The Exiled Queen

  Han looked at Gryphon, whose gaze was fixed on the ceiling. “We talked about it. If you drain your amulet it’s hard to come back.”

  “If you drain your amulet, you cannot come back,” Abelard said. “You remain in the dreamworld forever, while your body lies abandoned. You are dead.”

  Well, that was news. Han felt a little queasy. “So you believe in what Kinley says about the dreamworld? I mean, it sounds like most people don’t even think it exists.”

  Abelard nodded. “I believe travel in Aediion is rare, but possible. It could be a very useful tool, if we could master it.” The dean fingered a strand of her silver hair. “We do this exercise every fall with the first years. When the students report tomorrow, most will have tried and failed. Some will make up stories, suggesting success. Others—nonbelievers—won’t have even tried.

  “But every so often we encounter students like you and — Hayden, who succeed. Most are smart enough to follow directions. Your friend closed the portal on his own and returned. You stayed in Aediion too long. That’s a dangerous business, Alister.”

  “What makes you think I succeeded?” Han asked, feeling pinned under the gaze of the dean and the master.

  “You were using prodigious amounts of power,” Abelard said. Her sharp, pointed face wore a hungry look that Han mistrusted. “Your amulet is depleted.”

  “Maybe it was because I didn’t know what I was doing,” Han said. When in doubt, experience had taught him to deny, and keep denying. “I didn’t do the reading. When my charm didn’t work, I just kept having at it. I guess I lost track of time.”

  “You claim you didn’t go anywhere?” Abelard said.

  “Not that I remember,” Han said.

  Abelard scowled at him, rolling her eyes.

  Han was usually a rum liar, but he couldn’t seem to amuse these two.

  “Whatever happened,” Gryphon said fiercely, “you need to follow my directions, or you’re out of here.”

  “Master Gryphon is right,” Abelard said. “If you persist in taking chances, endangering yourself and others, I will have you expelled and your amulet confiscated. Do you understand me?”

  Han closed his hand around his amulet. You can try, he thought, gazing at her straight on.

  To his surprise, Abelard smiled. “I don’t know that name. Alister,” she said, giving him another good look-over. “And your speech is — unusual. Where do you live? What is your house? Perhaps I know your family.”

  “I’m from Ragmarket,” Han said. Once he got started, the words just tumbled out. “Used to live on Cobble Street, over the stable, before it burnt down. I’m sort of between houses now, since my family’s dead. My mam was Sali Alister, my sister’s name was Mari. Mam was mostly in laundry, but her sideline was ragpicking. Heard of them?”

  Wordlessly, Abelard shook her head.

  “You will,” Han said, looking the dean in the eyes.

  Abelard cleared her throat. “It’s possible that your amulet was responsible for your success,” she said. She reached out and fingered the serpent flash cautiously, as if it might bite. It must have been totally drained of power, since it didn’t react to her touch at all. Han shivered, resisting the temptation to snatch it out of her hand. It was as though she’d reached into his chest and took hold of his heart.

  “Where did you get this?” Abelard leaned in close.

  “I bought it in the clan markets. Secondhand,” Han said.

  “I thought it might be a custom piece,” the dean said. “One with — extra capabilities, since you’re so friendly with the copperheads. That would explain a lot.”

  “You think I could afford a custom piece?” Han said. “Friends is friends until it comes to a trade. That’s how it works in the markets.”

  “Not many charmcasters would choose a piece of this design,” Abelard said. She paused. “Do you know who else carried an amulet like this?”

  “I got no idea,” Han lied. He felt weary and besieged, stripped of his usual charm.

  “It’s a reproduction of the amulet carried by the Demon King,” she said.

  Han produced a look of surprise. “Huh. Maybe that’s why it went so cheap.”

  “Do you have a special interest in dark magic, Alister? Is that it?” Her voice was velvety soft.

  “I want to learn about all kinds of magic,” Han said. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “There are those who will make assumptions about you based on that amulet, Alister,” she said. “People who believe that all pathways should be open to those who seek knowledge. Those that believe that the end justifies the means.”

  Abelard stood abruptly so that now she was towering over him, a black silhouette against the light from the windows. She bent and reached her hands down to help him up and settle him down into a chair. She was surprisingly strong.

  “Call in his partner,” she murmured to Gryphon.

  Gryphon called, “Newling Hayden!”

  When Dancer came back in from the corridor, Abelard said, “Hayden, Alister and I have been talking about his experiences in Aediion. What do you remember?”

  Dancer’s eyes flicked from Han to Abelard, as if he suspected he was walking into a trap. Han tried to send him a message with his eyes.

  “Well,” Dancer said, “I don’t remember much.”

  “Blood and bones of the Demon King!” Abelard exploded. “Just tell me what you do remember.” When Dancer glanced at Han again, Abelard gripped Dancer’s chin and wrenched his head around. “Look at me, newling.”

  Dancer fingered his amulet as if for reassurance. “Beforehand, we agreed to meet back home, in a place we know on Hanalea. So we—”

  “What would you know about Hanalea?” Abelard interrupted. “It is forbidden for wizards to go there.”

  “I was born on Hanalea,” Dancer said calmly.

  “You’re Spirit clan, aren’t you?” Abelard said as if she hadn’t been talking behind his back. “I’ve never seen any gifted come out of the camps before.”

  “I’m mixed-blood,” Dancer said, without elaborating. “So after I spoke the charm, I saw Han walking toward me. He was kind of flickering, like someone you see by firelight, and his clothes kept changing.” He paused. “I guess I must have been dreaming.”

  “And — ?” Abelard prompted. “Then what happened?”

  “Well, we talked some. Then I — ah — woke up.”

  The dean’s eyes narrowed. “But Alister did not return with you?”

  Dancer shook his head. “When I opened my eyes, Han was slumped over the table. I waited for him to wake up. Everyone else was awake, except Micah Bayar and Master Gryphon. Fiona went to find you. Then Master Gryphon woke and came to help.”

  Abelard reached toward Dancer’s amulet, and it brightened in response. She drew her hand back again. “Unlike Alister, you’ve not totally depleted your amulet. You were either smart enough to follow directions, or you never went there at all.”

  She smiled a brittle smile. “Alister. I often work with exceptional students, even newlings. Plan to meet me in my office four weeks from today. I’ll see what I can find out about you in the meantime.” She walked to the podium and picked up the Kinley, riffling through it.

  It was their signal to leave so she could have a solitary chat with Gryphon.

  Bones, Han thought. What could the dean find out about him in a month? And what would she do with that information?

  “Hayden, take Alister back to his room and see that he rests a while,” Gryphon said. “He’ll need to restore power to his amulet before class tomorrow. Don’t forget your pages. And may I suggest you both do the reading for next time,” he called after them as they walked toward the door.

  As they crossed the grassy quad, Dancer kept one hand under Han’s elbow, steadying him. Han pulled free. “I’ll live,” he said.

  “You’re cold as the Dyrnnewater, you know that, right?” Dancer said. “You’re always hotter than me, but there’s nothing there.” He shook h
is head in amazement.

  “Was it real?” Han asked, scuffling through a pile of leaves. “Did we really meet on Old Woman Creek?”

  Dancer nodded, looking sideways at him. “You said Cat was sweet on me.”

  “And you said Fiona Bayar lusted after me.” Han raised an eyebrow.

  “She does, Hunts Alone,” Dancer said, grinning. “Truly.”

  “So Abelard wants to work with me and not you,” Han said. “I wonder what that’s about.”

  “I’m a copperhead,” Dancer said. “That’s what it’s about.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not exactly heartbroken.”

  “If she teaches me anything useful, I’ll pass it along,” Han said. They walked in silence for a few paces. “Did you see anything else?” Han asked. “Before you closed the portal?”

  Dancer shook his head. “Like what?”

  “Somebody else showed up, just as you left. A blueblood wizard a little older than us. Called himself Crow. You didn’t see him?”

  Dancer shrugged. “No. Was it someone from class?”

  “I didn’t recognize him, but he had to have been from Mystwerk, anyway,” Han said. “He said he was faculty here.”

  “How would he find us on Hanalea? Don’t you have to be able to visualize a place before you visit it in Aediion?” Dancer said.

  Han shrugged. “I got no idea. I don’t know how this works. But maybe somebody overheard us saying we were meeting there.” Maybe I should go back and read the text, he thought.

  “So what happened?” Dancer said. “Did he say anything?”

  Han remembered what Crow had said. Do not tell a soul about this.

  No reason he had to do as Crow commanded. “He said he wanted to partner up with me against the Bayars. He offered to teach me magic. Then Gryphon yanked me back.”

  Dancer looked at Han for a long moment, his brows drawn together. Finally he said, “Well, you were lucky, Hunts Alone. Fiona went after Abelard because Gryphon and Micah were out almost as long as you. We were beginning to think nobody was coming back. I was about ready to open the portal and go back after you when they woke up. Gryphon rushed over and revived you.”

  “Huh,” Han said. “Well, if Gryphon really went to Aediion, he must be stoked, then. He still had plenty of power on board, and I was nearly out.”

  “How did you leave it with Crow, then?” Dancer asked.

  Han snorted. “I didn’t say, one way or the other, but I an’t a fool. Seems chancy to take lessons from someone I don’t know in a place where I don’t know the rules.”

  Just like Oden’s Ford, he thought.

  The bells in Mystwerk Tower sounded the end of the first class period, meaning they had fifteen minutes to walk downriver to their next class at Healer’s Hall. Something about amulets and talismans.

  “I’ll walk you back to Hampton, and then go on to class,” Dancer said.

  “I an’t going back to Hampton,” Han said, turning onto the gallery along the river. “I don’t want to miss class. We’re behind enough already.”

  “But Master Gryphon said—”

  “We won’t tell him, all right?”

  But Crow’s words still sounded in his mind, like a phrase of music he couldn’t forget.

  I can teach you how to use that amulet. I can teach you marvelous things.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  DEAN’S

  DINNER

  When Han returned to Gryphon’s class the next day, he made sure he did nothing to call attention to himself. His amulet was still low on power, though he’d stoked it all night long. He kept a hand wrapped around it all morning, and it greedily sucked him dry.

  His report on his visit to Aediion was as sketchy as anyone’s. Gryphon smashed his lips together tight, but said nothing after except “Thank you, Alister. That is, indeed, a remarkable story.”

  Micah and Fiona provided equally vague reports.

  Han read and studied Kinley like a fiend, searching for answers. He couldn’t ask Gryphon because that would only draw the master’s attention. After the incident with Abelard, they left the topic of Aediion for good. The master continued to pick on Han in class, regularly descending on him like a predator bird with broken wings and a savage bite. It was as if he blamed Han for getting him into trouble with Dean Abelard.

  Han stayed up late every night, preparing for class, trying to make himself less vulnerable to attack. The threat of humiliation was incredibly motivating.

  The rest of the class suffered too, just not so often as Han. Gryphon reduced Darnleigh to tears, ridiculed the Mander brothers, and treated Dancer like an idiot. Even the Bayars came in for tough questioning at times, though it seemed to Han that Gryphon’s verbal blade was blunted in their case. Especially with Fiona.

  Twice during the next week, Dean Abelard came into the class and sat at the back of the room. She tapped her fingers on the desk in front of her, her face grim and unsmiling in the faint glow from her amulet. During those sessions Gryphon floundered, often losing his train of thought.

  Micah and his cousins spent little time at Hampton Hall, so Han rarely saw them except in class. They preferred The Crown and Castle, where they held court nightly with Fiona and Will and a large crowd of Mystwerk newlings Micah was tight with. It made sense. Most of Han’s class came from the Fells; they’d likely been cozy since childhood.

  Han forced himself to go into The Crown and Castle now and then, just to make show, even though the taproom went silent when he entered, and Micah’s mates made a point of grabbing their purses and guarding their amulets if he came anywhere near.

  Seven weeks into the term, the newlings were notified that Dean Abelard would host the first Dean’s Dinner at Mystwerk Hall on Temple Day. All Mystwerk students, proficients, and faculty were expected to attend.

  Han didn’t look forward to coming under Dean Abelard’s eye again. His face-to-face with her was only a week away. He still clung to the frail hope he could get out of it.

  As Han dressed for dinner, he was glad for the red robe of anonymity he pulled on over his clothes. He’d bathed, scraped the stubble from his face, combed his hair, and shined up his amulet with a chamois. He couldn’t think of how else to prepare.

  Mystwerk Hall was ablaze with lights as Han and Dancer walked across the quad, the entryway spattered with red robes. For once it wasn’t raining, though a brisk wind from the north said the weather was changing.

  Servants wearing Mystwerk livery directed them into the Great Hall.

  At the front of the room, long tables glittered with plates and cups and silver—more of each than seemed needful, when there wasn’t even any food set out.

  Great banners hung from the cavernous ceilings—wizard house emblems, including the familiar Stooping Falcons of the Bayars.

  What would his banner be, if he had one, Han wondered.

  Although everyone wore the requisite red robes, most were decorated—with stoles bearing the signia of their wizard houses, and with the badges and embroideries denoting their academic ranks. Many wore jewelry beyond their amulets—gaudy rings on their fingers, heavy gold chains and wrist-cuffs. Even in his red plumage, Han felt underdressed, like the plainest of sparrows.

  Han located the Bayars amid a cluster of students on the far side of the room. As he watched, Micah glanced at Han, then said something that set the others to snickering. Fiona was facing Han also, and she looked up and caught his eye. She held his gaze for a long moment, her face as hard and cold as marble, then turned toward Wil.

  Han felt the familiar prickle of danger between his shoulder blades. Straying onto blueblood turf was like walking the streets of Southbridge without a gang mark or a reputation to protect you.

  Touching his amulet for reassurance, he put his street face on.

  Drinks were on offer at a bar in one corner, so he and Dancer headed that way, sliding past clusters of students and faculty.

  As they passed, conversation washed over them. Han caught snatches of it—the word
s “Ragmarket” and “slumlord” and “copperhead” struck his ears like sour notes.

  Han scanned the array of glittering bottles, casks, and barrels at the bar. Not just ale and cider, but brandy, wine, and whiskey, too. Han thought of Lucius Frowsley, back home on Hanalea, and wondered if his distillery was still in business, and who carried product for him now.

  Han and Dancer both ordered cider. This dinner would be tricky enough to navigate with a clear head.

  Adam Gryphon entered the room in his wheeled chair, maneuvering expertly through the crowd toward the bar.

  Too bad he can’t use that chair all the time, Han thought. But the academy was riddled with steps, curbs, cobblestones, and other hazards.

  Someone tugged at Han’s sleeve, and he spun around, nearly spilling his cider.

  He faced a girlie with extremely pale skin and short-cropped, spiky black hair streaked with wizard red. She wore a red robe sewn over with proficient trim. Her hands were loaded with rings, and much of her visible skin was covered in bright, metallic tattoos, like painted-on jewelry. The design seemed to ripple and move on its own.

  “They’re talismans and wards,” the girlie explained, brushing her fingers over a symbol on the back of her hand. “To protect against hex magic.”

  “Ah,” Han said, trying to think of the right thing to say. “Is someone trying to hex you?”

  She nodded, then stood on tiptoes so she could stage whisper in his ear. “I’m Mordra deVilliers,” she said. As if that explained it.

  “I’m Han Alister,” Han said. He nodded toward Dancer. “And this is Hayden Fire Dancer.”

  “I know,” Mordra deVilliers said, looking from one to the other, her eyes wide and solemn. “Is it true you’re a thief and a murderer?”

  Han just looked at her.

  There was no trace of judgment in her face, only avid curiosity. When he didn’t answer right away, she rushed on. “They say you’re a notorious criminal, and that you tried to murder Lord Bayar.” She turned to Dancer. “And they say that you are a copperhead spy.”

  Dancer glanced at Han. “Who told you that?” he asked.