The Exiled Queen

by Cinda Williams Chima

  That seemed unlikely, though. Knowing Micah and Fiona, they would treat a Ragmarket-bred wizard like dung.

  “Listen,” she said, leaning toward him and clasping her hands together. “Please, please don’t tell them I’m here. It would be awkward, you know? They don’t think of me as a peer, exactly.”

  He blinked at her, looking puzzled. “But you’re a blueblood,” he said. “You talk like them and you’re—”

  “I’m of mixed blood,” she broke in. “My father was clan and my mother a Vale-dweller. Perhaps you’ve noticed that the Bayars don’t approve of clanfolk.”

  “Aye,” he said, nodding, his confusion clearing a fraction. “I’ve noticed.”

  Hmm, Raisa thought. Maybe the key to lying well was telling the truth in a misleading way.

  “Your turn,” she said. “You said you followed me?”

  “Well, yes. See, Cat told me she saw you. Outside of the Temple School.” He cleared his throat. “She said that you might live in Grindell, because—ah—Corporal Byrne did.”

  “Did she, now?” Raisa pressed her lips tightly together, feeling the blood boil into her cheeks. What would Cat have told him, after seeing Raisa spying on Amon?

  “So I — wanted to find out if it really was you. I watched outside your dormitory and saw everybody else go out.”

  You didn’t have anything better to do on solstice eve? Raisa thought.

  “Then I saw you leave alone. So I tagged after you.”

  “You stalked me, you mean. That was inappropriate, Alister. You’re lucky I didn’t break your finger.”

  He raised his eyebrows in a way that meant, That would never happen.

  “See. I wanted to make contact with you,” he said. “But I didn’t know — if I would be welcomed. Or how things stood between you and Corporal Byrne.”

  “What does my friendship with Corporal Byrne have anything to do with you?” Raisa said icily.

  “You want more tea?” Han asked, reaching for her cup as if eager to dispel the tension that crackled between them. Their hands collided, and Raisa jerked her cup back, spilling what was left.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m clumsy tonight.”

  She was acutely aware that they were alone together, continually measuring the space between them. Her eyes kept straying to the snarl of blankets in the corner. What was it about Alister that got her thinking that way every time they met?

  The bells in Mystwerk Tower bonged. Raisa counted. Eleven. An hour until fireworks.

  Han seemed to take it as a signal to get to the meat of the matter. “Listen. Rebecca,” he said. “The reason I followed you was, I got a favor to ask.”

  Raisa looked up in surprise to find Han looking down at his hands. Clearly, he wasn’t used to asking favors of anybody. Or getting them when he did.

  “Well,” she said, mystified, “I’ll certainly — What can I do for you?”

  “I just wondered — would you be — Would you tutor me?”

  “Tutor you?” She studied his face to see if he might be joking. He looked perfectly serious, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  “I thought you already had a tutor,” she said.

  “Right. I do. But there’s things I need to know that he doesn’t cover.”

  “But — you know I don’t know anything about charmcasting,” she said. “I can’t help you with that.”

  “That an’t—that isn’t what I want,” he said, fingering his wrist where the cuff had been.

  Raisa didn’t know what else to say that wouldn’t be insulting. Would a streetlord have much previous education? If not, he’d be struggling in his classes at Oden’s Ford.

  “Well — what do you need help with? History? Grammar or rhetoric? Languages? Arithmetic?” Raisa named off the subjects she was good at. She hoped he might want help with arithmetic. She was especially good at numbers, having spent so much time in the clan markets. “I’ve got some books that—”

  Han waved his hand impatiently to stop her recitation. “No, I’m good on that lot. Father Jemson gave me a good start. And I get stuffed full of that in class every day.”

  “Then what could I possibly—”

  “Rebecca.” Han leaned forward. His eyes were clear and blue as deepwater ice. “I want you to teach me to pass as a blueblood.”

  “What?” Raisa stared at him.

  “I’d pay you,” he rushed on. “I have money. You could name your price. And I wouldn’t take too much time away from your studies. We could meet a couple of times a week, and you could, you know, give me assignments to do on my own.”

  “Why would you want to pass as a blueblood?” Raisa asked. “I mean, want it enough to pay for tutoring?”

  The gang lord stood and paced back and forth as if he were too agitated to stand still. “Look, I only have two friends here at the academy—one’s clanborn and the other’s street-raised. Dancer and me, we’re misfits in Mystwerk House. The rest of the newlings—they’re all cake-eaters. Bluebloods, born and raised. But that’s who we’ll have to deal with if we want to get anything done. They’re the ones’ll be running the Wizard Council once we go home. They’ll be the ones calling the shots.”

  Han stopped pacing and leaned back against the hearth. “I knew how to do business in Ragmarket—I made a living for my family and a dozen Raggers, too. I could outsmart any gang lord in the city. But this is different. Now I got to be able to face off with wizards. So I need to speak the language, dance the dances, pick up the right fork, and know what clothes to wear, or they’ll never take me serious.”

  Raisa hadn’t really thought about the former Cuffs Alister interacting with wizards. In Ragmarket his violent reputation had protected him. What must it be like for him, sharing a classroom with the magical nobility? They would despise him and make fun of him. They’d remind him every day of his slum origins. The faculty would condescend to him. He’d undermine himself every time he opened his mouth.

  “Why do you want them to take you seriously?” she asked, thinking they’d never accept him anyway. “What is it you want to get done?”

  Han gazed into the fire. “I’m tired of people dying because they were born in Ragmarket or Southbridge. I’m sick of people in power picking on the weak. I’m going to help them.” He brushed at his eyes with the heels of his hands and cleared his throat.

  Was he crying? Raisa took a step toward him, hands extended, but he turned his back to her and poked at the fire with a stick.

  “You don’t really need tutoring in those things, you know,” Raisa said, touching Han’s shoulder. “The language and manners, I mean. Here at school, you’ll be mixing with all kinds of people. You’re smart. You’ll pick it up naturally in time.”

  Han shook his head. “That’s too slow. Anyway, to tell the truth, bluebloods an’t that eager to mix with me outside of class.” He looked back at her and rolled his eyes. “I got to take advantage of being here because I don’t know how long I can stay.”

  Why? Is it the money? she almost said. But thankfully didn’t. One thing hadn’t changed. Han Alister still unbalanced her, making her lose her usual nimble footing.

  Is it because he’s wicked? she wondered. Like Micah Bayar? Like Liam Tomlin and Reid Nightwalker? Like every other boy she’d ever found appealing?

  Because he’s forbidden? Like Micah? Are you like your ancestor Hanalea, whose lust for the wrong man brought down the Seven Realms?

  No. She wouldn’t spend her lifetime mimsy-toeing around, for fear she’d repeat the mistakes of a millennium ago. There were plenty of new mistakes to be made.

  “All right,” Raisa said. “If you think it would help, I’ll tutor you.”

  He swung away from the fire and looked at her. “Really? You’re serious?”

  He thought I’d refuse, Raisa thought. She nodded.

  Han smiled, then, a bright, charming smile that lit up the room, more dangerous than any blade.

  All you ever needed was that smile, she thought. I’d h
ave given in immediately.

  Crossing the room to her, he fished eagerly into his breeches pocket, producing a purse. “How much will you—”

  Raisa put up a hand. “I won’t charge you for the tutoring,” she said, remembering Dimitri and the concept of gylden. “But you’ll owe me. One day I’ll call in the debt.”

  Han stood staring at her for a long moment. “I’d rather just pay you,” he said finally. “I don’t know if I’ll be in a way to repay favors.”

  “I’ll take that chance,” Raisa said. “What you will do is pay me a fivepenny every time you say ‘an’t’ and ‘I got to.’ I’ll be rich on that alone before the term is over.”

  “Hey, now,” Han said, raising both hands in protest. “I an’t going to—”

  She stuck out her hand and wiggled her fingers. “A fivepenny, please. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

  Grumbling halfheartedly, he dug into his purse and produced another Fellsian fivepenny coin. He flipped it to her, and she stuck it in her purse.

  The new fivepenny had Mellony’s image graven on it. Raisa wouldn’t dare ask for a crown, called a girlie on the street. They carried her own likeness, in profile.

  “We’ll need a place to meet,” she said. “I don’t want Micah or Fiona to see me here on the Mystwerk side.”

  “We can meet at your end of Bridge Street,” Han suggested. He paused. “There’s an upstairs room at The Turtle and Fish you can rent by the hour.”

  And how do you know that? Raisa wanted to ask.

  “Maybe not Bridge Street,” Raisa said. “The Bayars likely eat over there every night.”

  Han laughed. “Not at the Turtle. It’s all Wien House. I’m risking my skin going in there.” He paused, furrowing his brow. “You should know that. Don’t you ever go out?”

  “No,” Raisa admitted. “I don’t.”

  “How about Tuesdays and Thursdays?” Han said.

  “Tuesdays and Thursdays, for now,” Raisa agreed, wondering how she would fit that into her already taxing schedule. “In the meantime, there’s a book I want you to find in the library. It’s called Fellsian Heraldry and Tradition by Hauldron Faulk. Read as much of it as you can before Tuesday. And don’t make that face. I had to read the whole thing and recite from it when I was a lot younger than you.”

  “Sounds riveting,” Han said, scribbling the name down on a scrap of paper, just the same.

  A boom rattled the windows. Light poured through the glass, turning the gloomy room bright as midday.

  “The fireworks,” Raisa said. “We’d better go down.” She gestured at the window, too high to reach. “Do we go back the same way?”

  “Let’s go back up,” he said. “I got—I have an idea for where we can watch the show.” Han snatched up Raisa’s cloak and held it while she slid into it, an awkward attempt at gallantry. Standing behind her, he gripped her around the waist and lifted her high so she could reach the window. Pulling herself up, she slithered through. He leaped, gripped the stone sill, and swung easily through the opening.

  “This way,” he said. He led her around the base of the bell tower to the far side, where the roof slanted down to a joining with one of the wings. He spread his cloak over the rough tiles. Bracing his feet against the flashing, Han leaned back onto the slanted roof so he was lying at a slight angle, looking up at the sky. He patted the spot next to him. “Here.”

  Raisa lay down beside him.

  Boom! The shell exploded nearly over their heads, showering streamers of colored sparks over the greens.

  “It’s spectacular,” Raisa said, turning her head to grin at Han.

  “I thought this would work,” Han said, looking pleased with himself.

  The missiles rippled into the air, glittering red, purple, green, silver, and gold. Great chariots charged across the sky, pulling the sun behind them. Dragons roared overhead, breathing flame, drawing lusty cheers from the crowds down below. Fireworks were mostly clan made, and some said there was magic built in.

  “Oooh,” the crowd said in unison. “Aaah.”

  Raisa floated on a sea of homesickness. Queen Marianna presided over solstice fireworks in Fellsmarch, the shells exploding over Hanalea and Lissa and all the other mountains. They’d go to temple by candlelight, and thank the Lady for the sun’s return.

  May the sun come again, Mother, she thought, and meant it.

  “What did you like best about solstice at home?” she asked, looking over at Han.

  “The food,” he said, without hesitation.

  “What kind of food?” Raisa asked, recalling the groaning tables in the palace.

  “Enough to fill you up,” he said simply. Pillowing his head on one arm, he reached down and took her hand.

  You’re a bold one, she thought, but didn’t pull away.

  “Before the war got bad,” he continued, “there was always plenty of food around at solstice. The temples had extra, and some of the rich houses gave out leftovers from their feast days. Since the war, there hasn’t been plenty, but still more than usual, anyway.

  “The markets had toys and candy, fried honey cakes and spun-glass stars you never saw any other time of year. My sister, Mari, loved those honey cakes and sugar suns. I could’ve snabbled a whole bakery cart, and she’d still want more. She’d get powdered sugar all over her face.”

  He sighed and fell silent, lost in his own thoughts.

  “I miss the snow,” Raisa said, wiping cold mist off her face with the sleeve of her cloak. “It made the city look like a fairyland.” Her family would ride through the streets in a horse-drawn sleigh, wrapped snug in furs, bells jingling.

  “And the river didn’t stink as bad, once it was frozen over,” Han said.

  She laughed. “You’re right.” Even in their different lives, they’d shared the stinking river.

  “We’d sneak out at night and slide down Quarry Street Hill on dustbin lids until the bluejackets chased us off,” he went on. “Sometimes bluebloods came down the way in big sleighs. We’d catch a ride, standing on the runners in back until the footmen clubbed us off.”

  Raisa’s breath caught. “They clubbed you?”

  “Well.” He looked sideways at her. “If you were any good, they’d miss.”

  A succession of quick explosions drew their attention skyward. It was the climax of the show, a symphony of sound and light. Then it was over, leaving brilliant images on the insides of Raisa’s eyelids and a ringing in her ears.

  She could feel Han shifting position on the roof beside her, moving closer. She just lay there, unwilling to move. Wishing she could just stay up there, avoiding the turmoil of her life below.

  Finally she opened her eyes to find him propped up on his elbow again, looking down at her, indecision in his eyes. Looking at her lips, to be specific.

  He wants to kiss me, she realized. But he’s thinking about what happened earlier with Tourant, and he doesn’t want to press it.

  “Thank you,” she said, pushing upright, and the moment passed. “My solstice eve turned out better than I hoped. But I’d better get back.”

  He stood and helped her up, steadying her on the slippery tiles. “I’ll walk you back and make sure you get in all right.”

  Before tonight she would have refused the offer. Despite Micah’s presence, Oden’s Ford had seemed safe, sequestered from the real world. She’d been wrong.

  They walked back across the still-crowded bridge, lost in their own thoughts. All the way back, she second-guessed her decision to tutor Han Alister. Was it frustration over Amon that had made her say yes? A desire to do something she knew he wouldn’t approve of? First the letter to Queen Marianna. Now this.

  Wouldn’t it be better to keep her distance from anyone attached to the Fells? Wouldn’t it be better to keep her distance from someone who made her heart race and her tongue tangle up? From someone who made her want to forget the rules?

  Was there anyone in all of the Seven Realms who had more counts against him? Anyo
ne who would be less acceptable to every faction in the Fells than Han Alister?

  Well. It wasn’t like she meant to marry him.

  At the edge of the Wien House quad, she paused. “I’m all right now,” she said, pointing. “My dormitory is right over there.”

  “Worried Corporal Byrne will see us?” Han said, tilting his head toward Grindell.

  Which was exactly what she was worried about.

  “Why would you think I’d be worried about that?” she snapped.

  “Just a guess.”

  “You seem to think that there’s some kind of—of thing between us,” she said. “I don’t know what Cat told you, but whatever it is, it’s not true.”

  “Well,” he said, rubbing his chin, “there’s definitely a thing. I’m just not sure what kind of thing it is.”

  She huffed out a breath to show him what she thought of that. “Thank you, Newling Alister, for the tea and the fireworks,” she said, inclining her head. “I had a wonderful time. Now, if you will excuse me.” She strode across the quad toward Grindell, head held high. When she was nearly there, he called after her in a carrying voice, “See you tomorrow night, Newling Morley!”

  She swung around. “What?”

  “Tomorrow is Tuesday,” he said, bowing at the waist. Then he turned and disappeared into the night.

  Raisa stood looking after him, a dozen sarcastic responses crowding forward, then dying on her lips.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  NEWS FROM

  HOME

  When Raisa splashed up the steps to Grindell Hall and opened the heavy front door, a single light burned in the common room, leaving the corners in shadow. Amon Byrne sat bolt upright at the library table, an unopened book in front of him. When he saw it was Raisa, he sagged a little, looking relieved.

  “Finally,” he said. “Where have you been? I sent Mick and Talia out looking for you. I was afraid something had happened.”

  “I was watching the fireworks,” she said. “I came straight back.”