The Exiled Queen

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Fortunately, the ground floor was lined with tall windows and glass doors, spilling light into every room. Raisa crept along the perimeter of the building, between the shrubbery and the foundation, peering into every window. Though some were probably at dinner, Raisa saw dedicates and students reading, relaxing, doing stitchery, painting, playing instruments, and the like.

  This is what everyone had intended for me, Raisa thought, fingering her dun-colored uniform tunic.

  In the rear was a parlor, a cheerful fire in the fireplace and trays of cookies and sandwiches set out on tables. Amon was there, sitting in a chair by the fireplace, his back very straight, his hands on his knees. Across from him sat a girl in temple dress, dark-skinned and pretty, with masses of long curly hair—a Southern Islander. She clutched the nosegay in one hand, and every so often she raised it to her nose and took a sniff.

  Two other couples shared the room, and a rosy-faced dedicate sat in a far corner, keeping an eye on the young lovers.

  Amon’s face was in profile, but Raisa could see the girl’s shy smile and her large dark eyes, and hear the murmur of their conversation.

  Any fool could see that the girl was in love with Amon Byrne.

  Raisa’s eyes burned with hot tears. Was this possible? Honest, straightforward Amon Byrne was — cheating on her? She tried to ignore the voice in her head that said it wasn’t cheating if there hadn’t been a relationship to begin with.

  You don’t lie to your friends, Raisa said to herself defensively. He’d gone out of his way to hide this from her.

  And then, as if in a bad dream that turns into a nightmare, she saw Amon stiffen, squaring his shoulders under the blue wool. He slowly turned his head so that he was looking right at Raisa. For a long moment she was petrified, unable to move, and they stared at each other. Then, cheeks flaming, she dropped below the windowsill and scrambled backward like a crab, out of the shrubbery.

  She stood upright and fled toward the front of the building. She’d gone only a few yards when a hand closed tightly around her upper arm, jerking her sideways.

  Raisa twisted around to face another Southern Islander in temple dress, this one as unlikely a candidate as she’d ever seen. The multiple piercings in her nose and ears were pegged with silver. She clutched a wicked-looking knife in her free hand.

  Even worse, she looked oddly familiar.

  “Who you spying on, dirtback?” The girl gave Raisa a little shake.

  “N—nobody,” Raisa said, trying to pull free. “Let go, that hurts!”

  “I want to know who you are and what you —” The blade-wielding Temple student’s eyes narrowed in recognition. “I know you,” she said. “I seen you someplace.”

  “That’s not surprising. I go to school here, too,” Raisa said, grabbing at dignity with both hands. “I just wanted to see what it’s like in the Temple.”

  “You’re from the Fells,” the dedicate said, avidly studying Raisa’s face. Then her eyes widened in astonishment. “You was the girlie with Cuffs Alister. You the one walked into Southbridge Guardhouse after the Raggers.”

  It was Cat. Cat Tyburn, the streetlord who had replaced Cuffs as leader of the Raggers. Alister’s former girlfriend.

  It was no wonder Raisa hadn’t recognized her at first. Cat looked different—almost cared-for—like a weedy, thorny garden that some gifted gardener had taken on. Her eyes were brilliantly clear, not cloudy like before, and she’d put on weight.

  What was she doing at Oden’s Ford?

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Raisa said. Her mind flashed to her sighting of Cuffs Alister by the stables. Could there be a connection? It didn’t matter. She had to get away.

  In desperation, she rammed her fist into Cat’s middle, hoping she wouldn’t get her own throat cut in the process.

  Fortunately, Cat was distracted and hadn’t seen the blow coming. She crumpled, dropping the knife. Raisa took off running again, this time clearing the Temple close and the quad, and turning onto Bridge Street. She ran like she was being pursued by demons.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  STAR-CROSSED

  Raisa ran all the way to Grindell Hall.

  She charged through the common room, drawing puzzled stares from Mick and Garrett, who were playing cards, and Talia and Hallie, who hadn’t gone out after all. She loped up the stairs, into her room, slammed the door, and flopped facedown on her bed.

  A few minutes later, she heard the door open softly. “Rebecca?” It was Talia.

  “Go away,” Raisa said into her pillow, wishing she had a room to herself. Wishing she were a princess again, so she could order people around.

  Of course Talia didn’t go away, but came and sat on the side of the bed.

  “I thought you were going out,” Raisa muttered.

  “We decided not to,” Talia said, stroking Raisa’s hair. “Did you follow him?”

  Raisa nodded, her face still pressed into the pillow. “How long have you known he was seeing someone?”

  “A while. He hasn’t kept it a secret —”

  “From anyone but me,” Raisa finished. She wished she could disappear. Was it that obvious she was in love with Amon? How could she ever face any of them again?

  Talia pressed her hands into Raisa’s shoulders, digging deep into the muscles, working free the knots. “He didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “I see. So he discussed it with the triple, and you all agreed that—”

  “No, no, no.” Talia’s hands stilled themselves. “It wasn’t like that at all. He’s not a very good liar, and he’s so bloody honorable. He’s been absolutely miserable, if you haven’t noticed.”

  Raisa could hear the love in Talia’s voice. Every member of the Gray Wolves loved Amon Byrne. They had that in common.

  The door opened and closed again, and Raisa twitched irritably.

  “There, now,” Talia said. “Hallie’s brought you some tea is all.”

  “I’ll get you something stronger if you’d like,” Hallie said. “I got some brandy will put you out like a doused candle.”

  Raisa shook her head. She needed a clear mind.

  “We didn’t know what had been between you,” Talia went on. “Or if any promises had been made, but—”

  “None,” Raisa said bitterly. “There was nothing. We were friends, that’s all.”

  I used to think I was good at reading people, she thought. I loved Amon, and I was convinced he loved me back, or that I could make him love me if I could just break through the barriers of class and duty.

  Could they ever be friends again?

  She didn’t even have the energy to be worried about running into Cat Tyburn. Just then, getting her throat cut seemed like an easy out.

  For the next hour, Hallie and Talia soothed her, plied her with tea, and tried to feed her dinner. Much of the time they just sat with her, holding her hands, saying nothing. Amid the heartbreak and self-blame, Raisa felt propped up by their presence. Maybe this was what it was like to have real friends.

  Finally, she heard the creaking of the stairs, and recognized Amon’s step.

  “We’ll stay if you want,” Hallie said quickly. “No matter what the corporal says.”

  Raisa shook her head. “We need to talk. We’ve needed to talk for a long time.”

  He knocked on the door.

  “Come in!” Talia said, and Amon pushed open the door. He stood looking at the three of them, his expression haggard and grim.

  Talia and Hallie kissed Raisa on opposite cheeks. “We’ll be downstairs if you need us,” Talia said. And they left, circling Amon, giving him the hard eye.

  Silence coalesced around them. Raisa sat up in bed, her back against the wall, her arms wrapped around her knees.

  Finally, Amon fetched the chair from Raisa’s desk and set it next to the bed. He sat down in it. “I’m glad you got back safely,” he said. “I should have come after you straight away, as soon as I saw you’d crossed the bridge.”

 
; “Well. That would have been awkward,” Raisa said, resting her chin on her knees. “This isn’t going to be about me crossing the bridge, is it?”

  He shook his head. “No. It’s not going to be about that.” He toyed with a heavy gold ring on his left hand. The ring with the circling wolves.

  Raisa almost wished it would be. She’d rather fight with him than have this conversation. “Who is she?”

  Amon looked up. “Her name is Annamaya Dubai,” he said. “Her family is from the Southern Islands, as you could probably tell. Her father is military—he’s a mercenary in the Fells. He’s one of the few stripers in the regular army that my father trusts.”

  “How did you meet her?” Raisa asked.

  “My father and her father set it up. They thought we would be well matched.”

  It sounded like they were a pair of carriage horses.

  “Well,” Raisa said, nodding, “she is tall.”

  “Stop it, Rai,” Amon said. “I’m not apologizing for seeing her. I’m apologizing for keeping it a secret from you. You can beat on me all you want, but leave her out of it. She’s sweet, and hard-working, and well-read. She’s an excellent harpist—very talented. And she’s great with horses. She’s lived in a military family all her life, so she’ll understand what that’s like—that my first duty is to the guard.”

  Then it hit Raisa like a fist in the face. Her heart began to pound so hard that it seemed Amon must be able to hear it.

  “You intend to marry her,” she whispered.

  He nodded, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Not till after I graduate from the academy. But the plan is we’ll announce our betrothal when we return to the Fells in the summer.”

  “What?” Raisa’s voice rose. “You’re getting married, and you never told me?”

  He looked up at her, his gray eyes swimming with guilt. “I have no defense. It was wrong, and I know it. I just didn’t have the courage to tell you.”

  The conversation was like a series of body blows. She wanted to hurt him back.

  Well, clearly she’s everything one could want in a wife—a horsey harpist, Raisa wanted to say. But when she looked up at Amon, his expression was so bleak and hopeless that the words dried up on her tongue.

  “You don’t love her,” she whispered.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you don’t. I can tell. Don’t try to lie to me; you’re no good at it.”

  He gazed at her, and Raisa could tell he was debating giving it a try anyway. Then he shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll be a good husband to her,” he said.

  And he would, except for the minor detail that he didn’t love her.

  Well, Raisa thought, if he’s going to marry anyone he doesn’t love, it’s going to be me.

  “Before you go through with this, there’s something you should know,” Raisa said crisply. “It’s important that you make an informed decision.”

  From Amon’s expression, he might have been facing a firing squad. “Rai, please. Before you say anything, there’s something I should have told you before now. I wanted to tell you, only — Da said I shouldn’t because we—”

  “No. Hear me out,” Raisa said. “And then you’ll get your turn.” She took a deep breath. “Amon, you’re my best friend. You always have been. You’re the most honorable person I know. And apparently you’re not the kind of person to get involved with a girl when you know it can’t go anywhere.”

  He kept his gray-eyed gaze locked on her face. “No,” he said quietly. “I’m not that kind of person.”

  She took his hands, rubbing her thumbs across his palms. She needed that physical connection to maintain her courage. “Me, I accepted that we could never marry, but I was willing to take you on whatever terms — you would offer.” She smiled. “That’s what we do, the Gray Wolf queens—we take what we can get when it comes to love. That’s why they call us witches and harlots in the south.”

  Amon closed his eyes, his lashes dark against his sun-roughened skin. His hands tightened on hers. “Your Highness, please don’t say things you’ll regret later. I don’t want things to be awkward between us.”

  “No,” Raisa said. “I think I’d regret not saying them. And things are already as awkward as they can be.” She paused, and when he said nothing, went on.

  “So. I know that I should make a political marriage, one that benefits the Fells and the line. But — it’s a new day. The Fells has never sent a princess heir to Oden’s Ford. Here I’m learning to let go of old ideas and embrace new ones. There has to be a way to make it work.”

  “Make what work?” he whispered like a dying man who exposes his throat, waiting for the killing stroke.

  “I love you,” she said simply. “I’m asking you to marry me.”

  Raisa couldn’t have said what kind of response she expected, but not an expression of mingled desire, grief, and despair.

  “You don’t understand,” Amon whispered, shaking his head. “I can’t... we can’t...”

  “I know we’re young,” she said quickly. “I didn’t want to marry so soon either. But if we marry, that takes a marriage to Micah Bayar off the table. We can go back to the Fells together, and that will stifle talk of putting Mellony on the throne. I think the people would welcome a marriage to a native born, rather than a foreigner.”

  The clans especially would welcome a Byrne. They respected Amon’s father, Edon Byrne. And the Byrnes weren’t magical or beholden to a foreign power.

  It made so much sense, she had to make him see it. It was what she wanted, and practical, too. But Amon just stared down at his boots.

  “I know there are obstacles,” Raisa said quickly. “My mother won’t approve. Maybe your father feels the same way. But — we can win them over.”

  You could learn to love me, she thought. I’ll teach you.

  “It’s not that simple,” Amon said, gently withdrawing his hands from her grasp. “I’m not free to marry you.”

  Raisa’s heart stuttered. “What do you mean, you’re not free?” A terrible thought crowded into her mind. “Do you mean—because you’re already betrothed?” She fixed on the gold ring on his left hand, similar to her own.

  “No,” he said. “I’m not betrothed.” He twisted the ring, sliding it up and down on his finger. “Is it my turn? Can I speak now?”

  She nodded, even though she had a terrible feeling she wouldn’t like what he had to say.

  “You know that the office of Captain of the Queen’s Guard is a legacy title in my family,” he said. “By Hanalea’s decree a thousand years ago.”

  Raisa nodded. Legacy titles weren’t unusual, though more common among the nobility than the military.

  “It typically goes to the first-born of each generation. The successor is selected by the previous captain to serve the new queen when she ascends to the throne.” He paused, as if waiting for a response from Raisa, but she said nothing.

  “I’ve been chosen to serve as your captain,” he said. “Da and I discussed it before we came south.”

  “Oh!” Raisa said. “Well, then.” Now she thought about it, she couldn’t imagine anyone else she’d rather have by her side. “That’s wonderful news,” she said. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

  “Well, it’s unusual to select a captain before the princess heir takes the throne. It’s threatening to the current queen. She might worry that the princess heir, in collusion with her personal guard, will try to take the throne early.”

  “Oh!” Raisa said. “Well, I suppose —”

  “Once the choice is made, it cannot be undone, save by death of either party. That’s another reason to wait until the princess is crowned queen.”

  Where did all these rules come from that I never heard of? Raisa wondered. Just one more example of information that should have been passed to her by Queen Marianna.

  Still, it seemed that Amon was straying off topic.

  “But why are you telling me this now? The role of Captain of the Queen�
��s guard works with the role of consort. It makes a lot of sense, if we could just persuade—”

  “It’s not just a legacy. There’s a magical piece,” Amon said.

  “A magical piece?” Raisa shivered, her skin pebbling as if a draft had come in through the window. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you know how the High Wizard is linked to the queen of the Fells, so that he or she cannot do anything contradictory to the interests of the Gray Wolf line?”

  “Of course,” Raisa said. “Though something seems to have gone amiss with our current High Wizard,” she added darkly.

  “The captains are linked too,” Amon said. “There’s a ceremony, with a speaker presiding. Once the link is made, it’s permanent. It prevents treason and assures the captain’s commitment to the survival of the line.”

  Raisa struggled not to gape. The Byrnes were the most unmagical people she knew. They always seemed like the plainspoken voice of reason against the drama of wizardry, the hardwired sorcery of the clans, and the seductive words of the speakers.

  Being linked to Amon could only be a good thing, right? Was it possible they could be bound any tighter than they already were?

  “So you’ll undergo this ‘linking’ ceremony when I become queen?” Raisa asked.

  Amon shook his head. “It’s already done. Before I left the Fells. My da thought I should, since you were leaving the Fells and passing through a war zone. And because, like you said, there may be a magical threat against the sovereignty of the current queen.” He held up his left hand, showing her the ring on his middle finger. She focused on the wolves circling the heavy gold band.

  “I’m already bound to you, Raisa. For good. Forever.” Something in his expression told her this was a mixed blessing.

  Raisa tried to swallow down her astonishment. “Did you really need to hold the ceremony early?” she asked. “The last thing I want is for people to think I’m plotting against my own mother. And I don’t see why your father thought he had to prevent your turning traitor on me.”

  “Well, there are advantages. Sometimes — I can predict what you’re going to do, and anticipate danger to you in time to prevent it. I can sense where you are, in an imperfect way.”