The Seven Realms- The Complete Series

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Micah Bayar waited until the last possible moment, then stood aside and watched him go by.

  C H A P T E R N I N E T E E N

  A CALCULATED

  RISK

  The day after the newling queen’s confession, Han asked Willo to move him into the visitors’ lodge, where he’d have less supervision and more freedom of movement.

  Willo disapproved. “You’ll overtax yourself,” she said. “At least here I can attend you and limit your visitors.”

  He could have said, “You’re already letting in all the people I’d like to keep out.” But that wasn’t Willo’s fault. “I don’t need anyone attending me,” he said. “And I’ll get more rest away from all the comings and goings.”

  Willo sat down next to Han on the sleeping bench. “What are you going to do, Hunts Alone?” she said.

  “Do?” Han rubbed the back of his neck. “About what?”

  “About Briar Rose,” she said.

  “Who?” Han pretended not to understand. “Oh. The queenling. That girlie has more names than a Ragmarket fancy.”

  “Be careful, Hunts Alone,” Willo said, her voice low and urgent. She glanced around as if to make sure no one else was within hearing distance.

  “I’m always careful,” Han said. He couldn’t help looking around as well.

  “I mean it. If the Demonai realize you are in love with her, they will kill you.”

  “Who says I’m in love with her?” Han retorted, avoiding her eyes. “Where do you get that?”

  “I saw what was in your face when you handed her down to me at trailside,” Willo said. “I heard what you said. If I can see it, so can others. Never forget that Averill is Demonai first—and he’s no fool. He will not hesitate to kill you if he has any inkling that your intentions are—”

  “I don’t have any intentions, all right?” Han growled. “Except for staying alive and getting out of this mess as soon as I can. That will be hard enough to bring off.”

  “I know you.” Reaching up, Willo brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. “You will go after what you want, regardless of the risk. And you stand to lose everything.”

  I have lost everything, Han thought. Then he corrected himself. Every time I think I’ve lost everything, I find there’s still something else to lose.

  “Look,” he said, “I’m not a fool, though I act the part sometimes. I have no illusions about what I mean to Her Highness. I know all about bluebloods, and she’s worse than most. She’s been lying to me from the day we met.”

  “You are wrong,” Willo persisted. “She cares for you—she really does. And that increases the risk. There are some that will kill her too, if they realize how much she cares. The Briar Rose represents hope for the upland tribes—a chance to finally put one of our own on the Gray Wolf throne. A chance to redress more than a thousand years of occupation by jinxflingers and rule by the Valedwellers. Believe me, there is no one more dangerous than one whose hopes have turned to despair.”

  She fell silent, smoothing the folds of her skirts. “The Wizard Council has hopes also—to regain the power they once held. As long as they believe that the Briar Rose can be a part of that plan, she stays alive. And you are definitely not a part of that plan.”

  Han ground the heels of his hands into his temples, wishing he could shut out Willo’s gentle voice. When had she become such an expert in politics?

  Willo put her hand on Han’s shoulder, her touch easing the pounding in his head. “I know how to keep secrets to protect those I love. You must keep this secret too.” She searched Han’s face, her own drawn tight with worry. “Promise me you will.”

  I might as well be spitting into the wind as talking to Willo, Han thought. He put his hand on her arm. “I’ll be careful,” he said. “I know how to keep secrets.” He paused, for a heartbeat. “And now I need some favors from you.”

  In the visitors’ lodge, Han was granted one of the rooms reserved for important guests. It had a hearth of its own on the outside wall, and two sleeping benches, each wide enough for two, piled with blankets and fur throws.

  He wished he had someone to share all this luxury with. His thoughts went unbidden to Rebecca. Raisa. This was new to him—this feeling like he’d had a limb hacked off.

  Two of Willo’s apprentices were assigned to feed and dose him at regular intervals. But they knocked before they entered and peeked at him out of the corners of their eyes and acted like they thought he would flame them at the drop of a moccasin.

  It was tiresome, but convenient at the same time.

  Han wore Dancer’s replica of his Hunts Alone amulet displayed on the outside of his clothing, the Demon King’s amulet hidden underneath. The flash in the replica was a faint reflection of the original. Han worried that if Elena touched it, she would know it wasn’t the one she made. But though the matriarch likely noticed he wore it, she showed little interest in it.

  Dancer continued to use the original Hunts Alone amulet, though he kept it hidden while in camp. He seemed to have made his peace with the borrowed jinxpiece.

  That evening, Han and Dancer walked back to the Matriarch Lodge for the promised strategy meeting with all the players and plotters. It was the first time Han had seen Raisa since her confession to him. When they entered the common room of the lodge, she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, engaged in animated conversation with Averill and Elena Demonai. Her father and grandmother, Han reminded himself.

  Still, she looked up when Han entered as if she sensed his presence. Leaning forward, her hands pressed onto her leggings, she searched his face with a kind of mute appeal.

  Han averted his eyes and found a seat on the floor on the far side of the room.

  Amon Byrne and Averill Demonai reported on the news from the capital. If the Princess Raisa didn’t show at the queen’s burial, they’d put her little sister on the throne. So suddenly the discussion was not if she would attend but how she could do it safely.

  So the Princess Raisa would get her way, as princesses usually do.

  Reid Nightwalker Demonai and the newly minted Night Bird were there. Several times, Han felt the pressure of Bird’s eyes on him. He pretended not to notice.

  Nightwalker was another matter. Han could tell that his presence was like a tick under the Demonai warrior’s skin. So Han made it a point to challenge his black stare every chance he got, like they were rival streetlords in the market.

  The site for the memorial service lay on the south flank of the newly named Marianna Peak, north of the Vale. At least it was neutral ground; if anyone had an edge, it was the clans.

  Han knew the place—he’d hunted the area with Dancer and Bird—though it had been a long time ago. The flatlanders called it Camelback Mountain. The clans had a more picturesque name for the double summit. Now both names would be discarded in favor of Marianna.

  The memorial site was accessible from the mountains to the north, using a high pass between the twin summits. Though that would be hard going this early in spring.

  “Before we go further,” Averill Lightfoot said, glancing at Han and Dancer, “there is something else you should know.”

  All eyes turned to the Demonai patriarch.

  “When I returned to the city yesterday, I asked the Demonai warriors assigned to my guard to search the queen’s gardens again, to see if there were any clues that Queen Marianna’s guard might have overlooked.” To Amon, he added, “I’m not meaning to suggest that the guard’s search was lacking in any way.”

  “No offense taken,” Amon said evenly.

  Averill nodded, then put his hand on Bird’s shoulder. “Night Bird, can you show us what you found?”

  Now everyone stared at Bird. She fumbled in her carry pouch and withdrew an object wrapped in deerskin. Coming forward onto her knees, she set it on the ground and unfolded the leather covering.

  It was a wizard’s amulet in an old-fashioned style—a tangle of branches and birds in white and yellow gold, some of its fine detail worn smoo
th with long use.

  “And where did you find this?” Averill prompted.

  “It was embedded in the rose briar below the queen’s terrace,” Bird said, sitting back on her heels, dropping her hands into her lap. Where once Han could have read Bird easily, now it was difficult to tell what she was thinking.

  “Is this familiar to anyone?” Averill asked. “Does anyone know which jinxfl—which wizard carries an amulet like this?”

  They all shook their heads. Han rolled his eyes. It wasn’t surprising that none of them had seen it. Most of those present never interacted with wizards if they could help it.

  Dancer extended his hand. “Could I take a look?”

  Bird nodded, and Dancer lifted the amulet, cradling it between his hands, turning it to catch the torchlight. “This is an old piece,” he said finally. “Though made since the Breaking. Nearly all the flash has been discharged. It’s seen recent use.” He looked up. “I’d guess that somebody’s been seen using this, if we ask around.”

  “Who should we ask?” Nightwalker said. “The Wizard Council? Why would they tell us the truth?”

  “We will ask the flashcrafters at Demonai Camp,” Averill said. “Perhaps someone remembers renewing the amulet in the past.”

  Han took the flashpiece from Dancer and weighed it on his palm. “It’s hard to believe that a wizard would drop his amulet without noticing,” he said, frowning. “Or leave it lay if he did.”

  He met Bird’s eyes, and she looked down at her hands, embarrassed to be accusing wizards of a crime in his presence.

  “If Queen Marianna ripped it off her attacker, and it fell into the garden below, maybe he couldn’t retrieve it right then,” Elena said, taking the amulet from Han. “Maybe someone was down there.”

  Raisa shook her head. “Averill said that nobody saw the queen fall, or found her until Magret missed her.”

  “It may not be positive proof,” Nightwalker said, “but it supports what I’ve said all along—we should not be allying ourselves with wizards to fight wizards who may be implicated in Queen Marianna’s death. It puts them in a difficult position—acting against their own kind.” Several of the young Demonai warriors nodded in agreement.

  “What do you suggest, Nightwalker?” Elena said, leaning forward.

  Nightwalker looked around the circle as if searching out allies. “I suggest that we send a small band of Demonai into Fellsmarch tomorrow. Some of us are familiar with the city now, and Lightfoot can easily gain us access to the palace. We seize the Princess Mellony and carry her back to Demonai Camp. Once we have control of both princesses, the Wizard Council would have no option but to give in.”

  “Is that what you think?” Raisa said, her voice cold and brittle as river ice. “That you have control of this princess now? I am not a game piece or a strategic castle you are trying to breach.”

  That’s where you’re wrong, Han thought. Nightwalker thinks every girlie is a castle to be breached. Best to keep your drawbridge up.

  But maybe she knew that already, since the princess heir had fostered at Demonai Camp. Han studied the two of them, wondering just how well they knew each other. Jealousy flamed within him. He knew what Nightwalker wanted—he could see it in his face.

  With some effort, Han wrenched himself back to what Elena was saying.

  “Nightwalker could have phrased that more appropriately, Granddaughter, but do not be too quick to dismiss his suggestion,” Elena said. “It would put an end to any plan to crown Mellony in your place. And it would minimize the danger to you.”

  “I’ve already lost my mother,” Raisa said. “I will not risk losing my sister as well. You should understand this, Elena Cennestre. Must I remind you that Mellony is your granddaughter, too. I will not be a party to any kidnapping. I have to think that we can come up with a better plan.”

  Nightwalker shrugged as if it didn’t matter either way to him, but Han could tell his pride was wounded.

  Much as Han hated to admit it, he agreed with Nightwalker about one thing—the time had come to quit sneaking around and do something dramatic.

  Everyone had an idea of how to manage the memorial service. Lord Averill suggested that Raisa arrive at the funeral buried in the midst of a crew of Demonai warriors, display herself, and then return to Marisa Pines when the service was over. Elena offered powerful talismans that might protect the princess from magical attack by the Wizard Council. Everyone agreed that the element of surprise was key, that the safest thing was to whisk her in and out before the Wizard Council could organize some sort of attack.

  Han was happy to let everyone else talk while he and Dancer examined Corporal Byrne’s sketchy map of the burial area. He wanted to discuss all this with Dancer and come up with his own plan. But all of a sudden he heard his name and looked up to find everybody staring at them.

  “What?” he said, irritated to be caught napping.

  “We’ve run through all our ideas,” Nightwalker said. “And we wondered what the charmcasters had to offer.” The Demonai warrior looked from Han to Dancer, his expression alert and interested, but Han guessed that Nightwalker’s expectations were low.

  Han shrugged. “I don’t think much of what you’ve come up with so far,” he said.

  Elena’s lips tightened. “I see. Well, then. Perhaps you can tell us what you suggest.”

  Han glanced at Dancer. “Me and Fire Dancer need to talk it over,” he said. “We’ll tell you what we come up with tomorrow. But if the Princess Raisa is queen of the realm, then everybody, including her, ought to start acting like it.”

  “What do you mean?” Raisa said, sitting up very straight, her green eyes fixed on him in that unnerving way she had.

  The problem wasn’t Raisa, Han thought, recalling how she’d walked into Southbridge Guardhouse like a lioness to face off with Gillen. She was fearless. Too fearless, sometimes.

  “I’m just a streetlord,” Han said. “Or used to be. But you don’t get to be streetlord by hiding in your crib.”

  “We understand that,” Averill said, his voice edged with annoyance. “But there has already been one likely regicide, and at least one attempt on the princess heir. There is a very real danger that—”

  “I get that,” Han said. “Believe me. But, say I’m streetlord of Ragmarket. Even in Southbridge, I don’t sneak around hoping nobody notices. No, I strut in like I own the place. I walk right down the Way. I have my Raggers with me—I’m not stupid—but the point is, my enemies should be worrying about themselves and what’ll happen if they get in my way. They should be wondering about my plans and what I know and who I’ve got on my side.

  “The Princess Raisa? This is her turf. They’re the trespassers. If she comes off like she’s scared of them, it’s over. She’s got to go back to Fellsmarch. She’s got to move back into the old neighborhood and clean out the riffraff rivals. Long as she’s up here, she’s out of power.”

  “We’re not really asking for political advice,” Elena said, her black eyes narrowed. “We were more interested in what you had to offer in terms of charmcasting.”

  Raisa surged to her feet, looking around at the others. “He’s right, though. I cannot rule from here. The longer I stay hidden, the more time my enemies have to dig in. We’ll never dislodge them if we wait.”

  Averill rolled his eyes. “He’s telling you to do what you’ve wanted to do all along,” he said. “That doesn’t make it the right thing to do.”

  “We cannot afford to lose you, Granddaughter,” Elena said. “If the jinxflingers kill you too, the line will be broken.”

  “Then we make sure that doesn’t happen,” Raisa said, looking around the room.

  “The Demonai will do our part,” Nightwalker said. “But it’s going to be more difficult for us to protect you in the city. Hunts Alone has no real stake in this. We do. We haven’t seen anything from the jinxflingers to suggest they’ll contribute at all.”

  “Dancer and I will meet with you tomorrow, Your Highnes
s,” Han said to Raisa, using the formal title on purpose. “Just the three of us. I’ll tell you what we have in mind, and you say yes or no. You’re the princess, so it’s your call. What you need is some firepower—enough to scare off the Wizard Council so they leave you alone, for a while, anyway. What you want is to make show. We can help with that.”

  C H A P T E R T W E N T Y

  LUCIUS AND

  ALGER

  Han asked Dancer to walk back with him to the visitors’ lodge. When they emerged from the Matriarch Lodge, powdery snow swirled around their feet in little devil dances, and Han’s nose crackled in the icy air. Even in spring, it was still plenty cold at this altitude once the sun went down.

  The visitors’ lodge was nestled in the pines a short distance from the rest of the camp. Han and Dancer were single-filing it on the path when Han heard a step behind them.

  Whirling, he gripped his amulet and extended his hand, his fingers tingling with flash.

  “It’s just me, Hunts Alone,” Bird said, raising her hands and backing away, eyes wide.

  Han lowered his charmcasting hand. “You can’t ambush me like that anymore,” he said. “Not a good idea.”

  “I can see that.” Bird attempted a smile. “You’ve never been easy to sneak up on, but now you’re jumpy as a fellshare.”

  “That’s how I stay alive,” Han said. After an awkward pause, he said, “Did you want something?”

  Bird glanced over her shoulder to verify that no one was within hearing distance. “I heard you were hurt, saving the queen’s life,” she said. “I wanted to see if you were all right.”

  “I’ve been better,” Han said. “But I’m all right.”

  “Good,” she said, glancing at Dancer, whose face offered no clues as to what he was thinking. “I’m glad to hear that.” She paused, scuffing at some leaves with her moccasin. When Han said nothing, she continued. “I’m off duty tonight. Could we—could I share your hearth? I would like to talk to both of you.”