The Exiled Queen

  She took his hand between her two and leaned her head on his shoulder. She traced the veins on the back of his hand with her forefinger. His hands were large, blunt-fingered, capable. She loved his hands.

  A voice whispered in her head. I will lean on Amon Byrne for the rest of my life.

  After a brief silence, he said, “If it means anything, I think you made the right decision. Leaving the Fells, I mean.”

  Raisa blinked up at him. “How did you know that’s what was bothering me?”

  “Lucky guess,” Amon said, looking away and shrugging his shoulders. “You’re not one to run from a fight, and you can hold your own with most anyone in a fair go. But how could you hope to fight your mother and the High Wizard both?”

  “But my mother’s the queen,” Raisa said. “How can I expect others to bend their knees to me if I rebel against my liege ruler? How can my people trust me if I run away?”

  Amon gazed down at their joined hands. For once he didn’t pull away. “You pick a battle you can win, and choose the time and place of it. Don’t let the enemy choose.”

  “Is that what they teach you at Wien House?”

  “It’s what my da says. The Bayars wouldn’t have risked pushing this marriage and enraging the clans if they weren’t sure of the outcome.”

  Raisa sighed. Somehow, out here in the lonely dark of this peculiar autumn, what had happened back in Fellsmarch Castle on her name day seemed like an overwritten melodrama starring somebody else.

  “They could be wrong. The Bayars, I mean.”

  “Aye, they could be,” Amon said, his voice measured. Meaning he doubted it.

  “She does resist Lord Bayar sometimes,” Raisa persisted, somehow compelled to defend her mother. “Maybe it’s more a matter of influence than control.”

  “Maybe. Still, you’d be married to Micah Bayar if you’d stayed.”

  Micah. Raisa looked up at the stars, focusing, trying to dispel the memory of Micah’s face, of the kisses that had sizzled through her like flame through paper.

  “Let’s talk about what will happen when we get to Oden’s Ford,” she said, suddenly eager to change the subject.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve reconsidered the idea of going to the Temple School?” Amon said this with little hope.

  Raisa sighed. “Except for my time at Demonai Camp, I’ve studied art, music, and languages all my life. I need to learn something else.”

  She looked up into his face, willing him to understand. “Going to Oden’s Ford is risky, but it’s also an opportunity. None of the Gray Wolf queens has gone there, not recently, anyway. I’ll learn things my mother can’t teach me. The queendom is under siege, and we’re running out of time.” Raisa suddenly realized she was gripping Amon’s hand really hard, and let go her death hold a bit.

  Amon looked sideways at her. “Because of what happened with the Bayars?”

  Raisa shook her head. “It’s not just them. I feel like the sand is washing from under my feet.” She laughed bitterly. “I sound like my mother, the melancholy queen. But, unlike her, I’m not willing to trade sovereignty for protection.” She paused. “The problem with the gift of prophecy is you’re never sure if it’s a true vision or just the doldrums setting in.

  “Lord Bayar is right about one thing—we’re going to be under assault from the south as soon as the Montaignes quit fighting each other. I’ll never be a soldier, but I need to know more about diplomacy, politics, and military strategy. I need to know my enemies better.”

  “So you want to go to Wien House.”

  She nodded.

  The moon freed itself from a veil of clouds, and light spilled into the ruins.

  “Micah and Fiona Bayar will be at Mystwerk House as first years,” Amon said, raising an eyebrow. “The Manders, too.”

  She sighed. “I guess I’ll run into them sooner or later.”

  “Maybe later, if we’re lucky.” He rubbed his nose. “One advantage of Wien House is that it’s on the opposite side of the river from Mystwerk. Warriors, engineers, and accountants—the practical arts—train on one side of the river. Wizards, healers, and the temple artists train on the other side. There’s not much mixing between.”

  “Really?” Raisa said, surprised. “Why not?”

  Amon smiled, his white teeth flashing against his sun-dark skin. “Any red-robed wizard newling who wanders onto the Wien House side is likely to be pitched into the river. It’s mostly southerners on our side, and they aren’t keen on anything magical.”

  “Wouldn’t they think twice about tangling with a wizard?” Raisa said.

  “You’d think.” Amon nodded. “But there are strict rules about magical attacks within the academy. Any kind of aggression, actually. You’ve heard of the Peace of Oden’s Ford, I guess.”

  Raisa nodded. “It’s amazing they can enforce it. And since the school’s between Arden and Tamron, I’m surprised neither has tried to take it over.”

  “Arden and Tamron would both love to have the academy, with all its wealth and knowledge,” Amon said. “Arden disapproves of Mystwerk because it trains wizards. The Church of Malthus wants to shut Mystwerk down, and they’ve tried to overrun the school before. But the faculty and students fight to defend it. You’ve got the most powerful wizards, the best military and engineering minds in the Seven Realms. Nobody’s messed with them in a long time.” Raisa waited, but Amon seemed determined to make a long story short.

  “Do you think getting into Wien House will be a problem?” Raisa asked.

  “My da said he’d write recommendations to the masters of the Temple School and Wien House. He used to teach at Wien House, so he has some influence.” Amon paused, as if debating whether to go on. “Taim Askell is the master of Wien House, though, and he could be difficult.”

  “Difficult? How?”

  “Let’s just wait and see,” Amon said. “I don’t want to call down trouble that might pass us by.” He looked up at the sky. “Promise me you’ll go to Temple School, though, if you can’t get into Wien House?”

  “Let’s just wait and see,” Raisa said. I’ll get in, she told herself. I’m not wasting my time at Oden’s Ford.

  “If you’re recognized, you may have to leave at a moment’s notice,” Amon said, tightening his grip on her hand.

  She nodded. “I understand. But I don’t see where I could go that would be safer. Not Arden. Tamron’s a possibility, I guess,” she said, thinking of Liam Tomlin.

  “What about farther south? Bruinswallow or We’enhaven?” Amon said.

  “You’re the one who suggested Oden’s Ford in the first place,” Raisa said. “Besides, I don’t know people in Bruinswallow or We’enhaven. That’s my problem. I haven’t been anywhere; I don’t know anyone outside of my own realm except the people who came to my name day party. I could end up someplace where they sacrifice foreign princesses to their gods.” She paused, but Amon didn’t smile. “I can’t put myself under someone else’s control. And I want to stay close enough to get a message to my mother.”

  Amon’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t mean that, Rai. It’s too dangerous.”

  “She needs to know I’m still alive,” Raisa insisted. “And that I still love her, and that I’m coming back. I don’t want her to have any doubts about that.”

  “How are you planning to send a message in a way that doesn’t lead directly back to you?” Amon said. “Here I’m worrying about your running into Micah, and you’re planning to stand up and wave at Lord Bayar and say, ‘Here I am!’”

  “I’m not writing to Lord Bayar,” Raisa growled.

  “Same as,” Amon retorted. “Besides, because of the war it’s not all that easy to send mail from Oden’s Ford to the Fells.”

  “I don’t know how I’ll do it!” Raisa snapped. “Why is it that everything I want to do is dangerous? Everything worthwhile, anyway. Some chances are worth taking.”

  Amon muttered something under his breath.

  “What was that, Corporal?
” Raisa demanded. “I couldn’t quite hear you.”

  Amon clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead, his dark eyebrows drawn together.

  “What?”

  “I said, Your Highness, that the difference between you and me is that if you get yourself killed, you don’t have to blame yourself every day for the rest of your life.”

  Raisa’s cheeks warmed as the blood rushed to her face. “Do you really think anyone is out to kill me?” she said softly. “Isn’t it more likely that I’ll be carried back to the Fells to marry Micah if I’m recognized and taken?” She shrugged. “If that happens, I’ll deal with it. As long as I’m alive, I’ll find a way. I promise you this: I will not be a captive queen.”

  Amon looked up at the sky, the silvery moonlight washing over his face, gilding his chest and arms. He seemed to be struggling over whether to speak.

  “You mentioned prophecy before,” Amon said finally. “I just can’t shake the feeling that you’re risking more than a bad marriage.” He cleared his throat and gestured toward her bedroll. “Best get some sleep, Your Highness. We’ve a long way to go tomorrow.”

  In contrast to the Fells, where much of the land was too rocky and steep to farm, all of Tamron seemed to be tamed and under cultivation. Great orchards stretched down to the river, the arching branches of the trees loaded with fruit—peaches, apples, and strange orange and yellow fruits that made Raisa’s mouth pucker when she bit into them.

  Fields of wheat, beans, corn, squash, and pumpkins were centered by great manor houses and studded with the huts of the crofters who labored in the fields. The houses were sprawling, elegant structures with ground-floor windows, not built for defense. Tamron had been at peace for as long as anyone could remember.

  It was hard to believe that a war raged just a few hundred miles to the east.

  Amon had visibly relaxed since they’d crossed the border, becoming almost chatty for a Byrne. There was little hunting to be had, so they bought provisions from markets in the villages along the way. Amon always made sure they paid a fair price for everything.

  Raisa gained a little weight back, requiring no nagging to devour the rich, fresh, southern food. What she gained was mostly muscle, because the daily workouts continued. Raisa trained regularly with her new staff, and found it surprisingly effective, even against a swordsman. Her bladework was improving, too, although she’d never be a champion, given her size.

  As they followed the Tamron River south, she was struck by how geography, weather, and terrain drove the economies of nations, creating haves and have-nots.

  The industries that thrived in the north relied on materials readily available there—precious stones, gold and silver, wool, furs and leather. The Vale was the only sizable stretch of land that was arable.

  So the clans had become masters of commerce, buying and selling goods produced by themselves and others. But that made the Fells vulnerable in times of war, with trade disrupted. It made it difficult to keep the people fed.

  When the Seven Realms were joined together, goods, money and people flowed freely among them, making the whole stronger than its component parts.

  Traveling through Tamron, Raisa thought of Prince Liam Tomlin, heir to the throne of Tamron, who’d attended her name day party. It was only two months ago, but it seemed a lifetime had passed since their flirtation in the Great Hall had been interrupted by Micah Bayar. What might have happened had Micah not hauled her away to what was intended to be a clandestine wedding?

  Liam had claimed he was looking for a rich bride. Having seen a little of Tamron, Raisa was beginning to realize that the heir to this kingdom would bring a lot to the table himself. She had no interest in giving up her queendom, but how would it be, she thought, to marry the interests of the Fells and Tamron together? Prior to the Breaking, they had been united, as two of the Seven Realms ruled by the Gray Wolf queens.

  Raisa was determined to seize control of her matrimonial future, to develop her own plan. There was a difference between marrying for the good of the Fells and becoming a tool of everybody else’s agendas.

  As they drew closer to Oden’s Ford, the road became congested with traffic—wagons carrying produce, grain, even pigs and chickens to market. There were students, also, and here the variety was greatest. Some rode in great carriages, with escorts of armed men, servants, and baggage-wagons behind.

  “First years,” Amon said, grinning. “Newlings. They’re in for a big surprise. They call Oden’s Ford ‘the great leveler’ for a reason. Everyone gets the same space—a bed with a drawer underneath. They’ll have to haul most of that lot back home, or find a place to store it outside the academy.”

  Some students came on horseback, singly and in groups, on mounts ranging from blue-blooded pacers to farm stock, from healthy to spavined. Others came afoot, with road-worn shoes and packs on their backs. Hired wagons rattled by, students jouncing around inside them, eyes pinched shut against the dust.

  Inns along the way were packed full. When the Wolves could find a table for supper, they were surrounded by scholars from all over the Seven Realms, even Bruinswallow, We’enhaven, and the islands. The clamor of languages had Raisa straining to test her skills. But they seemed to speak more rapidly than her tutors did.

  The Gray Wolves encountered friends along the way—fellow cadets on the road back to Wien House. As a newling cadet, Raisa attracted considerable interest. Several boys struck up conversations with her. One Tamric soldier was particularly persistent, plying her with ale and flattery, until Amon’s relentless glare drove him away.

  “He seemed nice,” Raisa said, watching him beat a hasty retreat.

  “I know him,” Amon said bluntly. “And he’s not.”

  Stores in the small towns, and peddlers along the road, displayed goods students might need—paper in many colors, quills and blotters; leather-bound encyclopedias many inches thick that the hawker claimed contained all knowledge.

  A storekeeper hovered by a rack of reading glasses meant for eyes weakened from hours of study. Another offered jars of pigments, rolls of paper and canvas, brushes in all sizes, wooden blocks, and small sharp knives for carving images for block printing.

  It was nearly dusk when they crested a small rise and the academy lay before them. From that distance, it might have been a fortress bisected by the Tamron River, protected by high stone walls. Temple spires, gold-leafed domes, and tiled roofs protruded above the walls, gleaming in the dying sun like lavish icing on a stone cake.

  Traffic on the road ahead had dwindled. Savvy students had arrived before suppertime and were no doubt already at table. As if in honor of this thought, Raisa’s stomach growled loudly.

  Amon reined in with difficulty. His horse, Vagabond, was eager to go forward, already anticipating dinner and a barn ahead.

  Raisa was less sure of what her reception would be as an unexpected add-on. She hoped for a long hot bath. She and Switcher smelled a lot alike. If she’d ever hoped to impress Amon Byrne with her newly acquired glamour and beauty, that chance was gone forever. He’d seen her in every kind of ugly.

  Amon, of course, seemed well suited to life on the trail. Living rough lent him a kind of rugged, stubbly patina that, if anything, made him more attractive.

  “It’s getting late,” Raisa said, urging Switcher up next to Vagabond. “Maybe we should find an inn tonight and go over to Wien House in the morning.”

  “We’ll have to stay in the dorms tonight,” Amon said. “The inns will be full, with classes beginning in just a few days. We’ve come after dark on purpose—there’s less chance we’ll bump into someone we know outside the gate or on the Mystwerk side of the river.”

  “You know I’ll be recognized sooner or later,” Raisa said, keeping her voice down so the others wouldn’t overhear. “We’ll just have to deal with it.”

  “Later is better,” he muttered. He gazed down at the town, stroking his horse’s neck. “This works really well as long as nobody knows you’re here. Once
they do, it’s going to be impossible to protect you.”

  “Most of my subjects have never seen me up close.” She smiled ruefully. “Those who have wouldn’t recognize me without a tiara on my head.”

  He didn’t smile back.

  Amon twisted in his saddle to face the others. “Stay here and rest the horses. I’ll go down and check things out.” Not waiting for a reply, he drove his heels into Vagabond’s sides, and they clattered off down the road, descending into the valley.

  Amon was gone for two hours. When he returned, he wore a rather grim, resigned expression. “We’re good,” he said, the words not matching his demeanor. “I’ve spoken to Master Askell, and arranged lodging at the dormitories for tonight. Let’s go.”

  As they descended the long hill to the river, Raisa leaned close to Amon. “What’s going on?” she asked. “What did Master Askell say?”

  “He wants to meet with you,” Amon said, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “Depends.”

  They did not enter the academy by the main gate, but circled around to the postern gate on the south side. Two cadets ushered them through, and locked up behind them.

  Switcher followed after Vagabond without much guidance from Raisa, freeing her to look around as they crossed the academy commons.

  The school was the size of a small city, but had more green space than any city Raisa had ever seen. Ancient stone buildings studded the lawns, connected by covered galleries paved with brick and twined with night-blooming flowers. The intoxicating fragrance cascaded over them, carried by the warm, moist air.

  Lights blazed in the kitchens and dining halls. Most students were still at dinner, though a few had begun walking back to their dormitories, chatting and calling to friends across the commons in all the languages of the Seven Realms. Others trickled down the main road toward the river, unburdened by schoolwork, since classes hadn’t started.

  “What are these buildings?” Raisa asked, pointing.