When he opened his eyes and saw Willo, he fixed on her face and tried to speak, to plead with her not to let them torment him anymore. But his words never made it past his lips.
Finally, they gave him back his amulet. It rested on his chest like a warm fire, just the right temperature, and he held on to it with both hands. It was his tether to the world. It kept him grounded, kept the flash circulating instead of leaking away. Now he heard a familiar voice speaking in his head, unexpectedly kind and soothing.
Well, now, Alister, you’ve managed to survive in spite of yourself. There is a god that looks after fools, apparently.
Crow? Nah. Not possible.
Han tried to remember how he’d come to be at Marisa Pines. What had happened? Had he caught Mari’s fever again? There were some fevers that came back over and over.
They kept pestering him with food and drink.
And then he opened his eyes and found himself staring into Rebecca Morley’s face. She was waist-deep in water, hair plastered down, and steam rising all around her, like one of those fish-maidens in stories who ask riddles, and if you get the answers wrong they try to drown you. Rebecca had hold of his ankles, and Willo and somebody else held his arms, and they were lowering him into a freezing hot spring.
He didn’t have any clothes on, but he was too muddleheaded to worry about it.
Another time, he woke on dry land. Rebecca had some porridge on a spoon and was trying to wedge it into his mouth. Her hand trembled and tears stood in her eyes.
Well, if it means that much to you, he thought.
He opened his lips but kept his teeth sealed together in case it was blistering hot, but it was all right, and he opened his mouth farther, and she smiled like they’d done something fabulous together. She slid an arm around his shoulders, and Willo came in on the other side, and they managed to raise him up so he could drink without drowning. Rebecca put a cup to his lips. It was lukewarm tea, and he managed to keep it from pouring out the corner of his mouth, which had been a problem lately.
He was embarrassed to have Rebecca Morley feeding him like a weanling. But her touch soothed him. It was good to rest in her arms.
There was something he should remember about Rebecca Morley. Something had happened. Wasn’t she hurt? Hadn’t she died? Just now she looked better than him—dressed in a clan tunic embroidered over with gray wolves—too fancy to be wearing in a sickroom.
He reached up and wiped away her tears with his thumb, but she just made more. And that was all he remembered for a long time.
The next time he awoke, he found his amulet warm and humming. He looked up and there was Fire Dancer sitting next to his sleeping bench. Dancer had his hand on Han’s amulet, feeding it power while it fed power to Han.
“What are you doing?” Han whispered. He was a little amazed when the words came out and Dancer heard and understood them.
“I’ve been lending you power over the past few days,” Dancer said. “You seem to use yours up as soon as it appears. It’s one way I can help you heal yourself without getting poisoned.”
“Oh.” Han considered this. The flash trickled in like rum brandy, and he felt better than he had in a long while. “Do I have to give it back?”
Dancer laughed, though there were worry lines around his eyes. “We’ll see. Maybe I’ll be low one of these days and you can help me out.”
Han felt more alert, his mind clearer, too, than it had been. And he was ravenous, even though his mouth tasted like a stable that needed mucking out.
“Do you know—is there anything to eat around here?” he asked.
Dancer grinned. “Please. You know there’s never anything to eat in my mother’s house.”
A young man with a healer’s amulet appeared out of nowhere with a bowl of stew, a jug, and a cup. He set the food on a bench next to the bed and backed away, making sure not to get too close to Han.
“Have I got something catching?” Han asked as the healer retreated.
“You’ve been rough on Willo’s apprentices, I hear,” Dancer said. “You’re lucky anyone’s willing to come within arm’s length.”
Han sat up, propping against the wall. Dancer unstoppered the jug and poured him some upland tea.
“Don’t get used to being waited on,” Dancer warned, going back to stoking his amulet. “It’s almost over.” He wore clan garb—leggings and a deerskin tunic beaded in Willo’s distinctive designs, his amulet tucked discreetly underneath.
“You mean to tell me they let two wizards back into Marisa Pines Camp?” Han said. “The Demonai must be going into spasms.”
Dancer laughed again, and Han was pleased that he’d said something that made sense. Something funny, in fact. His brain felt like one of those lacy cheeses they sold at Southbridge Market sometimes—full of big holes in places where he used to know things.
Han’s attention was diverted as someone pushed through the curtain from the next room.
It was Cat Tyburn.
“Hayden! You should see the blades they got in the market here,” she said. “But they’re all a bunch of copperhead thieves, the iron they want for a…” She abruptly stopped speaking when she saw Han sitting up.
She dropped to her knees next to his sleeping bench, staring narrow-eyed into his face. “Cuffs! You awake? You an’t still crazy sick? I was beginning to think you was a Mad Tom for good.”
Cat and Dancer were supposed to be at Oden’s Ford. What were they doing here? Cat especially. She hated the clans, didn’t she?
“What are you doing here?” he said aloud. “You’re supposed to be at school.”
“Me and Dancer came here to beat you senseless for running off without telling anyone where you were going,” Cat said. “We thought it would make more of an impression if we waited ’til you woke up.”
“We weren’t that far behind you,” Dancer said. “Bird finally told me where you’d gone, and why, about a week after you left.” Anger passed across his face like a cloud shadow over a field.
Hmmm, Han thought. Why had he come? And then he remembered: to find Rebecca Morley.
He fastened on that. Where was Rebecca? How had he come to be here? What had happened? How long had he been lying here? That was one of the holes.
“Four days,” Dancer said, as if he’d read his mind. “A lot has happened. A lot has changed.” He studied Han’s face to assess how clearheaded he was. “That’s why I wanted to stoke you up. There’s a lot of pressure from…well, from everyone.”
“Pressure?” Han reached for the jug of tea, missing it on his first pass. He still felt tingly all over, his fingers fat and clumsy, though they looked their regular size. Concentrating, he reached again, took hold of the jug, unstoppered it, and poured, while Dancer watched, hands extended to catch it if Han dropped it.
“The queen is dead,” Dancer said. “Maybe murdered. She fell from the Queen’s Tower a week ago.”
Han blinked at him. Thought for a moment. “M-Marianna? That’s her name, right?” He looked up at Dancer for confirmation.
Dancer nodded.
“So. Guess I’m a little late.” Maybe he was out of a job. Maybe he could go back to Oden’s Ford and continue his schooling. The thought cheered him.
But then he remembered the princess heir. “So, there’s a new queen, right?” he said, frowning.
“Well, that’s the problem,” Dancer said. “The new queen hasn’t been crowned yet. It’s likely to come to a fight between the two princesses, Raisa and Mellony.”
That was the name. Raisa. She was the one that had given money to Jemson’s Temple School. He didn’t know anything about the other one.
And then another memory trickled back. Captain Byrne, shot full of arrows.
“Captain Byrne is dead too,” Han said. Could Byrne’s death and the queen’s be connected? “Did you know? He died in Marisa Pines Pass.”
Dancer nodded. “I know. They brought Byrne’s body back, and the Demonai hosted an ábeornan ceremony last nigh
t, a funeral pyre. They honored him as a fallen warrior. Very unusual to honor a flatlander like that.”
More memories. Rebecca Morley racing for her life. The ambush in the canyon. The poison daub.
Han gripped Dancer’s sleeve and spit it out before it faded again. “Byrne and Rebecca were traveling together, in a party of bluejackets, when they were attacked. As far as I know, she’s the only one that survived.”
A memory came back to him—a bone-deep connection, a shared memory, a linkage that bolted them, soul to soul, while he struggled to keep her alive. And wolves—gray wolves like wraiths, passing in and out of the trees.
But had she survived? She’d been near death when they arrived. But he thought he remembered something about Rebecca and porridge.
“Rebecca! Where is she?” Han asked.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Rebecca Morley,” Dancer said, glancing toward the door like he was afraid they would be interrupted. “There’s something you should know.”
Fear prickled at the back of Han’s neck. He scanned Dancer’s face, looking for clues and fearing the worst. “She’s not dead. I could have sworn she came in to see me. She seemed all right then. She even tried to feed me something.”
Was it possible all of his efforts went for nothing?
Dancer was shaking his head. “No, she’s well, getting better every day. She had a nasty wound in her back, but you took the brunt of the poison, so she’s recovering faster. She’s coming in to talk to you, in fact. I just wanted to warn you that—”
He looked up, startled, as the drapery at the entrance was twitched aside and Rebecca slipped through the opening.
She wore full clan skirts that fell nearly to her ankles, tooled and studded leather boots, and a loose linen overshirt embroidered around the neckline and tied at the waist with a handwoven purple sash. Around her neck she wore a necklace of roses and thorns in gold, and her dark hair framed her green eyes like a soft, shiny cap.
She was a feast for the eyes, even in Han’s present debilitated state.
Han looked down at himself, thinking he could use some cleaning up.
Hey, now, he thought. She’s the reason you look and feel like you’ve been run over by a muckwagon in Pinbury Alley. But looking at her, seeing her alive and looking so well—it was all worth it. He’d do it all over again.
“Han,” she said, stopping just inside the door as if unsure of her welcome. “May I come in?”
“It depends,” Han said, trying to gather his wits. “Last time I saw you, I believe you tried to cut my heart out.”
“Last time I saw you, I believe you spit porridge on me,” she shot back. Then she flinched, probably remembering that she was the ultimate cause of the porridge spitting.
She tried for a smile, but her face looked pinched and ashen, nervous even, and her eyes avoided his. “Do you feel up to talking for a few minutes?”
Han shrugged, looking around the room. “I got no—I have no plans, as far as I know.” It seemed like a long time ago that she was his tutor and he was a student of pretty speech, but he couldn’t break himself of the habit of correcting himself in her presence.
Rebecca looked at Dancer and Cat. “Could you give us a few minutes?”
Cat didn’t want to leave, Han could tell. But Dancer took her elbow and firmly ushered her out of the room.
Rebecca plunked down on a chair next to his sleeping bench. She was very pale, and her nose was pink, her lashes clumped together as if she’d been crying.
“I am…so relieved to see you looking so well,” she said, smoothing her skirts with her hands. Her eyes flicked up to his face. “You are feeling better, I hope?” she said in a rush.
He studied on it. Even though Dancer had left off stoking his amulet, he felt restored, comfortable, happy, almost sleepy.
His luck had finally changed. Rebecca was alive. He was alive. They were together. That was all that mattered.
“I’m good,” he said, smiling up at her. “Though I guess I’m in no hurry to suck up more of that poison any time soon.”
“Nor I,” she said, shaking her head. “Did you have that—that reaction where water felt boiling hot? And where you…where you…”
“Where you felt like you had the night itches?” She nodded, her cheeks stained pink, and Han rolled his eyes. “I swear I must’ve had every possible symptom.” He frowned at her. “Didn’t you try to drown me once?”
“Well, we were trying to sweat out the poison, and so we took you to the healer’s spring.…” Her voice trailed off when she saw he was teasing.
“I was so worried about you,” she went on. “I don’t think I could have endured it if you had been…permanently…If you had…” She stopped and breathed out, gripping the arms of the chair. “Anyway, I wanted to thank you for saving my life. Whatever happens, however we go forward, I will never forget your service to me.”
Service? She seems different, Han thought. Oddly formal. Nervous and ill at ease. “Captain Byrne is dead,” he said. “Did you know? I found him in Marisa Pines Pass, shot full of arrows.”
She nodded. “Yes, I know. I saw…I saw it happen. We’ve fetched back his body. Maybe…maybe Dancer told you?”
He nodded. “I have his sword. Or at least I did when I arrived. It’s fancywork. I thought maybe Corporal Byrne would want it.”
“That’s thoughtful of you,” Rebecca said. “I know he will want it.” She rushed ahead. “He’s here, you know. Corporal Byrne. He’s just outside. He asked to speak with you when I’m…when I’m finished. He’ll want to ask you questions, and to…to thank you.”
Maybe that’s why she’s so twitchy, Han thought. Last time they were all together, Han had jumped out Rebecca’s bedroom window so Amon Byrne wouldn’t run him through with his much plainer sword.
Rebecca seemed to have something important to say to him, but couldn’t quite spit it out. So she asked him a question.
“I wanted to ask you how it happened that you saved my life,” she said. “I don’t really remember much, and people have been asking…lots of questions.”
“When you disappeared from Oden’s Ford, I headed for Marisa Pines Pass, looking for you, asking about you all along the way.” Han paused, waiting for the holes to fill in. “In Fetters Ford, this innkeeper’s boy remembered someone that looked like you—but said your name was Brianna and you’d been murdered by rovers.”
“Ah,” Rebecca said, nodding. “Simon.”
“There was nothing else until, north of Delphi, I saw where some bluejackets had been killed at Way Camp. They were out of uniform, but they carried bluejacket gear and papers. It must have happened in the middle of the snowstorm.” He looked at her, and she nodded but didn’t volunteer more. “Then, farther on, I found Captain Byrne’s body in the pass. I couldn’t make sense of it. They were all done by crossbows, not clan arrows. I couldn’t figure out what had happened, who was fighting who, and why.”
Rebecca plucked at the folds in her skirt, straightening the fabric.
Han continued on. “After I came through the pass, I heard horses coming, what sounded like a hunt going on. I saw them chasing you, shooting at you, though I didn’t recognize you at the time.” He rubbed his chin. “I decided to follow along and see if I could help you.”
Rebecca looked up, tilting her head. “Really? If you didn’t know me, what made you decide to intervene?” She waved her hand. “After all, I could have been a criminal being chased by the Queen’s Guard.”
“It was six on one,” Han said, thinking, This shouldn’t be that hard to figure out. “Eight on one at the end. From your size, I guessed you were a woman or a child—and you weren’t shooting back. Plus, they were out of uniform—for all I knew, they were bully ruffins.
“Even if they’d been badged up and wearing their blue jackets, it just seemed unfair to me. I didn’t know the background, but I can’t believe it’s in the queen’s interest to send eight men out to kill a girlie like you.
” He looked at Rebecca very directly. “And if the queen approves of that, there’s something wrong with her.”
Rebecca got that slapped look she wore sometimes.
Han ran back over what he’d said. No, it all made sense, and nothing offensive that he could see.
“S—so, what happened then?” Rebecca croaked.
“By the time I caught up with you, you were holed up in the canyon and they were closing in on you.” Han took a long drink of tea. His mouth was still wicked dry.
“It wasn’t until I pried you out of your hidey-hole that I realized it was you. I couldn’t figure out what you were doing there. Once I took a look at your wound, I realized the arrow was a poison daub, and—”
“Wait a minute,” Rebecca said, putting up her hand. “What happened to the men who ambushed me?”
Han hesitated, wondering what she would think of him, then shrugged. “I killed them.”
Rebecca stared at him as if waiting for the rest of the story. “All of them? None of them got away?”
He nodded, beginning to wonder why she was so hungry for details. Was she vengeful, or bloodthirsty, or scared they’d come back? “I didn’t have much choice.”
“You killed eight men all by yourself?”
“Well,” Han said patiently, “I took them by surprise.”
“Did you…did you use magic?”
He shook his head. “There wasn’t any reason to. My bow was good enough.” When she said nothing, he added, “One of my teachers says that the most important thing a wizard needs to learn is when not to use flash. Otherwise, you’ll be caught without when you really do need it. You conserve it, you save it, and when you do need it, you use only as much as necessary.”
He stopped, knowing that was too much information. Why would she be interested in what Crow had to say?
“So, what happened after you killed them?” Rebecca prompted. She still seemed to be wrestling with the notion that he’d put eight men down on their backs with a longbow.
The Seven Realms- The Complete Series Page 106
