The Seven Realms- The Complete Series

by Cinda Williams Chima

  He passed through the city gate just at dusk with a crowd of acolytes from the local temple, all about his age. They’d been gathering blackberries on the slopes of Hanalea.

  He kept to the back ways until he reached South Bridge. It seemed that things had cooled off after all. Two sleepy bluejackets manned each end of the bridge, and no one seemed to be looking for Han Alister.

  Lucius had told him word was out that he was dead. Han decided that being dead made travel through the city much easier.

  Once across the bridge, Han wove through the familiar web of Ragmarket, heading for home. It was still not fully dark, though the sun had descended behind Westgate, and a few stars pricked the pale sky. This far north, the days were long in midsummer. Those enterprises that required the cover of darkness were compressed into a few intense hours.

  Han’s heart beat faster. He loved summer nights in the city, when music poured from the open doors of taverns and vendors grilled sausages and fish on the sidewalks, and the drunks in the alleys never froze to death. Fancy girls joked with the bluejackets, and people played hard, intoxicated by the notion that anything could happen. And probably would. The streets were more dangerous, yet in some ways more forgiving in the summertime.

  The last time he’d been home, Ragmarket and Southbridge had been unnaturally quiet, spooked by the series of Southie murders. Now it was more like he remembered it, when he was running with the Raggers.

  As he neared home, he began seeing yellow flags nailed onto doors or hanging out of windows, signifying the presence of remittent fever. In the summertime, the yellow flags sprouted in certain neighborhoods, like a crop of garish death flowers or the bright yellow brain fungus that sometimes grew on dead trees.

  That was the dark side of summer.

  Some said the fever was due to bad air. Willo said it was caused by bad water. Whatever it was, it was confined to the Vale. It was never a problem in the upland camps.

  When he reached the stable yard, he looked up to the second floor of the stable and saw a yellow rag stuffed between sash and sill.

  Han slammed his way into the stable and took the stairs two at a time. When he flung open the door, he was met by the stink of every kind of sick.

  Mari lay on her pallet next to the hearth. Although the air in the room was stifling, the fire was lit and Mari was piled high with blankets, shivering uncontrollably. Mam sat on the floor next to her, leaning against the wall. She blinked up at Han, like she’d fallen asleep sitting there.

  “She was better this morning,” Mam said, “but the fever’s coming back.” She said this matter-of-factly, as if she was too weary to react to his sudden appearance after a month away. Her hair had crept out of its plait, half of it hanging around her face. Her bodice was soiled and stained, hanging loose on her body as though she were using herself up.

  Han crossed the room and knelt next to Mari’s bed. He laid his hand on her forehead. She was burning up. “How long has she been sick?”

  Mam rubbed her forehead. “This is the tenth day.”

  The tenth day. She should be recovering by now. If she was going to.

  “Is she eating and drinking?” Willo said a high fever dried people out, so you had to keep getting them to drink. Plus, the fever gave you the runs.

  Mam shook her head. “She don’t want to take anything when the fever is high.”

  “Are you giving her willow bark?” This was the extent of his knowledge of healing—the botanicals he collected for Willo and others.

  “I was.” Mam stared down at her hands. “We’re out now.” She looked up at him, hope kindling in her eyes. “Do you have any money?”

  “A little. Why?”

  “There’s a healer up in Catgut Alley. People say he can work wonders. But he costs money.”

  Han took his eyes off Mari and focused on the room around them. It was more barren than usual. There were no baskets of laundry, no sign of food, nothing.

  Mam put a hand on his arm. “Would you send your washing where they have the fever?” she asked, as if she could read his mind. “Besides, I haven’t been able to leave her on her own, to pick up and deliver.”

  A bucket of water with a dipper sat next to Mari’s bed. “Where’d this water come from?” Han asked Mam.

  “The well at the end of the street,” Mam said. “Like always.”

  He grabbed up the bucket and poured the contents into their second-best cooking pot and set it over the flames. “Let this boil a while, and when it cools down you can use it for washing.”

  “I know how to do laundry, Hanson Alister,” Mam said, with a little of her old spirit.

  “I’m going to go fetch some water from another well,” he said. And he did that, walking blocks uptown to the pump at Potter’s Square and back. He spent his remaining money on a bit of willow bark and some barley soup for Mari, though he had to wake up the apothecary at the market for that. He got sworn at for his trouble, and paid a pretty price for it too.

  By the time that was all done and delivered, it was near dawn. Mari took some clean water and willow bark and barley soup, though she complained she wasn’t hungry. After that she looked better and slept more peacefully, and he told himself the color in her cheeks wasn’t only fever, and the improvement wasn’t just the lull before the fever roared back.

  So here it was. More bad luck, worse than he’d ever had before. It had to be the bloody amulet. He had to get rid of it before somebody died.

  He needed money. Mam and Mari needed money—for a healer and for everything else. He couldn’t expect them to keep hanging on by their fingernails while he lived in relative comfort at Marisa Pines, or wherever else he went. The Guard wasn’t looking for him now, but that would change once they spotted his formerly drowned corpse all lively and walking the streets.

  Leaving Mam and Mari sleeping, he descended the stairs, murmuring to the horses he’d ignored on his way in. Under cover of darkness, he slipped back to the stone forge in the stable yard and wrestled the stone out of its niche. The leather-wrapped bundle still lay where he’d left it. He could feel the heat emanating from it before he lifted it out.

  Carefully, he pulled away the wrapping, revealing the serpent amulet. It flared up, excruciatingly bright, illuminating the yard as if it meant to betray the thief who’d stolen it. He hurriedly rewrapped it, glancing around to make sure no one had noticed.

  He slid the amulet into his carry bag and slung it over his shoulder, pulled his cap down over his face, and headed for Southbridge Market. When he reached the bridge, he nodded to the sleepy bluejackets, once again passing between the temple and the guardhouse, wondering what Jemson would think of his former student, and who Mac Gillen was beating these days.

  The butcher was just cranking open his awning. He had one of the few permanent structures at the market. The mushroom man was setting baskets of morels and chicken-head fungus out in front of his shop. Han walked past them without speaking and without making eye contact. Han’s home market was Ragmarket. He didn’t know most of the vendors at Southbridge, which was a good thing on this particular day.

  Taz Mackney was another prosperous vendor at the market. His shop was larger than most, filled with exotic fabrics, seductive fragrances, rare artwork, and precious stones—loose and set into jewelry. What most people didn’t know was that much of Taz’s prosperity derived from his side business in magical pieces, many of them stolen or, at least, of questionable provenance. The Nǽming might forbid the buying and selling of talismans and amulets made before the Breaking, but for the right price, Taz could find most anything for a discreet client.

  Han only knew this because he’d sold goods to Taz in the past. He didn’t always get the best price from Taz, but he liked dealing with him because he had a permanent location, unlike many of the fences who worked the streets. Taz knew the Raggers could always find him again if he cheated them. He also had connections with rich clients who could pay big money for a rare piece. Taz had another, more pres
tigious location in the castle close, frequented by the gentry, including wizards.

  The bell over the door jangled as Han entered the shop. Taz was sitting in the back, his bald head bent over his books. Without looking up he growled, “Not open yet. Come back later.”

  “If you want,” Han said. “But it’s your loss. I’ll see who else is ready to do business.”

  Taz looked up, startled. “Cuffs? Blood of the demon!” He lurched to his feet with amazing speed for one so bulky. The dealer glanced out the front windows and then jerked his head toward the back. “Let’s go in the back room.”

  Han followed him back, past bins of beads and shelves lined with bottles of potions larded with time-darkened wax. Rolled-up rugs in brilliant colors stood in the corners, and intricate puzzle boxes, sconces, and candles lay everywhere.

  Once through the back door, Taz took refuge behind the large desk that Han knew housed at least three knives and an assassin’s dagger. The dealer wore a long velvet coat and a froth of lace at his neck. His belly poured over his breeches, poking out through his coat. Here was someone who was eating well.

  “I hear you’re dead,” Taz said bluntly.

  Han nodded, assuming a mournful expression. “Got done in by the Southies,” he said. “I sort of like being dead.”

  Taz laughed his great booming laugh that made you think he wasn’t as smart as he really was. “Understood, my boy. To what can I attribute this extracorporeal apparition?”

  Taz liked to use big words.

  “I’ve an amulet you might be interested in,” Han said.

  “Thought you were out of the game,” Taz said, his eyes narrowing.

  Han shrugged. “I am. Special case. I’m vamping it for a friend.”

  “Ah. A friend. Of course.” Taz’s eyes lighted with interest. He’d bought some rare pieces from Han in the past.

  “It’ll be pricy,” Han warned. “I won’t let it go for a smile and a promise. If you’re short on iron, just say so.”

  “Have no worries on that account,” Taz said, trying to look disinterested. “However, you should know that, given the idiosyncrasies of the current market, I may not be in a position to make a very generous offer. Unfortunately, I’ve seen less demand for magical objects in recent months.”

  Han reached into his carry bag and pulled out the amulet. He took his time, all part of the game. He set the parcel on the desk, carefully pulled away the leather.

  The light from the stone turned Taz’s face a sickly green. The dealer stared at it for a long moment, then looked up into Han’s face. “Where’d you get this?” he whispered.

  “I said. From a friend. He’s going out of the magic business,” Han said.

  Taz impulsively reached for it, but Han gripped his wrist. “Don’t touch it,” he said. “It’s dangerous.”

  Taz swallowed hard. “Right,” he said, his supply of big words seemingly dried up. “Well. It’s a shame it’s so unstable. That will make it hard to sell.” He thought a moment. “Ten girlies,” he said. “Take it or leave it.”

  Han could have used ten girlies just then, but he knew he was being lowballed. He shook his head and began rewrapping the amulet.

  Taz watched this for a few seconds, then said, “Twenty-five.”

  Han stuffed the amulet into his carry bag. “Thank you for your time, Taz,” he said, turning away.

  “Wait!” Taz said quickly.

  Han turned and waited.

  Taz licked his lips. Beads of sweat stood out on his broad forehead. Evidence that he wanted the piece and wanted it bad.

  “I could turn you over to the bluejackets, you know. It’s in your best interest to come to terms.”

  Han shrugged and ran his hand over the interior wall. “This place could burn down, you know. Maybe even with you inside. That’d be a shame.”

  Taz cleared his throat. “I thought you were out of the business,” he repeated.

  Han lifted his hands, palms up. “Can you ever really leave the business?”

  Taz nodded grudgingly. “Cuffs, you’ve always had an astute head for commerce. Very rare in one so young.”

  Han grinned. “Well, thank you, Taz. That and three coppers gets me a pork bun.”

  “What do you want for it?”

  “A hundred girlies, minimum. But I’ll be showing it around the market and taking the best offer I get, so you’d best aim high.” Han kept his voice casual, glancing around the shop and fingering a silver chalice as if he might be in the market. A hundred girlies hadn’t passed through his hands in his lifetime.

  “Look, I’m not in a position to buy it outright for the money you want, but I may have clients who would be willing to make an offer. Leave it with me, on consignment, and we’ll see what the response is.”

  Han shook his head. “Can’t do. I only have the one, and I have several other dealers to show it to. I an’t giving it up until there’s money in hand.”

  Taz clearly didn’t want to see the amulet walk out the door. “Where can I reach you?”

  “You can’t.” Han said. “Better work fast. I won’t be in town for long. I’ll check back day after tomorrow.”

  C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - T H R E E

  NAME

  DAY 2

  Raisa awoke the next morning, unrefreshed. She’d had the strangest dreams. They seemed to involve Amon, but they slipped away each time she reached for them. She snuggled down under the covers, hoping to enmesh herself again, but her mind raced and sleep eluded her.

  Her name day. The day she was officially proclaimed eligible to marry. The day she was officially named heir to the throne and began training for her role as queen.

  Tonight, finally, the formal dance of suitors would begin.

  Her dress hung on its form, a silhouette against the window, the shape of the person she was supposed to be. She’d issued no proclamations about dress for her party. She hoped for a riotous garden of color, but expected that most would wear virginal white.

  Raisa looked awful in white—this was another bone of contention between her and her mother. She would have chosen black, but she’d have settled for crimson or even emerald green, to set off her eyes. She’d ended with a champagne-color satin and lace that exposed her shoulders. There was nothing girlish about it, at least.

  Yawning, she climbed out of bed in her nightgown and padded into her sitting room. Magret had breakfast under way.

  “I thought you’d sleep later, so as to be fresh for tonight,” Magret said. “I could have brought you breakfast in bed.”

  Raisa stared at Magret. Her nurse was encouraging her to sleep in so she could stay out late. It was an entire season of firsts. “Well, I just couldn’t sleep anymore,” she said, sorting through the piles of cards, notes, and letters in the basket by the door. “Any word from my father?”

  “No, Your Highness,” Magret said. “But don’t worry. If he’s not here already, he’s on his way. He wouldn’t miss it.”

  “I know.” Raisa couldn’t shake a feeling of unease. “Could you…could you send to Kendall House and tell them to let me know as soon as he’s arrived?” Her father had remained at Kendall House, since he was still out of favor with the queen.

  Magret enfolded Raisa in her arms, patting her back. “Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s just name day jitters. Tonight will be a night you’ll always remember.”

  There are different reasons for remembering things, Raisa thought. Some good, some bad.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur of bathing, buffing, combing, and coloring. “It probably takes less time to fit out a ship to go to sea,” Raisa complained when the nail-painters left and the hairdressers filed in.

  Still, no word came from Kendall House.

  At six p.m., Raisa was laced into her dress. It fell in long silken folds from a high waist, and had wide romantic sleeves with insets of lace. In truth, she liked it very much.

  There was the problem of Elena’s ring again. Raisa was determined to wear it,
yet her mother had given her a smoky quartz, citrine, and topaz necklace for her name day, a perfect match for her dress. Raisa slid the ring off its chain and tried it on every finger. It had seemed large before, but now she was surprised to find that it fit her middle finger perfectly. Her long trailing sleeves hid it from view.

  At six thirty her mother swept in for a final inspection prior to the name day party. Queen Marianna’s dress was a deep hunter green that perfectly set off her golden hair and luminous skin. Her necklace and tiara were set with emeralds.

  Even in her name day finery, Raisa felt unimpressive in comparison. What would it be like to reign after such a queen? Would she be known as the short, dark, snappish queen that followed the golden one?

  Queen Marianna gripped Raisa’s elbows and held her out at arm’s length.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, eyes brimming with tears. “You are beautiful.” It would have meant more if she hadn’t sounded so surprised. “I cannot believe that this day has finally come. Please know that I only want what’s best for you, always. Do you believe that, Raisa?”

  Raisa nodded, that prickle of unease returning. “Have you seen Father since his return?” she asked. “He’s to escort me into the hall, but I’ve not heard from him.”

  Queen Marianna frowned. “Really? You’ve not heard from him? I was sure he would be here.”

  “Of course he’ll be here,” Raisa said. “It’s my name day.”

  Marianna hesitated. “That’s true, yes, but remember, you’ve already celebrated the occasion at Demonai Camp. Perhaps he thought he’d already met his obligation.”

  Raisa blinked at her, confused a moment before she remembered. Supposedly her father had taken her to Demonai when she went missing in Southbridge.

  “It’s not an obligation,” Raisa said. “He said he’d be here. He’d want to be.” She paused, then rushed on. “Why did you have to send him to Chalk Cliffs now?”

  Her mother sighed, sounding exasperated. “It’s not that far, sweetheart. It should be no trouble to ride there and back over four days. Your crowning is important, but affairs of the realm cannot come to a halt for a week because of it.” The queen smiled, her tawny eyes searching Raisa’s face. “Don’t worry. I’ll send for him at Kendall House and tell him to come to you immediately, just to ease your mind.” She kissed Raisa on the forehead. “All will be well, Raisa, you’ll see.”