The Seven Realms- The Complete Series

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “I knew my only chance of saving you was to bring you to Marisa Pines Camp and to hope that Willo was here.”

  “Right. You knew Marisa Pines,” Rebecca said, her brow furrowed. “Willo said you’d fostered here every summer?”

  Han nodded wearily. It was so good to see her—he was desperate to stay awake and enjoy it—but all of this talking was wearing him out.

  “But you were the one who saved my life,” she said. “You used high magic. That’s what Willo said.”

  “Well. I realized that if I didn’t do something, you’d be dead before we got here.” He grimaced. “So it’s a good thing I didn’t use up my flash hushing those ruffins or we’d both be dead.”

  “You nearly died as it is,” Rebecca said, taking both his hands. “I am so, so sorry. So sorry for everything.” Her expression said she was sorry for things he didn’t even know about yet.

  It was almost like she was worried he’d think badly of her. Did she think he resented the fact that he’d nearly died saving her life?

  It was worth it, he thought. He gripped her hands, pulled her face down close, and kissed her, long and slow, savoring it, despite his frayed nerves. She broke it off before he did, pulling back, her face pale, her green eyes large and haunted.

  Maybe it was the aftereffects of the poison, but he found himself saying something he’d never ever said to any girlie ever before. “I love you, Rebecca. And I’m not sorry. I would do it all over again, even knowing the cost of it. I couldn’t face losing you.”

  Rebecca’s reaction to this was peculiar, to say the least. She reared back, looking almost panicked. She was the one so good with words, but now she was stammering and stumbling like her tongue was tangled up.

  “I think you’re supposed to say you love me too,” he said finally. “Just so you know, for next time.”

  “I do,” she said, her cheeks bright with embarrassment. “I do love you.” She said it quick, but it was still too late.

  After an awkward silence, Han cleared his throat. “So, Rebecca,” he said, “what’s your story? Why did you disappear from Oden’s Ford? And who were those riders and why were they after you? Was it because you saw them murder Captain Byrne and they didn’t want you telling tales?”

  Rebecca took a deep breath, seeming to brace herself. “Micah Bayar kidnapped me from Oden’s Ford,” she said. “He said he’d kill me if I didn’t go along.”

  “Bayar,” Han murmured. It confirmed what he had suspected all along. “I knew it. Do you…did it have to do with the fact that we’d been walking out?”

  Rebecca shook her head, looking surprised. “No. It’s…it’s a long story, but it’s something between me and Micah. Nothing to do with you.”

  “Something between you and Bayar?” Rebecca nodded. Han didn’t much like that. “Then who were the riders who came after you?”

  “They were renegade members of the Queen’s Guard,” she said. “One of them, at least, you know. Sergeant Gillen.”

  Han frowned, puzzled. “I don’t remember seeing Gillen.…”

  “I killed him myself,” she said. “When I escaped from them the first time.”

  Right. They’d said as much, there in the canyon. He’d known she had starch—he’d known it since she’d rescued the Raggers from the Southbridge Guardhouse. But still.

  “I was the one they were really after,” Rebecca went on. “They killed Captain Byrne—they killed everyone to get to me.”

  “Why would they be after you?” Han said, mystified. “I mean, they went to a lot of trouble, didn’t they? There couldn’t be much swag in it. They didn’t even spoil the bodies, not that I could tell.”

  “My real name is not Rebecca Morley,” she said, lifting her chin and looking him straight in the eye, almost defiantly. “The first time I ever used that name was the day we met, at Southbridge Temple. I had gone down there to see Speaker Jemson about providing funds for his ministry. Amon—Corporal Byrne—suggested that if I were going to walk through Ragmarket and Southbridge, I should do so in disguise.”

  Han was a long step behind. “You were going to give money to the Temple School? Since when does a tutor make that kind of iron?”

  “I lied to you when I told you I was a tutor,” Rebecca said.

  “So you never worked for the Bayars?”

  Rebecca shook her head. “My family is quite wealthy, although I don’t have ready access to the money.” She paused. “Or I didn’t, at least,” she added, almost to herself.

  So she was more than just an upstairs servant. She’d been a true gilt-edged lady slumming in Ragmarket? Was that what she was saying?

  Apprehension roiled Han’s stomach. He knew something about gilt-edged ladies and what they expected from him.

  “When you abducted me from the temple, I didn’t want you to know who I really was,” she went on. “So I kept on with the pretense. I didn’t know you—but I’d heard that you were a thief and a ruthless killer.”

  She paused, and Han wondered if she was thinking about the eight bluejackets he’d just done.

  “I never had the chance to tell you the truth, even after I went into the Southbridge Guardhouse after the Raggers. I didn’t want anyone to trace what happened back to me. Anyway, I never thought I’d see you again.” Rebecca looked down at her hands.

  It was a peculiar conversation. Emotion crackled in the air, much more than seemed called for. Rebecca was practically down on her knees apologizing for lying to a former street thief about whether she was a little rich or a lot rich.

  “Well,” Han said cautiously, “I guess I knew, going in, you were a blueblood. To someone like me, nearly everyone is.”

  Now that Rebecca had begun this story, she seemed determined to finish it. “When I went to Oden’s Ford, I was running away from a forced marriage, and I didn’t want my mother to find me. Rebecca Morley had served me well before, so I used the name again.”

  Han’s neck and shoulders prickled. This story was familiar. Where had he heard it before—a story about a blueblood running away from a marriage?

  “Who were you running from?” Han asked, his mouth dryer than ever. “Why were those bluejackets trying to kill you? If you’re not Rebecca Morley, then who are you?”

  Leaning forward, she gripped his right hand and looked into his eyes. “I ran away to avoid marrying Micah Bayar,” she said. “My mother, the queen, insisted.” Turning his hand palm-up, she dropped a coin into it.

  He looked down at it—a girlie coin, the familiar portrait in profile glittering in the light from the lanterns. He looked up at Rebecca, down at the coin, and the holes filled in. Why hadn’t he seen it before?

  It was like she thought if she fed him poison in little bites, it’d be easier to swallow.

  “My real name is Raisa,” she said. “Raisa ana’Marianna, soon to be Queen of the Fells.”

  C H A P T E R F I F T E E N

  THE PRICE OF

  DECEPTION

  It seemed to Raisa that time slowed to a crawl. Han looked down at the crown coin, then back up at Raisa. He extended his forefinger, tracing her profile, then shook his head.

  Raisa cradled Han’s hands in hers, holding her breath. She didn’t know what reaction to expect—anger, revulsion, cold disdain, disappointment, disgust. He’d made it clear enough what he thought of queens and their kind.

  He looked up, his blue eyes meeting hers directly, and there was her answer. Betrayal. His eyes were filled with betrayal, anger, and loss. It was all she could do not to look away. She forced herself to hold his gaze. She owed him that.

  Han gently pulled his hands free, leaned back, and closed his eyes. “No,” he said, lacing his fingers across his middle. “That’s not true. It can’t be.” His voice tremored slightly.

  “I’m sorry,” Raisa said. “I’m sorry I lied to you, and I’m sorry it has to come out now, in this way.”

  Han didn’t open his eyes.

  “I didn’t want to burden you now, when you’re
still recovering,” she said. “It’s not right, and it’s not fair. But I knew if I didn’t tell you, someone else would, and I wanted to do it myself.”

  Han said nothing. He kept his eyes closed, the lashes dark against skin as pale and hard as We’enhaven marble, flawed only by the ragged knife scar over his right eye.

  “This doesn’t have to—to change things between us,” Raisa said. “I mean, of course it will change some things, but…”

  Han opened his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was low and deadly cold. “What kind of a fool do you take me for?”

  There was something frightening in his face. Something that said she was the enemy now, and he would never trust her again.

  Raisa shook her head. “I don’t take you for a fool,” she said. “I know that you—”

  “Do you think I don’t know how the world works?” he said. “Do you think I don’t know how it is between people like you and people like me? D’you think I’ve never been with a blueblood girlie before?” He snorted. “They used to come down to Ragmarket looking for adventure. Looking for a quick tumble with someone who wouldn’t complicate their lives in the long run.”

  “That’s not how I look at you at all,” Raisa said, stung.

  “Or maybe I’m part of your, what do you call it, your ministry,” he said bitterly. “A bit of personal hands-on charity. A chance to raise up the unwashed and ignorant.…”

  “You came to me, as I recall,” Raisa retorted, unable to help herself. “I wasn’t looking for a job. You asked me to tutor you, and I agreed.”

  “Trust me to pick a princess out of everyone in Oden’s Ford,” Han said. “I do have an eye. I always could spot a heavy purse in the street.” He unconsciously fingered his wrists as if the cuffs were still there. “It must have been amusing for you to hear me prattle on like a love-struck fancy. How do I say this—poor Alister is getting above himself.”

  “I am not laughing at you,” Raisa said. “How could I? I care about you. I—”

  “You care about your pony too,” Han said. “Your pony provides a useful service.” He closed his eyes again, as if he couldn’t bear to look on her anymore.

  Raisa couldn’t seem to find the right words, the right thing to say. If there even was a right thing. Han Alister always had a way of making her lose her footing. Now the raw grief over her recent losses and her guilt over lying to him rendered her inarticulate, stopped up the speech that usually came so easily to her. And so what she said only made things worse.

  “I can certainly understand if you’re…if you’re angry. I know that you blame the Queen’s Guard and—and Queen Marianna for what happened to your family. Maybe me as well. I wish there were some way to bring them back. But I can’t. I’d do almost anything not to have to confess this to you. You must feel that your trust has been violated.”

  Han opened his eyes and looked at her without moving any other part of his body. “Your mother is dead,” he said. A statement.

  “Yes,” Raisa said.

  “Good,” he said, closing his eyes again.

  They flew open again when Amon Byrne spoke from the doorway.

  “Your…Rai…ah…would now be convenient?”

  As he stumbled over her name, Raisa realized Amon didn’t know if she’d told Han her true identity.

  Amon’s eyes shifted from Raisa to Han. He’d wanted to come with her when she’d told him she meant to tell Han Alister the truth.

  I need to face him on my own, she’d said. There are some things you can’t protect me from.

  “He knows,” Raisa said, twisting her hands in her lap. “So it’s all right with me, but…Corporal Byrne wanted to speak with you, remember?” she said to Han. “Is that all right, or would you rather do it another time?”

  Han scowled, and she thought he would refuse. After a long moment, he sighed, sitting up straighter. “Now is as good a time as any,” he said.

  Obviously, speaking with Amon was preferable to continuing to converse with her.

  Amon came and stood at Han’s bedside, shifting from one foot to the other. “Are you feeling better?” he asked.

  “Sit down, Corporal Byrne,” Han said, squinting up at him. “You’re making me edgy, looming over me like a snub-devil bawler.” The pain, betrayal, and vulnerability were gone. Replaced by his street face.

  Raisa wondered if he were using the thief-lord patter flash on purpose, to needle her.

  “Sit here, Amon,” Raisa said quickly, getting up from her chair and retreating a few paces away. “I insist.”

  Amon sat, resting his hands on his knees. “I wanted to thank you for risking your life to save the Princess Raisa,” he said.

  “Just so you know,” Han said, brushing his hand over his face, “I didn’t actually set out to save a princess.”

  “I know,” Amon said. “And I apologize for lying to you. We felt it was necessary for Her Highness’s safety.”

  “Well,” Han said, “it explains a lot. All this time, I was feeling sorry for you, having a flirt for a sweetheart. And here it turns out it was strictly business between the two of you.”

  His chilly blue-eyed gaze flicked from Amon to Raisa, and something about the mocking way he said it told Raisa that he didn’t believe that at all. That he was smart enough to know their relationship was more tangled than that.

  “Yes,” Amon said, swallowing hard. “Strictly business.” He kept staring at Han, his brows drawn together like he was puzzled about something. “There’s something about you that’s…that reminds me of…” He looked at Raisa, then shook his head, dismissing it.

  “I hoped you could tell me more about my father’s death,” Amon went on. “The—Her Highness has told me what she knows.”

  Han’s mocking expression faded, his features softened. “Captain Byrne was a brave man,” he said. “And fair. My father was a soldier too. I don’t remember much about him, but I’d like to think he was like your da.” He paused as if gathering his thoughts. “I don’t know that I can help much. Captain Byrne was already dead when I came along, and his killers had gone after—had gone. But I have something for you.”

  He turned a peeved expression on Raisa, as if aggravated that he was forced to speak with her. “Do you know what they did with my gear?”

  “It’s over here,” Raisa said. She crossed to the outside wall, grateful for something to do.

  Kneeling, she sorted through Han’s belongings, and rose, cradling a deerskin bundle in her arms. “Was this what you wanted?”

  Han nodded. “There should be a ring, too,” he said. “In my purse.”

  Raisa handed the purse and the bundle to him.

  Han fished in the purse and came up with the wolf ring. He looked up at Amon. “I took these because I was afraid someone else coming through the pass would steal them,” he said, as if he thought he had to defend robbing Captain Byrne’s body. “I hoped I might have the chance to give them to you.”

  He handed both the ring and the bundle over to Amon, who carefully unwrapped it, sliding the sword free.

  Amon lifted the sword, turning it so the light reflected off the blade. It was the Sword of Hanalea, and it matched the dagger that Byrne had given Raisa.

  Amon looked up at Han. “I know this sword,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Queen Marianna gave it to my father. It was one of his most cherished possessions. I…it seems I need to thank you again.”

  Han waved off Amon’s thanks. “Well, good. You can make use of it, then. Never learned to do much with a sword myself. Smaller blades are more my style, the kind you can hide.” He fingered his sleeve to demonstrate, then dropped his hands into his lap.

  “What about those that did the killing?” Amon said. “Do you know if—”

  “All dead,” Han said, meeting Amon’s gaze without apology. “I hope that helps.”

  Amon nodded, looking relieved. “It does. It might keep the Princess Raisa safe a little longer.”

  Han shrugged his shoulders. �
��So. I’m sorry for your loss. The world can’t afford to lose men like your father.” He extended his hand, and Amon gripped it.

  Well, at least they’re getting along better, Raisa thought.

  They all looked up at the sound of a disturbance in the outer room: a clamor of clan voices, Dancer’s rising in protest.

  “No! Don’t go in there. Briar Rose is speaking with—”

  Two people burst into the room without announcing themselves—Elena Cennestre and Averill Demonai. Trailed by Willo, Dancer, and Cat.

  After a perfunctory nod at Raisa, Elena and Averill came and stood over Han, staring down at him as if he were an exotic specimen. He sat up a little straighter, arranging his bedclothes around himself. Raisa knew he felt vulnerable, pounded by her confession and now surrounded by his masters, the powerful clan royalty. She wished she could send them away, tell them to return in a week when he’d had time to recover.

  But she couldn’t. Events were bearing down on them relentlessly.

  Willo must have felt the same, because she stood at a little distance, arms folded, looking like she wanted to expel the visitors, too.

  “Well?” Elena said, looking at Fire Dancer and raising her eyebrows, gesturing toward Han. “Did it work? Will he be up to casting charms in the next few days?”

  Dancer went still for a long moment, then sighed as if this were a question he didn’t want to answer in front of Han. “It helped,” he said finally. “I’ve been feeding Hunts Alone’s amulet for two days. I think he is feeling better. Aren’t you?” He looked at Han for corroboration, trying to include him in the conversation.

  Han looked from Dancer to Elena, his expression momentarily perplexed. Then it cleared once again to a blank, flat expression. He slid his hand under his shirt and fingered his amulet, whether for comfort or possible defense, Raisa wasn’t sure.

  He said nothing.

  Averill put his hand on Elena’s arm and shook his head. “Elena Cennestre, please.” He turned to Han and bowed, bringing his fist to his forehead, a clan greeting. “Hunts Alone, welcome to our hearth. Please share our fire and all that we have.” He paused. “It is good to see you are feeling better,” he said. “Because of your illness, I have not had the opportunity to thank you for saving my daughter’s life. I owe you a debt of gratitude.”