The Crimson Crown

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Maybe she’d done the same with Micah Bayar. Maybe here is where he’d asked her to marry him, and she’d said yes.

  Believe in her, he said to himself. Believe in her, if you believe in anything. But how many times had he been betrayed by those he believed in?

  A flicker of movement drew his eye, and then something barreled into him in a frenzy of dog joy.

  “Dog!” Han barely kept his feet. “I’m so glad to see you!”

  The lamps were lit next to Raisa’s bed, and he could see through the tall windows that it was still darkman’s hour—not yet dawn. Good, Han thought.

  “Alister?” Mordra’s voice came from behind him.

  “This is it,” Han murmured, hushing Dog. “Hang on and let me see if anyone’s in here.”

  What would he do if he came face-to-face with Raisa?

  But when he opened the door to the sitting room, it wasn’t Raisa looking back at him—it was Maiden Magret Gray, her arm cocked back, an unlit oil lamp in her hand.

  They stared at each other, nearly eye to eye, for a long moment.

  “Beloved Lady of the Mountains!” Magret said. “Protect me from ghosts and evil spirits.” She pegged the lamp at Han.

  Han ducked, and the lamp smashed against the wall behind him.

  “Maiden Gray! It’s me—Han Alister,” he said, as she scouted the room for other weapons. Dog looked from Han to Magret as if not sure which side to take.

  “I know who you are—or at least who you used to be,” Magret growled. “Fine time for you to show up as a shade, after betraying my lady and breaking her heart.”

  Han gripped both her hands to keep her from arming herself again. “I’m not a ghost,” he said. “What gave you the idea that—”

  “Take your hot hands off me, you unholy fiend,” Magret said. Sucking in a breath, she looked down at his hands. “You do feel like flesh and blood,” she allowed. “But you must have walked through walls to get in here.”

  Han shook his head. “There’s actually a tunnel that leads to—”

  “The tunnel!” Magret pulled free of Han’s hands, looking greatly offended. “You’re not supposed to know about that!”

  “You know about the tunnel?” Han said, startled.

  “That’s how Her Majesty escaped that lowlife Bayar the last t—” Magret’s eyes narrowed as she peered over Han’s shoulder into the bedchamber beyond. “Blood and bones! What’s he doing here?”

  Han looked around to see Micah and the others emerging into the bedroom. “Where are Queen Raisa and the Princess Mellony?” he said, finding his tongue. “I need to speak with them.”

  Magret shook her head, distracted by Han’s companions. “The Princess Mellony’s been missing two days, and now I cannot find the queen, either. Her fighting staff is gone. I thought maybe she was down at the practice yard with Captain Byrne. Lady Tyburn’s gone, too.”

  “Do you think they’re together somewhere?” Han asked.

  Magret fingered the Gray Wolf tattoo on her arm. “I wish I knew.” She paused, then added, hopefully, “Maybe they’ve found a way out of the city.”

  “What about Nightwalker?” Bird asked, frowning. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t keep track of that one,” Magret said. “But, now that I think about it, I haven’t seen him all day.” Squaring her shoulders, she said, “What’s this about?”

  “Maiden Gray,” Han said. “The Demonai have joined with the Wizard Council to break the siege. They are outside the perimeter, waiting for the go-ahead.”

  “Copperheads and jinxflingers, together?” Magret shook her head. “Whatever kind of sorcery you have, Alister, it’s powerful.”

  “We’ll see,” Han said, not wanting to tempt the Breaker with overconfidence. “I need to find the queen before we give the signal for attack, so she knows what’s going on and we can make sure she’s out of harm’s way.” He looked up at the windows, judging the time. “We can’t wait too much longer or it’ll get light. Who’s in charge of the castle defense?”

  “That would be General Dunedain,” Magret said. “You’ll likely find her in the gate tower at this time of night.”

  Han walked to the window and looked down on a sea of fog. Dancer’s work, to hide the Fellsian advance. They’d be waiting out there, looking for his signal. Time was wasting. They had to act.

  Smothering down worry, Han turned back to the others and said, “Let’s go wake up the southerners.”

  C H A P T E R F I F T Y - F O U R

  A SPECTACULAR

  DIVERSION

  Han Alister looked down into the city of his birth.

  Enemy campfires smoldered in the black predawn, burned down to embers. Even at this distance, Han caught the stench of overflowing privies. The Ardenines had knocked down some of the houses near the castle close to make room for the encamped armies. The Red Hawk of Arden flew from many of the blue-blood houses outside the close. Southern officers were bedding down in sight of the palace.

  The Ardenines had set up a gibbet on the parade ground, big enough to dangle two at once. Who would they be hanging? Deserters? Spies? It would be more efficient to simply run them through, Han thought. Unless they were trying to make a point.

  The castle close and parade grounds were clear; beyond that, Dancer’s tethered cloud clung close to the ground. Han thought of his friend, somewhere out there in the predawn darkness. The clans and their wizard allies would be moving into the edges of the city under the cover of the friendly fog.

  Ardenine troops were camped on three sides, but had removed themselves from the area immediately south and west of the palace. Han frowned. What was that about?

  Their siege engines stood at the edge of the parade ground, ready to be brought up to the walls. They were located close to the gallows and what looked like a prisoner enclosure. Candidates for hanging?

  Han backed away and ducked into the gate tower.

  General Dunedain had roused everyone that wasn’t already on duty. It still wasn’t many—less than a hundred in all—mostly bluejackets, a few highlanders, and some sturdy servants.

  “All right,” Han said, calling together his handful of fighters. “There’s only the three of us gifted, so we want to cause as big a distraction as we can while using a minimum of flash. Whatever we do, we want to leverage it so we look like a magical army. Wizard flame and killing charms are magically costly, while glamours are cheap.”

  “Unfortunately, you cannot kill anyone with a glamour,” Micah said dryly. “Unless, of course, you are fighting a conjured army.”

  “We can use glamours to make them more vulnerable to our other weapons,” Han said. “We want to keep most of the action close to the walls. I don’t want to send flame boiling into these neighborhoods—the southerners are mingled with our own, and it will kill too many innocent people. We’ll need to use a targeted approach. Here’s how I think we should divvy up.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Han, Bird, and Shilo slipped through the postern gate and into the streets beyond. Han was wrapped in glamours, Bird and Shilo in their Demonai shadowcloaks. They did for the Ardenine sentries and fanned onto the parade ground, threading their way among tents and sleeping soldiers.

  As they passed through, Han attached charms to doorways and tent flaps—some of the dark magic Crow had taught him back at Oden’s Ford. He went about this business with grim purpose, reminding himself that these soldiers were here to kill Raisa and burn wizards and put Gerard Montaigne on the throne.

  It drained Han more than he expected—emotionally and physically. He could have used help from Micah, but he had no intention of teaching these sorts of charms to a Bayar.

  Shilo and Bird methodically cut the throats of soldiers who were sleeping in the open to escape the oppressive heat. They couldn’t kill everyone, but they did a half dozen at every campsite, including two collared mages who sat half asleep after weeks of sentry work.

  Once they’d walked through nearly the entire encampment, they m
ade their way toward the prisoner enclosure and gallows, leaving bodies in their wake.

  Where are the rest of their mages? Han wondered. Were reports of Ardenine mages overblown? Or didn’t they have enough mage collars to go around?

  “Where’s Karn?” he muttered to himself, after he’d made a couple of circuits of the encampment, searching. He didn’t like that the commander was missing. What was he up to?

  At the prisoner enclosure, Shilo and Bird split off, making short work of the sentries set to guard them. Han used a charm to calm the lytlings and keep them quiet as Bird and Shilo awakened the prisoners, cutting them free and shepherding them out. They asked no questions and made no complaint about copperheads coming in the night, but melted away into the streets, finding hiding places on familiar ground.

  Meanwhile, Han approached the base of the gallows. He took hold of his amulet and sent wizard flame jetting into the wooden structure. It went up with a satisfactory whoosh.

  This was the signal for Mordra and Micah to launch flaming attacks from atop the walls of the castle, into the tent city surrounding it. The attack was partly real, partly glamour, exceedingly noisy and bright. That would be the signal for those at the edges of the city to come ahead.

  The Ardenine soldiers came to life. Or, at least, some of them did.

  They foamed out of their tents, grabbing for weapons. Then set to screaming as Han’s nasty charms took effect. Some were blinded. Others broke out in pustules and boils. Some went mad, cringing away from hallucinated monsters.

  They carried no talismans—they had no access to them—and so were unprepared for magical attack. The Ardenines had likely concluded that there were no gifted in the city of Fellsmarch, as they’d seen no evidence of them since Micah’s departure.

  Bird and Shilo climbed onto the roof of the guard barracks next to the parade ground. From there, they made good use of their longbows, picking off Ardenine soldiers as they stumbled, panic-stricken, around the encampment. And their officers, who tumbled out of the homes they’d commandeered outside of the close. Han hadn’t treated those doorways—he didn’t want to harm any innocents who might be inside.

  He did his part, making judicious use of magic to help with the slaughter, though by this point he didn’t have much flash left on board.

  Now he heard the sounds of fighting in the surrounding streets. The undersides of the thunderclouds were lit by wizard flame. The Fellsian forces had arrived and were battling mercenaries in the outskirts of town. The remains of the Ardenine Army seemed more interested in escape than anything else.

  “Hunts Alone!” Han turned to find that Dancer had materialized at his side. “I came as soon as I could, but it looks like you don’t need help here. The fighting is fierce elsewhere in the city. Were you able to get the queen to safety? Have you seen Cat?”

  Han shook his head. “We don’t know where they are.” Something caught his attention, distracting him. At the southern edge of the parade field he saw them—gray shadows with brilliant eyes. As he focused on them, they lifted their muzzles and set up a bloodcurdling howl.

  Raisa’s in danger, Han thought, his heart hammering.

  “Are you listening to me?” Dancer said, touching Han’s arm. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve got to find the queen. Now,” Han said. “She’s in trouble.”

  “How do you know?” Micah asked, at Han’s elbow. Where had he come from?

  Bird and Shilo had drifted over as well, to get the news from Dancer.

  Han shook his head. “Take my word for it, all right? Let’s split up. We’re just going to have to try and search the city. She must be out here somewhere.” Even as he said it, he was nearly overcome by despair. How could they hope to find her in the chaos surrounding them?

  “Wait,” Dancer said, holding up his hand. “There’s a better way.” He pressed something into Han’s hand, a small, hard object wrapped in chamois. “You can find her, Hunts Alone. If she’s wearing your ring, that is.”

  Han blinked at him, then carefully unwrapped it. It was a ring, sized to fit a man, in white gold, set with a moonstone. He looked at Dancer for an explanation.

  “When I made the ring for Briar Rose’s coronation, I made one for you too,” Dancer said. “They are matched. If you put this on, and she is wearing the other one, you can find her.”

  Han weighed it on his palm. “You’re saying they are flashcraft?”

  Dancer nodded.

  How likely was it that Raisa would still be wearing Han’s ring, when she was betrothed to Micah Bayar?

  Han looked over at Micah, whose eyes were fixed on the ring with a kind of sick fascination. He shifted his gaze to Han. “That ring—with the moonstones and pearls—that came from you?”

  Han nodded. Afraid to hope, he tried the ring on for size. It slid easily over his knuckle, onto his finger. He closed his eyes.

  Images tumbled through his mind, a visual cacophony that made it difficult to focus on any one thing. The vaulted interior of a temple—vaguely familiar, with soaring stone walls. He saw movement at the center of the nave, cloaked figures eddying around a stone pillar, fetching and carrying. They looked furtive, somehow, like they were up to no good.

  Where was that, and why was it familiar? It wasn’t Southbridge Temple, where he’d schooled as a boy. It wasn’t the Cathedral Temple, where Raisa had been crowned queen.

  It must be outside the castle walls. Could Raisa really be abroad in the city, in the midst of the Ardenine Army? Or had her ring fallen into enemy hands? He didn’t want to think about how that might have happened.

  He turned, surveying the city, hoping for a clue. Dancer’s mist had finally cleared. Instinct drew his eyes south, where the wolves still stood in an unhappy pack, yipping their warning. Beyond them, the old Market Temple stood alone in the midst of the burnt-over slum. A lifetime ago, Han had stashed people there while Ragmarket burned.

  And then it came to him—that was the temple he’d seen with his mind’s eye. He had only been in there the once—it had been closed long before he was born.

  Why would Raisa be there?

  Han turned to Dancer. “The ring is in the Market Temple,” he said. “I’ll go look for her there. The rest of you, spread out and search the city, just in case. We can’t assume that she’s still wearing the ring I gave her.”

  “She’s wearing it, Alister,” Micah said.

  Han swung around to look at him. “How do you know?”

  Pain flickered over Micah’s face. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he took a deep breath as if knowing the words would cost him. “If she’s alive, I know she is wearing it. She wouldn’t take it off.”

  Han stared back at Micah, then decided to believe him. “All of you, come with me,” he said, aware of his dwindled magic supply. “I might need help.”

  C H A P T E R F I F T Y - F I V E

  BACK INTO

  THE FLAME

  Wolves howled all around them, their shapes flickering through torchlight.

  Amon’s eyes met Raisa’s. Making a quick decision, she shook her head. There was little chance they’d win their way out, but no chance at all if they surrendered.

  Ardenine soldiers flooded into the Market Temple sanctuary from the chapels on both sides. The Wolves formed a ring around Raisa, their swords a bristling wall to the outside.

  “For Hanalea the Warrior!” Raisa cried.

  Overhead, glass shattered. Shards rained down on them, clattering on the stone floor.

  Longbows sounded. The two Ardenine soldiers nearest to Raisa staggered backward, clutching at the arrow shafts protruding from their chests. They teetered, then collapsed to the ground. The bows sounded again, and two more fell. The Ardenine soldiers ducked back into the side chapels, under the protection of the stone roof.

  Nightwalker leaned from the tall window on one side of the nave and nocked another arrow, training his longbow on Karn. Cat stood in the aperture on her other side, her longbow aimed at Foss
nacht.

  “Was it blades, you said?” Cat called. “My mistake. I thought it was arrows.” Her voice went dead serious, then. “Any of you flatland swine move a muscle, you’re dead.”

  “How reassuring to know that I can always count on the double-cross where Arden is concerned,” Raisa said, blotting blood from her cheek. “Now, set my sister free and nobody else has to die tonight.”

  Her eyes were fixed on Fossnacht. She saw his eyes shift, his expression change, and knew immediately what he meant to do. The black priest turned toward Mellony, the torch in his hand.

  Everything seemed to happen at once. Cat’s bow sounded as Raisa barreled forward, slamming her fighting staff into Fossnacht with a satisfying thud and sending him sprawling. But the torch flew out of his hand, landing at Mellony’s feet. She screamed, trying to kick the flaming torch away.

  Now Karn was on top of Raisa, his meaty hands around her throat while she struggled to reach her dagger. Magic stung her skin, seeping into her, undirected but stunning just the same.

  Karn was gifted?

  Amon dragged Karn off of her, grunting as he tossed him against the nearest wall.

  Raisa heard more glass breaking. More longbows sounded. More longbows?

  Raisa rolled to her feet, sucked in a ragged breath, and croaked, “Help my sister!”

  The flames had caught in the pitched wood and were already licking around Mellony’s ankles. Amon had snatched up a long branch and was desperately trying to rake burning wood away from her. But he had to turn and use his sword as Ardenine soldiers flooded back, knowing the archers overhead couldn’t fire into this melee of friends and foes.

  Raisa grabbed up her staff and laid about her with it, opening a path to Mellony’s side.

  Mellony was screaming, struggling to get free. Raisa stamped at the flames, but they only blazed higher, fed by the pitch-soaked wood. She drew her dagger and slashed desperately at the ropes binding her sister. They defied her small blade.

  Raisa caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. Someone she hadn’t noticed before—a young man with a metal collar around his neck. He darted toward them, his hand thrust into his neckline. A wizard wearing Ardenine colors.