“What do you mean, get set up?” Cat asked.
“See if the clamor’s died down. It should have—the Bayars have other worries, and last they knew I was in Oden’s Ford. I know you said all the Raggers are dead, but see if somebody didn’t get overlooked, if you can get a crew together again.”
Cat stared at him. “What kind of crew do you want? Rushers or slide-handers or lock-charmers or runners or what?”
“I need rum divers and dubbers, girlies and coves that can amuse the law. More important, I want quality, people we can trust—just a handful’s enough to start.” He jerked his chin toward his pile of belongings. “Take my purse and give whacks out of that. I expect we’ll be in the city inside of a week.”
Cat sorted through his things and held up his purse. “You sure you want me to take all of this?”
Han nodded. “The clans’ll be good for more.”
“You want me to say who’s streetlord?”
Han thought a moment. “Tell them my street name’s the Demon King. Here. I’ll show you the gang sign.” Cat handed him a charred stick from the hearth, and Han scratched out a symbol on the hearthstone—a vertical line with a zigzag across it. “Call it the staff and flash,” he said. “Say I’ve got uptown connections but nasty enemies,” he went on. “Tell them not to come in if they’re quivery.”
“Got it,” Cat said.
“Now, here’s the first thing I want you to do.” He paused, staring at the hangings dividing the sickroom from the common room. Had he seen them twitch?
Bones. He should have put up magical barriers, but that hadn’t occurred to him, here in the camp. In his current condition he wasn’t sure that was even possible.
He motioned to Dancer, nodding toward the divider. Dancer silently rose, crossed to the divider, and yanked the curtains aside.
The common room was empty.
“Maybe I’m still a little whimsy-headed,” Han said, “but come in closer.” Lowering his voice further, he said, “Cat, tell everybody on both sides of the river that the bluebloods mean to take the throne away from the Briar Rose. Tell them to come to the queen’s funeral and let the gentry know what they think of that. Do you think you can get that done before the queen’s burial on Sunday?”
Cat nodded.
“And you be careful yourself. If it’s still hot, lay low. I don’t want to lose you. I’ll see you at the memorial and we’ll go from there.” Han tipped his head toward the door. “Better go or you’ll miss Corporal Byrne.”
Dancer walked Cat to the door. They stood there for a long moment, whispering together. Dancer reached out and brushed back a stray lock of Cat’s hair. Then they embraced, Cat coming up on her toes as they kissed.
Envy shivered through Han. How long, he wondered, before he could fill the gaping hollow in his middle where his hopes had lived?
He shook it off, trying to focus on making plans. He’d meet with Raisa and the clan royalty tomorrow. And tomorrow night he’d visit Crow for a heart-to-heart.
C H A P T E R S E V E N T E E N
THE GAMES
BEGIN
Amon Byrne preferred the most dangerous roads in the Seven Realms to navigating the even more dangerous political mazes at court. He was not blessed with the ability to lie easily and glibly, to beguile others with his wit and persuasion. He was not adept at the kind of speech that prettied up ugly things—the kind that convinced others to act against their own interests.
Most of the time, it didn’t bother him. He had confidence in his other talents. He’d worked hard at developing his strengths so that he could put them at the disposal of his queen and country. Most of the time he managed to avoid getting into jams he had to talk his way out of.
But now he was confronted with a situation that would require a complex stint of lying to an audience that knew varying bits of the truth.
He waited in the anteroom outside the queen’s audience chamber. He’d spent his boyhood in the castle close, so the surroundings were familiar. The politics were not. It had taken most of the morning to determine who could grant the permission he requested. The court being between queens, the government was in turmoil.
Amon touched the wolf ring on his right hand, which had become a habit. It settled him.
The chamberlain poked his head out of the doorway. “Corporal Byrne?” he said. “They are ready for you.”
When Amon walked into the familiar audience chamber, he saw that the queen’s throne had been draped with black. He was glad to see that nobody was sitting on it. Yet.
They’d set up a kind of alternate arrangement at the other end of the room, a rather elaborate raised chair with other chairs clustered around it on a riser. This would be the Council of Regents, made up of Gavan Bayar, the High Wizard; Bron Klemath, General of the Highlander Army; Lassiter Hakkam, the head of the Council of Nobles; Raisa’s father, Averill Demonai, representing the Spirit clans; and Roff Jemson, now speaker of the Cathedral Temple.
The side walls of the audience chamber were lined with blue-jacketed guards, most of whom Amon didn’t know. That was alarming. With a jolt, he realized that, as Raisa’s captain of the Guard, he actually commanded them, but right now they seemed more of a threat than a support. He hadn’t been gone from the capital so long that there should have been such a dramatic turnover of palace guards.
Posted closest to the council members was sharp-featured Mason Fallon, with his ink-black hair and permanent beard shadow. Amon didn’t know Fallon well, but he’d never trusted him. Now Fallon wore a corporal’s scarf. When had that happened, and who had authorized it?
Amon was cheered by the sight of Jemson. There was one friendly face, at least, besides Averill. Jemson had presided over the ceremony that had linked Amon and Raisa as captain and queen-to-be, before they’d left for Oden’s Ford. So the speaker was keeping secrets of his own.
Sitting on a level with the council members was Micah Bayar, who had no official role and shouldn’t have been there. Was he there by his father’s choice? Or by Mellony’s?
Amon scanned the others. He’d never been fond of Klemath, and Klemath had no love for the Byrnes. There was a natural competition between the elite Queen’s Guard and the regular army, and Amon’s father, Edon Byrne, had made no secret of his opinion that the army should rely less on mercenaries and more on native soldiers. And recently, it seemed that Klemath had allied himself with the Wizard Council on many issues.
Klemath had set his sons, Keith and Kip, after Raisa, hoping to rise by marrying into royalty. Now he might be hoping for a match with Mellony, assuming the Bayars had kept him in the dark about their marriage plans.
Lassiter Hakkam was as slick as most nobles, dressed in expensive clothes in the latest style. He was clever, but in Amon’s opinion, not particularly smart. Hakkam was uncle to Raisa, father to Melissa and Jon. They’d never had much use for Amon, since he was a commoner.
Gavan Bayar wore black wizard robes, his stoles draped over his shoulders, embroidered with the familiar Bayar falcons, his amulet in prominent display overtop. He looked down at Amon, his gaze sharp and calculating, as if Amon were a haunch of roast meat he was prepared to carve.
Micah mirrored his father, in black robes and falcon stoles, his skin chalky against his black mane of hair. He leaned forward almost eagerly, black eyes fixed on Amon as if he thought Amon might bring important news.
Averill was finely dressed in trader style, his Demonai talisman a challenge to the Bayars and their wizard amulets. He wore white, the mourning color of the Spirit clans. This made him stand out against the others like a dove amid crows.
Amon couldn’t help thinking that those in mourning black resembled a flock of carrion birds ready to pick over his bones.
The Bayars bracketed Raisa’s sister, Princess Mellony, who occupied the ornate chair at the center. Though they hadn’t dared to actually seat her on the throne, they might as well have. She was already taller than Raisa, but she looked to Amon’s eyes like a li
ttle girl in a big chair.
Mellony had always been frillier than Raisa, even when they were small. But the gown she wore today was intended to make her look older, to make her fit the role that some intended her to play.
To look like a queen of marriageable age.
She’s thirteen, he thought. Almost fourteen. Her gown was of mourning black and simply cut, showing off her fair skin and blond hair. The tip of her nose was faintly pink under the powder, and her eyes showed evidence of weeping. Today, dressed and made up as she was, she looked to be sixteen. Queen Marianna’s diamonds sparkled at her neck and wrists.
She’s already dressing the part, Amon thought bitterly. He’d always thought of Mellony as lightweight and insubstantial, but…was it possible she’d played a role in clearing the path to the throne?
Stop it, he said to himself. You’re biased. You always will be in favor of Raisa. Mellony had always been close to her mother. It made sense that she’d want to wear the queen’s jewels now.
Amon came forward and knelt before Mellony, bringing his fist to his chest. “Your Highness,” he said. “Please accept my condolences for your loss, a loss we share as a nation in mourning.”
That wasn’t bad, he thought. He’d rehearsed it all morning.
“And accept my sympathy for your loss also, Corporal Byrne,” Mellony said, in a clear, high voice. “A loss we feel almost as keenly as you do. This is a dreadful time, is it not?” She gestured with a glittery hand for him to rise. “Please. Sit. The Byrnes are our friends and loyal servants. They are welcome to sit in our presence.”
Amon guessed that someone must have coached her on the royal “we.”
A chair was produced for Amon, and he settled into it awkwardly. Since he was off the dais, everyone was still looking down at him.
“Welcome back to court, Corporal Byrne,” Lord Bayar said. “I was surprised to hear that you’d returned to the Fells. I had thought you were still at the academy. How did you come to hear of your father’s death?”
“I was, in fact, already en route, Lord Bayar,” Amon said. “My father had asked me to delay my schooling and return home, given the situation here. I only wish I had come sooner.”
“The situation here?” Bayar asked. “What, specifically, do you mean? Did you have a particular reason for concern?” He paused. “A concern about the queen, perhaps?”
Amon wasn’t sure where this was going, but he could feel danger thickening the air, and hear the throb of his heartbeat in his ears.
“We were concerned about Gerard Montaigne’s activities in Tamron,” Amon said. “He has a very large army. Once he stabilizes his hold on Tamron, we’re guessing he might come north.”
It seemed this wasn’t the answer Bayar expected. He gazed at Amon, unblinking, for a long moment, then nodded, seeming pleased. “Precisely. Naturally, we share your concern.”
General Klemath leaned forward. “I’m surprised that your father felt it necessary to call you home for that reason. Protection of our borders is the responsibility of the army. With the help of the Council of Wizards, of course.”
“Aye,” Amon said. “But if Montaigne comes north, our place is here. The royal family will need extra protection so the army can focus on its job.” He paused. “I see that Micah has returned home early as well. Perhaps for the same reason?” He gazed at Micah, hoping his face didn’t betray him. At least the two of them—maybe Lord Bayar as well—knew Micah had kidnapped Raisa from Oden’s Ford and come north with her, only to lose her along the way.
With any luck, the Bayars didn’t know he knew.
“I returned because I believed that at this point in time, I could be helpful here,” Micah said. “And because there were some, here at court, that I missed.” He smiled at Princess Mellony, and she blushed and lowered her eyes.
Once again, suspicion pinged at Amon.
“I’d hoped to find the Princess Raisa here when I returned,” Amon said. “Has there been any word from her?”
“No,” Micah said. “The princess heir is still missing.” He looked at his father as he said it, his expression unreadable.
“Surely there has been some news of her whereabouts,” Amon persisted, watching Micah’s face. “I’ve been away at Oden’s Ford, but I assumed that—”
“There has been no trace or word of the princess heir since she fled the queendom in the autumn,” Lord Bayar said. His gaze flicked to Micah—a warning. Micah’s lips tightened, and he said nothing.
So that was to be the story. Neither Queen Marianna nor the Bayars had told Mellony that her sister had been located in Oden’s Ford. They wouldn’t mention that Micah and Fiona had lost Raisa in Tamron while bringing her back to Fellsmarch. It would be easier to set her aside if she hadn’t been seen or heard from since she disappeared nearly a year ago.
Amon looked from father to son, wondering what Micah had told his father about Raisa. Micah lifted his chin and returned Amon’s gaze, as if daring him to say more. He must suspect that Amon had helped Raisa flee to Oden’s Ford, that they’d been together there. But any admission of that would expose them both to charges of treason, and Micah knew it.
“Oh, I miss Raisa!” Mellony said, swiping at her eyes. “Now more than ever, we should be together. We have sent birds and messengers all over the Seven Realms,” she added, her voice trembling. “I know my sister would be here for our mother’s funeral if she could be.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “I do fear the worst.”
The Seven Realms are at war, Amon thought. Communication is disrupted. How could you think that Raisa would receive a message even if you sent it? But he didn’t say that aloud. He knew he was on precarious ground. If he left Raisa’s enemies with the impression that he would not play along, he would never make it out of the city alive.
“How long have you been back, Corporal Byrne?” Lord Bayar asked, fingering the elaborate ring he wore on his right hand.
Amon heard a trap in the question, but wasn’t sure which way to step to avoid it. “I arrived in Fellsmarch a few days ago from the West Wall,” he said. “I was here when word came about my father. I immediately left for Marisa Pines Camp.”
“The Demonai found Captain Byrne’s party in the pass. All dead,” Averill said.
“All dead?” Mellony blurted. “What about the brigands who attacked him? Do we know who they were?”
“No, Your Highness,” Amon said, excruciatingly aware of the Bayars to either side of the princess. He kept his eyes downcast, knowing his limitations as a liar.
“It’s unlikely we will ever know exactly what happened, since his entire party was killed,” Lord Averill said. “His attackers have probably already crossed back into Tamron.”
“I hope that we in the Guard can work with General Klemath to fortify our borders against further encroachments from the south,” Amon said. He looked to the general, and received a chilly nod in return.
“If his murderers are identified, we will show no mercy,” Princess Mellony said fiercely.
“Have you considered the possibility that the Demonai themselves may be to blame?” Lord Bayar asked, as if Averill were not sitting there. “Relationships with the copperheads have been strained of late. There are some who suspect that they may have had a hand in the Princess Raisa’s disappearance.”
Careful, now, Amon thought. He glanced at Averill Demonai, whose trader face slipped a little.
“That seems unlikely, sir,” Amon said, turning back to Lord Bayar. “My father and the other guards were killed with crossbow bolts and blades. Not Demonai weapons.”
“Anyone can pick up a crossbow,” Lord Bayar said.
“The strained relations you mention are a direct consequence of jinxflinger incursions into the Spirit Mountains and attacks on our upland villages,” Averill said. “While the Demonai have ample cause to move against wizards, it is difficult to fathom what motive the Demonai would have to murder Captain Byrne and his party. In fact, the Demonai honored Captain Byrne last nig
ht at Marisa Pines with a warrior service. That is extraordinarily rare, given that he was a Valesman.”
“I’ve not seen proof that wizards are responsible for the attacks you keep complaining about,” Lord Bayar said. “Nor convincing evidence that they’ve actually happened. We in the Wizard Council suspect that they are simply an excuse to continue the interdiction on flashcrafting.”
Both Averill and Bayar were like actors speaking lines for their audience and not to each other.
Lord Bayar waited, and when Averill said nothing, he changed the subject. “I think we can agree that Captain Byrne was a brave and capable commander. Still, it’s unfortunate that he left the queen unprotected, seemingly at a critical time.” Bayar straightened his stoles. “I’ve not yet heard a good explanation for his leaving court.”
Amon stiffened but, of course, had no answer for Lord Bayar, since he couldn’t very well tell the High Wizard that his father had gone south to help smuggle the princess heir back into the queendom; that Byrne had hoped Raisa’s presence would help strengthen Marianna against the influence of the High Wizard.
Averill gazed coldly at Bayar. “I have complete confidence that whatever Captain Byrne was doing, it was in service to the Gray Wolf line,” he said.
“We will probably never know exactly what happened,” Mellony said, breaking into the argument. “I’m sure this is a difficult subject for Corporal Byrne, with his father not yet buried.” She leaned forward. “I was told you had a boon to ask, Corporal Byrne. Please, speak freely.”
She’s generous, Amon thought. Now that the crown is within her grasp.
Gavan Bayar sat forward, his hand on his amulet, eyeing him like he might strike him dead if he said the wrong thing.
“I do have a request,” Amon said. “It is unusual, but I hoped that you might grant it in light of my father’s long service to Queen Marianna.”
“Anything,” Mellony said quickly, then wilted under Lord Bayar’s glare. “If we possibly can, Corporal Byrne, we shall,” she amended.
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