“It has been a wonderful day,” Raisa said. “I am worn out. I’m going to bed. Don’t worry about keeping me awake. I’d sleep through an earthquake right now.”
She ducked through the curtains into her room. She wanted to dive face-first onto her sleeping bench, but took the time to strip off her dancing clothes. When she slid under the covers, something crackled beneath her. Fishing around in the woolen blankets, she pulled out a note.
Unfolding it, she held it up to the lamp.
Stay away from Nightwalker, the note said, in sharp, fierce printing. It was written in Clan, and unsigned.
Raisa recalled the footfall in the forest, the sense of being watched on the riverbank. Had someone followed them?
Was it Han Alister? Night Bird? Or someone else entirely?
Chewing her lower lip, she touched a corner of the page to the lamp flame, watching until it dwindled to ash.
C H A P T E R T H R E E
CREWING FOR
ABELARD
Han jerked awake in a cold sweat, groping for the knife he always kept under his pillow. It took a moment for his head to clear, to recall where he was. To realize that he wasn’t in the Matriarch Lodge at Marisa Pines, or in his garret room at Oden’s Ford. To remember that Rebecca was alive, not dead, but transformed into someone else—someone unattainable.
He shifted on his cushy blueblood mattress (not straw-tick) and rolled the binding of the fine linen coverlet between his thumb and forefinger. Right. He was back in his rooms in Fellsmarch Castle, and someone was pounding at the door.
He slid naked from his bed, palming his knife. “What is it?” he demanded.
“It’s Darby, my lord. With a urgent message.”
Han wrapped himself in the velvet robe he’d slung over the foot of the bed and crossed to the door. “What could be so urgent?” he said through the door. “Is the castle aflame? Has the queen delivered twin demon children?”
Darby said nothing for a long moment. “I beg your pardon, my lord?”
Han rested his forehead against the wood. He’d been to Ragmarket the night before, and stayed too late. When would he learn that it was futile to try to drown his pain and worry in a tavern? It only made matters worse.
“Who’s it from?” he asked.
“The boy said it was urgent, but wouldn’t say who it was from, sir.”
Han cracked the door open enough to see one of Darby’s anxious blue eyes. He opened it a bit further and stuck his hand through the opening.
Darby handed over a sealed envelope with a little bow. “I regret waking you, my lord. Can I…can I get you something to break your fast? A bit of salt fish and ale? Some blood pudding?” Perhaps seeing some warning of the state of Han’s stomach in his face, Darby added hastily, “Or some bread and porridge? That’s good for a sour stomach.”
Han swallowed hard. “I…I think I’ll wait,” he said, and eased the door closed so it wouldn’t bang.
He tore open the envelope. The message was short and sweet, in angular, upright letters. See me immediately. I’m at Kendall House. M. Abelard.
Bones, Han thought. He’d been dreading the dean’s arrival. One more complication he didn’t need. He already felt like he was juggling alley cats. He’d hoped to avoid seeing her until the first council meeting.
Now that the summons had arrived, he knew better than to put it off for long. Pawing glumly through the new clothes in his wardrobe, he chose his least fancy togs, a sober gray coat and plain black breeches. He left off his wizard stoles as well. Abelard might recognize the insignia. He wouldn’t want her to think he was getting above himself. Yet.
He’d never had six choices of garments to pick from before.
Han stared into the looking glass over the washstand, combing down his hair with his fingers, wishing he didn’t look so hollow-eyed. With Abelard, he’d have to make show.
Images from the celebration at Marisa Pines kept crowding into his head: Raisa weaving in and out of the firelight, head thrown back, skirts swirling around her slender legs, bracelets on her ankles and wrists, singing the words of the old songs. Clan princess—of an older line than Hanalea’s, even.
Reid Nightwalker, dressed for dancing. Circling the fire, eying Raisa like she was a deer and he a fellscat on the hunt.
His imagination took him further—to Raisa and Nightwalker under the blankets, their limbs intertwined, Raisa’s green eyes fastened on Nightwalker’s face, her hands entangled in those Demonai braids. Aaah! Han shook his head, trying to dislodge that image. Nightwalker might hope for a wedding, but, unlike Han, he wouldn’t decline a quick tumble in the meantime.
What had come over Han at Marisa Pines? What must Raisa be thinking now? Not to mention Averill and Elena.
When Han had heard that Nightwalker was to be Patriarch of Demonai Camp, he’d seen where Averill was headed—a match between Raisa and Nightwalker, a decisive triumph of clan over wizard. He’d tasted the bitter ashes of his charred hopes.
I have to keep my head, he thought. I can’t lose control like that. Not if I want to stay alive.
The thought of Raisa next door nearly drove Han to distraction. But he would not slide through the back hallways, keeping Raisa’s bed warm for Nightwalker.
Kendall House stood within the castle close, just within the perimeter walls. It sheltered bluebloods in the outer circles of the queen’s affections, plus those that required more spacious quarters than could be had within the palace itself.
Dean Abelard’s suite was on the first floor, in a prime space that let out to the garden. A servant ushered Han into a courtyard centered by a splashing fountain. Abelard sat at a small wrought-iron table, leafing through documents, occasionally scrawling notes in the margins. Her straight chin-length steel-and-russet hair obscured her face as she leaned over her work. The dean’s robes were gone. Abelard was as finely dressed as any blueblood at court, her book-and-flame stoles overtop.
Han glanced around. It was a good choice as a meeting place. Out in the open, yet the sound of the fountain would cover their conversation from possible eavesdroppers.
When Abelard reached the bottom of her stack of papers, she set them aside and gestured to a chair opposite her.
Han sat down, resting his hands on his knees, head tilted back a little, hoping he looked clear-eyed and ruthless despite his aching head.
Abelard gazed at him, chin propped on her laced fingers, elbows on the table. “My, my, Alister, you have been busy,” she murmured. “Here I was worried about how you would do on your own among the predators at court, and I find out you’re the chief predator.”
Then why do I feel like prey? Han thought. “Don’t give me too much credit. I’ve got a lot of competition.”
Abelard laughed. “Yes, you do. But still. Three months after you leave Oden’s Ford you are bodyguard to the Princess Raisa and her appointee to the Wizard Council. You’ve gained a title and a country home. Not only that, you’ve moved into the room next to hers. Impressive.”
Han shrugged, thinking that Dean Abelard had learned a lot in only a few days. Or maybe she’d had somebody on the watch the whole time.
“What else have you been up to?” Abelard asked. “What else have you learned?”
Right. Han had come to the Fells pretending to be Abelard’s eyes and ears.
“What do I think, or what can I prove?” Han said.
“What do you think?”
“Lord Bayar has tried—several times—to murder the princess heir—now the queen. She’s too independent for his liking. He’s backing the Princess Mellony. Meanwhile, Micah still hopes to bed and wed the queen.” Han wouldn’t be spilling anything Abelard didn’t already know. “You told me to keep either of those things from happening. I figured that the best way to accomplish that was to get between them and Her Majesty by sticking close to her.”
“Very close.” Leaning forward, Abelard asked, “Are you sleeping with her?”
Han snorted, while his heart pinged p
ainfully. “How likely is that?”
“I wouldn’t put it past you, Alister,” Abelard said. She reached out and brushed her fingers along the side of his face. “You are handsome, and you have a certain wicked charm. And the new queen seems to have inherited the profligate ways of her mother, Marianna.”
Han forced down his memories of Raisa dancing with Nightwalker at Marisa Pines. He said nothing, hoped he displayed nothing.
“It’s rumored that the princess was hiding in Oden’s Ford while Micah and Fiona were there.” Abelard kept her shrewd gray-green eyes fixed on him.
Han frowned, as if baffled. “Really? Why would she go there?”
“That’s the question,” Abelard said. “Is it possible Micah and the Princess Raisa had planned to meet in Oden’s Ford?”
Han’s mind left off unraveling lies and focused on what Abelard was saying. “What?”
“I’m wondering if the Princess Raisa has succumbed to Micah’s well-known charms,” Abelard said dryly. “I know she was seeing him prior to her abrupt self-exile. Maybe they ran off together.”
She doesn’t know that Lord Bayar and Queen Marianna meant to marry Raisa off to Micah, Han thought. She’d assume Marianna would have been opposed to it.
“I don’t know,” Han said, thinking hard, treading carefully. “I kept a close eye on Micah. I was in and out of his rooms a hundred times. Micah saw a lot of girlies, but I never saw any sign that he and the Princess Raisa were walking out.”
“Walking out?” Abelard’s lips twitched in amusement.
“Seeing each other,” Han said, all the while wondering himself—was it possible? Surely he would have known. Wouldn’t he?
Then again, he’d been several months at Oden’s Ford before he’d begun seeing the girl he’d known as Rebecca on a regular basis. What if Micah had been crossing the river to see her? What if she’d made Micah the same offer she’d made to Han—to be clandestine lovers—and Micah had accepted? Raisa was good at keeping secrets—she’d kept her identity secret from him for nearly a year.
Unbidden, Fiona’s words came back to him. The princess heir has agreed to allow my brother Micah to court her. In secret, of course.
“I guess it’s possible,” Han went on. “But he would have had to keep it from Fiona, which wouldn’t be easy. If she’d found out, she’d have cackled to their father in a heartbeat.” Or killed Raisa herself, he thought.
Abelard studied Han’s face a while longer. “You’ve implied there’s a rift in the Bayar family—between Micah and his father, and between Micah and Fiona.”
“There’s none of them getting along,” Han said. “Fiona doesn’t like that Lord Bayar wants to marry Micah into the Gray Wolf line. She thinks, why not me?”
Abelard raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me? How would that work?”
“Fiona thinks we should ditch the Gray Wolf line altogether,” Han said. “She favors a wizard queen. And you can guess who she has in mind for that job.”
“Indeed,” Abelard murmured, rubbing her thumb and fingers together as if she were already counting the cash. “But you don’t have proof of this?”
Han shook his head. “Only what she’s told me.”
“Fiona is confiding in you, then?” Abelard smiled. “How is that possible?”
Han didn’t smile back. “She hopes to use me against Micah. She knows we don’t get on.”
“Well, now,” Abelard said, drumming her fingers on the tabletop. “How to use this?”
“So you don’t agree?” Han said. “About ditching the Gray Wolf line?” He kept his tone casual, his expression indifferent, though a lot was riding on the answer.
Abelard glanced around, then leaned closer. “I might consider it, Alister, if I knew that the resulting magical bloodbath would be worth it. Better to have Hanalea’s line on the throne than the Bayars. Right now, there are too many unanswered questions. We still don’t know whether the Armory of the Gifted Kings still exists and, if so, who holds it.”
That again, Han thought, trying to keep the skepticism off his face. He’d nearly forgotten about the armory since his days with Abelard’s crew at Oden’s Ford. But the dean still seemed fixed on it.
“If it exists—and the Bayars hold it—wouldn’t they have taken over already?” Han said.
“Until now, Aerie House seemed satisfied with being first among wizards, as they have been since the Breaking,” Abelard said. “Many in the assembly and the council attach themselves to the Bayars because they always win, and the cowards don’t want to pay the price for backing the losing side.” She paused. “And yet, you’re risking your life to oppose Lord Bayar. Why? What do you hope to gain?”
Han shrugged, trying to ignore the queasiness in his middle. “One thing leads to another.”
“I’d suggest you lock your doors and hire a taster,” Abelard said dryly. “And bring an army to Gray Lady, or you’ll never make it there alive.”
I don’t have an army, Han thought. All I have is Crow. And maybe not even him. Crow hadn’t returned to Aediion since Han had surprised him with Fire Dancer.
After a moment of glum silence, Abelard continued. “Lord Bayar means to elect Micah High Wizard in his place. Then he will put Fiona on the council to fill the Bayar seat. That will give Micah increased influence over the queen, and constant access to her, if he doesn’t have that already. In time, he will wear her down. We don’t want that.”
“Seems like something needs to happen to make them look like losers,” Han murmured. “Something that would call their infallibility into question. Something that would drive their sunny-day allies away.”
The dean scowled. “Leave that to me,” she said. “I didn’t hire you to plan political strategy.” She shook her hair back. “Dolph deVilliers is on the council, and he hates the Bayars. There’s you, and there’s me. That’s three out of six on the council. We need to win one more member to our side in order to avoid Gavan Bayar’s tie-breaking vote.”
“Our side?” Han said.
“I intend to be High Wizard,” Abelard said.
Well, Han thought, I’d prefer Abelard next to Raisa than Micah Bayar. But I’d rather be next to Raisa myself. Is there any way to make that happen? His mind skittered down that side path until Abelard’s voice broke in.
“Until we know more, it makes sense to continue to keep Queen Raisa alive and prevent a marriage to Micah. I want you to look into the possibility that they are seeing each other on the sly.” She paused. “If they are, are you prepared to eliminate Micah?”
More ready than I care to admit, Han thought, remembering those bleak, desperate days after Raisa disappeared from Oden’s Ford. “If you want,” he said, kicking back in his chair as though he didn’t care one way or the other. “If you make it worth my while.”
Abelard nodded briskly, seeming satisfied. “Meanwhile, I’ll try to find another match for the queen. Someone more to my liking.”
Han cleared his throat, keeping his body loose and relaxed. “Have anybody in mind?”
“Me, if I were a man,” Abelard said sarcastically. “Marriage is just a political exercise, after all. The key is to get married, conceive an heir, and then do as you please.” She considered Han’s question for a moment. “I’d prefer she marry someone harmless,” she said. “The sooner the better. I thought the Tomlin prince was a possibility, but that’s not looking good. Doesn’t General Klemath have a couple of idiot sons?”
There always came a point when Han couldn’t stand to be with Dean Abelard a moment longer. And this was it. He looked up, shading his eyes and judging the angle of the sun. “It’s getting late,” he said. “I’ll be missed. Is there anything…?”
“Did you ever find that girl you were looking for?” Abelard asked abruptly. “The one who disappeared from Oden’s Ford? You thought the Bayars might have had a hand in it.”
Just when you think Abelard isn’t paying attention, it turns out she is, Han thought.
Just remember, once you
say something, it can’t be unsaid.
“No,” he said. “I think she’s gone for good.”
C H A P T E R F O U R
FAMILY
MATTERS
Han Alister stood in Mystwerk Tower in the dreamworld of Aediion, dressed in blueblood togs. “Come talk to me, Crow,” he called, tapping his foot. “I’m here on my own this time, and I need your help.”
Desperation had brought Han back here. He’d scarcely slept for two days—ever since his meeting with Abelard. If nothing changed, he stood to lose everything.
He waited. The great bells loomed overhead, voiceless.
“If it makes a difference, you’ve convinced me you’re Alger Waterlow.”
No response.
“I’ve been named to the Wizard Council,” Han said. “We’re meeting next week. Without your help, I’m unlikely to survive my first meeting.”
That must have struck a nerve. The air began to ripple. Crow appeared before Han, wearing his usual scowl, his conjured blueblood clothes tattered by magical turmoil.
“Thank you for coming,” Han said, and he meant it.
“Why should I trust you?” Crow folded his arms. “After you show up with a Bayar tricked out as a copperhead.”
“Hayden Fire Dancer is my best friend. And he’s as much an enemy of the Bayars as you are.”
“Hah! When the money’s on the table, he’ll turn on you. He carries tainted blood. Just like the Gray Wolf line.”
Han took a deep breath. It was time to show his hand, for better or worse. “Well, I carry your blood, like it or not, and I’ve been paying for it all my life.”
“You?” Crow looked Han up and down. “Related to me? Impossible.”
“Is it?” Han held Crow’s gaze, lifting his chin in defiance.
“I never had children,” Crow said. “My bloodline died with me, to everyone’s immense relief. Oh, I could have fathered a byblow child here or there, but there’s no way you would—”