“Did Nightwalker send you here?” Dancer asked. “Was there something he wanted you to tell us? Or something he wanted you to find out?”
Bird blinked at him. “No. I came on my own. Why would you—”
“We have plans,” Han said. “Jinxflinger business. Sorry.”
They circled around her and walked on. Han resisted looking back. He wasn’t proud of what he’d said to Bird. It felt petty and mean. But he did have other plans—plans he couldn’t share with her. And it was jinxflinger business.
Choose sides against a streetlord, and you pay a price.
The visitors’ lodge was deserted. The other guests, like Averill, would be plotting long into the night. Han led Dancer into his room and shut the door.
Dancer rekindled the fire and laid on another stick of wood. “I’m glad to be back in the mountains,” he said, shedding his warm coat. “It’s good to be back at my mother’s hearth.” Sitting down on the rug, he leaned his back against the hearthstone.
Han eyed him curiously. “You seem different. Like you’re easier with being a wizard here in camp.”
Dancer shrugged. “My time in the flatlands opened my eyes. Here, people mistrust us for being wizards. Everywhere else, people mistrust me for being clan.” He smiled at Han’s puzzled expression. “It’s taught me that the flaw is in them. Not me. When I first found out I was gifted, I felt ashamed, like it was a fault or a curse. I’d been taught all my life that it was. I would have done most anything to get rid of it. I wanted to kill my wizard father for inflicting it on me.” He half smiled.
“But what I’ve come to realize is, it’s not a curse. It is a gift. Like my mother’s gift for healing. I can do things that others can’t do. I refuse to apologize for it anymore.”
Han found himself wishing he had the same clear-eyed view. Lately it seemed like all he did was react to others and their plans. He’d never get anywhere if he didn’t know what he was after and where he wanted to go.
“Like I said, it’s good to be here,” Dancer went on, “but I would have liked to stay longer at the academy. I was making progress with Firesmith. I think he was flattered to have someone who was actually interested in metalcraft and flash. He gave me some of his rare books to bring along.” Dancer paused. “But you didn’t bring me back here to talk about my plans.”
“Well, in a way I did. Partly. I’m trying to figure out what weapons we have going into this.”
Dancer nodded. “I can add more flash capability to the amulet I made for you now, if you want,” he said. “Still won’t be as powerful as the one I’m using. Elena’s. Or the one you took from the Bayars.”
“No rush,” Han said, touching his replica amulet. It brightened fractionally. “I’m not really using this anyway, except for show.” He paused. “You don’t have to keep using my old amulet, you know,” he said. “You could have another one made specifically for you.”
Dancer stroked the amulet Elena had made for Han—the one he’d been using since he lost his in Arden. “I’m used to it now. And it’s loaded with power. No reason to make a change.”
Han understood. Once linked with an amulet, it was painful to give it up.
“I have friends at Demonai Camp,” Dancer went on. “Not warriors. Craftspeople. Depending on what happens with the coronation, I’d like to go over there if I can be spared.”
“Isn’t that dangerous, going to Demonai Camp?” Han said. “As a wizard?”
“Everything is dangerous,” Dancer replied, shrugging. “Though it will be easier if you can keep Elena and Nightwalker away.”
Han nodded. “I’ll do my best to keep them busy keeping an eye on me.” He paused. “I asked you to come because I have a confession to make—I met with Crow again, on my way here.”
Swiveling away from Dancer’s incredulous expression, Han filled a teapot from the water jug and set it on the hearth.
“You’re not serious,” Dancer said finally. “You do have a death wish, I believe.”
“Everything is dangerous,” Han said, cocking an eyebrow at Dancer. He sat down on the edge of his sleeping bench and pulled off his boots. “But I need your advice.”
“Hmmm. Never go back?” Dancer rolled his eyes. “Somehow I don’t think you’ll take it.”
“It’s not as dangerous as you think,” Han said. “As I told you before, Crow doesn’t have any power of his own.”
“Then how, exactly, does he get to Aediion?” Dancer said. “When almost nobody else can get there?”
“He uses mine. My flash. Without me, he can’t do anything,” Han said. “But he’s incredibly knowledgeable about magic.”
“Then who is he in real life?” Dancer persisted. “And why won’t he agree to meet you on your home ground?”
“If you can believe what he says, he doesn’t exist in real life,” Han said, serving up his story in small bites. “He exists only in Aediion. He’s a remnant of a wizard who lived long ago.”
“A remnant?” Dancer said skeptically. “He’s been in Aediion all this time? And he just happened to find you the first day you visited?” Dancer pulled free a lock of hair, combed it straight with his fingers, split it into sections, and started interlacing them to make a braid.
Han pulled the serpent amulet from under his shirt and tapped it with his first two fingers. “Not in Aediion. Here. He’s been waiting here for a thousand years. In this amulet.”
Dancer stared at the amulet. Then looked up at Han. “He’s been hiding in an amulet? I know a lot about flashpieces, and I never heard of that.” He bit off a piece of string from a bundle in his pocket. “There are lots of wizards in Oden’s Ford,” he said. “Even more in the Fells. Don’t you think it’s more likely Crow is one of them?” He finished one braid, wrapping the lower end with colorful thread, and began another.
Han spooned highland leaf into cups, then poured boiling water over it.
“And why won’t he tell you who he is if he wants to partner with you?” Dancer continued.
“Originally he meant to use me—not partner with me,” Han said. “But the talisman you made put a stop to that. So last time we met, he told me who he really is.”
Dancer leaned forward. “And?”
Han took a breath and spit it out. “He claims he’s Alger Waterlow. The last Wizard King of the Fells.”
Dancer’s hands stilled themselves, and he frowned. “So you’re meeting with someone who claims to be the Demon King, who nearly destroyed the world.”
Han nodded.
Dancer gazed at him, speechless, for what seemed like forever. “And you mean to keep meeting with him?” he said finally, shaking his head.
Han nodded again.
“I don’t like it,” Dancer said, with his usual gift for understatement. “Either he’s lying, which is bad. Or he could be telling the truth, which is worse.” He blew on his tea to cool it. “Much worse.”
“I don’t like it either,” Han admitted. “But it’s the only hand I have to play. That’s why I asked you here—to get your opinion.”
“How am I supposed to give you an opinion when I’ve never even met him?” Dancer said. He sipped his tea, brow furrowed. Then he thumped the mug down on the hearthstone. “That’s it. I need to meet him and see for myself.”
“Well…” Han thought about this. “He can’t come here, so you’d need to go back to Aediion. And he’ll be furious that I brought you along.”
“Why is that?” Dancer said. “Why doesn’t he want anyone else to see him? What is he hiding?”
“He says he knows secrets the Bayars are hot for. If they find out I can talk to him, we’re done.”
“That’s convenient, don’t you think?” Dancer snorted. “Why should you believe him, Hunts Alone? What has he ever done but try to use you to get what he wants?”
Dancer was right. In truth, since Rebecca had turned into Raisa, Han had lost faith in his own judgment. How could he have been so wrong about her? How could he have missed that he w
as walking out with a princess?
Why should Han be following other people’s rules when they broke the rules themselves?
Dancer was his best friend and ally—it was time to begin treating him that way.
“All right,” Han said. “Come with me to Aediion and meet him and tell me what you think. If he’s lying, the two of us might outsmart an imposter. Besides, I’ve arranged to—” He stopped and cocked his head. “Someone’s coming.”
Immediately there came a tapping at the door. Han levered to his feet and crossed to the entrance.
It was Willo, with Lucius Frowsley in tow.
It had been nearly a year since Han had seen his former employer, but the thousand-year-old man had retained the veneer of polish he’d sported at their last meeting. His hair and beard were trimmed and in order, his clothing tidier and in better repair than in the past.
Lucius looks better off, and I’m probably worse off than before, Han thought. The recluse had been more than an employer—Han had trusted him. Until he’d found out that Lucius had known the truth of Han’s magical heritage and had never told him. What other secrets was Lucius hiding?
One thing hadn’t changed—the old man carried a bottle of product in one hand and a fistful of cups in the other.
“I sent a runner after Lucius, as you asked, Hunts Alone,” Willo said, looking from Lucius to Han.
“Hello, Lucius,” Han said, touching his arm to orient him.
“Boy!” Lucius closed his eyes and smiled. His face crinkled like well-weathered badlands, as if he were basking in the warmth of Han’s presence.
“Is there anything else you need, Hunts Alone?” Willo asked.
Han shook his head. “Thank you, Willo.”
“Send word to me when he’s ready to go,” she said, turning away and slipping out of the visitors’ lodge.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re still alive.” Lucius raised the bottle and waggled it suggestively. “We have something to celebrate.”
Lucius always had something to celebrate. Han ushered him toward the hearth, his hand on the blind man’s elbow. “Here. Sit by the fire,” he said. “Fire Dancer is here, too. Want tea?”
“Tea?” Making a disapproving face, Lucius settled onto the bench next to the hearth and carefully arranged his cups next to him. “I’d prefer something stronger.”
“Let’s stick with tea for now,” Han said. He refilled his own and Dancer’s cups and made more tea for Lucius. Closing Lucius’s hands around the cup, Han made sure he had a good hold before he returned to his seat.
“So,” Lucius said, setting the tea aside without tasting it, “tell me everything, boy. Tell me about Oden’s Ford. My years at the academy were the best years of my life. Are the houses still fighting on Bridge Street?”
“Still fighting,” Han said. “And the provosts are still rounding them up.”
“Bloody provosts,” Lucius muttered, his milky eyes fixed on some private memory. “Them and their curfews. Alger, he used to tweak their pointy noses, let me tell you. He was like a vapor, that boy. He went wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and nothing the provosts could do about it.”
“That’s who I wanted to talk to you about,” Han said. “Alger.”
“Alger?” Lucius’s head jerked up, his expression wary. “What about him?”
“What he was like when you knew him?” Han said. “For instance, what did he look like?”
“Well. He was devilish handsome,” Lucius said. “Blond hair and blue eyes the color of the Indio in midsummer. Ladies claimed you could drown in ’em. Well built he was, and he moved like a cat. I wasn’t so bad in my day, but never could compete with Alger Waterlow when it came to the ladies.” Lucius rubbed his nose with the heel of his hand.
“Me and Alger, we once spent a whole weekend in the women’s dormitory at the Temple School. Bunch of dedicates decided against taking vows after that.” Lucius grinned a gap-toothed grin, which faded quickly. “’Course all that catting around ended when he met Hanalea.”
“How did he get along with the other students?” Han asked.
“There was just something about him,” Lucius said. “Folks wanted to be with him. He’d draw you in. Soon as he’d walk into a room he’d be the center of attention. Ever’body loved him.”
Han rubbed his chin. He was supposed to believe that the flame-eyed Demon King of the stories was the bang-up cove of Oden’s Ford?
“Ever’body loved him—’cept Kinley Bayar, that is,” Lucius amended.
“Kinley Bayar?” Han asked. “Who’s that?”
“Remember? He was the one was to marry Queen Hanalea.”
“Oh. Right,” Han said.
“They was like oil and water—Kinley and Alger. Kinley always wanted to be in charge. So did Alger—and whenever he and Kinley went head-to-head, Alger usually won, and Kinley couldn’t abide losing.”
“Have you ever been to Aediion?” Han asked abruptly.
“Aediion?” Lucius said, blinking at the rapid change of topic. “A’ course. Plenty of times. That was our back-alley highway. Our secret meeting place, especially during the civil war.”
Which made sense, if Crow was telling the truth.
“Dancer and I have been to Aediion, too,” Han said. “I’ve met someone there who claims to be Alger Waterlow.”
Lucius’s dreamy expression slid away. “Alger? What are you talking about?” The old man leaned forward, agitated, his Adam’s apple jumping as he swallowed.
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you,” Han said. “It doesn’t seem possible, but that’s what he claims, and he knows more about magic than anyone I’ve met.”
“Alger,” Lucius breathed. His burled hands scrabbled in his lap as if trying to gain a purchase on the idea. “Alger alive. Who would’ve thought?”
“Well, not exactly alive,” Han said. “He claims he’s been hidden in his old amulet all this time.” Han touched the serpent flashpiece, then remembered that Lucius couldn’t see it. “He describes himself as a remnant. Not a ghost, exactly, but…he can’t exist in real life. Not as himself, anyway.”
Lucius licked his lips, his face more pasty pale than usual. “You sure about that, boy? You sure he can’t find a way?”
“Well.” Han shrugged. “He says not.”
“Anything’s possible when it comes to Alger Waterlow,” Lucius said. “If I’m alive, then he could be too. Did he say anything about me?” He pawed at Han’s arm. “Did he say what he wants? Tell me.”
Han shook his head, worried the old man might have a stroke. “He hasn’t said much about the past, except that he wants revenge on the Bayars. He seems…he seems bitter about what happened.”
“He should be bitter,” Lucius said. “He’s got reason.” Turning, he groped for his bottle and pulled the cork with his teeth. He splashed product into a cup, his hand shaking. Then drained it and poured again.
“He also seems to blame Hanalea,” Han said. “For betraying him.”
Lucius shook his head, eyes squeezed shut, his hands wrapped around his tin cup.
“But—is that even possible?” Han went on. “That he could last a thousand years hidden in an amulet? Based on what you know about magic, and what you knew about him?”
“You listen to me,” Lucius said, his eyes popping open again. “I don’t know how it could be done, but if anybody could do it, he could.” He emptied his cup with one gulp and refilled it. “Sweet Thea of the mountains, Alger’s come back.”
“Whoa, now,” Han said, putting his hand on the old man’s arm. Lucius flinched, nearly spilling his drink. “I’m not absolutely sure it’s him. It could be some kind of a trick. I was hoping you could tell me something—some question I could ask him that only he would know the answer to.”
“Something Alger would know.” Lucius frowned, blotting his forehead with his sleeve. “Let me think.”
While he was thinking, Han rose and refilled their teacups. Except for Lucius
’s, which was still full.
“Here’s two things,” Lucius said abruptly. “Two things that only Alger would know. First, what was their secret meeting place—him and Hanalea’s? And what did he give to her as a love token when they were betrothed?”
“All right,” Han said, thinking Alger and Lucius must have been tight friends if Lucius knew those kinds of secrets. “What are the answers?”
“They used to meet in the conservatory at Fellsmarch Castle, right over Hanalea’s bedchamber,” Lucius said. “Maybe it’s still there. There was a secret passage from her room to the garden.”
“The conservatory,” Han repeated. “And what did he give Hanalea?”
“It was a ring, moonstones and sapphires and pearls,” Lucius said. “Because he only ever saw her by moonlight, he said. Hanalea wore it the rest of her life.” He shuddered. “Imagine what it was like for him—trapped in that amulet while Hanalea grew old and died.”
Strange, Han thought. It wasn’t just that Lucius thought Crow’s story was possible—he seemed convinced already that it was true. Like he’d been waiting to hear it for a thousand years. Like it was inevitable.
“What are you going to do, boy?” Lucius asked, breaking into Han’s thoughts.
“Me and Dancer are going to Aediion tonight,” Han said. “I’m going to find out if he is who he says he is.”
“Look,” Dancer said. “Even if he is who he says he is, and even if Lucius is willing to vouch for him, how do we know we can trust him? A thousand years locked in an amulet can change a person. He may be planning to finish the job he started during the Breaking.”
“Boy—does he know who you are?” Lucius asked. “Does he know you’re his blood?”
“No,” Han said. “He doesn’t seem to know much that’s happened while he was—ah—locked up.” Han shrugged. “I didn’t know whether to tell him or not.”
“You should tell him,” Lucius said. “He deserves to know that his line didn’t die with him. That could make all the difference. He can help you. He’ll want to help you. Believe me, you want him on your side.”
The old man stood, grabbing up his bottle and cups. “Call Willo,” he said. “I’m ready to go home.” And he refused to say anything more.
The Seven Realms- The Complete Series Page 113
