The Crimson Crown

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Raisa sighed. “Micah came to me at Fellsmarch Castle while we were penned up in there. He told me that you tried to murder his father on Gray Lady and that Bayar killed you.”

  Han’s mind had ranged far ahead, but now it stumbled, then backtracked. “Micah told you I was dead? And you believed him?”

  Raisa nodded, blinking back tears. “At the time, remember, you were wanted on suspicion of murder. I could see them taking advantage of that to get you out of the way.”

  Han recalled what Micah had told the Wizard Council—that Han was dead—before he’d made his surprise appearance. And Magret Gray’s reaction when he’d appeared in Raisa’s bedchamber—calling him a demon spirit.

  “Micah also said his father had found the Armory of the Gifted Kings,” Raisa said. “He showed me the Crimson Crown as proof.” She waited, and when Han said nothing, continued.

  “I believed him,” Raisa said, blotting at her eyes. “You’d told me it existed, and that you were going after it. So I thought, well, maybe they’d killed you when you tried to take it from them. Or they’d taken it from you and killed you. Either way, Micah’s story was plausible.

  “He said the armory would give Bayar undisputed power over the council. He’d have the firepower to force Montaigne’s army out of the Fells, defeat the clans, and wrest the throne away from me. But if I agreed to marry him, and crown him king, I could remain alive and continue as queen.”

  Raisa gripped her elbows to either side. “If I couldn’t have you, then I didn’t care who I married. At least that way I’d get rid of the southerners. And as long as I stayed alive, I’d find a way to get rid of the Bayars.” She tilted up her chin, and Han knew that the Bayars would have had plenty to worry about.

  She’s tough for a blueblood, he’d once thought. Maybe tough enough to be with me. Until he’d found out that the girl he knew as Rebecca was the princess heir. That’s when it had first occurred to him that he might not be tough enough to be with her. Even so, a spark of hope kindled within him.

  Raisa’s voice broke into his thoughts. “And now I understand from my father that you hold the armory. He said that was the stick you used to persuade the gifted and the clans to fight together.”

  “That’s true,” Han said. Seeing the questions crowding onto her face, he added, “It’s a long story.”

  “I have time,” Raisa said, sitting cross-legged on the mat and patting the space beside her. “I’ve told my story, now you tell yours.”

  He sat down next to her, their knees touching. “It’s…You might find it hard to believe.”

  “Try me,” she said.

  Han recalled what he’d said to Raisa in Hanalea’s garden.

  Didn’t you ever wish you could have a—a partner? A friend? Somebody you could say anything to—where you didn’t have to pick and choose words like a merchant at market?

  And so he began. “Well, first of all, most of what you know about Alger Waterlow and Queen Hanalea isn’t true,” he said.

  It took more than an hour, and multiple cups of tea. By the time he was finished, the rest of the camp was asleep, the fire burning low.

  “How could you think that I would choose Micah over you?” Raisa asked, running her fingertips over his blistered wrists.

  “It’s hard to change everything you’ve believed all your life about bluebloods,” Han said. “I guess there was a place in me that was just waiting for it to go wrong, for you to realize your mistake.” He shrugged, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

  After that, there was a lot more kissing, and no talk at all. They ended tucked up together in a corner, Raisa’s head on Han’s chest, her arm draped across him.

  “So what happens now?” Han said. “Since you aren’t getting married.”

  “Oh, I am getting married,” Raisa said sleepily. “You promised me that if I agreed to marry you, that you would make it happen.” She extended her hand, the one with the ring Han had given her, and waved it under his nose. “So. It’s time to pay up.”

  C H A P T E R F I F T Y - S E V E N

  BLESSINGS AND

  CURSES

  Amon gripped Raisa’s shoulders, searching her eyes. “Are you sure, Rai? Are you sure you want this?”

  “I’m sure,” Raisa said. “I love him, and we’re going to marry.”

  Amon swiveled away, examining the cold ashes on the hearth with great interest. Raisa had chosen to flout protocol and had sought him out in his quarters in the barracks of the castle close. Leaving her guard outside, she had met with him alone.

  “If you’re still worried about the murders in Ragmarket, Han Alister is not responsible.”

  “I know,” he said, shrugging assent. “I’m not sure I ever believed he was. He’s too smart to murder people and leave clues everywhere.” He turned back toward her, his face taut with worry. “But do you have to announce it now? Could you wait until things are more stable?”

  Raisa shook her head. “I’m thinking there may be some advantage to acting while the situation is still fluid, before everyone falls back into old patterns.” Did she really believe that, or was she just trying to convince herself?

  “What does your father say?” Amon asked.

  “He doesn’t know yet. I leave for Marisa Pines Camp this afternoon. I know the Demonai, especially, will be furious with me, but there’s nothing I can do but prepare for that.”

  “It may put your life in danger,” Amon said bluntly.

  “Like it isn’t already?” Raisa rolled her eyes. Then, seeing the pain on his face, she crossed the room and took his hands. “Who knows—maybe it would improve things if we all weren’t involved in this relentless marital dance.”

  Their eyes met—these two people who had once been part of the dance themselves. Now betrothed to other people.

  “You’ll be married yourself, soon,” Raisa said gently. “Next spring, right?”

  Amon nodded. “Next spring, aye, assuming the Ardenines stay in the south and we’re not at war.” He swallowed hard. “We’ve not chosen a date.”

  Raisa smiled up at him. “I never expected to be the first of us to marry,” she said.

  “Me neither,” Amon said, managing to smile back. He took a breath. “I wish you every blessing in your marriage, Rai. And blessings on your children, too.”

  “Please share our hearth and all that we have,” Willo Watersong said. Though most of the hearths at Marisa Pines had been broken and despoiled by Arden’s army, Willo’s people had returned to their ancestral home, and were beginning to rebuild.

  Willo embraced Han, Dancer, and Bird in turn, and brought her fist to her chest in salute to Raisa. “Welcome to our hearth, Hunts Alone, Fire Dancer, Night Bird, and Briar Rose,” she said. “Please share all that we have.”

  “Welcome, granddaughter,” Elena Cennestre said, folding Raisa into her arms. “Though our troubles are not over, we have much to celebrate.”

  Han stood at the hearth, hands extended, shaking off the morning chill. Autumn had arrived in the high country. He wore clan garb—deerskin leggings and the coat Willo had made for him, his amulet out of sight. It wouldn’t win him any friends here. He kept his eye on the Demonai. His last interaction with Averill and Elena had been charged, to say the least.

  For a long moment, Raisa rested her head against her grandmother’s shoulder, as if worrying that this might be the last time. Then she pulled away, turning to Averill.

  He embraced her, too. “Briar Rose,” he murmured. “It is good to see you safe. We have had a difficult season.”

  Beaded and braided, his Demonai talisman around his neck, his sturdy frame dressed for war, Averill Demonai looked fit and happy.

  They thrive on this, Han thought. They’ve been fighting for so long, it’s in their blood and sinew. Will they ever be able to stop?

  “Is Nightwalker here?” Raisa asked.

  Averill smiled. “Eager to see him, are you? We expect him at any time. We sent word up to the pass, where the Demonai are e
ncouraging the flatlanders to keep going south.”

  Averill finally recognized the presence of the others, nodding curtly to Han, Dancer, and Bird. “Hunts Alone, Fire Dancer, Night Bird. You have done good work, driving out the southerners.” But the face he turned to Han was hard and wary.

  I didn’t do it for you, Han thought. He crossed the common room to Raisa, sliding his arm around her and drawing her close. Bird and Dancer stepped in on either side of them. A streetlord challenge.

  Elena’s eyes narrowed, and her lips tightened, signaling disapproval.

  “Grandmother, Father, we have something to tell you,” Raisa said.

  Wolves moved in the shadows, just outside of the light from the hearth, wraiths with gleaming eyes and teeth.

  Averill Lightfoot put up both hands as if to stop her words. “Briar Rose. No.”

  “Hunts Alone and I intend to marry,” she said. “We hope for your blessing, but will proceed with or without it.”

  Elena shot an accusing look at Han. “Granddaughter, this cannot happen,” she said. “You know this is impossible. The Nǽming forbids it.”

  “A few weeks ago, you would have said it was impossible for wizards and clan to fight shoulder to shoulder,” Han said. “And yet it’s happened.”

  Elena jabbed a finger in Han’s face. “Admit it. You’ve jinxed her, haven’t you?”

  Raisa held up her hand, with Hanalea’s ring in place on her forefinger, Han’s ring next to it. “I still wear Hanalea’s talisman, the ring you gave me. I’m making this choice freely.”

  “You are not free to make this choice!” Averill exploded. “Just when we are on the brink of victory, you mean to throw it all away by marrying this—this”—his expression delivered all sorts of possible finishes—“this one who carries the blood of the Demon King.”

  “As do I,” Raisa said dryly. “As did my mother. Yet you’ve managed to ignore that when it suited you, Father.”

  Averill turned furious eyes on Han. “No doubt you believe you are Waterlow’s heir, suited to reestablish the line of gifted kings. You already hold the Crimson Crown.”

  “I don’t want to be king,” Han said. “As for the crown, you can melt it down and make flashcraft, as far as I’m concerned. I want your daughter—that’s all.”

  “That’s too much to ask,” Averill growled. He took a deep breath, struggling to regain his trader face. He opened his mouth to speak, but Elena spoke first.

  “I have a trade for you, jinxflinger,” she said. “Leave the Fells and go wherever pleases you, and never come back. Do this, and we will allow you to live.”

  Averill studied Raisa, frowning, as if trying to gauge how long it would take for her to get over Han’s death.

  Han sensed Dancer and Bird shifting a little to either side. Dancer slid his hand inside his tunic.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Han said, his voice low and deadly. “Think twice before you go toe-to-toe with me.”

  “If anything happens to Han Alister, there will never be peace between us,” Raisa said. “We Gray Wolf queens have long memories.”

  Averill exchanged glances with Elena, some secret message passing between them. Elena nodded.

  Han didn’t like it.

  “Very well, daughter,” Averill said, with a sigh. “If this is what you really and truly want, it seems we have no choice. But I beg you to reconsider before you take this step.”

  This is too easy, Han thought, frowning.

  Dancer spoke up suddenly. “Lightfoot. Elena Cennestre. I hope you are not thinking of using this against Hunts Alone.” He pulled the Lone Hunter amulet from under his shirt.

  He might have surfaced a snake, given Elena’s and Averill’s reactions. They looked stricken, as though someone had just picked their pockets.

  “What are you doing with that?” Elena demanded. She tilted her head toward Han. “That was meant for him.”

  “Maybe so,” Dancer said. “But I have it now.”

  “Fire Dancer,” Willo said. “What about the amulet? What is it?”

  “I knew there was something odd about this when it first came into my hands.” Dancer tapped the amulet with his fingertip. “There was something hidden inside that I couldn’t touch.”

  “Fire Dancer!” Averill said sharply. “Don’t. This is clan business.” He took a step toward Dancer, but Han stepped in between them.

  “I want to hear what he has to say,” Han said, one hand on the amulet hidden under his coat, the other extended toward the patriarch.

  “I do too, Father.” Raisa nodded to Dancer to continue.

  “It wasn’t until I read through Firesmith’s books that I figured it out,” Dancer said. “And then I knew that your bargain with Hunts Alone was a fraud.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Briar Rose,” Elena said. “Remember who his father is.”

  “Back during the Wizard Wars, the Demonai sometimes left amulets where wizards could find them,” Dancer said. “Or they would intentionally allow them to be stolen from the camps. The wizards did not realize that these were special amulets. If a wizard used magic against anyone wearing a Demonai talisman, the amulet would kill the spellcasting wizard.”

  “Hanalea’s bloody bones,” Raisa whispered. “Are you saying that—that—”

  “Imagine a battle between the gifted and the Demonai,” Dancer said. “With wizards dropping dead by the dozens as soon as they launched an attack.”

  “The jinxflingers killed thousands when they invaded the Seven Realms,” Elena said. “It was self-defense.”

  “Father?” Raisa said, taking a step toward them. “Grandmother? Is this true?”

  Mother and son said nothing, but only stood with their trader faces on.

  Han stole a glance at Bird, who sat against the wall, shaking her head, her lips pressed into a grim line.

  Raisa’s face was pale and hard, her voice brittle. “I remember your saying, Father, that you had taken steps to make sure that Han wouldn’t betray you, but you wouldn’t tell me what you’d done. Is this what you meant?”

  Elena rolled her eyes. “Alister knew from the beginning what the price of betrayal would be,” she said. “We made that very clear.”

  “I’m thinking you are the one who planned to betray him,” Dancer said. “Once the Bayars were defeated, you would not want a descendant of Alger Waterlow on the loose in the Fells. So you built your solution into the amulet you gave him. When Hunts Alone had outlived his usefulness, you would kill him. If he defended himself, he would die.”

  “You cannot prove that,” Elena said.

  “We don’t need to prove it,” Han said. “Not under street rules, which seem to be what we’re using here.”

  With that, Bird abruptly rose. “Hunts Alone. Briar Rose. I will support your marriage in any way I can.” She stalked out of the lodge, her back stiff with disapproval.

  Han watched her go, then turned to Dancer. “How long have you known this?” he asked.

  Dancer flipped a hand. “Not all that long. It wasn’t until I came back here and had time to do some reading that I figured it out.”

  “Still.” Han shook his head. “You knew this and you’ve been carrying the amulet anyway? You should have destroyed it. You could have made a new one.”

  “Why would I?” Dancer’s blue eyes glittered. “Elena Demonai is the best flashcrafter there is. This is a beautiful piece of work.” He ran his fingertips over the stone. “Of course, it was necessary for me to make a few modifications.”

  “Are you saying that it no longer works as intended?” Elena asked.

  “I’m saying that now it does work as intended,” Dancer said, with a faint smile.

  “Father, Grandmother, that is despicable,” Raisa said, her cheeks smudged pink with anger. “I am so very disappointed in you.”

  “Briar Rose,” Averill said, pleading in his voice. He extended his hands toward her. “We meant only to protect you. We have much more history with wizards than you do. We kn
ow what they are capable of.” He tilted his head toward Han. “This one is more dangerous than you know.”

  “That’s just it,” Raisa said bitterly. “We are imprisoned by history, and so we repeat the mistakes of the past. If I make mistakes, they are going to be all my own.”

  C H A P T E R F I F T Y - E I G H T

  TANGLE AND

  A TWIST

  Raisa and her party declined to remain at Marisa Pines Camp until Nightwalker returned. The atmosphere had been poisoned by the revelations about Demonai treachery and Averill’s and Elena’s continued and vocal opposition to the marriage. Raisa worried that they might yet make an attempt on Han’s life. His death was the one argument she could not counter.

  Back in Fellsmarch, they proceeded with plans for a small wedding—suited to a country at war. Nothing like the extravaganza her parents had enjoyed.

  Han wanted Dancer to announce the marriage to the Wizard Council, as representative of the queen.

  Raisa argued the point. “When I confronted the Demonai, you came with me,” she said. “You and Dancer shouldn’t have to face the council alone.”

  “You’ve already done the hard work,” Han said. “The majority supports us. If you come before the council, it will look as if you are asking permission, which you are not.”

  “Are you tutoring me in politics, Alister?” Raisa tapped her foot.

  In the end, she conceded that Han and Dancer would go on their own, with backing from Gryphon and Mordra.

  “We’re going by way of Ragmarket,” Han said. “Dancer and I still keep our horses down there, and that way I can check in with my eyes and ears. I need to talk to Jemson, too. Something about a wedding.” Han grinned and tilted her face up for a kiss. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  When he left, it was like he had taken the failing daylight with him.

  I can’t protect him all the time, Raisa thought. Just like he can’t protect me.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t have plenty to do. Raisa plowed through a mountain of paperwork—requisitions for supplies for the new quartermaster, trade agreements with Carthis and other overseas countries, since trade to the south had been stymied by the war.