It worked, but then…”

  “Crow?” Increasingly confused, Han came closer and looked down at the body. It was Night Bird.

  For a terrible moment, Han suspected he was still chained to the wall, suffering hallucinations. He pressed his hands over his eyes, but when he removed them, Dancer and Bird were still there.

  Han embraced Dancer, relieved to find him flesh and blood and breathing.

  Dancer squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “I went to Aediion, looking for you, and Crow was there. He told me you were being held at Aerie House. Bird and I were coming to rescue you when we ran into you here in the tunnels.”

  Dancer knelt again, stroking Bird’s forehead. “Bird shot Fiona, but Bayar hit her a glancing blow before she could get out of the way. She has a pulse, and she’s breathing, but I can’t get her to wake up. Can you do anything?”

  Han sank to his knees next to Dancer. “I’m lost,” he said, running his hands over Bird, looking for a wound or entry point, searching for the cold place that meant that death was coming for Bird. “How did she get involved in this?”

  “I asked her to come,” Dancer said. “I knew I needed help.”

  Han’s probing fingers found the entry point—just below her rib cage. The chill was centered there. It was mild, though, and spread throughout her body.

  Odd, Han thought. Then it came to him, the diagnosis, and he sat back on his heels, smiling like a fool. “Bayar got mixed up,” he said.

&n
bsp; “What do you mean?” Dancer said.

  “He’d been firing immobilization charms at me. He was fixed on keeping me alive long enough to…” Han hesitated, then plunged on. He was through keeping secrets from his friends. “He meant to torture me into leading him to the Armory of the Gifted Kings.”

  “What?” Dancer whispered.

  “It’s a long story. I’ll explain later. I’m sure he meant to kill Bird, but he used an immobilization charm instead.” Taking Bird’s hands in one of his, Han took hold of his amulet and disabled the charm.

  Bird stirred, scrunched her eyes, and then opened them, gazing up at Han with a blank look on her face.

  “How do you feel?” Han asked, brushing curls off her forehead, revealing a bruise that must have happened when she fell.

  “My head hurts,” she said groggily. Then she bristled. “Why are you smiling, Hunts Alone? What’s going on?” She flinched away from his wizard hands. “What did you do to me?”

  “Nothing,” Han said. “I just undid something, that’s all.”

  Bird struggled to sit up. Han helped her, letting go of her when he could see she was stable. “What happened to the—?” Her eyes lit on Fiona’s body, and she trailed off. “Is she…?”

  Fiona lay where she’d fallen, eyes open, silver hair spread around her, hands clutching at the arrow shaft.

  Han knelt next to Fiona, probing for a pulse. “She’s dead,” he said. Poor Fiona, he thought, brushing his fingers across her eyelids, closing them. Her own father wouldn’t make a move to save her life. He hoped the Breaker had a special in-between place for the offspring of parents like Gavan Bayar.

  Including Micah? a sardonic voice said in his head.

  “And the other one?” Bird said. “The High Wizard?”

  Dancer looked at Han, raising his eyebrows.

  “If you mean Lord Bayar, he’s dead, too,” Han said, shivering as the horror of the bird chamber came back to him. And then, recalling what he’d suffered at Aerie House, he shook off regret. “I…He got what he deserved. I just wish he’d been awake to enjoy it.”

  Dancer kept looking at Han as if waiting for an explanation. When he realized that nothing more was coming, he said, “I tried to follow you, but you disappeared so quickly I lost you, so I came back to help Bird.”