Amon spoke up for the first time. “Alister’s illness seems authentic enough to me,” he said. “It’s my guess that he would be more than happy to leave the queen’s service and have nothing to do with the fight that’s coming. Those of us who are concerned about the safety of the Gray Wolf line will do everything in our power to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“He stays,” Nightwalker said, as if Han might try to weasel out of his obligation. “He doesn’t have a choice. Now that we’ve trained him, he’s committed to fight with us against the Wizard Council.”
“There’s always a choice,” Amon said. “Alister goes his own way. Don’t underestimate him.” He turned to Raisa and inclined his head. “By your leave, Your Highness. I’d best be going if I’m to be back by tomorrow afternoon.”
Raisa nodded distractedly, and he walked away.
Nightwalker looked after him, frowning, then turned to Night Bird, his expression softening. “Night Bird, please see whether our quarters are assigned in the visitors’ lodge and arrange for the ponies to be grained tonight. And, one more thing.” He leaned close, speaking softly so Raisa couldn’t hear. He smiled at Night Bird, and she smiled back, then walked away, a bounce in her step.
Well, she’s still somewhat bedazzled, Raisa amended.
Nightwalker waited until she was beyond overhearing distance, then said to Raisa, “Corporal Byrne seems to believe Hunts Alone’s story,” he said.
Raisa had been surprised by Amon’s defense of Han, but endeavored not to show it. “His father was murdered by the men who attacked me,” she said. “If Corporal Byrne is convinced that Han is telling the truth, perhaps that should be evidence enough for you.”
“Please don’t be angry, Your Highness,” Nightwalker said, smiling ruefully. “You know I have no love for wizards. I was raised to mistrust them, and nothing they’ve done while you’ve been away has allayed that mistrust. The situation has gone from bad to worse. No doubt you’ve heard that Queen Marianna changed the succession and set you aside.”
“Well,” Raisa said, her heart contracting painfully, “not exactly.”
Nightwalker hesitated. “It is not proper or safe to speak ill of the dead, but I believe that was her intention. Perhaps she couldn’t help herself—she was under the Bayar’s influence. Or perhaps she was looking for an heir that looked more like a flatlander.”
Raisa came up on her toes, seizing hold of the front of Nightwalker’s coat, pulling his face down toward her. “You have no right to say that,” she said fiercely, tears stinging her eyes. “You have no idea what my mother’s intentions were.”
Nightwalker reared back a little, focusing on Raisa’s face as if truly seeing her for the first time. For a long moment, they stared at each other, Demonai warrior and princess heir.
“Briar Rose,” he said finally. “Again, I am sorry. It seems that I have misjudged your feelings about the queen, especially after what happened a year ago. I need to listen more before I speak. This has been a difficult season for all of us.”
“That’s something we can agree on,” Raisa said, releasing her hold on Nightwalker’s front.
Nightwalker still seemed eager to explain himself. “You see, in recent months, there have been multiple jinxflinger raids on our villages on the lower slopes.”
“Why would charmcasters attack the villages?” Raisa asked.
“The clans have cut off trade in magical objects—amulets, talismans, and the like,” Nightwalker said, with grim satisfaction. “Our Demonai metalworkers no longer make them, having shifted production to other goods. Given their other actions, no doubt the wizards are preparing for war against us. They are hoping to spoil the villages and come away with enough magical weaponry to fill their armories.”
“The villages wouldn’t keep amulets on hand, would they?” Raisa asked. “What would they do with them? They’re traded mostly at Marisa Pines.”
“The jinxflingers don’t know that,” Nightwalker said. “There have been more and more incursions into the Spirits, more and more pressure from them. Lord Averill and I are endeavoring to provide better protection to the villages, but the Demonai are spread thin. So you can imagine how I felt when I heard about the attack on you. I’m sorry, Briar Rose, but I’m not in the mood to believe pretty words from jinxflingers.”
“Has my father brought these issues up with the Queen’s Council?” Raisa asked.
Nightwalker nodded. “Repeatedly. Lord Bayar excuses violations of the Nǽming, saying that the Spirit clans must resume production of flashcraft and make it freely available. He claims that under the circumstances bad jinxflinger behavior is understandable.”
“Have the Demonai considered a compromise?” Raisa said. “Could you make some less-powerful amulets available to them?”
“Not when they are conspiring against you,” Nightwalker said. “The last thing we want to do is arm our enemies prior to a war.”
Once again, Raisa felt the crush of responsibility.
“I am sorry,” Nightwalker said. “You have troubles enough to think about. All will be well—you’ll see. I am glad you are recovering, and it is a relief to have you back in the mountain home. I’m looking forward to getting reacquainted.” He brushed his knuckles lightly across her cheek, his eyes searching her face. “It’s good to see you in clan garb again. It suits you.”
“You’re looking well also,” Raisa replied. And it was true: Reid Nightwalker Demonai always turned heads when he walked through camp.
He smiled, meeting Raisa’s eyes. “Right now, I’d better go and find Elena Cennestre.” He paused. “Where will you eat tonight, Your Highness? Will you be at the visitors’ hearth or…?”
“I’ll probably stay at Willo’s hearth,” Raisa said. “I’m still under her care, strictly speaking.”
“So you are staying in the Matriarch Lodge?” When Raisa nodded, he said, “I will come to dinner, then. I would like to ask Willo about some treatments for laminitis in our ponies.”
“Well, then, perhaps I will see you later,” Raisa said.
She watched him walk away, toward the visitors’ lodge, feeling as if she had a dozen fellscats on leashes snarling and snapping and going in different directions.
C H A P T E R S I X T E E N
A WAY
FORWARD
Han waited until everyone else was gone, then said to Dancer, “Didn’t you hear Willo? I need my rest.” He closed his eyes and folded his hands across his chest, assuming a sleeping position.
“Hunts Alone,” Dancer said. “Let me explain about Elena Cennestre.”
“There’s nothing to say,” Han replied without opening his eyes. “Good the two of you were able to work out a plan to fix me up and get me back in fighting shape.”
“We didn’t work out a plan,” Dancer said. “Willo was the one who suggested I might be able to help you heal by using flash. You and I both know Elena Demonai will bleed us dry if that’s what it takes to keep wizards off the throne in Fellsmarch. She won’t wait until you’re healthy and fit to go forward. You can’t go up against the Bayars in a depleted state.”
Han said nothing.
“There’s one thing Elena and I agree on—we don’t want to see wizard kings,” Dancer went on, “especially not the Bayars. I’d be willing to stand in for you, but I can’t do what you do. We took the same classes, and I’ve worked hard all year, but you’ve gone beyond me. I’d like to think it’s your amulet, but I don’t think so.” He hesitated. “I think it’s what you’ve learned from Crow. And the way you’re made.”
“What makes you think I’ve gone beyond you?” Han said, scrunching down in the bed. “If I have, it’s likely because you’ve been focusing on flash metalsmithing.”
“I’m not being modest.” Dancer shrugged. “We have different skills. I’m getting better and better at making tools, but that won’t help in the middle of a firefight.” When Han said nothing, he added, “You saved the Princess Raisa’s life. I couldn’t hav
e done that.”
“It wasn’t because I knew what I was doing,” Han said.
“Even more impressive.”
“And it wasn’t because she’s a princess,” Han went on, slitting his eyes and squinting at Dancer through his lashes.
Dancer brought up both hands. “I know.”
“I hate bluebloods like her,” Han said. “They put on Ragmarket clothes and go slumwalking, but underneath they’re still wearing We’enhaven lace and Tamron silk. For them it’s an experience, like holding séances or smoking razorleaf. And when they get back to the palace, they shed their slum clothes and climb into the bath and wash you right off.”
Han forced an image of Rebecca/Queen Raisa in her bath to the back of his mind. He stowed it away with the image of Raisa in We’enhaven lace and Tamron silk smallclothes.
“I tried to tell you not to get tangled up with her,” Cat said, startling him. Han had forgotten she was there. When Han frowned at her, she added, “You know. Back in Ragmarket.”
“I’m not tangled up with her,” Han said.
“Huh.” Cat drew out a small blade—it looked like a new one—and began flipping and catching it.
Wishing Cat wasn’t there to hear and comment, Han turned back to Dancer. “The thing is, it doesn’t change them. They just keep going on being bluebloods. They think we’re amusing, like monkeys in a traveling show. We’re something to do for a day or two, when things slow down at the palace. Something to talk about at parties.”
Han unstoppered the tea and took a long drink right from the jug. No point in working on his manners now.
Though he hadn’t been doing it for her anyway. He’d been doing it for himself. Hadn’t he?
“Eventually, they leave for good,” he said, setting the jug down. “They don’t care if they leave holes behind.”
“You’re the one who always leaves,” Cat said. “Is that it?”
“It’s not that,” Han said. “She used me.”
“How did she use you?” Dancer said. “By tutoring you? By kissing you? By—”
“Cuffs Alister pining after a princess,” Cat interrupted. “Everybody always said you was ambitious.”
“Cat,” Dancer said, shaking his head.
Quit running on, Alister, Han thought. It wasn’t like they’d walked out together. Much. Some shared kisses, some embraces, that was it. She’d never made him any promises. Except the implied promise—to be the person she claimed to be. To trust him enough to tell him the truth.
“She lied to me,” Han said finally. “Everything between us was a lie.”
“Good you never lied to her,” Dancer said. “You told her exactly what you were doing there, and who was paying for your schooling, and what was expected of you after.” Dancer raised an eyebrow.
“At least I never pretended to be anything other than what I am,” Han said. “Girlies know what they’re getting with me, so they can take or leave.”
“Is that what you think?” Cat said, fists on hips, eyes narrowed. “Do you think it’s that easy? It don’t matter what a sweetheart says to you, it’s what you believe.” She paused, and added softly, “It’s what you hope for.”
That was exactly it—hope. Rebecca Morley had been the first good thing, the first true thing in his life since Mari had died. She represented possibilities; something he could aspire to. Something he might dream on—a future. Even though no promises had been made between them.
Unbidden and unwanted, a memory surfaced from that day in Oden’s Ford when Han and the girl he knew as Rebecca had decided to walk out together. What she said that day came back to him, a warning that he only now understood.
I will hurt you too, even if I don’t mean to. I’m not the girl you think I am. And you will remember this conversation and wish that you’d listened to me. How can you want this if you know from the beginning that it will end badly?
He’d been furious when he thought the Bayars had stolen his future from him. And then it turned out that his hopes were built on scummer and sand.
Now he knew that he had no future with Rebecca Morley. Rebecca Morley didn’t exist.
He felt like a fool, like the victim of a cruel hoax. And he hated feeling like a fool.
She’s tough for a blueblood, he’d thought, a lifetime ago. Maybe tough enough to be with me. He hadn’t considered that he might not be tough enough to be with her.
“I like her,” Dancer volunteered, as if he’d been following Han’s thoughts. When Han glared at him, he shrugged. “I can’t help it. I admit, I don’t know her as well as you do. But we could do worse in a queen, and I think that’s what we have to focus on. She has backbone—more than Marianna, I think.”
“So the Fells has gained a better queen, while I’ve lost a…friend that I trusted,” Han said, his voice low and bitter.
“From what I’ve seen, she cares about you, in spite of everything,” Dancer said. “She just lost her mother, yet she’s been looking after you every day since she left her own bed.”
“I am interesting, no doubt,” Han said, mimicking a blueblood tone. “Streetlord turned wizard. How intriguing. I must tell all my blueblood ladies. Maybe we can share around. I hear these gutterbred tatterdemalions are lusty between the sheets.”
Cat snorted, rolling her eyes, and Dancer laughed too. “Does she know you’re very distant relatives?” he asked. “Hundredth cousins, or something?”
Han considered this. He didn’t know what had been said out of his hearing, but Raisa hadn’t mentioned it during the big reveal. Elena Cennestre and the others wouldn’t be eager to highlight the fact that he himself carried Hanalea’s blood. That he, in fact, might have a tenuous claim to the throne.
Hmmm. His mind raced off in extravagant directions. Ambitious directions, as Cat would say.
“What does he mean, you’re related?” Cat asked, pulling Han back to the conversation. “Does he mean related to the queen?”
Han shook his head. “Never mind. It’s nothing. We’re probably all related to the queen.”
“Anyway,” Dancer said, “my thinking is this: I don’t want us to die in a war between the clans and the Wizard Council. The only way to avoid a war is to keep the Wizard Council from using force to get what they want. That’s going to be hard to do.”
He flexed his hands. “They’re probably feeling powerful right now, if what we think is true. They likely killed the queen, they think they killed the princess heir, and they’re about to put their own candidate on the throne and marry her to a wizard. That will start a war with the clans for sure. We have to convince them to back off. The only way to do that is to persuade them that we have more firepower than they do.”
Han was impressed with Dancer’s reasoning. And ashamed. Given his feelings of betrayal, his impulse had been to do the minimum to keep his end of a bad bargain. It was no swag out of his pocket if Mellony ended up on the throne in the end. And a wizard king? He had no desire to see Micah Bayar as king of the Fells, but maybe it wasn’t his business. Han had no business swimming in the blueblood lake anyway.
That’s your problem, isn’t it, Alister? Han thought. You thought you were the player. You thought you were the street-smart gang lord who knew how to take a warm mark. Who knew how to stare down a rival and take care of his own.
You just found out you were playing for the small bits. You found out there are smarter, more ruthless streetlords in the world.
Han was badly wounded—in all ways. And his instinct was to withdraw from the cause of that pain.
He looked up at Dancer, who met his eyes directly. Cat and Dancer hadn’t needed to return from Oden’s Ford. They could have stayed there, snug and safe, while the Fells disintegrated into civil war. And once the war began, it was likely invaders would be up from the south to split the spoils. If things had been bad in Ragmarket and Southbridge before, what would it be like in the middle of a war? And if the Bayars won, how long would he, Han Alister, last?
He’d thought he
had no money on the table, but he did, in fact.
As if he’d overheard Han’s thoughts, Dancer said, “I will not let Lord Bayar win this. I’ll die before I let that happen, and not because I’ve made any bargain with the Demonai. I’d like to have you with me in this fight, but if need be, I’ll go it alone.” Dancer’s blue eyes burned with an intensity Han had never seen before.
“You won’t be alone,” Cat said, putting her hand on Dancer’s arm. “Whatever Cuffs decides to do.”
Han didn’t have to play for Rebecca Morley, who’d gammoned him and lied to him, used him and made a fool of him. He could do it for pride, for reputation, for payback, and for Cat and Dancer, who would die alongside him if they didn’t win.
He’d do it for himself while he licked his wounds and decided how to go forward from here. It would give him time to sort out his feelings about Rebecca. Raisa, he corrected himself. Avoiding her wouldn’t help. He needed time with her, one-on-one. Time to figure out who she really was, and whether she’d been playing him for real.
Only this time he’d be more careful about giving his heart.
Han sighed. “All right,” he said. “I’m in. All the way. I’m still angry, but I’m done sulking.”
They nodded solemnly, eyes averted, as if not wanting to cause him further embarrassment.
“Cat,” Han said. “Are you still crewing for me?”
Cat eyed him suspiciously, then nodded. “I swore to you, didn’t I?”
“Good. Corporal Byrne and Averill Demonai are riding back to Fellsmarch this afternoon. I want you to go with them.”
Cat’s looked from Dancer to Han. “What? You want me to go off with a bluejacket and a copperhead? What do you take me for?”
“Do you want to help me or not? Remember what I said? That you couldn’t just do the jobs you liked?”
Cat nodded grudgingly. “I remember. But who’s going to keep an eye on you up here?” She swept her hand wide. “I don’t trust any of them.”
“I don’t have people to spare. You know the city, and I need eyes and ears there.” When Cat still looked uncertain, he added, “I wouldn’t send you if it wasn’t for a reason. I want you to go back to Ragmarket and get set up there again, like you said.”
The Seven Realms- The Complete Series Page 109
