The Seven Realms- The Complete Series

by Cinda Williams Chima

  She nodded. “I would guess no more than twenty feet.”

  “Then you are most fortunate you were wearing this armor, Your Highness,” Vega said, lifting Raisa’s breastplate and weighing it in his hands, peering at the dent made by the arrow. “It’s lightweight, but magicked to turn any but the strongest blows. I suppose it’s of copperhead make.”

  “It’s clanwork,” Raisa said. And it’s maybe wizardry too, she thought. I need to thank Fire Dancer for saving my life.

  “Observe,” Lord Vega said to his assistants. He laid his hands over the bruises and spoke a charm. Han leaned in close, cocking his head so he could hear, ignoring Vega’s glare.

  Within seconds, the ache in Raisa’s chest had eased somewhat and the purple swelling diminished.

  “Thank you, Lord Vega,” she said, rolling her shoulders to test her range of motion. “That is amazing. I hope you won’t have too many ill effects.”

  “It is my calling, Your Highness,” Vega said modestly. “There is a personal price to be paid, of course, but I would gladly sacrifice my health on your behalf.”

  Raisa couldn’t help glancing at Han, who’d nearly sacrificed his life on her behalf. And maybe regretted it now.

  Lord Vega and his minions also examined the healing wound in her back from the ambush in Marisa Pines Pass. At this rate, she’d collect as many scars as Han Alister.

  “May I ask how this was treated, Your Highness?” Lord Vega asked, running cool fingers over her upper back. This wizard was remarkably good at controlling any leakage of power, compared to Han and Micah, at least.

  Or maybe Han’s presence was keeping him on his best behavior.

  “I was treated at Marisa Pines Camp,” Raisa said, “by Willo Watersong, a clan healer.”

  “It’s mending well,” Vega said grudgingly, poking at it. “Though I don’t recommend that people seek treatment in the camps except in an emergency. It’s difficult to predict the effects of the herbals they use. Not only that, once the copperheads have meddled in an illness or injury, it can make it more difficult for an academy-trained wizard to diagnose and treat the problem.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” Raisa said, sliding her arms back into her gown and retying the cord at her neck. Magret draped a thick shawl over her shoulders, as if to provide a little additional coverage.

  “Is there anything else? I think I’d like to rest now.” She looked pointedly at the door.

  “I’ll be back to examine you again in the morning,” Lord Vega said. He looked up at Magret. “You, there. If there should be any change in the queen’s condition, if you have any concern at all, don’t attempt to treat it yourself. Send a servant to the Healer’s Hall to fetch me.”

  “I will, my lord,” Magret said. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Lord Vega and his assistants swept from the room, stuffed full of their own importance.

  “What a pompous ass,” Magret said, when he was out of earshot. “’Course you can’t throw a rock without hitting a pompous ass of a wizard.”

  Raisa laughed as Han blinked at Magret in surprise. “Magret, meet Han Alister,” she said. “Han, this is my nurse, Magret Gray.”

  Magret’s eyes narrowed. “Alister!” Her eyes dropped to Han’s wrists, then flicked back up to his face. “The gang leader and murderer?”

  “Magret!” Raisa put up her hand. “Alister is—”

  “Used to be,” Han broke in, shrugging his shoulders. “You one of the Pearl Alley Grays?”

  Magret eyed him balefully, keeping her hands planted on her hips. “Used to be,” she said. “What is he doing here, Your Highness?” she asked, without taking her eyes off Han, as if he might make a move on her.

  “He’s going to be staying here in the palace,” Raisa said. “He’s…um…kind of a bodyguard.”

  “No,” Magret said. “He can’t be staying here in the palace. Not this one.” Her eyes fastened on the amulet that hung around Han’s neck, and she took a step back, raising her hands as if in defense. “He’s handsome enough, I’ll grant you that, but he’s a fiend, Your Highness. Truly, he is.”

  Raisa looked from Magret to Han. “What are you talking about? Do you know each other?”

  Han kept his eyes on Magret. “Maiden Gray,” he said softly, “I’m sorry about Velvet.”

  “Don’t call him that!” Magret shouted. “Don’t you call him that. His name was Theo. Theo Gray.”

  “I’m sorry about Theo,” Han amended.

  Velvet. Raisa recalled the boy in the velvet coat who’d been with Cat Tyburn the day Han had rescued her from the Raggers. The razorleaf user who’d meant to rob her.

  They’re all dead, Han had said. All of the Raggers except Cat.

  “I should have known you for a wizard,” Magret said. “That’s the only way to explain it, him taking to the streets like he done. He was a good boy before you lured him away from his family.”

  Unconsciously, Magret had slipped into the kind of street cant that Han used. Or had used.

  “Who was Vel—Theo—to you?” Raisa asked Magret.

  “He was my sister’s boy,” Magret said. “My nephew. My sister died of remitting fever. I raised him ’til he was four. Then he went with his father, who took him for a street mumper.”

  A memory came back to Raisa—playing at blocks with a boy her own age when she was three or four. A boy who somehow belonged to Magret, though she’d never married.

  “Then he falls in with Cuffs and his gang,” Magret went on. “Turned to slide-hand and razorleaf and shoplifting.”

  “He was starving,” Han said. “His da disappeared and he was mumping on his own, doing a little slide-hand and second-story work along with. He started up with the River Rats. He came to me later, after Southies took over their turf.”

  “He could’ve come to me,” Magret said. “He should have. But you charmed him. You—you—silver-tongued demon. He wouldn’t leave even when I begged him to.”

  “He was a leaf user by then,” Han said. “Not many are able to leave it. It isn’t your fault you couldn’t save him.”

  “You’re right, it isn’t my fault,” Magret said, drawing herself up, her voice dripping with scorn. “It’s your fault.”

  “Magret,” Raisa said gently. “Han’s been out of that for more than a year.”

  “My Theo was tortured and killed and burnt by wizardry,” Magret said, still glaring at Han. “You’re a jinxflinger. Don’t try and tell me you don’t know what happened to him.”

  “I won’t try and tell you that,” Han said, his blue eyes focused on Magret’s face. “I do know what happened to him. He was killed by wizards looking for me. So it was my fault, though it was never my intention.” He was making no excuses, not even attempting to defend himself.

  Magret stood, fists clenched at her sides, staring at him, her mouth dammed up as if to keep her words from spilling out.

  “If you want to know more, I know a girlie was his streetlord at the time,” Han said. “I’ll ask her to speak with you.”

  “I don’t want your help,” Magret said fiercely. “I don’t want to talk to any streetrats. I want you to leave so I can see to the Princess Raisa in peace.”

  They all jumped and turned when Amon Byrne rapped on the door frame. “Your Highness,” he said apologetically. “Sorry to disturb you, but the door was open, so…”

  “Come in, Amon,” Raisa said, relieved to have the tension in the room diluted. “I’m fine. Dancer’s armor saved my life. Have you found out anything?”

  Amon scanned the hallway, then carefully closed the door behind him and crossed to her side. He held up a crossbow bolt between his thumb and forefinger, the tip wrapped carefully in muslin. “Nightwalker found this. Bodkin-tipped, meant to pierce armor and kill. Common as weeds along a roadside. Except”—he waggled it in his hand—“it’s got a poison daub on the head. I’d like to have Willo look at it and see if she thinks it’s the same as was used before.”

  “Good idea,” Ra
isa said dryly. “It would be good to know if it’s the same people trying to kill me, or a whole different group.”

  “Seems like whoever it was took his one safe shot and ran,” Amon said. “Guards are still swarming through the city, the Demonai warriors too, but I’m not optimistic.”

  Raisa glanced at Magret. Her nurse was cutting her eyes toward Han and shaking her head, putting her finger to her lips.

  “Magret,” Raisa said wearily. “Like it or not, Han is here for my protection. He’s already saved my life once, maybe twice. We have to trust him. We need someone gifted, given what’s been happening with Lord Bayar and the Wizard Council.”

  “Speaking of the Bayars, Micah is outside,” Amon said. “He’s been waiting out there for more than an hour, and he won’t take no for an answer. He insists on seeing you and verifying that you are alive and well. Hayden Fire Dancer is keeping him company.” He smiled faintly, the first smile Raisa had seen on him in a while.

  “I’ll tell him no, and make it stick,” Magret growled, turning toward the door. “The conniving, scheming lowlife.” She seemed happy to have another wizard to direct her ire against.

  “No.” Raisa held up her hand to stop Magret. “Let him in. Maybe we can learn something from his reaction, see what he knows.”

  Han straightened, and he and Amon exchanged glances. Raisa studied them, frowning. Something had changed between them, some kind of barrier had fallen. They almost seemed like co-conspirators now. She wasn’t sure she liked that.

  “You’re not going to see him in your cami, Your Highness!” Magret said, looking scandalized.

  “Oh, let’s just get it over with,” Raisa growled.

  “All right. I’ll fetch him, Your Highness.” Amon left again.

  “I’m not going to receive him lying down like an invalid, either,” Raisa said. She slid off the bed, her bare feet thumping on the floor. Wrapping the blanket closely around her, she sat down in the chair next to the bed. Magret twitched the fleece up over Raisa’s shoulders, providing maximum coverage.

  Han stood behind her chair, his hands resting on the back to either side of her. Raisa’s skin prickled and pebbled at his nearness.

  “I should just get dressed again,” Raisa grumbled, trying to ignore it. “I’ve got a lot to do.”

  “Your Highness, there’s no point. Soon as we send the jinxflingers away, I’ll take you upstairs for a long, hot bath,” Magret promised.

  Moments later, Amon returned, with Micah and Dancer. There was a grim, angry set to Micah’s mouth, a stiffness to his posture.

  When his eyes lit on Han, he stopped short in the doorway, looking from Raisa in her blanket to Han as if he couldn’t believe the evidence of his own eyes.

  “What are you doing here, Alister?” he demanded. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw you ride up at the memorial service, dressed like some kind of prince. How did you get involved with the princess heir?” He looked at Raisa. “Do you know who this is? Do you know what he’s done? He’s a murdering, thieving—”

  “Sul’Bayar!” Raisa said. “I thought you were here to inquire after my health, not malign and interrogate my bodyguard.”

  “Your bodyguard?” Micah looked Han up and down, shaking his head slowly. “Him?”

  “Indeed,” Raisa said, losing patience. “Get used to it or get out.” Sweet Lady in chains, she thought, I am so weary of wizards.

  Closing his eyes, Micah took a deep breath, then released it, mastering himself in that way he had.

  “As you wish, Your Highness,” he said, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I am already used to it.”

  He came and knelt in front of Raisa. When he lifted his head, his black eyes raked over her, drinking in every detail. Like he would tally up every cut and bruise and healing wound.

  “Raisa,” he said, “are you really all right?” He reached for her hands, and she snatched them back, out of reach. Han shifted his weight behind her, and Raisa knew without looking that he’d gripped his amulet. Amon moved up next to Micah, his sword ready in his hand.

  “Just—just keep your distance, Micah,” Raisa said, raising both hands, palms out. “I’m already jumpy. And I have absolutely no reason to trust you.”

  Pain flickered across Micah’s face, but he rested his hands on his knees, in plain view of everyone.

  “Of course,” he said. “I had to see you, to see for myself that you were all right. You’re not hurt? You’re not wounded at all?”

  Raisa shook her head. “No. I was very lucky.”

  “Yes. You were.” Micah looked at Han and Amon almost accusingly, then back at Raisa. “I can’t tell you how relieved I was when you appeared at the memorial service.”

  “Were you?” Raisa’s voice was cool and indifferent. “Were you really relieved?”

  Micah drew his brows together in a frown, tilting his head. “Well, yes, of course. The last time I saw you, we were in the middle of a battle.”

  “That’s right,” Raisa said. “And you put me there. How did you and Fiona manage to escape? And the Manders as well?”

  “We were able to recover our amulets,” Micah said. “After that, it was relatively easy to conceal ourselves.” He shrugged. “To be honest, Prince Gerard seemed more intent on finding you, Your Highness. He turned west, to Tamron Court, while we traveled north. When I returned home and found that you had not arrived, I didn’t know what to think.”

  “And immediately found somebody else to marry,” Raisa said. “I had no idea you were so determined to settle down.”

  “I am as much a prisoner of family and politics as you are,” Micah said. “That did not keep me from worrying that something had happened to you. I thought perhaps Montaigne had recaptured you, or that you were trapped in Tamron Court.”

  “Something did happen to me,” Raisa said. “On my way home, I was attacked and nearly killed in Marisa Pines Pass.”

  “Attacked?” Micah shook his head slowly, as if to deny it. Micah was a consummate actor, but Raisa thought his surprise was genuine.

  “Yes, attacked by someone who was expecting me to come that way.”

  Now Micah leaned forward, intent on her. “Who was it? Who attacked you?”

  “They were out of uniform, but they appeared to be members of my own guard,” Raisa said.

  Micah’s eyes narrowed. “Then it wasn’t…” He stopped himself, took a deep breath, let it out. “It wasn’t the copperheads, then?” But she had the impression he’d changed what he meant to say.

  Well, I can hold back information as well as you, she thought. She shook her head. “Hardly,” she said. “The clan healers saved my life.”

  “What about…those who attacked you?” Micah asked, his eyes fixed on her face. “Have they been questioned? Do you know why they attacked you? Were they just renegades, or…?”

  “They are all dead,” Raisa said, shrugging, but watching Micah closely through her lashes. “I guess we’ll never know.”

  Micah sat back a little, looking disappointed and unsettled rather than relieved.

  “So,” he said, “there have been two attempts on your life within a space of weeks.” He looked up at Amon Byrne and Han Alister. “And where were you two during all of this? Or do you only surface after the assassins have fled?”

  Again, Raisa sensed Han stirring behind her, and she felt the heat of him through her skin. It seemed to roll off him in waves.

  “I beg you, Raisa, take better care,” Micah went on. “It’s clear to me that your soldier and your so-called bodyguard are not enough to keep you safe. You cannot keep tempting fate. These are dangerous times.”

  “You were the one who dragged me away from Oden’s Ford,” Raisa said. “If you hadn’t kidnapped me, I’d still be there.”

  “For how long?” Micah asked. “Don’t you think that those who tried to kill you would have tried again?”

  “You would know better than me,” Raisa said. “What’s the plan, going forward?” She
leaned toward him, as if he might really answer.

  Micah glanced at Amon and Han, and Raisa knew he hated holding this discussion in front of this particular audience. “What I did at Oden’s Ford was for your protection. Even if you managed to stay alive, had you not returned, the Princess Mellony would have been named princess heir, and maybe queen by now.”

  “Well, that would have worked well for you, wouldn’t it, since she seems to be smitten with you,” Raisa said.

  “I am not pursuing your sister,” he said, rising to his feet. “I am telling you to take very good care, Raisa. Please.” He bowed. “Welcome home, Your Highness. I will call upon you again.” He nodded at Han and Amon. “Gentlemen. Using that term loosely, of course.”

  And so he left, leaving Raisa more confused than enlightened.

  C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - S E V E N

  ON THE LOOSE

  IN THE PALACE

  Fellsmarch Castle was like a small city in itself, familiar to Han in unexpected ways. The servants’ corridors reminded him of Ragmarket’s back alleys, where you could travel long distances unobserved by most. The audience chambers and salons were like large public squares, where the bluebloods gathered to make show and catch the attention of their rivals.

  Han explored the palace and the close, mapping it in his head as he had Ragmarket and Southbridge.

  True to her word, Raisa had moved Han into an apartment next to hers—Magret Gray’s former quarters. She didn’t have much choice of places to put him, because her room was fairly isolated in one of the gateway towers, beneath the glass gardens on the roof.

  The glass gardens where Alger Waterlow once trysted with Hanalea, the warrior queen.

  Seeming immune to Magret’s scandalized disapproval, Raisa relocated her nurse into quarters in the other gateway tower, some distance down the hall. The Maiden haunted the corridors at all hours like a tall stately spook with a lantern and long gray braid.

  Magret made it clear that she detested Han—that she blamed him for what happened to Velvet. It was too bad because Han rather liked the iron-spined nurse. He still had hopes of winning her over—but maybe he was fooling himself.