The Exiled Queen

  It seemed she was seeing them more and more—but maybe that was a reflection of the way her life was going. Were they there because of her present predicament? Or did they signify some new threat?

  The wolves surrounded her, tongues lolling, ears flat, bumping their great heads against her middle, nearly knocking her over.

  “Great lot of good you do me,” she grumbled. “Why can’t I teach you to attack wizards on command?”

  “Excuse me, Raisa?” Micah said. He touched her arm, looking a little concerned. “Were you speaking to me?”

  “Nothing. It was nothing.”

  She swiveled, scanning the woods around them. Even in spring, with some trees not yet leafed out, Tamron Forest seemed thick and oppressive, crowding in on all sides. Too close.

  “Is something wrong, Your Highness?” Micah asked. “You’re not eating.”

  “Do you hear anything?” Raisa asked. The forest around them was silent, even the birds had gone eerily quiet. The hair stood up on her arms.

  “Micah,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “Let’s go. Something’s wrong. I think we’d better...”

  Her voice failed as soldiers stepped out of the forest on all sides, crossbows cocked and ready.

  “Put your hands in the air. Now!” shouted a young man with dark hair and mud-brown eyes. A red officer’s scarf was knotted around his neck, and a red hawk was emblazoned on his tunic.

  Micah and Fiona glanced at each other, then slowly raised their hands. The others, including Raisa, followed suit.

  The soldiers were clad in wool uniforms that had seen hard use. Some wore mismatched armor pieces, others had none. Some bore the red hawk, others were unmarked. From their haggard appearances, they’d been on the road for months. Could this be one of the roving bands of mercenaries Amon had warned her about?

  “Don’t even think of touching those jinxpieces,” the officer went on.

  Micah leaned toward Fiona. “He’s gifted,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

  “I noticed,” she snapped. “What is the meaning of this?” Fiona demanded, glaring at the officer. “Who are you?”

  “Collect their jinxpieces and any other weapons you find,” the officer said to his men, ignoring Fiona. “Don’t touch the pendants directly. Hold ’em by their chains.”

  The soldiers went from person to person and collected the wizards’ amulets, daggers, and swords. When he came to Raisa, she shook her head.

  “I don’t have an amulet,” she said. “Nor any weapons. Sorry.”

  The soldier glanced at his officer, who said, “She won’t have one. She’s not gifted.”

  The soldier patted her down anyway, coming up empty-handed, of course, because she’d lost her belt dagger in the library.

  When they were all disarmed, the officer motioned to his men to put down their crossbows, though they kept their hands on their swords. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Marin Karn, Commander of the Army of the King of Arden.”

  Which king? Raisa wanted to ask, but didn’t.

  “Arden!” Micah tilted his head. “But we’re in Tamron. Arden is across the river.”

  “Damn!” Commander Karn said, grinning. “Guess we went astray again, boys.”

  The other soldiers snorted with laughter.

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Fiona said. “You’re a wizard. But wizardry is forbidden in Arden. You burn wizards in.. .”

  “Aye,” Karn said, nodding. “That’s so. The church has strict rules against it.”

  Fiona frowned. “Then how can there be gifted soldiers in the king of Arden’s army?” she persisted.

  Karn shook his head. “Oh no, we’d never admit to that. Most who come up against us don’t survive to tell tales. Those that survive don’t remember. And only wizards can recognize others with the gift.”

  “So you’re using wizardry in the Ardenine Wars,” Raisa whispered.

  “We are just getting started,” Karn said. “We’ve more than a dozen jinxflingers. Many are young, recruited on their way to Oden’s Ford. Most haven’t had any training. Some don’t have amulets. That’s where you come in.”

  “What do you mean?” Micah said.

  “I’m guessing you’re students from Oden’s Ford. You’ve been getting top-notch training at the academy there. We want you to teach our recruits spellcasting.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Micah said, glancing at Raisa. “We have pressing business in the Fells, and we can’t risk getting involved in your civil war.”

  Karn seemed unfazed. “Think hard before you say no,” he said. “We’ve hundreds of soldiers camped this side of the river, and an army several thousand strong on the other side.” He looked toward the river and came to attention. “Here comes the king now.”

  A small group of men walked toward them from the riverbank. Four burly men, armored up and carrying weapons, surrounded a slender man in a tunic emblazoned with the red hawk signia, silver gauntlets, and breastplate, a sword belted at his waist. He wore a circlet of gold on his light brown hair, and his blue eyes were pale blue and cold as the ice in Invader’s Bay.

  It was Prince Gerard Montaigne, the youngest of the warring Montaigne brothers, Raisa’s unsuccessful suitor at her name day party.

  “Hanalea in chains,” Raisa muttered. Could things get any worse?

  She yanked her hood over her head and stared at the ground, hoping he wouldn’t recognize her. Surely he wouldn’t, not here, so out of context.

  Why was Gerard Montaigne in Tamron? And why did he have his army collected just across the border? He should be back in Ardenscourt, facing off with his brothers.

  Karn bowed to his king. “Your Majesty. We have five jinxflingers from Mystwerk.”

  “Good,” Montaigne said, his eyes flicking over Micah and the others. “Have you explained to them the services we require?”

  “The answer is no,” Fiona said, straightening to her full height. “Now release us immediately.”

  Montaigne moved, quicker than light, smashing his gauntleted arm into Fiona’s face and knocking her to the ground.

  Micah leaped forward, but Wil Mathis was closer. With a cry of rage, he sprang at the prince of Arden, who drew his sword and calmly ran him through.

  Wil and Montaigne ended face-to-face, a foot separating them, Wil’s eyes bulging wide in amazement. Then Montaigne shoved him away with his booted foot, freeing his sword. Wil teetered, then fell backward, hit the ground, and lay still, blood pooling around him.

  “Wil!” Fiona cried, trying to scramble to her feet, but Micah knelt next to her, gripping her shoulders and holding her in place.

  “No,” he said fiercely. “You can’t help him.”

  “Does anyone else wish to have a conversation about this?” Montaigne asked.

  No one moved and no one spoke. Raisa had to bite her lip to keep her acid tongue in check. Wizard or not, Wil had always been among the best of the breed. More than that, he was a citizen of the Fells, and so, her responsibility.

  Montaigne paced back and forth in front of them, his sword in his hand. “Now that we understand each other, perhaps we can do business. Captain Karn has convinced me that jinxflingers will be useful in bringing this long war to a conclusion. If he is right, it may be that we will only require your services for a limited time.”

  He’ll never let them go, Raisa thought. Gerard Montaigne will always have use for an army.

  “Like I said, think hard before you say no.” Karn ran his eyes over the captives. “So, what’ll it be?”

  “All right,” Micah said abruptly, standing. “We will teach your charmcasters what we know, and aid you in any way we can. The sooner you achieve victory, the sooner we can be on our way. Bear in mind that we are just first-years, so our knowledge is limited.”

  He walked forward and put a hot hand on Raisa’s shoulder. “I would, however, ask you to release our servant. She is not gifted, and so would be of no help to you.”

  Ra
isa froze, scarcely breathing. Was Micah really trying to engineer her release? She turned her head slightly so she could see his face. His expression didn’t change, but she felt the pressure of his fingers as he squeezed her shoulder.

  “Your... servant, is she?” Montaigne said. He looked at Karn, and he nodded.

  “She is not gifted, Your Majesty. I wondered why she was traveling with them.”

  Montaigne restored his sword to its scabbard, not bothering to wipe off the blood. Raisa kept her head down, peering up through her lashes at the prince of Arden. He toyed with the hilt of his sword, his lower lip caught behind his teeth.

  “Well,” he said finally, “let’s have a look at you.” He reached toward Raisa and tugged back her hood.

  Raisa lifted her head, and their eyes met. They stood staring at each other, and then Gerard Montaigne smiled in his bone-chilling way. Raisa’s heart plummeted.

  “Ah, Karn,” he said softly. “You have overlooked the greatest prize of all.”

  Karn looked from Raisa to Montaigne. “What do you mean, Your Grace? Who is she?”

  Montaigne kept his eyes fixed on Raisa’s face. Taking hold of her hand, he raised it to his lips. “Princess Raisa ana’Marianna,” he murmured. “Welcome to the new kingdom of Arden.”

  Karn looked from Raisa to Montaigne. “She’s a princess?”

  Montaigne nodded. “We met at her debut party nearly a year ago. She is heir to the throne of the Fells.” His eyes raked over her. “She was dressed quite differently last time I saw her, but there’s no mistaking her.” His grip tightened about her wrist. “But why would the princess heir of the Fells ride through Tamron with wizardlings?”

  Raisa knew there was no point in continuing to deny her identity. “I’ve been attending the academy at Oden’s Ford,” she said. “I’m traveling home for the summer.”

  Montaigne shook his head incredulously. “The Fells would send a gently bred woman through Tamron with no more guard than this?” He gestured toward the Bayars and the Manders.

  “Tamron is not at war, Your Highness,” Raisa said, looking him in the eye with a confidence she did not feel. “I would not expect to be waylaid by brigands along the way.” She nodded toward Wil’s prone body. “You’ve already murdered one member of my guard. Now that you know who I am, I expect you will allow us to continue on our journey unmolested.”

  Montaigne smiled, his face lighting with triumph. “Ah, no, Your Highness,” he said. “That’s much too risky, as you’ve seen.” He jerked her toward him, cupping her chin in his hand. “I think it’s time we continued our conversation about an alliance between Arden and the Fells—an alliance cemented by our marriage.” He smiled. “I’ll have Tamron, Arden, and the Fells. All the riches of the mountain mines and access to an unlimited supply of jinxflingers and magical objects. Eventually we’ll rule the Seven Realms.”

  “That will never happen,” Raisa said, lifting her chin.

  “Watch me.” Montaigne handed Raisa off to Karn. “Take these wizardlings and the princess back across the river, and keep a close watch on them. Bring their horses. We’ll talk more tonight.” The prince of Arden straightened his silver gauntlets. “Ah, Karn, this changes everything.”

  Karn gripped Raisa’s arm and dragged her toward the river’s edge. The other Ardenine soldiers herded Micah and the others after her.

  Snick. A soldier fell just behind her, both hands clutching at an arrow sticking out of the middle of his chest.

  Snick. Snick. Snick. The sound of crossbows. More soldiers fell.

  “Your Highness! Take cover!” Karn let go his hold on Raisa and thrust his bulk in front of Montaigne, who pawed at his sword.

  The Ardenine soldiers scrambled for cover as a troop of horse soldiers exploded from the forest, threatening to overrun them. Riderless horses ran in all directions. Raisa sprinted for the trees, toward the road and away from the river. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Micah grab Fiona’s hand and drag her behind a fallen tree.

  The cavalry wore a signia of a purple-and-gray heron, wings spread, landing on water. The emblem of the king of Tamron.

  “To me!” Montaigne shouted. More Ardenine soldiers appeared at the run, coming from the direction of the river. A pitched battle erupted—the Red Hawk of Arden against the Heron of Tamron.

  Raisa raced blindly through the forest, leaping over fallen trees and other obstacles, meaning to gain as much distance from the fight as she could. Montaigne was preparing to invade Tamron, that much was clear. If Arden’s thousands of soldiers crossed the river, there could be no doubt as to the outcome of this skirmish. Weaponless as she was, she had few illusions about the contribution she could make.

  Looking back over her shoulder for signs of pursuit, she nearly ran headlong into the side of a horse.

  “Hanalea in chains!” she said, skidding to a halt.

  It was Fiona’s horse, Ghost, a tall, spirited, gray stallion with four white stockings. Raisa leaped forward and caught hold of his reins. The horse laid back his ears and shied away from her hand, but Raisa still managed to swarm up and into the saddle. The stirrups were set far too long, but Raisa clung to his back like a thistle and drove her heels into his sides. Ghost extended his long neck, accelerating into a gallop, twisting and turning through the trees.

  He probably doesn’t even know I’m up here, after Fiona, Raisa thought.

  Pressing herself flat against the stallion’s neck to avoid being unhorsed by low branches, she gave him his head and let him run.

  She needed to put as much distance as possible between herself and those who might soon be chasing after her. That meant riding straight west as far as the road. The traffic on the road would hide evidence of her passing, and she’d make good time, whichever direction she chose.

  Which way?

  She had Fiona’s saddlebags, but no idea what was in them. She had a little money in the purse still tucked inside her coat.

  If Micah and Fiona got free of the battle, they would guess she’d return south, to Oden’s Ford, and rejoin Amon and the others. They would not expect her to travel north on her own, especially after what had just happened.

  Montaigne, on the other hand, might expect her to continue north, making for home, or west to Tamron Seat, for sanctuary. Hopefully the Tamron army would keep them occupied for a time. Surely Montaigne wouldn’t chase after her, with an invasion under way. No doubt he’d continue on to the capital.

  So north it was. If she could make it as far as Fetters Ford, perhaps she could get word to Captain Byrne to send an escort. They’d either go north through Demonai Vale or east via Marisa Pines, depending on the news at that time.

  Ghost needed no encouragement to leave the clamor of battle behind. Raisa gave him direction with her knees and hands while her mind picked over events of the past and prospects for the future.

  She longed for the simple safety of childhood, the ability to give over responsibility to the Captain Byrnes of the world, sheltering under their protection.

  But adulthood slipped up on you, she thought. It was forced on you whether you liked it or not. She had changed. She was not the same person who had run away with Amon Byrne ten short months ago.

  She was more able, but less confident. She was better equipped to judge people, and less convinced of her ability to do so. When she’d left the Fells, she thought of people as being sorted into lots—good and bad, brave and cowardly. Now she realized that there were bits of both in most people—and which elements prevailed often depended on circumstance.

  Micah Bayar, for all his faults, was a mixture of good and bad. She might be dead at an assassin’s hand, if not for him. He’d tried to free her when they were captured by Gerard Montaigne. But he presented different faces to different people, and his efforts to keep her alive were likely selfish at their root.

  Raised on romance, Raisa would have said that it was impossible to love two men at once. That there was one true love for every person, if you could only find
it.

  But it wasn’t true. She still loved Amon Byrne. Her feelings about him were too raw for close examination. And she loved Han Alister, if she understood love at all.

  Would she ever see him again, and if so, could they build from a relationship based on a lie?

  And what did she expect to build on that shaky foundation? By the way, Alister, I’ve been lying to you for more than a year; I’m actually a member of the royal family you despise. There’s no future for us, but I’d still like to be friends.

  Would Raisa herself be satisfied with friendship, when the memory of Han’s kisses and caresses haunted her?

  Would Amon and Han be able to set aside their antipathy and put the pieces of her disappearance together?

  Her mother was a weak queen—but she’d been mired down by circumstance. Maybe when Raisa returned, there would be a way to connect with her, to join with her, to help her, and become a better queen herself someday.

  Ahead she saw the break in the trees that meant they were coming up on the road. Reining Ghost in with some difficulty, Raisa slowed their pace to a walk. Pausing in the last fringe of trees, she looked up and down the road and saw no one.

  “Let’s go,” she said, applying her heels. “We need to go a lot farther before we rest.” They turned north, setting a more sustainable pace.

  After nearly a year, she was going home. The decision had been forced on her. But more and more, she believed it was the right one.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  A PARTING

  OF THE WAYS

  Han had meant to spend his last days at Oden’s Ford preparing for his mission in the north. Instead he spent it desperately searching for clues about Rebecca’s disappearance.

  The dead at the Wien Hall library had been strangers to Oden’s Ford. None were wizards. They’d been seen around the academy for several days, asking questions. Either they carried nothing in their pockets, or whoever had killed them had stripped them of identification.

  Han slipped into Micah’s dormitory, familiar from his many visits, and tossed their rooms. They had departed in a hurry—leaving many of their belongings behind.