Exiled Queen, The

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “Where are we going?” Gryphon asked.

  “Bridge Street,” Han said. “Is there anyone who hasn’t been there?”

  This was met by more nervous laughter.

  “We’ll meet under the clock in front of The Crown and Castle,” Han said. “Don’t stray too far from there. Ten minutes goes by quick in Aediion. Ready? Hands off your amulets. Here’s the charm you’ll be using.”

  Han told it to them and had them repeat it. It was the same charm Gryphon had taught them back in the fall. Han would be using something different—the potent charm that would actually carry them all across.

  “All right, ready?” Han said. “Open your portals.”

  Han gripped his amulet and spoke Crow’s charm. The break between worlds was longer and deeper this time—long enough to worry about being stuck between. When the darkness finally faded, he stood alone under the clock on Bridge Street. Gryphon immediately materialized in front of him, eyes closed, holding tight to his amulet.

  “Gryphon!” Han said softly.

  Gryphon opened his eyes. He was a Gryphon made whole, without leg braces and crutches. He looked down at himself, and a pleased smile broke across his face. He took a few tentative steps, then reshaped himself, growing taller, more muscular, better matching his handsome features.

  Abelard appeared, then Hadron, deVilliers, and the Bayars last. When Micah and Fiona arrived, Gryphon’s clothing became just a little finer and better-fitting.

  “All right,” Han said, “everyone’s here. Now try changing the scene a bit.” Han gestured, and large purple flowers burst from the pavement, waist high. “Go easy, though; we don’t want to end up in a tangle.”

  The others conjured flowers and fireworks, fields and waterfalls, though Micah didn’t really join in the fun. He stood back, hand on his amulet, his eyes fixed on Han as if expecting him to make a move on him.

  “You can also change your clothes if you want, or the clothes of those around you.”

  A battle of dueling apparel erupted as they manipulated each other’s attire. Even Abelard joined in. Soon everyone was laughing.

  “From what I know,” Han said, “what’s real in Aediion is wizards, amulets, and magic. Everything else is illusion. We all came from the same room,” he went on, “but we could be spread all over the Seven Realms and still come together in a common place, if you planned ahead of time. Otherwise, you’d never find each other.”

  “Is bad weather coming in?” Mordra said, shivering and peering up at the sky. “It sure looks real.”

  A cold wind ripped between the buildings, raising gooseflesh on Han’s exposed skin. Dark, mottled clouds rolled in, turning midday into a peculiar twilight. Han conjured a deerskin jacket lined with fleece. The others followed suit, donning warmer clothes in the face of the drop in temperature.

  “Did you do that?” Gryphon asked Han, eying the sky. “Change the weather, I mean?”

  Han shook his head, at a loss to explain it. Could one of the others have done it? Micah or Fiona? They still clutched their amulets, but they both gazed skyward apprehensively, so it seemed unlikely. Han had never visited Aediion in a crowd before. It was hard to say who was really in control.

  Lightning brindled the sky, turning it garish shades of green and purple. A clamor of thunder made everyone cover their ears.

  “That’s enough, Alister,” Mordra said, pulling her head in like a turtle. “You’ve made your point.”

  Han gripped his amulet and tried to conjure better weather, but with no success. Illusion or not, the oncoming storm was hard to ignore.

  “Who is that?” Dean Abelard asked, shading her eyes and squinting past Han.

  Han turned, then stood gaping in surprise.

  It was Crow, dressed more finely than Han had ever seen him, in brilliant cloth of gold that set off his midnight hair, a jewel-encrusted sword in his hand. By now the sky was as black as darkman’s hour, but it didn’t matter. Crow lit up the whole street.

  He strode purposefully toward them, his sword extended, a bone-chilling smile on his face, flame rippling around him like a halo around a saint.

  Han stepped in between Crow and Abelard’s crew. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. He hadn’t said anything to Crow about the time of their visit or the place of their meeting. How had he found them?

  “Alister!” Abelard said. “Explain this at once! Is this person your creation or someone you know?”

  Crow twitched in irritation. Turning, he flicked his hand, and a mammoth wall of flame erupted from the street, separating Han and the Bayars from the others. With a gesture he set it rolling, driving the others down the street. Beyond the blaze, Han could hear screaming and shouting.

  Han swung around to face Crow again. “What are you doing?”

  “My business is with you and the Bayars,” Crow said. “We don’t need interference from them.” He stood before the Bayar twins, growing in size and brilliance until he dwarfed the pair. “Ah,” he said, gloating, “finally. I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.”

  “What are you talking about?” Micah demanded, shading his eyes with his forearm. “I don’t know you.”

  “But I know you,” Crow said. “I know who and what you are.” Lazily, he flicked flame from the tip of his sword. It rocketed toward Micah, and Micah dodged aside.

  Fiona’s eyes shifted from Han to Crow and back again. “Why are you doing this?” she said.

  Han shook his head. “Go on,” he said to Crow. “Get out of here. You’re not invited.”

  “I’m making good on a promise,” Crow said. “I promised to destroy Aerie House. I’m going to start with these two.”

  “Alister, if this is your idea of a joke, I am not amused,” Micah said. “I should have known better than to go along with this scheme.”

  “Arrogant. True to your breed,” Crow said. He sent another gout of flame jetting toward Micah and Fiona. They leaped to either side, rolling as they hit the ground. Fiona answered with a flaming attack of her own, but Crow let it sizzle through him with no apparent ill effects.

  Micah put up a shimmering wall, like solidified light, between him and Fiona and Crow and Han. Crow sent flame roaring right through it, and once again, Micah and Fiona dodged out of the way. Crow seemed to be toying with them, every attack a near miss.

  Han stepped between Crow and the Bayars, skin prickling with anticipation of the flame, knowing he’d likely get fried from front and back. He felt betrayed—played like a loaded mark.

  “Stop this, Alister,” Fiona said, “or I will stop you.” She took hold of her amulet and extended her hand toward Han.

  “Crow!” Han said. “Forget it. I’m not going to let you kill them.”

  “Why not?” Crow demanded. He shifted from side to side, trying to get a clear shot. “They tried to kill you several times. And it’s not like they’d shed a tear over you.”

  “I have a plan,” Han said. “And this isn’t it.”

  “Perhaps you want the pleasure of killing them yourself?” Crow got off a little bow. “Fair enough. Be my guest.” He disappeared.

  Han felt a kind of pressure, then a rough mental push, as if his mind were being straight-armed. Then another and another, as if someone were beating on his skull. It was Crow trying to get in, and getting bounced. Han fingered the rowan talisman and breathed a silent thank-you to Dancer.

  “Give it up,” Han said, just managing to sidestep the balls of flame Fiona lobbed at him. “It’s not going to work this time.”

  Crow slammed into his mind again. And again and again.

  “Come on, I can’t fight three on one like this,” Han said. “Do you want to get me killed?” He screamed as one of Micah’s fiery blasts grazed him, setting his clothes aflame. Frantically, Han beat at his clothing, then with a gesture, turned the street under Micah and Fiona into a mudpot. They sank to their waists.

  “Kill them, Alister,” Crow whispered in his ear. “Or they’ll kill you.”

>   “Kill them yourself, you sponging goat-swiving huff,” Han said, putting up a shield to hold off a series of small tornados embedded with shards of glass. “I’m not going to fight your battles for you.”

  Why didn’t Crow kill them himself? He knew more magic than the three of them combined. Surely he could come up with a death charm the Bayars couldn’t counter. His flaming attacks seemed to go right through Micah’s defenses, but every blow had missed or been deflected or somehow not connected. Han, Micah, and Fiona were doing more damage to each other than Crow had done to anyone.

  A suspicion kindled in Han’s mind.

  Crow changed strategy. As Micah and Fiona struggled their way out of the ooze, Micah staggered backward as if struck, his eyes widening in surprise. He stood stock-still for a long moment. Then, gripping his amulet, he turned and extended his hand toward Fiona.

  “Micah?” Fiona blinked at him. “What are you — ?”

  “Fiona! Look out!” Han shouted, pushing Fiona to the ground as Micah launched his charm and flame roared over their heads.

  “Micah!” Fiona screamed, rolling to her feet. “What are you doing?”

  Micah’s next shot blistered Fiona’s arm before she could leap aside.

  While Micah focused on burning his sister to a cinder, Han tackled him around the waist, sending them both flying face-first into the mud. “Run, Fiona!” Han shouted, spitting out mud. “Get out of here or he’ll kill you.”

  “I’m not leaving my brother!” she screamed at him. “You’ll kill him!”

  “This an’t your brother!” Han shouted back. “Can’t you tell? He’s possessed.” Han ripped Micah’s hands away from his amulet for the third time.

  Fiona hesitated, her hand on her amulet, hand extended, unable to get a clear shot at Han without striking her brother.

  “Kill me, and you’ll never get out of here,” Han shouted, exasperated.

  Micah struggled and kicked, doing his best to rid himself of Han so he could hush his sister. But Micah had a lot to learn as a street fighter.

  Han wasn’t sure how to evict Crow without killing Micah. But he had a theory.

  Keeping a tight grip on Micah, he yanked off Micah’s amulet.

  Crow materialized again as himself, mad as a cat in a downpour. Moments later his consciousness slammed into Han again. And failed again to penetrate.

  While Han was distracted, Micah smashed his fist into the side of Han’s head, making him see stars. “Give me back my amulet, you gutter-spawned pretender!”

  Han smacked him with an immobilization charm, and Micah finally went down and lay still, staring up at the sky. It worked so well, Han did the same for Fiona.

  “Now kill them, Alister,” Crow said, standing over the Bayar twins like the Breaker, eager to snatch up some souls. “Kill them now.”

  “Nuh-uh,” Han said, swiping blood from the side of his face. He nodded toward Micah and Fiona. “If you want them killed, then you do it.”

  “Hurry,” Crow said. “You’re running low on power. You’ll have to go back before long.”

  Han broadened his stance, folding his arms in defiance. “You can’t do magic on your own, can you? You’ve been using mine all along.”

  Crow flinched, and Han knew he’d guessed right.

  “How can you say I can’t do magic?” Crow said. “How could I be here otherwise? How could I do this?” And he sent flame spiraling down the street.

  “You can do illusions,” Han said. “You showed me that the first day. But you can’t do magic in the real world. You can’t do magic that would kill them”—he pointed at the Bayars—“without me.”

  “I’m not going to honor that with a response,” Crow said haughtily. “I’ve forgotten more magic than you’ll ever know.”

  “You know it,” Han said. “But you can’t perform it.”

  “You are out of your mind,” Crow said. “Are you going to kill the Bayar vermin or not?”

  Micah’s eyes shifted from Crow to Han, watching this exchange with interest and not a little alarm.

  “Show me how it’s done,” Han said, pointing.

  Crow made one more halfhearted attempt to slide into Han’s head. “How are you shielding yourself?” he demanded.

  “You’re the one should be explaining what your game is,” Han said. “Not me. You going to hush them or not? If not, we’ll be off. As you said, we’ve been here too long already.”

  Crow gazed at Han for a long moment, as if trying to look through his skin. “I’ve underestimated you,” he said finally, shaking his head.

  “It’s a common problem,” Han replied. “Especially with bluebloods.”

  Crow blinked out like a dying ember.

  Han waited a few moments to see if Crow would reappear. Then squatted next to Micah and Fiona.

  “You two listen to me. I’m going to release you. We’ll go find the others and then go back. You have a dispute with me, it can wait till we’re out of here. You spill anything to Abelard, I’ll leave you behind. You kill or disable me, none of us gets back, and that’s the truth. Do you understand?” Han waited, and of course they didn’t do or say anything in their immobilized condition, but he knew they weren’t idiots, so he gave them the benefit of the doubt and disabled the charm.

  They levered to their feet, slapped their hands on their amulets, and eyed him like he was a wild beast.

  “Come on.” Without looking back, Han strode down the street toward Crow’s wall of flame, which had died to nothing in his absence.

  “Alister!” A tall, angular figure walked toward him, carefully stepping over the scorched site of the wall. “You’d better have an explanation for this.”

  It was Dean Abelard, her hand wrapped around her amulet. The others trailed behind, all except for Gryphon, who rushed ahead to take Fiona’s hands and peer anxiously into her face.

  “Are you all right?” he said. Fiona nodded wordlessly. Gryphon slid an arm around her when she seemed in danger of falling.

  “Alister!” Abelard repeated, her voice flinty. “What happened?”

  Han shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I wish I did. This never happened before, not any of the times I crossed over. I never saw anyone I didn’t plan to meet or bring with me.”

  “You’re injured,” the dean said, looking at each of them in turn, her dark brows drawn together.

  “That cove tried to kill us,” Han said. “Just laid into us like a mad tom, sending flames flying and spouting one charm after another. We held him off, but it was touch and go, even three on one.” He shuddered. “Then finally he just blinked out. Disappeared. He must’ve run out of power.”

  Abelard frowned. “You don’t know this man? You never saw him before in the real world, either?”

  “I never did,” Han said. He shot Micah and Fiona a warning look. “You ever?”

  They just shook their heads, eyes wide, their faces pale as plaster.

  “We didn’t know where you were, or if you were—if you were still alive,” Hadron said, looking up at the Bridge Street clock. “It’s been a lot more than ten minutes—thirty, at least.”

  “Proficients deVilliers and Hadron attempted to go back on their own when we knew it was past time for us to return,” Abelard said. “They were unsuccessful.”

  They were all white-lipped and scared to death, except for Gryphon and Abelard.

  The dean’s face was creased with puzzlement and suspicion. Gryphon looked happier than Han had ever seen him, the layers of pain and frustration and bitterness fallen away. He looked like a dedicate who’d seen the face of the Maker.

  Peculiar.

  “I’d love to chat further about this,” Han said, tearing his eyes away from Gryphon, “but we’ve been here too long, and I don’t want to risk another ambush.”

  “Let’s go,” Mordra said, gazing around uneasily.

  “Everyone reach in and take hold of me.” The other six stood in a circle around Han, jockeying for position until they
all had a grip. “Now, you’ll speak the charm to open the portal, while I speak mine.”

  The world went dark in a jumble of competing voices. Han opened his eyes to Abelard’s meeting room and felt the weight of someone on top of him. It was Fiona. They were in a kind of tangle on the mattresses. Han quickly extracted himself and stood.

  He counted. All had returned. He let go a sigh of relief.

  Abelard took her own head count. “Well,” she said briskly, “at least we didn’t lose anyone, even if there were a few injuries.” Her tone suggested there was no making omelets without breaking eggs. “Congratulations on traveling to Aediion, something not many can say they’ve done. I will let you know whether there will be any follow-up on this. In the meantime, I shouldn’t have to remind you to say nothing about this to anyone.”

  “Excuse me, Dean Abelard,” Han said. “You all can do what you want, but I’m not going back. It’s not worth the risk.”

  Several of the others nodded in agreement.

  Abelard tightened her lips but said nothing more as they filed out silently.

  Micah and Fiona waited for Han at the bottom of the stairs. “I want to talk to you,” Fiona said, gripping his arm, her fingers digging into his flesh.

  “Hands off,” Han said, his knife pressing into Fiona’s throat. “I’ll give you to the count of three. One.”

  She jerked back her hands. Han’s knife disappeared.

  “Just because I didn’t hush you in Aediion doesn’t mean we can all be friends,” Han said. “I want to get a few things straight with you. Now, let’s walk out onto the quad, where it’s nice and public. I’m not meeting in back alleys with a pair of connivers like you.”

  He walked out into the center of the quad and sat down on a bench on the pavilion surrounding Bayar Fountain.

  The Bayars followed him. Han gestured to a nearby bench. They sat.

  “What were you thinking, Micah, sending a street rusher up against a wizard?” Han said, idly tossing his knife and catching it. “That was a mismatch. She’s talented, I’ll admit—there aren’t many Temple students who can cut your heart out through your clothes. But she’s never been a steady hand as a draw-latch.”