The Exiled Queen

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “Fireworks? I thought you were staying in.” Amon rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand.

  “I changed my mind,” Raisa said. She shed her cloak and hung it by the fire.

  Amon looked up at the clock on the mantel. “The fireworks ended an hour ago,” he said. “It took you this long to get back?”

  “Why are you home already?” Raisa said, annoyed. For the shortest day of the year, this had been one of the longest nights of her life, and it wasn’t over yet. “Did you and Annamaya have a fight or what?”

  “Rai,” Amon said. “Don’t.”

  “Well, you’re interrogating me.” Guilt always made her short-tempered. Images of Amon and Han reverberated in her aching head.

  He sighed. “We had dinner, but I decided not to stay for the fireworks. We were both tired.” And he did look tired. And sad. Raisa felt immediate remorse.

  “There’s no curfew tonight, you know,” she said more gently. “There were still lots of people on Bridge Street when I walked back.”

  “Bridge Street?” Amon’s eyes narrowed. “Is that where you were?”

  She was too tired to lie, or even give the long version. “I decided to go look for Hallie and Talia. Henri Tourant attacked me in an alley on the way. He thought I needed to be taught a lesson.”

  “What?” Amon erupted from his chair and took hold of her elbows, looking into her face. He had gone white to the lips, so his gray eyes looked nearly black. “I knew something had happened. That’s why I left after dinner, to look for you. But then it seemed — Are you all right? What did he... Are you...?”

  “I’m fine,” Raisa said quickly, to put a stop to the tumble of words. “Just a few bruises and a bump on the head is all. Thanks to you, for teaching me street fighting. I guess he never expected it from me.”

  Amon held her out at arm’s length, looking her up and down for damage. “Did you call the provosts? Is he in gaol? Why didn’t you send for me, Rai?” His voice nearly broke on the last sentence. “I know it’s been awkward lately, but you have to know I —”

  Raisa shook her head. “I didn’t want to draw the attention,” she said. “Besides, I think he’s learned his lesson.”

  Amon still looked stricken, as if all his worst fears had come to pass. “That’s it. You can’t walk around unescorted, not anymore.”

  “Listen to me,” Raisa said, thrusting her chin forward. “This could have happened to any female who damaged Henri Tourant’s pride. It’s not about who I am. An escort is not the answer. How would we explain that to the Gray Wolves, let alone all the other students?”

  They glared at each other for a long moment.

  “I’ll talk to Master Askell,” Amon said finally. “He’ll deal with Tourant. Askell won’t put up with this.” Gently, he ran his fingertips over the back of her head, locating the swelling where she’d hit the brick wall. “How do you feel?”

  “All right. Good thing I have a hard head.”

  “So after all this happened, you just went on to the fireworks?” Amon raised an eyebrow.

  “Then Cuffs Alister showed up.”

  Amon pressed his fingers into his temples again. “I’m dreaming, right? I fell asleep and this is a nightmare.” He went back to the table and sat.

  “Alister faked his own murder to get the Queen’s Guard off his trail,” Raisa said, dropping into the chair opposite Amon’s. “Remember when I thought I saw him over by the stables? That was him.” It gave her some satisfaction to say this, after Amon had persuaded her she’d been mistaken. “He’s a student at Mystwerk House.”

  Amon planted both hands on the table. “Mystwerk? But — what’s he—”

  “Cuffs Alister is a wizard,” Raisa said. “And he’s not Cuffs anymore. He sold his silver bracelets to pay for school, so now he goes by Han.”

  Amon sat thinking, his brow furrowed. “That can’t be right. People don’t just turn into wizards. He must have been one all along.” He looked up at her. “Why would a wizard live in Ragmarket?”

  Raisa shrugged. “I never saw any sign of wizardry before. And I never felt power leaking through his hands until tonight.”

  At this, Amon’s head came up sharply. “He was — touching you?”

  If you expect an explanation of that, you’re going to be disappointed, Raisa thought. “We watched the fireworks together, and then he walked me back.”

  “Your Highness, forgive me, but are you out of your mind?” Amon’s weariness fell away, replaced by agitation. He rose and paced back and forth. “That is the most boneheaded idea you’ve—”

  “What did you expect me to do? Club him on the head and throw him in the river? He knows me as Rebecca Morley, the name I’m using here. What do you think would arouse the most suspicion? Running away or continuing to be who I’m already pretending to be?”

  “You didn’t have to go watch fireworks with him. Or—or let him fondle you.”

  “Fondle?” Raisa raised her eyebrows. “When did I mention fondling?”

  Amon stopped pacing and swung around. “Are you doing this to get back at me because of Annamaya? Because, if so, you’re—”

  “You think this is all about you?” Raisa shook her head. “On the contrary, I hope you and Annamaya will be very — happy!” It would have been much more convincing had she been able to keep her voice from trembling.

  Someone cleared her throat on the stairs, making them both jump. Raisa looked up. Hallie was standing at the top of the stairs in her nightclothes. “Sorry to intrude,” she said, “but you two are terrible loud, and I’m trying to sleep because I have to leave in a couple of hours.”

  “Sorry,” Raisa said, her face burning. “I’ll be up to bed in a minute.”

  They both stood and watched until Hallie had disappeared again.

  “You know Alister’s up to something,” Amon muttered, poking viciously at the fire. “He must be. Maybe he followed us here.”

  “Why would he follow us here and then hideout for four months?” Raisa asked irritably. “Anyway, why would he follow us here at all?”

  He followed you tonight, an annoying voice said inside her head. He came looking for you.

  “I don’t know,” Amon said. “All I’m saying is that things are getting more and more tangled, and somebody’s going to pull a thread, and the whole thing will unravel.” He sat down on the edge of the hearth and put his face in his hands.

  All the anger whooshed out of Raisa as if somebody had pricked the bubble of her indignation, leaving only pain behind.

  Raisa sat down next to him, put her hand on his knee, rested her head on his shoulder. “Amon, I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry. I’m trying to be gracious about all of this, I really am. I’m just not very good at it. It would be easier if we didn’t have to be together all the time. And if we didn’t have all this trouble hanging over our heads.”

  She shivered. The fire had died down and the room had gone chilly. She just wanted to crawl into a warm bed and sleep.

  “You should get out of those wet clothes,” Amon said abruptly, as if his mind had been chasing down its own path. “But — I wanted to tell you—there’s news from the Fells.”

  “Oh!” Raisa said, jolted awake. That explained Amon’s distraction. It was the first news they’d had since their arrival four months ago.

  “I got a letter from my da,” Amon said. “It’s two months old, sent by ship from Chalk Cliffs, which I guess he thought was safer than sending it overland.” He smiled faintly at her eager expression. Fishing under his uniform tunic, he withdrew a creased letter, stamped with a plain wax stamp, not the sword-and-wolf insignia of the Captain of the Queen’s Guard. The seal had been broken.

  “He was afraid it might fall into the wrong hands,” Amon said.

  Like his liege queen’s hands, Raisa thought guiltily.

  Amon extended the letter toward her. “Read it, and you’ll see why I was worried. Then we’d both better get to bed.”

  Raisa took the letter
from Amon’s hand. She unfolded it, recognizing Captain Edon Byrne’s small, precise script.

  Son,

  May this find you and your fellow cadets well and safe. I hope you’ve limited your time on Bridge Street and have applied yourself to your studies so as to reflect well on our family name.

  I received your message about the Waterwalkers. I am doing everything in my power to resolve that situation. Lieutenant Gillen has been recalled to Fellsmarch. Corporal Sloat was killed in a skirmish near the West Wall. I have handpicked Gillen’s replacement. The Briar Rose Ministry has allocated funds to buy foodstuffs for the Fens as well as Ragmarket and Southbridge. So relations with the Fens have improved, though, as you can imagine, they are still strained.

  It has been a difficult season here in the capital. Her Majesty is under extreme pressure from the Wizard Council and others among the nobility, given the continuing absence of the Princess Raisa and speculation as to her whereabouts.

  Relations between HM and the High Wizard have suffered. The High Wizard suggests that by departing the Fells against the queen’s express wishes, the princess heir has forfeited her claim to the Gray Wolf throne. He also speculates that Princess Raisa may be dead or under control of a foreign power. Lord Bayar argues that confusion regarding the succession puts the Fells at risk. He favors naming the Princess Mellony as princess heir until and unless the Princess Raisa returns to the Fells to claim her birthright.

  Raisa looked up at Amon, aghast. “Mellony as princess heir? Why would they...?”

  Amon tapped the letter with his forefinger, shifting so his hip pressed up against hers. “Keep reading,” he said.

  It may be that this is merely a threat intended to reach the true heir’s ears and bring her back to court. Certainly, the High Wizard and other members of the Wizard Council aligned with him have made no secret of these opinions. The clans have been equally vocal in opposition to any change in the succession. Averill Demonai, the royal consort and father of both princesses, has made their position clear. The nobility are split on the issue of the succession. The tension at court is palpable.

  This public debate has resulted in an unexpected effect. When word spread that Princess Raisa might be set aside as heir, riots erupted throughout Ragmarket and Southbridge. Because of the Briar Rose Ministry, the princess enjoys great support among the common people in the capital, who see her as their champion. The High Wizard, these days, is the object of widespread suspicion and disdain. He cannot go abroad in the streets without an armed escort.

  Ha! Raisa thought. Serves him right. Still, she had no illusions that slumdwellers could prevail against Gavan Bayar.

  Funds have continued to flow to the Briar Rose Ministry despite the princess’s absence.

  Raisa looked up again. “Who is sending money to Southbridge Temple, do you think?” Raisa asked.

  Amon shrugged. “I don’t know. Could be ordinary citizens, some among the nobility, and maybe your father.”

  That made sense. Averill was one of the few people besides Speaker Jemson who knew how her ministry had been funded in the past.

  She turned back to the letter.

  The clans have threatened to cut off trade to the other six realms if the princess is set aside. They may not be able to control trade by sea, but certainly the loss of trade routes to Arden, Tamron, and the other realms would significantly reduce the flow of taxes that support the royal treasury. They have also restricted the flow of amulets and other magical devices to wizards in the queendom. The Wizard Council complains bitterly about this, suggesting that these actions by the clans threaten the security of the realm. Relations between the Wizard Council and the clans are at a low ebb.

  Thus far, HM the Queen has resisted making any changes in the succession. She is spending more time with the speakers in the temple, and this seems to be a source of strength for her. So you could say that matters are at an impasse and therefore as stable as they can be. However, it seems clear that there are persons in the queendom whose agendas might be advanced by the Princess Raisa’s death or permanent disappearance. It seemed they view Princess Mellony as a more tractable heir.

  Raisa looked up at Amon. He poked at the fire, a muscle working in his jaw. That explained the search party, his relief at her return, and his suspicions about Han Alister.

  She read on.

  I apologize for sharing such unsettling news in a letter. I know you will use your good judgment about how much of this to share with your fellow cadets. I would caution all of you against acting on impulse. If after reading this you are moved to return immediately to the Fells, I must strongly advise against it. Stay where you are, study hard, keep a watchful eye, and prepare yourself for the challenging tasks that lie ahead of you. I will send word if you are needed here at home.

  And let us pray that the princess heir, wherever she is, remains under the Maker’s care until she can safely rejoin the queen her mother.

  Best, Your Father

  It was unsigned beyond that.

  Raisa stared down at the letter. Her eyes filled with tears, blurring the letters on the page. All of this had flowed from her decision to flee the Fells. It seemed rash and cowardly in retrospect. Now Queen Marianna was on her own, except for Captain Byrne and the help Averill could provide. Help Marianna might not be willing to accept.

  Raisa had been bemoaning her love life, learning history and playing at war, relishing the independence of being anonymous Rebecca Morley. Meanwhile, her mother and her father and Edon Byrne had been struggling to hold the queendom together.

  And now she might be at risk of losing her throne.

  “This is all my fault,” she said, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

  “Raisa. Come on. It’s not,” Amon said, patting her back awkwardly.

  “Yes it is,” Raisa said, like a small child who won’t be comforted. “I’ve made a mess of things. I should have stayed.”

  Shaking off his hand, she stood, staring down at him. “We should go home,” she said. “I should never have left my mother alone.”

  “She is the queen, Rai,” Amon said softly. “Not you. And we all agreed that you couldn’t risk staying and being married off to Micah.”

  “I could have handled Micah,” Raisa said. “Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad.”

  “He may be young, but he’s powerful,” Amon said. “And even if you managed Micah, could you have handled Lord Bayar and the rest of the Wizard Council?”

  “I’ll have to manage them sooner or later,” Raisa said. “I may as well start now.”

  “When you’re sixteen?” Amon raised an eyebrow.

  “Some of the Gray Wolf queens were even younger when they were crowned.”

  “But you’re not queen,” Amon pointed out. “Your mother is queen, and she’s made some bad decisions.”

  “She’s still the queen,” Raisa said sharply. And then, sighing, “I’m sorry. I just can’t help defending her. She hasn’t given in, don’t you see? It’s been five months since I left, and she’s held firm. I should go back and relieve her.”

  “The letter is two months old,” Amon pointed out. “Who knows what the situation is now? Da said stay away, that it’s too dangerous to come home. I believe him.”

  “The letter is two months old,” Raisa repeated. “Maybe things are different.” Hah, Raisa thought. Rightly or wrongly, we just can’t help defending our parents.

  “What about the clans?” Amon persisted. “They’d never put up with your marrying a wizard. They’d go to war over it. The Demonai would kill Micah rather than let it stand.”

  There he was probably right. Raisa massaged her aching neck. How could she return home and protect her rights to the succession yet avoid a forced marriage?

  Hopefully Hallie would bring an answer back from Marianna.

  She looked up at Amon, who watched her as if to divine what she might do next.

  “If you insist on going,” Amon said, “we’re all coming with you.”
/>   “I’ll think about it,” Raisa said, handing the letter back to Amon. He dropped it into the flames, where it shriveled and smoked into ash.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  BLUEBLOOD

  WAYS

  “How do I look?” Han asked, turning around in his new clothes. The tailor had measured true—his jacket and breeches fit like a second skin. The hard part had been escaping the tailor.

  Dancer looked up from his book. When they’d returned from supper he’d parked himself in a comfortable chair with one of Firesmith’s nasty old books. “Stunning,” he said. “What’s the occasion?”

  “I’m going to see a girlie.”

  “I’ve never seen you dress like that to walk out with a girl,” Dancer said. He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not getting married, are you?”

  Han shook his head. “I’m taking blueblood lessons from that girlie I told you about. Rebecca Morley.”

  “Hmmm. Well, you have the look down. Only, tilt back your head and look down your nose.” Han complied. “That’s it. Perfect. You’re a natural.”

  “Must be my Waterlow bloodline.”

  Dancer’s blue eyes glinted with amusement. “Now say, ‘Copperheads are little more than leeches on the body of society—a necessary evil.’”

  Han laughed. “I don’t think I can manage. Guess I’m not cut out for this.”

  Dancer shrugged. “How long will this class take? Cat’s in another recital tonight, over at the Temple School. I’m going over. Want to come?”

  Han shook his head. “Can’t. I’ve been jammed with work.” He held up his copy of Faulk’s Heraldry—a doorstop of a book. How many masters did he have: Crow, Abelard, and now Rebecca? And the new term hadn’t even begun.

  Dancer marked his place with a finger and sighed. He watched Han for a few minutes, then said, “I’m worried about Cat.”

  “What? Why?” Han tried to recall the last time he’d seen her. It had been a while. It was almost like she was avoiding him. Or maybe it was just that he was never around.

  “It seemed like she really liked it here, was getting on at the Temple School and all,” Dancer said. “But all of a sudden she seems unhappy again. I wondered if she’d said anything to you.”