The Seven Realms- The Complete Series

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Just like Han could have defended him too. No matter what Willo said.

  The Demonai warriors fell silent when Dancer passed by, and left the fire circle when he joined it. They watched him constantly, like he was a mad dog or a venomous spider.

  Han couldn’t help worrying that the Demonai warriors might go after Dancer if they caught him on his own. So he became a self-appointed spy, lingering near their fire, watching their comings and goings from camp, and listening in on their conversations.

  Until one day, he was slipping through the forest, following Reid Demonai, probably to the privy, when Bird stepped into his path. She was dressed in her Demonai clothing, and she seemed to materialize out of shadow and sunlight.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed.

  “Doing?” He shrugged. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “You’re playing a dangerous game is what. Do you think they don’t notice? They’re Demonai warriors,” she said, as if he hadn’t noticed.

  He gave her a “So what?” look. “I’ve been walking in these woods all my life,” he said. “If it makes them jumpy, they should leave.”

  “It’s only fair to warn you, Reid’s patience is wearing thin. He’s about ready to cut your throat.”

  “He can try,” Han said, affecting indifference, though his heart beat faster. A confrontation with Reid Demonai seemed appealing.

  “You don’t understand,” Bird persisted. “They’ve trained for this all their lives. They’re dangerous.”

  “Really? Well, I’m dangerous too.” He felt like he was bragging in the school yard, but he couldn’t help himself. “Looks to me like they’re all bristle and no brains.”

  “Shhh!” Bird glanced around, like Reid might be behind a nearby tree, listening. “Come on.” Moving with her usual catlike grace, she led him off the trail, down into a small ravine, to a place where two slabs of rock had slid together, forming a small cavelike shelter. Maiden’s kiss and columbine cascaded from the crevices, and a small stream tumbled along the floor of the canyon.

  “Sit,” she said, waving him to a flat rock.

  He sat, and she sat across from him.

  “I’ve tried to talk to Dancer,” she said. “And he won’t speak to me.”

  “Do you blame him?” Han asked. And then, after a pause, “I can’t believe you’d want to be in a group that would treat your friend that way.” There. He’d said it.

  Bird bit her lip and stared down at her clasped hands. “It…it’s nothing personal,” she said. “But that’s why the Demonai exist. To fight wizards. And the presence of…of any wizard on Hanalea is sacrilege.”

  “We’re talking about Dancer,” Han said, thinking of how Dancer had challenged Bayar and his friends. “He was born here. He belongs here.”

  “I know.” She swallowed hard. “But think about when the jinxflingers invaded the Fells—they were ruthless. They put lytlings to the sword. They captured our queen and forced her into marriage. They evicted the priests from the temples and launched a reign of terror. But the clans held the Spirits, and they were our sanctuary. If not for that, we would have been eradicated as a people.”

  It was a pretty speech. Han wondered if it came from Reid Demonai. He imagined them sitting hip to hip by the fire, Bird looking into his eyes, spellbound. He blinked the image away.

  “That was a long time ago,” he said. “I’m not sweet on wizards either, but…”

  “That was a long time ago, but these are dangerous times,” Bird said. “We have a weak queen. The power of wizards is growing. We in the clan feel less welcome in the Vale. We wield less influence at court.”

  “Averill Demonai is consort to the queen,” Han said. “And father to the princess heir. That sounds influential to me.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving,” Bird said. “Reid says it’s more important than ever to maintain the traditional boundaries against wizards.”

  And I’m not really interested in what Reid says, Han thought. “So what’s the plan?” he asked. “Will you be going back to Demonai with them or what?”

  Bird nodded. “We leave soon. It’s just…Reid doesn’t want to leave while Dancer’s still here.”

  “Well, they won’t have to worry about him much longer, will they?” Han said, his own guilt driving the knife home. “Once he leaves, we may never see him again.”

  Bird raked her curls off her sweaty forehead. “Do you…do you think it’s a good idea? Dancer going to Oden’s Ford? Training as a wizard?”

  Han stared at her. “What choice does he have? You just said—”

  “Maybe…maybe he should just move down into Fellsmarch,” Bird said, not meeting his eyes.

  Han leaned forward. “And do what? He’s no flatlander. The things he’s good at have no value in the city.”

  “He could learn a trade,” she said. “And then…we could visit him sometimes.” She looked up at him hopefully. “Maybe…without training…the magic would just…go away.”

  “You think so? Or is that what Reid says? Do you think Willo would send Dancer away if it was as easy as that?”

  She shook her head. “No. Only…the Demonais don’t want Dancer to go to Oden’s Ford.”

  A great cold fury was growing in Han’s middle, spreading into his extremities. “You don’t want him here, but you don’t want him to go to Oden’s Ford. You just want him to disappear, is that it?”

  “No! I love Dancer. It’s just…Reid is worried about training up a wizard who knows the Spirits so well. Who is privy to clan secrets. What if he comes back…on the wrong side?” She looked at Han appealingly.

  “I don’t know much about politics,” Han said, his voice brittle as river ice. “I just try to get by. But if you ask me, you’re treating Fire Dancer like the enemy. And I can’t think of a better way to drive him to the other side. You do what you want, but whatever side Dancer’s on, I’m there.”

  That was what he’d been trying to tell Dancer. So he’d know he wasn’t alone. That Han would go with him, and help him if he could.

  Han looked up and saw that Bird was crying, tears sliding silently down her cheeks. Han couldn’t recall ever seeing that before.

  “Hey, now,” he said after a few minutes of this. “Come on. We’ve been together forever. We’ll work it out.”

  “All I ever wanted…was to be a Demonai warrior,” she whispered. “And now, whatever I do, I’m betraying someone.”

  “You just have to remember who your friends are, is all,” Han said. “Maybe you have something to teach the Demonais about loyalty.”

  “I didn’t speak up for him at the ceremony,” she said, swiping at her nose.

  “I didn’t either.” He sat next to her and put an arm around her, and she turned toward him, burrowing her face into his shoulder. He patted her back awkwardly, trying not to notice her chest pressed against his. She smelled of pine and leather and summer in the uplands.

  Bird raised her head and looked up at him, her lashes wet and clumped together. She slid her arms around his neck, pulling his head down, and suddenly they were kissing like desperate people, like it was the last kiss either one of them would ever get. He lowered her down to the rock, kissing her nose, her eyelids, every part he could reach, and she slid her hands under his shirt, pressing him closer, her hands warm and rough against his back.

  It was the first thing in a long time that made him happy.

  C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - O N E

  BLOOD AND

  ROSES

  The day after the Bayars’ party, word came down from the queen that since Raisa was ill, she was to stay in her room and rest. Raisa wasn’t sure whether this was 1) Marianna’s genuine concern about her daughter’s well-being, and desire to have her well recovered in time for her own party, 2) punishment for being foolish enough to be ensnared by Micah Bayar, or 3) a strategy for building anticipation for Raisa’s name day party to a fever pitch.

  Raisa sent several messages to he
r mother, requesting an audience, but Marianna did not reply. Hadn’t Lord Averill told her mother what the Bayars had done? Surely he had. Then why was she being punished? Raisa fumed and fretted, but it did no good.

  A basketful of cards and invitations graced the table in Raisa’s entry hall, but Magret had her orders and declined them all on the princess’s behalf. As word of her purported illness circulated, gifts and flowers flowed in until the mingled fragrances made her half sick for real.

  A dozen roses arrived each morning from Micah Bayar, a different color every day. When Magret refused them, they accumulated in the hallway until it looked like a shrine to some forgotten goddess. Soon Raisa was sending them out to all of her ladies-in-waiting and to the healers’ halls at the temple.

  Micah sent her several messages, asking permission to visit, but she did not reply. Magret continued to sleep in her room, and a member of the Queen’s Guard always seemed to be lingering outside her door. Clearly the queen meant to prevent any clandestine trysts or further wizardly intrigue.

  This prevented any meetings with Amon as well. Raisa wished she could slip out through the tunnel and climb up to the garden and find him there, pacing the cobblestones or waiting on the bench. She found herself dwelling on him more and more.

  When she wasn’t thinking of Amon Byrne, she was haunted by Han Alister. The streetlord ambushed her in her dreams, swaggering up the street as he had in Ragmarket, with his quick wit and sardonic smile. She remembered the way he’d pushed her behind him, pressed a knife into her hand, and faced down six Raggers on her behalf.

  If you’re going to knife someone, don’t think about it so long, he’d said. And now he was dead. Had he hesitated at some critical moment, and been lost? Was there something she could have done differently that would have saved him?

  Was it her job to save him?

  I need to go to parties, Raisa mused, so I don’t think so much.

  Her only visitors were dressmakers and combers and her chattering ladies-in-waiting, who slept till noon, then spent the early afternoons in Raisa’s chambers, going on and on about the parties they’d been to, and the dresses they’d worn and planned to wear, before retiring to their chambers to prepare for the evening ahead.

  It was considered a social coup to host southern royalty, even if they had fallen on hard times. So, with Raisa unavailable, the Tomlins and Lady Heresford were swept from dance to dance and dinner to dinner with scarcely a chance to visit the garderobe between.

  Raisa missed Melissa Hakkam’s name day party, but Missy came the next afternoon to tell her all about it. Missy was all baggy-eyed and yawning, having stayed out till the wee hours.

  “A shame you couldn’t have been there. Mother was so disappointed,” Missy said. “She kept pairing me up with this dreadful Arno Manhold. Can you imagine? Lady Melissa Manhold? How awkward.”

  “Who is he?” Raisa asked disinterestedly, to stop the flood of words.

  “He’s a ship owner from Chalk Cliffs—well, he’s actually from the Northern Isles—and he’s at least fifty years old. He does own ten ships, and he has loads of money and three houses, one in Fellsmarch, one in Chalk Cliffs, and an estate along the Dyrnnewater, but he’s a tradesman, after all, and he trod on my feet all night, and he only knows two old dances.”

  “What if he owned four houses,” Raisa said. “And a hunting lodge in the Heartfangs. How many dances would he need to know then?”

  Missy blinked at her, confused. “Well! I’m sure I don’t know. Me, I am hoping for a southern match. I mean, Prince Liam is so handsome.” Missy heaved a great sigh and batted her eyelashes. “And he says such wicked things. He’s a wonderful dancer too, unlike the Klemaths. How does this sound?” She struck an elegant pose, tossing back her excessive hair. “Princess Melissa of Tamron.”

  “Some people say matters are rather—unsettled—in Tamron,” Raisa said, unable to resist deflating Missy. “They say there’s a chance the war in Arden will spread west.”

  “Some people are tiresome and gloomy,” Missy said, completely undeflated. “We could both be princesses, wouldn’t that be wonderful? I might even become queen before you.”

  “Prince Liam has declared himself, then? He’s spoken to his father? What wonderful news!” Raisa said, stooping to cruelty.

  Now Missy looked flustered. “Well, of course not. His father is in Tamron and Prince Liam is here, but no doubt when he returns home…”

  Just then Magret tapped on the door to Raisa’s bedroom, entered, and curtsied. “Lord Averill Demonai, Royal Consort, to see you, Your Highness.” Magret always went formal when Raisa had company.

  Good, Raisa thought. Maybe I’ll finally find out what’s going on.

  “I’d best go, Your Highness,” Missy said, rising and curtsying herself. “There’s a tea this afternoon for Lady Heresford. I only wish you could come.” She backed from the room under Raisa’s scowl as Averill entered.

  Raisa embraced her father. “Thank the Maker you’re here. I am going crazy, not knowing anything. What’s going on? Are the Bayars in trouble?”

  Averill took a deep breath and shook his head. “Well, no. Not exactly.”

  “What?” Raisa backed away from him. “What do you mean, not exactly?” Then she noticed that he was wearing traveling clothes, his trader pouch slung over his shoulder.

  “You’re going away again,” she said, her heart sinking.

  “Briefly,” Averill said, with a wry smile. “The queen has decided I should ride to Chalk Cliffs and speak with the garrison commander about port security. It seems there’s a problem with pirates.”

  “Why you?” Raisa said. “And why now? It’s the middle of the season, and my party is only four days away.”

  “Why indeed?” he said lightly. “Your mother is not pleased with me these days, I’m afraid,” he said. “But don’t worry. I’ll be back in plenty of time for your celebration. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Why doesn’t she send Captain Byrne?” Raisa muttered. “Or General Klemath?”

  “Captain Byrne is coming with me, in fact,” Averill said. He paused, as if to let the weight of his words settle.

  “She’s sending you away, while I feel like I’m being held captive,” Raisa grumbled, pacing the floor. “I haven’t even had a chance to properly meet Prince Liam and Princess Marina. I don’t get it. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be doing right now—going to parties? Meeting prospective suitors?”

  “Why do you think she’s doing this, Briar Rose?” Averill gazed out through the windows over a city without shadows, stark in the noonday sun.

  Raisa pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead, trying to massage away the headache Missy always left behind. “Is she blaming me for what happened at the Bayars’ party?”

  “I told her about the amulet. She should know it wasn’t your fault. But she seems angry with me for raising the issue.”

  “Angry with you? But why?” Raisa felt stupid. She hated feeling stupid.

  Averill sighed. “When she confronted Lord Bayar, he explained to Her Majesty that the jinxpieces are harmless reproductions of old magical pieces; that they gifted you and Micah with matching jewelry to symbolize the long connection between the queens of the Fells and the Bayar family.”

  He turned away from the window and looked at her straight on. “Lord Bayar showed the queen the serpent necklace and ring, which were, indeed, very well-crafted reproductions.”

  Raisa’s hand crept to her neck. A faint welt lingered where the pendant had rested. Was it possible? Could it really have been a matter of too much wine and Micah Bayar’s kisses?

  “Are you saying you were mistaken?” she said. “That the necklace wasn’t really…”

  “No.” Averill shook his head. “I was not mistaken,” he said without a trace of doubt in his voice or expression.

  “Why hasn’t my mother come to talk to me about it? Why is she asking Lord Bayar instead?”

  Averill hesitated, as if deba
ting how much to say. “Lord Bayar suggested that you and Micah simply got carried away. You violated the rules against congress between wizards and the Gray Wolf line, and so were looking for an excuse.”

  Raisa snatched up a bouquet off the mantel and flung it into the fireplace. The porcelain vase shattered, sending chips flying in all directions and scattering lilies and orchids across the hearth.

  “Your Highness!” Magret exclaimed, poking her head in from her quarters next door. “Blessed lady!” she added when she saw the mess.

  “Briar Rose,” her father said, shaking his head and putting his finger to his lips. Raisa read the message in his eyes. Trader face, he was saying.

  It wasn’t easy. Raisa was in the mood for breaking things. But she mastered herself and said, “It’s all right, Magret. It slipped. I’ll clean it up later.”

  Averill waited until the door closed behind Magret before he went on. “Marianna has forbidden Micah to see you. He’s restricted to Aerie House. She has confined you to your room. She seems to believe that’s appropriate punishment.”

  “What is Micah saying?” Raisa asked glumly.

  Averill shrugged. “He’s saying nothing at all. That I know of, anyway.”

  Raisa gestured vaguely at the floral display. “He’s been sending flowers. Asking to visit.”

  “You know your mother doesn’t like trouble,” Averill said. “She’d rather not know about some things so she doesn’t have to confront them. It may be nothing more than that.”

  Raisa nodded. “I even thought maybe she wanted to keep me away from the other parties to, you know, make my party more special,” she said. “She seems determined to make it the party of the year.” It sounded foolish now that she was saying it.

  “That may be,” Averill said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “Apparently Marianna sees no need to show you off before then.” He hesitated, then plowed ahead. “Your mother may worry that I have a clan match in mind for you. There’s been talk about you and Reid Demonai.”

  “Reid?” Raisa frowned. She and Reid had shared some kisses, some long walks in the woods, a few dances at clan gatherings. “I like Reid, but there’s been talk of him and every girl at Demonai.”