Han and Amon and Cat and Dancer attended all the parties and dances, too, working out a schedule of handoffs that kept the queen-to-be constantly under surveillance by at least two of them.
Unfortunately, this meant that Han spent a lot of time watching Raisa circling the ballrooms and salons with Reid Nightwalker and Micah Bayar. To Han’s dismay, Nightwalker seemed to have moved permanently into the city. Weren’t the Demonai supposed to be up in the Spirits patrolling for jinxflingers?
And Bayar—Han assumed those dances were driven by protocol, but still. How could she stand to have him touch her?
There were other suitors, too—locals and foreigners—mostly minor bluebloods who hoped to make a marriage with a queen. Han made note of them, got to know their names, matched them up with the gifts flowing in. Cat assigned members of her crew to shadow Raisa’s suitors in the city, to find out where they went and whom they met with.
The Klemath brothers were eager and persistent, like a pair of overgrown puppies, but Han wasn’t too worried about them. Raisa seemed resigned to marrying for the good of the realm, but even duty had its limits.
All of this surveillance left little time for dancing himself. Which was all right. The only person Han really wanted to dance with was somebody he dared not show an interest in—publicly or privately. Private often became public in a castle with a thousand ears.
He did get in a little practice. Han didn’t have a dance card (an odd blueblood scheme for lining up dance partners), but if he did, it could have been filled for every dance. There seemed to be no shortage of highborn women interested in getting to know him better.
One of the most persistent was Melissa Hakkam, Raisa’s cousin and daughter of the head of the Council of Nobles. Han found it hard to believe that she and Raisa were related. Missy giggled constantly, like a dedicate deep in her cups. She hung on Han like a thorny vine, and, as usual, Han got the blame. Her father, Lord Hakkam, glared daggers at him every time she twined her arms around his neck.
It wasn’t like he’d offered any encouragement.
Most of his classmates from Mystwerk were home for the summer, and the girlies he’d schooled with seemed to have forgotten what a pariah he was. Though likely some of them were crewing for the Bayars, trying to lure him someplace private for a shoulder tap.
One night, he’d just handed off queen-watching to Cat and was helping himself to some potent blueblood punch when some equally potent blueblood fingers wrapped themselves around his arm.
He swung around, nearly flinging his punch into Fiona Bayar’s face. She wore her glitter-pale hair loose around her shoulders, and a black dress that was mostly bottom half. She’d filled in the plunging neckline with ropes of pricy baubles.
“Come dance with me, Alister,” she hissed. “I want to talk to you.”
It was the first she’d spoken to him since Oden’s Ford. The first he’d seen her since the old queen’s funeral. The first he’d seen her since Raisa had assigned him to the Wizard Council instead of her.
Han gulped down his punch and wiped his mouth on his sleeve on purpose. The punch glimmered his middle pleasantly. “You sure you want to be seen with me?” he said, making a show of looking around the room.
Lord and Lady Bayar shared a large table with other blueblood wizards, including the Gryphons. Han was surprised to see Adam Gryphon, his former teacher, sitting with the rest of them in his wheeled chair. Han hadn’t seen him at any of the other parties, and he didn’t look happy to be at this one. Gryphon was watching Han and Fiona, his brows drawn together in a puzzled frown.
Fiona tugged at Han’s arm, dragging his attention back to her. “Never mind them. I’m spying on you,” she said. “I’m supposed to be winning your trust.”
“Supposed to be?” He raised an eyebrow. As if that would ever happen.
“Are you coming?” Fiona jerked her head toward the dance floor.
She was ordering him around again. It was a habit with her.
Well, Han thought. I do want to know what she’s up to. He took her elbow and walked her into the midst of the dancers.
They circled the floor in silence for a few minutes.
“Well?” Han said.
“Where did you learn to dance?” Fiona asked. “You are better than I expected.”
“I’m always better than people expect,” Han said, still keeping that little bit of distance between them.
“I understand that now,” Fiona whispered. “I’m beginning to realize that you have…great potential.” She paused. “That was brilliant, getting yourself appointed to the council,” she went on. “Even though it was at my expense. However did you persuade the queen to do that?”
“I can be very persuasive,” Han said. “You’d be surprised.” On the sidelines, he saw Missy Hakkam chatting with a crew of bluebloods but keeping her eye on him. They swept past Raisa dancing with Nightwalker. He wasn’t keeping any distance between the two of them. Raisa’s eyes were closed, her head resting on Nightwalker’s shoulder.
Han couldn’t help himself. He pulled Fiona closer against him, allowing a little heat to flow through his fingers.
She smiled at him slit-eyed, purring like a cat on a warm hearth. “Have you thought any more about my proposal back at Oden’s Ford?” she asked, sliding her hands up to his neck and resting her head on his shoulder.
“The one where I give you my amulet?” Han said. “And you get to be queen of the Fells?”
“I notice you haven’t been wearing it lately,” Fiona said, looking down at his chest, where the Lone Hunter amulet was on display.
“I wear it,” Han said. “Just not where you can see it. With all you Bayars around, that’d be like waving a bag of gold in front of a slide-hand’s face. And in case anybody’s thinking of tossing my room, I wouldn’t chance it if I were you.”
She laughed. “If I send anyone, I’ll make sure they’re expendable.” She paused, the smile fading. “I haven’t forgotten that you saved my life in Aediion. I’m in debt to you.”
That and a copper will get me a pork bun, Han thought.
Han scanned the Bayar table again as they swept by. Adam Gryphon slouched back in his chair, head tilted back, his blue-green eyes fixed on Han and his dance partner.
Oh. Right, Han thought. Gryphon is sweet on Fiona. Was that why he’d come home—to court her? Don’t worry, Master Gryphon, he thought, I’m not really getting into your game.
“I’m surprised to see that Adam Gryphon is back from school, too,” Han said.
“His parents brought him back here to assume the family seat on the council,” Fiona said. “He would have been better off staying where he was. The Gryphons are fooling themselves if they think there’s any chance he’ll ever…” She clamped her mouth shut, maybe thinking better of what she was about to say. “Forget Adam. Let’s talk about us. What if I came to you with a different proposal? Would you be interested?” She looked up at him, lips slightly parted.
“Different how?” Han said. “A better one, I hope?”
“Of course,” Fiona said. “That was just the opening of negotiations.” She pressed closer against him.
They passed Raisa and Nightwalker again, tight as ticks in Ragmarket. This time, Raisa was staring at Han and Fiona, a frown on her face.
“I don’t think we should be talking about this here,” Han said. “Your family and friends aren’t the only ones looking on.”
Fiona nodded. “You’re right.” She drew back a little. “But if you are willing to listen, we should talk soon.” Her lips twisted in disgust. “The princess heir has agreed to allow my brother Micah to court her,” she said. “In secret, of course.”
Han tried to prevent surprise from splashing over his face. “She has?” he blurted. He couldn’t help looking around for Raisa on the dance floor again.
“Easy,” Fiona snapped, jerking her arm away from his hand. “You’re leaking.”
“Sorry,” he said, getting his flash under control. ??
?I’m just surprised is all, after everything that’s happened. Why would she do that?”
Fiona smiled grimly. “Why do you think? Micah is handsome and charming and quite persuasive himself. And he works fast. So if we want to prevent a betrothal or elopement, we need to work fast. I’m willing to snarl up Micah’s plans in my own interest, but it could get very complicated if my brother marries her.”
Complicated? You could say so, Han thought, his belly twisting into a knot. It could get complicated when I murder your brother.
The song ended and they coasted to a stop. And, there, so close he could have spit on them, Han saw Micah Bayar shooing off a glowering Nightwalker. Micah gripped Raisa’s elbows like they belonged to him, smiling down at her, ready to claim the next dance and more. And she was smiling back at him as they glided away.
Micah works fast, Fiona had said. Han’s temper flared. It was bad enough watching her with Nightwalker. How could she even stomach Micah after all he’d done? What was she thinking?
Micah and Raisa swept past again. Micah’s hand was at Raisa’s waist, pressing her closer, his head bent down so he could whisper lies in her ear, his lips practically touching her skin.
I should have killed him when I’d had the chance, Han thought, flexing the fingers on his blade hand. I need to put the Bayars out of the wizard business for good.
“Will you control yourself?” Fiona snapped, jerking away and rubbing her arm. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing,” Han said, refocusing on Fiona’s face. “It’s nothing.”
Fiona eyed him as if she didn’t quite believe him. “We’ll talk soon—I’ll find a way.” She took a step back from Han. “In the meantime, think about what I said.”
C H A P T E R T H I R T Y-F O U R
SECOND THOUGHTS
Magret Gray was as good as her word. She did her best to smooth away Cat’s ragged edges and teach her the basic duties of a chambermaid. With Magret’s backing, Cat forged links with the upstairs staff and learned the names and ranks of nearly everyone who frequented the palace on a daily basis. Both Cat and Magret seemed to be determined to make a go of it.
Still, it wasn’t easy. Raisa’s Mistress of the Queen’s Bedchamber wasn’t used to having her authority questioned when it came to protocol and manners. Though Cat’s year at the Temple School had shaped and rough-polished her, she didn’t take criticism well. She always had to know the why and wherefore along with the who and the what.
Sometimes Raisa returned to her suite to find Magret and Cat icily ignoring each other. Once, they were so caught up in a shouting match that they didn’t even hear her come in.
Magret? Shouting?
Raisa didn’t have time to referee. Her coronation was officially scheduled for her seventeenth birthday. Guests poured into Fellsmarch as the date drew closer. At first it was mostly homegrown nobility and wizards from all parts of the Fells. Every scrap of guest space in the castle and all of the other buildings within the close were filled to capacity. Those of lower rank found themselves stranded outside the walls, pining to be inside.
Some of the choicest apartments inside the close were still empty, reserved for royalty arriving from the down-realms, including the king of Arden. Most would arrive immediately before the coronation, and stay through the ball and the receptions that followed.
Micah Bayar and Reid Nightwalker attended nearly every party, each dancing with Raisa as often as possible and keeping a weather eye on his competition. Han was always there also. She often spotted him standing against the wall, his eyes following Raisa and her suitors around the room.
It couldn’t have been easy to focus, with all the distractions. Han received considerable attention from the ladies of the court, as well as foreign visitors. A ruthless streetlord, a thief, a gifted member of the Wizard Council, and heartbreakingly handsome—what more could a lady want—in a paramour, anyway?
He danced constantly—with Missy Hakkam, with his classmates from Mystwerk, and with Pearlie Greenholt, since Talia was still convalescing. He was always at the center of a fluffy crowd. Raisa couldn’t help noticing whom he danced with, and how often, and how gracefully he circled the floor, his golden hair gleaming in the torchlight.
Especially since he never danced with her.
Missy Hakkam was a glittering planet in orbit around Han, when she wasn’t flirting with this or that minor prince from the down-realms. Raisa’s cousin seized every opportunity to touch Han, to hang on him, and she giggled furiously at everything he said.
But that wasn’t the worst thing. At a party two nights before the coronation, Raisa saw Han dancing with Fiona Bayar. As Raisa circled past with Nightwalker, Fiona had her arms wound around Han’s neck, her head resting on his shoulder, pressed in so tight you couldn’t get a hand between them.
Find a back hallway somewhere! Raisa thought crossly.
On second thought, no, don’t, she amended.
As Raisa watched, Fiona tilted her head up, smiling at something Han said. She didn’t have to tilt far, she was so bloody tall.
Don’t you know how risky it is, getting that close to Fiona? Raisa thought. She’s just after your amulet, you know. Anyway, I thought you hated the Bayars. Don’t you even know how to hold a proper grudge?
Traditionally, the princess heir spent the night before her coronation ball sequestered, praying to the Maker and her ancestors for guidance. Raisa dutifully dressed in temple trousers and a tunic and instructed the guards outside the door to admit no one.
After Magret left, Raisa knelt before the altar in her sitting room and tried to focus. It wasn’t that she couldn’t use a little divine intervention, given her present situation. But her mind kept straying to other things, bouncing from present to past.
Raisa couldn’t help thinking of her name day, almost exactly a year ago. Waiting with Magret for her father to come, to escort her to the temple. Gavan Bayar had come instead, which had precipitated a whole chain of events that was still playing out. She would be seventeen tomorrow. She’d been just a year from name day to coronation.
Raisa felt claustrophobic, much as she had a year ago. It was as if once again a trap was closing around her, doors closing on possibilities. She was suffocating. She needed fresh air.
Pushing to her feet, Raisa hurried through her bedroom, past the elaborate temple robes laid out next to the bed, past the dress form in the corner draped in her ball gown. She plunged straight into her closet, raking aside dresses until she reached the back wall. Clawing open all of the latches and bolts Amon had insisted on installing, she pressed her hands against the hidden door. It swung silently outward.
Raisa flew down the dark tunnel, finding her way by touch, not bothering to light a torch. Finally the corridor widened, and she knew she’d reached the bottom of the staircase to the garden.
Groping blindly, she found the ladder and began to climb.
When she reached the top, she pushed with both hands, wrestling aside the stone covering the entrance. When she emerged in the garden temple on the roof of the castle, it was full dark, though the moon was on the rise.
Raisa walked out into the garden, under the glasshouse roof, breathing in the moist air of the conservatory, redolent with summer hyacinth and mountain jasmine. The great starry dome of the sky soared overhead, making Raisa feel very small. Too small for the job she’d taken on.
Moving to the edge of the terrace, she looked down on the city below. Wizard lights embroidered the streets, pooling in doorways. Carriages rattled along the Way, no doubt bound for one party or another. A wisp of music floated up to her—a basilka, it sounded like, playing Hanalea’s Lament.
Raisa shivered and turned away.
Returning to the small temple, she knelt again on the stone floor and began the Meditation of the Queens in a low, fierce voice.
“Hail Marianna ana’Lissa ana’Theraise ana’Adra ana’Doria ana’Julianna ana’Lara ana’Lucinda ana’Michaela ana’Helena ana’Rissa ana’Rosa
ana’Althea ana’Isabella…” She continued through all thirty-two queens since the Breaking, ending, as always, with Hanalea ana’Maria. “Hear me! Your daughter Raisa calls on you.”
As she continued with the words of the prayer, the temple around her shimmered and faded into mist. The familiar lupine forms of the Gray Wolf queens came forward, sitting in a circle around her, curling their tails around their feet.
Here was green-eyed Althea, and gray-eyed Hanalea. And the blue-eyed wolf Raisa had seen at her mother’s memorial—slender and graceful, with pale fur and small delicate paws. Her form shimmered, pale and insubstantial. For a moment, Raisa thought she saw the image of a woman.
Raisa came forward on her knees. “Mother?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
The blue-eyed wolf ducked her head, as if ashamed, then turned tail and disappeared into the mist, her tail pluming behind her.
“Yes,” Althea said. “That was Marianna. She has not yet accepted her wolf form, I’m afraid.”
“But…” Raisa extended her hands as if she could drag her mother back. “I need to talk to her. I want to find out what happened. If—if it was an accident. Or if—”
“She won’t be able to speak to you,” Hanalea said, her gray eyes kind and sad. “Not for months. What we do—communication across the veil—it’s unnatural. It takes time to master.”
The implications of this penetrated slowly, like a chilly draft under the door. “Well, I need to know—did she kill herself? Was it an accident? And, if not, who killed her?” Raisa looked from Hanalea to Althea, hoping to read something in their wolf faces.
The Gray Wolf queens looked at each other. Althea put her ears back and showed her teeth at Hanalea. Hanalea shrugged, if wolves can be said to do such things.
“We’ve been given the privilege of remaining in the Spirits,” Althea said. “We watch over the City of Light instead of crossing to the shadowlands. With privileges come restrictions. We cannot change history by giving you information you wouldn’t know otherwise.”