Cat and Dancer together is like a fish taking up with a bird, Han thought. Neither can live in the other’s turf.
“I have a different job for you, Cat,” Han said. “And I don’t know if you’re going to like it.”
C H A P T E R T H I R T Y - O N E
STRANGE
BEDFELLOWS
When Raisa entered the sick ward in Healer’s Hall, her usual clutch of guards in tow, the apprentice on duty nearly passed out from fright. Then she dropped to her knees, her forehead nearly touching the floor.
Raisa gestured for her to rise. “Where can I find your patient Talia Abbott?” she said. “She would have come in three days ago.”
Trembling, the apprentice pointed to the other end of the hall. “Last bed on the left,” she squeaked. “By the window.” She fled out the door.
Leaving her guard at the door, Raisa walked the length of the ward between rows of narrow pallets as the stench of ripe slop jars smacked her in the face. Those patients that were able pushed up on their elbows, staring. A low mutter of voices washed to the other end of the room, and back again.
Some of the patients stretched their arms toward Raisa as she passed by. “Queen Raisa!” they cried. “It’s the Lady herself. The Briar Rose! Touch us! Heal us!”
“I’m no healer,” Raisa said, gripping hands on either side. “But I wish all of you a swift recovery.”
She found Talia lying on a cot at the far end, propped against the wall, her neck swathed in snowy bandages. A chalk and tablet lay atop the covers at her side.
Pearlie sat in a chair next to the bed, her head bent over a book she’d been reading aloud to Talia. She looked up when Raisa approached, then jackknifed to her feet, cheeks rosy with embarrassment.
“Your Highness!” Cradling the book in one arm, she saluted, her fist against her chest.
“Sit,” Raisa said. “Please, continue reading. I just wanted to see for myself how Talia was doing.”
“Oh, no, Your Highness, please, you have a seat,” Pearlie said, gesturing to the chair she’d just vacated. “I’ll get another.” She sprinted away.
Raisa sat down next to the bed. Touching her fingers to her own throat, she said, “How is your voice? Any improvement?”
Talia shook her head and scribbled something on her tablet, holding it up so Raisa could see. Resting it. Hoping.
Raisa was full of questions, but she hated to ask any because then Talia would have to answer. “I brought you a book,” she said, extending it toward Talia. “It’s one of the Spinner romances you like. I hope you’ve not read it.”
Talia scanned the cover, then shook her head again, smiling.
Now Pearlie was back with a second chair that she placed on Talia’s other side.
Raisa took Talia’s hand. “Do you mind if I ask Pearlie a few questions so you don’t have to write so much?”
Talia rested the tablet on the bed and nodded her head.
“What do the healers have to say about Talia’s injuries?” Raisa asked.
“The assassin crushed Talia’s voice box and injured her voice cords,” Pearlie said, speaking Common with her musical Ardenine accent. “Lord Vega’s apprentice treated her the first day. The wound is closed, at least. The swelling’s gone down, so she can breathe better and it’s less painful.” She looked at Talia for corroboration, and Talia nodded. “It’s still hard for her to eat and drink. Sometimes it slides down the wrong way, and she coughs, and it hurts.”
Something Pearlie said caught Raisa’s ear. “His apprentice? Lord Vega didn’t treat her himself?”
Pearlie shook her head. “No, ma’am, Lord Vega only sees to the nobility and those that come from Gray Lady. He has ’prentices from Oden’s Ford over the summer, and they see to most everyone else.” Turning her face away from Talia, she blotted at her eyes with her sleeve.
“Vega didn’t examine her at all?”
Pearlie hesitated. “No, ma’am. Lila Hammond was the one that saw to Talia; she works hard, and she means well, but she’s just a first year.” She touched Talia’s hand. “You’re never going to get better if you don’t eat more.”
A flurry of footsteps in the hallway drew Raisa’s attention. Harriman Vega, the wizard in charge of the healing halls, swept in, trailing apprentices behind him like a ship with a white wake.
“Your Highness! I wish you had let me know you were coming,” he said. “I would have been happy to attend you in your rooms, if you had—”
“It was my intention that this visit be informal,” Raisa said, thinking, Nothing’s informal anymore. “I don’t need treatment, but there’s someone here who does.” She nodded toward Talia.
Vega’s disinterested gaze swept over Talia. “I don’t know what the girl has told you, but she has been treated, Your Highness,” he said. “She would have been evaluated when she arrived.” He gestured toward the linen wrappings around Talia’s neck. “Her wound has been dressed. Obviously.”
“But there is more to be done,” Raisa said. “She has not recovered her voice, and she has difficulty swallowing. Wouldn’t you follow up in such a situation?”
Vega waved his hand dismissively. “If the matter were brought to my attention, perhaps. But we have hundreds of patients. We must accept that sometimes these injuries result in…permanent disabilities.”
Raisa gripped the arms of her chair, biting back the first response that came to mind. “Sometimes we must accept it, but only after every avenue has been explored. This soldier was injured when she stood between me and an assassin. She deserves better.” She gestured, taking in the other residents of the ward. “How many of these patients might recover with more intensive treatment?”
Lord Vega threw up his hands. “I do not know, Your Highness, but we have limited resources, as you know, and—”
“I understand that, Lord Vega,” Raisa said, rising and putting a hand on his arm. “But I mean to change that. I’m asking you to take personal responsibility for Private Abbott’s treatment and recovery. Her health is a priority for me. More importantly, I’m asking that you establish a system of follow-up for those with more serious injuries.” Seeing Vega’s horrified expression, she added, “I do not mean that you must heal them all personally—I realize the physical impossibility of that—but you must use your extensive knowledge and experience to direct their care.”
Lord Vega inclined his head. “As you wish, Your Highness,” he said, puffing up like a peacock.
“If our high magic resources are limited, then perhaps we should integrate some clan healers into the service in the healing halls,” Raisa said, bracing herself for the reaction she anticipated.
“Copperheads?” Lord Vega’s eyes narrowed. “I hardly think we are so desperate as to resort to backwoods sorcery, Your Highness. And I will tell you right now, there’s not a wizard in the Vale would dare submit to a copperhead healer or take one of their potions, for fear of being poisoned.”
“That may be, at least at first,” Raisa said. “But there are many in the Vale who swear by clan remedies. I know some in the nobility who have also benefitted from their herbals and poultices. I have personal experience with clan medicines, and I know they work.”
From Vega’s expression, Raisa might have been suggesting that they use blood sacrifice in order to steal souls. Something the clans were often accused of.
She sighed. One step at a time, she thought.
“We’ll continue our discussions on that,” she said. “In the meantime, let’s begin by reinforcing our current system. It’s one thing to offer stellar care to the nobility. But imagine a healing service where every citizen receives premier treatment. Your reputation will spread throughout the Seven Realms. Students from the academy will clamor to apprentice with you. Faculty will travel here to observe your methods.”
“That’s a possibility, I suppose,” Vega said, straightening his wizard stoles and flicking imaginary dust from his robes. “Although, in all honesty, we have had no difficulty secur
ing—”
“That additional support will make it easier for us to leverage your expertise,” Raisa said, looking into the wizard’s face. “We will also recruit more fully trained healers to assist you. This healing service is critical for the well-being of everyone in the City of Light. It has been neglected for too long.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Vega said, nodding, looking mollified. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“Thank you, Lord Vega,” Raisa said. “I am prepared to be dazzled.” She smiled, and the healer preened under her approval.
“One more thing,” Raisa said, as if she’d just thought of it. “Sergeant Greenholt is to have unlimited visiting privileges with Private Abbott when she is off duty.”
“I will arrange it,” Vega said. He looked down at Talia as if seeing her for the first time. “Hammond and I will be back to re-evaluate you when she returns from supper.”
Talia and Pearlie stared at Raisa, wide-eyed, as the healer sailed away.
“I’ll say one thing,” Pearlie said, “you sure know how to sugar up the poison.”
“That’s what this job is all about most of the time,” Raisa said, making a face. She rose. “Pearlie, you keep me apprised of how Talia is progressing. I’ll be back to visit in a few days.”
Is there anything in this queendom that is working well? Raisa thought as she left the healing halls. Is there anything that doesn’t need attention? There are not enough hours in the day.
Raisa was walking back to the palace through the gardens, trailing her usual wake of guards, when someone stepped out of the shadows next to the path. Raisa took a step back, hearing swords whispering free all around her.
It was Micah Bayar.
“Micah. It’s not a good idea to surprise me like that,” Raisa said. She fingered her dagger, reflexively glancing down to make sure the Gray Wolf ring was in place on her finger. “What do you want?”
“I would like to speak with you, Raisa, that’s all,” Micah said, holding his hands out at his sides to show they were empty. He ran his eyes over her escorts, who were bristling with weapons. “In private.”
“That’s not going to be possible,” Raisa said. “I’m sure you understand.”
“Please, hear me out,” he said, “and consider what I say carefully.” In a louder voice he said, “I’m going to remove my amulet now, so please don’t run me through.” Slowly, his eyes on the Gray Wolves, he lifted his amulet over his head and set it down on a stone bench in the garden. Then he sat at the other end of the bench and placed his hand on the stone next to him. “Sit with me. Please. Your guard can remain in sight, but far enough away that we won’t be overheard. If I try anything, they can lope over and lop off my head.”
Raisa hesitated, biting her lip. “How do I know you don’t have another amulet hidden on your person?” she said.
Micah smiled faintly. “Have mercy, Your Highness,” he said. “I could strip, but it is a chilly evening. Besides, you seem to have an immunity to any magic I can conjure.” He raised an eyebrow.
Raisa debated telling him that her guard could hear whatever he wanted to tell her. And yet she found she wanted to hear what Micah had to say—something he wouldn’t say in front of her guard. She had the feeling she would learn something useful.
Raisa wondered what Amon and Han would think of this idea. Then decided she didn’t want to follow that thought any further.
“All right,” she said. Turning to her guard, she said, “Stay here, and stay alert.”
Raisa walked over and sat down on the bench next to Micah, leaving a little distance between them. “What is it?”
Micah studied her for a long moment. “I am disarmed, Your Highness. I am totally without my usual weapons.”
“You are never without weapons,” Raisa said.
He tilted his head toward the guards. “What I mean, is, I’m not used to meeting beautiful girls under so many pairs of eyes.”
Raisa half rose. “Is that what you think this is? If so, then—”
“Please. Sit.” Micah waved her back down. “I apologize. I never seem to know what to say to you anymore.”
“You could start by telling me the truth.” Raisa drew her jacket more closely about her shoulders. “I’ve grown up. I no longer respond to flattery.”
“I spoke the truth,” he said. “But I suspect you are looking for a different kind.” He looked down at his hands. “I want to start over,” he said. “I want to ask permission to court you.”
Raisa just stared at him wordlessly. That was the last thing she’d expected him to say. “After everything that’s happened between us, now you expect me to accept you as a suitor?” she said finally.
“I’m tired of pushing myself on you,” he went on. “I’m not used to it, and it is humiliating.”
“There are lots of girls at court. Why do you feel the need to push yourself on me?” Raisa asked. “Are you under pressure from your father?”
Micah gazed at her for a long moment, then shrugged. “Yes,” he said. “If you want the truth. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here for myself.”
There was a smudge of dirt on Raisa’s breeches, on the inside of her thigh. She licked her thumb and rubbed at it, then looked up to find Micah’s eyes on her. She brought her knees together and dropped her hands in her lap.
“What is it you hope to gain by courting me?” Raisa asked.
Micah raised his dark brows. “What is the usual objective of courtship, Raisa?”
“There are any number of possibilities, as you well know,” Raisa said irritably. “In our case, we cannot marry, and so—”
“I would beg you to keep an open mind on that,” Micah said. “You are the queen now, or soon will be. For a thousand years we have been imprisoned by the past. You have the power to make changes. The future is in your hands, if you will only seize it.”
Raisa tilted her head. “So, having failed at forcing me into a marriage, you hope to take me by persuasion this time?”
“I like to think,” he said, “that had I tried that first, I might have succeeded.”
“I’m not the only person you have to persuade,” Raisa said. “Do you think you could win over my father? Or Elena Demonai?” She rolled her eyes, picturing that interview.
“You are the first person I need to win,” Micah said. “I’ll worry about them when you say yes.”
“Well, I have to worry about them now,” Raisa snapped.
“They are not the only people you need to worry about.” Micah closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “Don’t you realize the danger you’re in?” he said, eyes still closed.
“Maybe not. Is there something you want to tell me?” Raisa said, putting her hand on his arm. “Who killed my mother, Micah? Who is trying to kill me?”
Micah leaned in close, speaking into her ear so his breath stirred her hair and warmed her cheek. “I don’t know who killed the queen,” he said. “And if I knew for sure who was trying to kill you, I would handle it myself.”
Against all reason, Raisa believed him.
“Well, then.” Raisa shifted away from him. “Come back when you have those answers.”
Micah hissed out an irritated breath. “I can’t protect you if you won’t let me near you.”
“Based on your history, why should I feel safer with you?” Raisa muttered.
“I’m just saying it would be safer if you were a little less outspoken. If you seemed to go along with things a little more. If it seemed like there was a chance that you might…accept me. If you threw the gifted a bone.”
“Like what?” Raisa demanded. “Crowning you king?”
Micah raised his hands, palms out. “Take this whole business of naming a street thief to the Wizard Council. The council is enraged. They take it as a lack of respect. They think you’re tweaking them on purpose.”
“Is that what this is all about?” Raisa narrowed her eyes. “You Bayars wanted me to appoint Fiona instead?”
“Fi
ona has her faults, but she would be a far better choice than Alister,” Micah said. “Trust me, you won’t rest easy with him looking out for your interests. He is in this for his own gain.” He paused. “You must know that there are all kinds of sordid rumors flying around about you and that thief. The last thing I heard was that you’d named him to the peerage and handed him a holding on the Firehole River.”
Raisa’s cheeks burned. “What do you think, Micah? Are you listening to the rumors?”
Micah dismissed that possibility with a flick of his hand. “I know better than that. I can’t imagine you would have any interest in a street thug. But none of this helps. He’s a wizard. If the copperheads believe you’re bedding Alister, he’ll end up in some ravine with a Demonai arrow through his eye. If you’re going to be linked to a wizard, at least let it be someone who’d have the support of the council. Alister has no support from anyone.” He paused, eying her as if debating asking the question. “Why is he here, Raisa? What do you see in him? Why does he have access to you and I do not?”
Micah reached for Raisa’s hand, then jerked his hand back as if recalling that his touch might not be welcome. He flexed his hand, rubbing his fingertips against his palm, releasing tension.
“You pardoned him for trying to kill my father,” Micah went on. “Have you asked yourself who’s murdering wizards in the city now? Need I remind you that the killings commenced about the time he returned to the Fells? And that the bodies have been left in his old neighborhood?”
Raisa’s stomach flipped unpleasantly. “It is easy to fling accusations,” she said. “That’s all I’ve heard for weeks. I’ll tell you what I told the Demonai when they accused your family of murdering my mother. Bring me some evidence and I will act.”
“We are watching him,” Micah said. “Sooner or later, he is going to make a mistake.”
They sat in stony silence for a long moment.
Han was right, Raisa thought. If people come to believe that there is anything serious between us, it will be his death and maybe mine.
The Seven Realms- The Complete Series Page 126
