“That’s not helpful,” Raisa snapped. “I was promised the gift of prophesy. I can’t govern with a pocketful of platitudes and vague warnings and reassurances. You told me the Gray Wolf line is hanging by a thread. I want to know how to keep it from breaking.”
Hanalea and Althea looked at each other.
“All we can do is help you recognize what is in your own heart, Raisa,” Hanalea said softly. “You have access to all the knowledge and all the gifts you need to survive, if you will use them. You will have the chance to right a great wrong.”
“What about my mother?” Raisa asked. “Did she have everything she needed? Theoretically, anyway?”
Once again, they looked at each other as if they were straying close to the boundary of what was permitted.
“You must use all the strengths of the Gray Wolf line in order to win,” Althea said.
“The time will come when you will be forced to make a choice,” Hanalea said. “When that time comes, choose love.”
The Gray Wolf queens rose as one, turned, and trotted into the mist.
Raisa slumped back on her heels, head bowed, seized by a fear of failure. What use was it to know that she could win if she only knew how to go about it? Losing would cut that much closer to the heart.
Choose love! As if that were an option for the Gray Wolf queens.
Though she’d learned a tremendous amount in the past year, it was still too short a time. She’d thought she would have years to prepare, years to work with her mother as a queen in training.
Tears burned in her eyes. There’s likely never been such a weepy queen, she thought.
A thought struck her. She could run away, like she had a year ago, when her mother had tried to marry her to Micah Bayar. She could be halfway to Delphi by morning, and continue on to Oden’s Ford. She could enter the Temple School and become a dedicate.
And the Gray Wolf line could unravel in her wake.
It’s just as well, she thought dispiritedly. What kind of dedicate would you be? You can’t even manage to meditate for a night, let alone a lifetime.
It’s not fair, she thought. I should be going to parties. I should be kissing lots of boys. I’m too young to be queen. Too young to be sparring with wizards.
Relax, she told herself. There’s not a wizard in sight.
And then something made her look up to see Han Alister standing in the doorway of the temple.
She didn’t know how long he’d been there staring at her, but it seemed to take him by surprise when she looked up and caught him. His usual street face was gone. In its place was a wistful vulnerability, a kind of feverish and hopeless desire.
Magret had said he had a hungry look about him. Was that what she’d meant? And what exactly was he was hungry for?
And then it was gone, replaced by what he called his street face, and Raisa thought maybe she’d imagined it.
He walked toward her, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in black, a frequent choice for him these days. But tonight his clothes were uncommonly elegant. Lace cuffs drooped over his hands, and his coat was finely tailored.
“Your Highness,” he said, bowing stiffly. “Almost Your Majesty. Having second thoughts about climbing onto the Gray Wolf throne?”
Raisa rocked to her feet, swiping away her tears. “How did you get up here? How did you find me? I’m supposed to be alone.”
“I came up the side,” Han said, nodding toward the edge of the roof as if she should have figured that out on her own. He made a show of looking around. “I thought maybe I’d find Micah Bayar up here,” he said.
“Why would Micah be here, of all people?” Raisa snapped.
“Last night, at the dance, you two were snuggled in so close I worried he might strum you on the fly,” Han said.
“Just stop with the thieves’ slang, all right?” Raisa said furiously. “I have no interest in taking up with Micah Bayar again.”
“Again?” Han raised an eyebrow.
Raisa folded her arms, lifted her chin, and said nothing.
“Anyway, that’s not what I hear,” he said. He paused, and when she volunteered nothing, added, “I can’t believe that you would let him put a hand on you again.”
“It’s complicated,” she said, in no mood for confession. “I’m putting on a show, and not for you. Anyway, what about you and Fiona?”
His eyes narrowed. “Fiona? What about Fiona?”
“At the dance. I never saw two people so wrapped around each other—who were standing up, that is.”
“I can handle Fiona,” Han said.
“That’s exactly what you were doing,” Raisa said sweetly. “Handling her. Why is it that I should be reassured that you can manage Fiona, but you have no confidence that I can manage Micah? That’s condescending, Alister.”
Han shook back the lace and counted off the reasons on his fingers. “Because he has the morals of a flatland slave trader. Because he’s a wizard and you’re not. Because he’s a Bayar. Because no girlie that catches his eye is safe from him.” He paused. “Because I think you still have feelings for him, and he will use that against you.”
“You are wrong,” Raisa said flatly. They stood glaring at each other for a space of time, and then Raisa sighed. “Let’s not fight about the Bayars tonight, all right? Did you really come up here to talk about them?”
“No,” Han said. “I wanted to see you one last time before the coronation.” After a moment’s hesitation, he took her arm and led her over to the bench by the fishpond—the same bench Raisa and Amon had shared the night he’d returned to the Fells from Oden’s Ford more than a year ago.
Raisa sat, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. Han sat next to her, staring out at the pond, seeming at a loss for something to say.
At least the cold, distant Alister was gone, temporarily, at least.
“Tomorrow night, there’ll be fireworks,” Raisa said, to fill the silence. “At the end of the ball. This would be a good place to watch from.” She chewed on a fingernail, then dropped her hands quickly. It wouldn’t do to ruin her hands for tomorrow.
Probably a lost cause anyway.
“Remember the night we met at Oden’s Ford?” Han said, still looking straight ahead. “There were fireworks that night, too.
“I do remember,” Raisa said. “It seems like a long time ago.”
“Not so long,” Han said.
A breeze swept down off Hanalea, rattling the glass, carrying the sting of high country snows. Raisa shivered, and Han slipped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. The heat of him soothed her, loosening the tight coil of worry wound up inside her.
“There’s something about a roof, isn’t there?” Han said. “It makes you feel like it doesn’t matter what’s going on below. All of those things that get in the way of your dreams—you’re above them. Anything is possible.”
“Anything is possible,” Raisa repeated. Once again, her eyes welled with tears.
What was the matter with her? She wanted to be queen. She’d fought for it, struggled to get back to the Fells to protect her right to the throne. Was she just weepy over her mother’s death, all those lost opportunities, or was it something else?
Was she closing a door that could never be reopened? Was she making a trade she would eventually regret?
Choose love, Hanalea had said. Raisa was acutely aware of Han’s presence next to her. Once she was queen, that door would be closed forever.
“You know, this is where Queen Hanalea used to meet with Alger Waterlow,” Han said, shocking her out of her reverie.
“What?”
“They used to come up here and make love in this rooftop garden,” Han said, stretching out his long legs. “Before they ran off to Gray Lady. Now there was a queen who wasn’t afraid to take a chance.”
Right, Raisa thought. Hanalea took a chance, and see where it got her.
“Who told you that?” Raisa said. “I never heard that story.” She shivered agai
n, as if ghosts were stroking her shoulders with their cold fingers.
“Some stories don’t get told these days,” Han said, allowing a subtle warmth to flow between them. He stroked her hair, brushing his fingers along the back of her neck, raising gooseflesh.
You’re not making this any easier, she thought.
After another long pause, he added, “You don’t have to do it, you know.”
“What?” Raisa turned her head to look at him.
“You don’t have to go through with it. You don’t have to be queen. You can be whoever you want.” For once, his face was dead serious.
“What do you mean?” Raisa said, swiping at her nose. “I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice,” Han said. “Take me, for instance. I can be anything I want if I want it badly enough. If I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”
“Really.” Raisa raised an eyebrow. He made it sound so simple. “What happens to the Fells if I bow out?”
“Nobody is irreplaceable,” Han said.
“How long do you think I would last if I relinquished the crown?” Raisa said. “I’d be a constant thorn in the side of whoever came to power—even if it were Mellony. I would be a rallying point for rebellion—more of a target than I am now.”
“You don’t have to stay here. That’s why they call it the Seven Realms.” He reached over, covered her hand with his free hand, as if to increase the points of connection between them. “And there’s always Carthis if you want to get even farther away.”
“What in blazes would I do in Carthis?” Raisa growled. “And why would I want to go there?”
Han laughed softly. “I’m convinced that you would land on your feet, Your Highness. You’d likely be running the place before long.”
“I don’t know anybody in Carthis,” Raisa said.
He took a breath, then forged ahead. “I could come with you. I would help you—however you wanted.”
Raisa looked up, surprised. Han’s blue eyes met hers—intense, focused, with no evidence of mockery.
The offer sat awkwardly between them. What did he mean? What was he proposing? That she run off with him? He hadn’t come out and said that, but…did he feel as she did—that her coronation as queen would end any chance they could be together?
“If I have to be running things, I might as well do it here.” Raisa massaged her forehead. How could she explain it to him—the ties she felt to these mountains, to this small, imperfect queendom with its constantly squabbling tribes?
Raisa wanted to be here when the sun poured over the eastern escarpment in the morning and flooded the City of Light. She wanted to be here in the spring when the Dyrnnewater escaped from its banks, fed by the melting snows high in the Spirits. She wanted to see the aspens glittering on the slopes of Hanalea, to ride bareback in clan leggings and shirt through the slanting autumn sunlight. She wanted to eat high country blackberries in summer until the juice dribbled down her chin, and dance clan dances until her heart clamored and her feet stung.
Being away from the Fells had only reinforced her love of home. As did the choice he was asking her to make.
She looked up at Han, groping for something to say, but he shook his head. “Never mind, Your Highness. I never thought you’d run away from…from all this.” He waved his hand, taking in the palace, the city below. “You’re not the sort. I just thought it might help you figure out what you do want. What you’re willing to fight for. What you’ll give up in trade.”
“You can’t have everything,” she said.
“I can. And I will. I will find a way,” Han said, almost as if he were trying to convince himself. His usual streetlord confidence had drained away.
She put her hand on his arm, looking into his eyes. “I hope you will…continue to be my friend,” she said. “I hope that you won’t let rank and ceremony come between us.”
The expression on his face said, It already has.
Raisa’s heart seemed to seize in her chest. What if he went away? What if he turned against her? What if this was—what did he call it—a take-or-leave offer? How would she survive?
I can be anything I want, he’d said.
“I have something for you,” he said, breaking into her panicky thoughts. “A present. That’s actually why I came.”
“A present?” She blinked at him, taken by surprise.
He thrust a small deerskin bag toward her, almost like he was embarrassed.
Unlike Micah, Han was not the present-buying sort. Though he had bought her flowers once, in Oden’s Ford, when he’d been late for a tutoring session and knew she’d be angry.
Likely, growing up, he’d never had the money for presents.
“It’s for your coronation,” Han said. “Dancer made it, so in a way, it’s from both of us.”
“But he already made me that beautiful armor,” Raisa objected. “That was more than enough.”
Han cleared his throat. “All right. It’s just from me, then.”
She weighed the pouch on her palm. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“Why not? Everyone else did.” He looked down at his hands. “The Bayars have sent you enough glitterbits to fill a stall at the market.”
Raisa tugged at the drawstring, forcing her finger into the opening. She dumped the contents of the pouch into her hand.
It was a ring in white gold set with moonstones, pearls, and sapphires.
“Oh!” she breathed. “It’s beautiful. Whatever made you think of it?”
“It’s modeled after a ring that belonged to Hanalea,” Han said. “It was—it was a favorite of hers, I guess.” He hesitated, as if he would say more, but decided against it.
Raisa tried it on. It seemed to fit her ring finger best, which was good because she wore the wolf ring on her forefinger. She turned her hand this way and that, so that the stones caught the moonlight.
She knew she shouldn’t accept it—it was too personal and costly a gift. And yet…
The shadows under the trees shifted and swam with gray bodies, brilliant eyes, razor-sharp teeth.
Raisa shuddered, as if someone had walked over her grave. “I never knew Hanalea owned a ring like this,” she said. “How did you happen to hear about it?”
“I—ah—I spoke to someone who is kind of an expert on Hanalea, and he described it to me,” Han said. “This is what Dancer came up with.” He paused, and when Raisa said nothing, he added, “If it doesn’t fit, he says he can resize it.”
“No, it’s fine, it seems to fit as it is,” Raisa said. “Thank you.”
“Just don’t tell anyone who gave it to you,” Han said. “If you—if you decide to wear it, I mean.”
“I will wear it.” She tilted her face up toward him. “I will cherish it. I just wish…I just wish we…”
As if to stop her words, Han pulled her toward him, pressing his lips down on hers so hard it took her breath away. Power channeled through her, undirected but potent, making her head swim. The wolf ring on her finger grew hot as it drew the power in.
Raisa wrapped her arms around his neck, molding her body to his, aware of the friction between them. Winding her fingers into his hair, she thought, I won’t give him up, I won’t. I. Will. Not.
But then Han straightened his arms, breaking off the kiss and pulling away from her. He looked down into her face, his breath coming shallow and quick, his eyes a fierce reflection of some kind of struggle within.
He threw his head back, the column of his throat jumping as he swallowed. Drawing a deep shuddering breath, he looked down at her again.
“Nearly all my life I’ve taken what I wanted, when I wanted it, with no thought for the future, since I wasn’t likely to have one,” Han said. “Do you know how hard this is for me? Do you?” He gave her a little shake like it was her fault.
“Listen,” she whispered, sliding her palm along his cheek, cupping it under his chin. “It doesn’t matter if we cannot marry. We can still be together—w
hen we can—even if I make a political marriage to someone else.”
I cannot believe I’m saying this, Raisa thought. I truly am turning into my mother.
But Han Alister was shaking his head, his face a mask of regret.
“I want to be with you!” Raisa’s voice broke on the words she’d been unable to say back at Marisa Pines. “I don’t want to lose you. Why can’t we have something even if we can’t have it all?”
“Because I won’t share you with anyone else,” Han said. “I won’t be your down-low lover. It’s all or nothing, Your Highness. I won’t settle for less.”
“I have to settle,” Raisa muttered. “Why can’t you?”
He kissed her again, this time long and slow, savoring it. Then came gracefully to his feet.
“You’d better go to bed,” he said, extending a hand to help her up. “You have a big day tomorrow.”
He waited until she reached the top of the staircase, then turned and disappeared into the darkness.
Giving up on meditation, Raisa went to bed, but it was a long time before she slept.
C H A P T E R T H I R T Y-F I V E
A BAD BARGAIN
The coronation of a Gray Wolf queen was a two-day affair. On the morning after Raisa met with Han in the glass garden, she endured an entire morning of highly ceremonial meetings with her subjects and allies called the Greeting of the Witnesses.
Prior to the splintering of the Seven Realms, it had been customary for representatives from each of the realms to bring tribute to the capital of Fellsmarch to honor the soon-to-be queen.
These days it was just a tradition, though everyone in attendance still brought a small token gift for Raisa.
All morning long, she was acutely conscious of Han standing just behind and to one side of her throne, his face as unreadable as any ceremonial mask. The words that had passed between them the night before hung heavily in the air, distracting her.
Truth be told, even after everything he’d said, she’d been relieved to see he hadn’t departed during the night, seeking a less complicated, less dangerous future.
The Gray Wolf Throne Page 40
