“He’s no longer gifted, remember?” Han said. “He can’t come here.”
“It’s possible to ferry the nongifted to Aediion,” Crow said. “Lucas and I used to play tricks on Wien House cadets when they were deep in their cups. We would take them to Aediion and leave them in a conjured-up world.”
“Really?” Han eyed him suspiciously. “Did that slip your mind or what?”
Crow brushed aside the question. “The important thing is, I can show you how to bring Lucas to me.”
“What if he doesn’t want to come?” Han said, recalling Lucius’s agitated reaction to the news that Alger Waterlow was still alive.
“We were the best of friends,” Crow said, as if baffled that Han would ask such a question. “Of course he’ll come.”
“I want to be there,” Han said. “I want to be there when you talk to Lucius. I want to hear what he has to say.”
“Well, of course you’ll be there,” Crow said, rolling his eyes. “You’ll be privy to all my sordid secrets. Now, since we’re in a hurry, I’ll show you how it’s done.”
The charm was a variation on the one Han had used a lifetime ago to bring Abelard’s crew to Aediion. Except it would be just Han powering the journey.
“Make sure you have considerable power on board,” Crow said. “Don’t skimp. You don’t want to leave him stranded here.”
“It’ll be tomorrow sometime,” Han said. “Lucius never comes to town, so I’ll have to go up to his place.”
“I’ll be here. As always.” Crow turned away, dismissing him.
“Hold on,” Han said, standing his ground. “I still don’t get it. Why did you change your mind? Why did you tell me how to bring Lucius to Aediion? When I was ready to give you what you wanted?”
“Do you want the truth?”
“I was kind of hoping for it.”
“I was afraid.” Crow pinned Han with his blue-eyed gaze.
“Afraid?”
“I was afraid that once I had control of you, I wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation to take advantage. I was afraid of taking the revenge that I so richly deserve. And then I’d never forgive myself.”
To Han’s surprise, Adam Gryphon readily agreed to see him when he sent a message requesting a brief meeting. The Gryphon estate was on the lowest slope of Gray Lady—a socially acceptable location, if not as grand as Aerie House. The gates bore the twin griffin emblems of the house.
As Han approached the front porch, he noticed that carpenters swarmed over the outside of the house, removing some of the elaborate molding that iced the roofline like a bakery cake.
Inside, there were more masons and carpenters at work, and much of the furniture was stacked up and covered with canvas, as if ready to be shipped out.
Gryphon’s servant led Han into a book-lined library at the back of the house, which opened onto a paved veranda and gardens. Gryphon was out on the veranda, in his wheeled chair, reading.
Han’s former teacher greeted him with a smile, gesturing to another chair. “Alister. Welcome. Please. Sit. Would you like something to eat? To drink?”
Han shook his head. “I’ve just eaten, thank you.”
Gryphon dismissed his servant.
“Are you moving?” Han asked, nodding toward the disorder indoors.
Gryphon shook his head. “No, I’m just making some changes now that my parents are gone.” He gazed about critically. “It’s not that bad, really,” he said, chewing on his lower lip. “I think I can transform it into a place I could live in.”
“You didn’t like it before?” Han blurted. It looked like a palace to him.
Gryphon grimaced. “My parents did not believe in…accommodating my crippled state,” he said. “This house is full of steps, narrow passageways, and the like. When I’m finished, I’ll be able to go wherever I want on this property without help.”
“I see,” Han said.
“I’m not sure you do,” Gryphon said, stretching his arms above his head, arching his back. “I assume you did not invite yourself here to discuss my remodeling projects,” he said. “You’re probably wondering why I voted for you for High Wizard.”
“Yes,” Han said. “I am. I know that your family is close to the Bayars. And, from a political standpoint, I just expected—”
“‘Close to the Bayars,’” Gryphon repeated. “Some of us are close to some of the Bayars.” He looked past Han, into the house. “Ah, yes. Here we are. I took the liberty of inviting someone else to this meeting, by way of explanation.”
Han swung around in his chair, his hand on his amulet, his senses screaming danger. Was this all a ruse to win his confidence, to get him alone and vulnerable? He didn’t know whether to expect Fiona, or Micah, or the entire Bayar clan.
He didn’t expect to see Mordra deVilliers.
She walked out onto the patio and stood behind Gryphon’s chair, resting her hands on his shoulders. She’d accumulated a few more tattoos and piercings since Han had last seen her, at Oden’s Ford. She wore talismans all over her body and tied into her hair, and her stoles bore the deVilliers’ wavelets in gold.
Her red-streaked hair was longer than he remembered, hanging shining to her shoulders. She looked good—less wounded, somehow—and happier than he’d ever seen her.
“I believe you know each other,” Gryphon said, with a wicked smile.
Mordra threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, Alister,” she said. “You should see your face. It is priceless.”
“Mordra,” Han stammered. “I didn’t know you were back.”
“Just arrived yesterday.” She brushed at her clothes as if they still might carry the dust of travel. “I don’t believe I will ever get on a horse again,” she said. “I understand congratulations are in order. Do I have to call you my Lord Alister now that you’re High Wizard?”
“Han will do,” Han said. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know…I hadn’t expected—”
Mordra leaned down and kissed Gryphon on the lips—a good, thorough kiss. “You didn’t know we were…um…close, right?” She laughed again.
“No,” Han admitted. “No, I didn’t. When…ah…when did that happen?”
“You thought I was in love with Fiona Bayar,” Gryphon said. “Poor, sad Gryphon, mooning after the ice princess who would never, never have him.”
“Well, I have to admit, I wondered—”
“Oh, put Alister out of his misery, Adam,” Mordra said. “He looks like a puppy that’s just been smacked.”
“We all have assigned roles to play, Alister,” Gryphon said. “You may have been born to the streets. I was born to the nobility. But some of us fall short of family expectations. In my case, far short.” He laughed bitterly. “Here’s the abridged version: I was born with a misshapen leg, but at least I could walk—with a pronounced limp. That, however, was not good enough for my parents. They engaged a wizard healer to make the necessary repairs, to produce the perfect son they had anticipated. Unfortunately”—he gazed down at his charred legs—“things went badly wrong.
“But I was all they had to work with. Though my parents were forced to lower their expectations, they still had hopes. For instance, I could become powerful politically. And I could marry Fiona Bayar.” Gryphon looked up to where the wisteria bloomed on the trellised ceiling. “It didn’t matter that the Bayars had always treated me like—what would you call it, Alister—a scummer?”
Han nodded, surprised his former teacher was familiar with the word. “Scummer.”
“I hate the Bayars—every single one of them,” Gryphon went on. “Oden’s Ford was the first place that I ever felt valued. I plunged into the life of the scholar, and found, to my delight, that my brain was totally unimpaired. I finished my master’s work and fully intended to continue on teaching and researching, as far away from my parents as I could get.
“Then I met Mordra, and one thing led to another, and we fell in love. I was happy for the first time in my life.
“Bu
t my parents had other plans,” he said. “I was to marry Fiona, not Mordra, and I was to return to Fellsmarch to take my hereditary place on the Wizard Council and spend my life politicking with people who pity and despise me.”
It struck Han that he and Gryphon had more in common that he’d ever imagined. No matter who you were, parental expectations could be a curse. Han’s mother had believed he was demon-cursed, and was never able to get beyond that. Gryphon’s parents had never seen the value in him, either, because they couldn’t get past his physical imperfection.
“My family had no particular plan for me,” Mordra said, breaking into Han’s thoughts. “Except that it didn’t include my marrying someone as…impaired…as Adam. We had to keep our relationship a secret. There are too many wagging tongues even at the academy. It was worse once Micah and Fiona and their cousins arrived. It seemed hopeless that we could ever be together.”
Han recalled his inability to read Gryphon at Oden’s Ford, to figure out how he really felt about the Bayars. “I…How can I put this? When I was your student, I had the impression that you despised me.”
“It was nothing personal,” Gryphon said. “I pretty much despised everyone at the time, except for Mordra. Only, I had to pretend not to despise the Bayars, which wasn’t easy. You? You were incredibly gifted and not like any other student I’d ever had. I couldn’t figure out where you fit in. I could tell there was tension between you and Micah. And then I thought there was some kind of romance going on between you and Fiona.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a romance,” Han said, grimacing.
Mordra laughed. She really had a delicious laugh—Han just hadn’t heard it much at Oden’s Ford. “We were so paranoid that we thought you were a spy of some kind.”
Gryphon took up the story. “Despite our precautions, someone sent word to my parents that I wasn’t on board with their plans. They literally kidnapped me and dragged me back north, kicking and screaming, just before the queen was killed and you arrived. They thrust me into the family seat on the council and told me they would have Mordra killed if I resisted.” He reached up and closed his hand over Mordra’s. “And, yes, they were capable of that.”
Han swore under his breath, reminded once again that blue-bloods are the most ruthless murderers of all—they just never seem to pay for their crimes.
“And then fate intervened,” Mordra said cheerfully. “My father was killed by the Demonai.”
“And mine by parties unknown,” Gryphon said. “Suddenly, everything changed.” He paused, looking directly at Han. “The Bayars claim you killed my parents. I don’t know if you did, and I’m not going to ask. But know this—if you did, I am forever in your debt.”
“Both of us are,” Mordra added, resting her hands on Gryphon’s shoulders.
They believe I did it, Han realized. And nothing I can say will likely change their minds.
And yet…they are perfect for each other. Why didn’t I see it? It was somehow encouraging to him that an impossible love could come to fruition. It made him a bit more optimistic about his own impossible love.
“So there I was at the Wizard Council meeting, thinking I would be forced to vote for Micah Bayar as the sole candidate for High Wizard. I’d be looking forward to a lifetime of meetings presided over by a Bayar. And suddenly, there you were, declaring yourself as a candidate. Believe me, I was beside myself with happiness.” He laughed, wiping tears from his eyes. “But you were only getting started. When the copperheads came in and called that arrogant bastard Bayar to account, I could scarcely contain myself.”
“I only wish I could have been there,” Mordra said, snickering. “But I will be there from now on. And you can count on our support on council.”
C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - F O U R
AN OLD
BETRAYAL
Han left his horse at some distance from Lucius Frowsley’s place. It wasn’t that he wanted to sneak up on him. Well, actually, he did. It almost seemed like Lucius had been avoiding him since their meeting about Alger Waterlow. The Southbridge taverns had been complaining that they’d not been able to obtain any product from Lucius’s distillery.
Han walked up Old Woman Creek to Lucius’s usual fishing spot, but didn’t find him there. The creek bank had a desolate look, the grasses grown up as if nobody had sat there in some time.
Worry wormed through Han’s middle. What if Lucius had died? He was more than a thousand years old, after all. Supposedly, Crow had charmed him so he would live forever, but there was no guarantee. How long could a body last given hundreds of years of heavy drinking?
Then again, maybe Lucius’s product acted as a kind of preservative.
As Han approached the crumbling cabin, Dog greeted him in the yard, his entire back end wagging, seeming overjoyed to have a visitor.
“Is he in there?” he asked Dog, who, of course, didn’t answer. But loud snores emanated from inside the cabin.
Han knelt and rubbed Dog’s ears. The pup had a neglected look, his ribs showing through his battered coat. Han carried his water bowl to the creek and filled it. Dog took a few laps to be polite.
Han banged on the door. “Lucius! It’s me, Han Alister. Are you there?” He waited, then knocked again. “Lucius! I need to talk to you.”
The snoring broke off abruptly. To be replaced by swearing.
“Lucius?”
“Hold your horses!” Lucius bellowed. “You wake a man up in the middle of—”
“It’s the middle of the day,” Han called back. “Just so you know.”
Han heard scuffling noises, then the sound of someone peeing into a chamber pot. Finally, Lucius hauled the door open.
The old man had lost the veneer of respectability he’d recently acquired. He looked more unkempt, more tattered than before, like a long-neglected overgrown garden. He was skinnier than ever, to match his dog, his arms and legs skeletal under his clothes. He extended a burled hand toward Han, and it shook with palsy. He stank of product and unwashed flesh.
“Lucius,” Han whispered. “What’s happened?”
“It’s no use, boy,” Lucius said, wiping his clouded eyes. “Doesn’t matter how much I drink, I always wake up.”
No wonder taverns weren’t getting any product from Lucius. He was consuming it all himself.
“Come on,” Han said, taking the old man’s arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up a little.”
Lucius pulled away, shaking his head. “Just go away. Leave and never come back.”
“I want to talk to you,” Han said. “Or, rather, someone else does.”
When Han said that, Lucius froze in place, taking three wheezing breaths. “It’s him, isn’t it. Alger. He wants to see me after all these years.”
“That’s right,” Han said. “He asked me to bring you to Aediion. He has some questions, and we thought—”
But Lucius took off in a stumbling trot, down the slope to the creek. After a moment’s hesitation, Han charged after him, Dog at his heels.
Lucius plunged into the creek, waded out to the middle, and ducked under the surface.
“Lucius!” Han waded in after him. The creek wasn’t all that deep, so he wasn’t hard to find. Han took his arms and hauled him, sputtering and protesting, to the bank.
“What are you doing? Have you gone whimsy-headed?” Han pinned him to the ground, Dog trying to worm his way between them.
“Don’t worry,” Lucius said, coughing out water, his stringy white hair in his face. “I’m in no danger of drowning, more’s the pity.” Gradually, he stopped struggling and lay quiet. Han relaxed his grip.
“I’m sorry,” Lucius said. “I always knew this day would come, but you took me by surprise, and I suppose I panicked.” His dip in the creek seemed to have transformed the old man. He still looked shabby, but the blueblood voice and attitude were back.
“I won’t make you talk to Waterlow if you don’t want to,” Han said.
Lucius heaved a great sigh and pushed up to a
sitting position. “No. It’s time. I’ll talk to him. He needs to know the truth. Let’s do it now before I lose my nerve.”
“Wouldn’t you like to go back to the house?” Han said. “Dry off a little?”
“Let’s go to the distillery,” Lucius said. “The house is not suitable for guests right now.” Han helped him up, and they circled the house, back to the shack Han had visited so many times.
Great kegs of must bubbled gently in the background, thickening the air with yeast. Han and Lucius toweled off, then sat cross-legged on the floor, knee to knee. Han put one hand on his amulet and gripped Lucius’s hand with the other.
Dog watched anxiously from the doorway, whining a little.
His fingers damp against his amulet, Han spoke the charm, and they entered Aediion.
Han materialized first, in the garb he usually wore for his audiences with Crow.
Crow had set the stage for this historic meeting. He stood on the Mystwerk quad, in the shade of a tree that Han didn’t remember. The towers of Mystwerk Hall loomed up behind him. Han squinted at the building, trying to figure out what was different.
Right. The wings were missing. Bayar Library had not yet been built.
Crow looked like he’d been waiting a while. He shifted from foot to foot, both apprehensive and eager. His clothes kept shifting, too, from student robes to royal finery, ending with sober black, the Waterlow ravens overtop.
After a moment, the air shimmered, and a third person materialized. It was Lucius, but he hadn’t cleaned himself up for the reunion. His clothes were shabby and stained, his hair and beard unkempt. His face sagged into wrinkles like an unmade bed. His eyes were different, though—no longer milky blind, but a clear and lively brown.
Crow frowned, glancing at Han as if he’d made a swap. “This is Lucas? It can’t be.”
“Hello, Alger,” Lucius said in a tremulous voice. “You look just the way I remember. Before they beat and tortured you to death, that is.”
Crow took a step forward, extending his hand. “It is you. I never expected that the years would be so—so unkind.”
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