He slid the amulet into his carry bag and slung it over his shoulder, pulled his cap down over his face, and headed for Southbridge Market. When he reached the bridge, he nodded to the sleepy bluejackets, once again passing between the temple and the guardhouse, wondering what Jemson would think of his former student, and who Mac Gillen was beating these days.
The butcher was just cranking open his awning. He had one of the few permanent structures at the market. The mushroom man was setting baskets of morels and chicken-head fungus out in front of his shop. Han walked past them without speaking and without making eye contact. Han’s home market was Ragmarket. He didn’t know most of the vendors at Southbridge, which was a good thing on this particular day.
Taz Mackney was another prosperous vendor at the market. His shop was larger than most, filled with exotic fabrics, seductive fragrances, rare artwork, and precious stones—loose and set into jewelry. What most people didn’t know was that much of Taz’s prosperity derived from his side business in magical pieces, many of them stolen or, at least, of questionable provenance. The Naéming might forbid the buying and selling of talismans and amulets made before the Breaking, but for the right price, Taz could find most anything for a discreet client.
Han only knew this because he’d sold goods to Taz in the past. He didn’t always get the best price from Taz, but he liked dealing with him because he had a permanent location, unlike many of the fences who worked the streets. Taz knew the Raggers could always find him again if he cheated them. He also had connections with rich clients who could pay big money for a rare piece. Taz had another, more prestigious location in the castle close, frequented by the gentry, including wizards.
The bell over the door jangled as Han entered the shop. Taz was sitting in the back, his bald head bent over his books. Without looking up he growled, “Not open yet. Come back later.”
“If you want,” Han said. “But it’s your loss. I’ll see who else is ready to do business.”
Taz looked up, startled. “Cuffs? Blood of the demon!” He lurched to his feet with amazing speed for one so bulky. The dealer glanced out the front windows and then jerked his head toward the back. “Let’s go in the back room.”
Han followed him back, past bins of beads and shelves lined with bottles of potions larded with time-darkened wax. Rolled-up rugs in brilliant colors stood in the corners, and intricate puzzle boxes, sconces, and candles lay everywhere.
Once through the back door, Taz took refuge behind the large desk that Han knew housed at least three knives and an assassin’s dagger. The dealer wore a long velvet coat and a froth of lace at his neck. His belly poured over his breeches, poking out through his coat. Here was someone who was eating well.
“I hear you’re dead,” Taz said bluntly.
Han nodded, assuming a mournful expression. “Got done in by the Southies,” he said. “I sort of like being dead.”
Taz laughed his great booming laugh that made you think he wasn’t as smart as he really was. “Understood, my boy. To what can I attribute this extracorporeal apparition?”
Taz liked to use big words.
“I’ve an amulet you might be interested in,” Han said.
“Thought you were out of the game,” Taz said, his eyes narrowing.
Han shrugged. “I am. Special case. I’m vamping it for a friend.”
“Ah. A friend. Of course.” Taz’s eyes lighted with interest. He’d bought some rare pieces from Han in the past.
“It’ll be pricy,” Han warned. “I won’t let it go for a smile and a promise. If you’re short on iron, just say so.”
“Have no worries on that account,” Taz said, trying to look disinterested. “However, you should know that, given the idiosyncrasies of the current market, I may not be in a position to make a very generous offer. Unfortunately, I’ve seen less demand for magical objects in recent months.”
Han reached into his carry bag and pulled out the amulet. He took his time, all part of the game. He set the parcel on the desk, carefully pulled away the leather.
The light from the stone turned Taz’s face a sickly green. The dealer stared at it for a long moment, then looked up into Han’s face. “Where’d you get this?” he whispered.
“I said. From a friend. He’s going out of the magic business,” Han said.
Taz impulsively reached for it, but Han gripped his wrist. “Don’t touch it,” he said. “It’s dangerous.”
Taz swallowed hard. “Right,” he said, his supply of big words seemingly dried up. “Well. It’s a shame it’s so unstable. That will make it hard to sell.” He thought a moment. “Ten girlies,” he said. “Take it or leave it.”
Han could have used ten girlies just then, but he knew he was being lowballed. He shook his head and began rewrapping the amulet.
Taz watched this for a few seconds, then said, “Twenty-five.”
Han stuffed the amulet into his carry bag. “Thank you for your time, Taz,” he said, turning away.
“Wait!” Taz said quickly.
Han turned and waited.
Taz licked his lips. Beads of sweat stood out on his broad forehead. Evidence that he wanted the piece and wanted it bad.
“I could turn you over to the bluejackets, you know. It’s in your best interest to come to terms.”
Han shrugged and ran his hand over the interior wall. “This place could burn down, you know. Maybe even with you inside. That’d be a shame.”
Taz cleared his throat. “I thought you were out of the business,” he repeated.
Han lifted his hands, palms up. “Can you ever really leave the business?”
Taz nodded grudgingly. “Cuffs, you’ve always had an astute head for commerce. Very rare in one so young.”
Han grinned. “Well, thank you, Taz. That and three coppers gets me a pork bun.”
“What do you want for it?”
“A hundred girlies, minimum. But I’ll be showing it around the market and taking the best offer I get, so you’d best aim high.” Han kept his voice casual, glancing around the shop and fingering a silver chalice as if he might be in the market. A hundred girlies hadn’t passed through his hands in his lifetime.
“Look, I’m not in a position to buy it outright for the money you want, but I may have clients who would be willing to make an offer. Leave it with me, on consignment, and we’ll see what the response is.”
Han shook his head. “Can’t do. I only have the one, and I have several other dealers to show it to. I an’t giving it up until there’s money in hand.”
Taz clearly didn’t want to see the amulet walk out the door. “Where can I reach you?”
“You can’t.” Han said. “Better work fast. I won’t be in town for long. I’ll check back day after tomorrow.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
NAME DAY 2
Raisa awoke the next morning, unrefreshed. She’d had the strangest dreams. They seemed to involve Amon, but they slipped away each time she reached for them. She snuggled down under the covers, hoping to enmesh herself again, but her mind raced and sleep eluded her.
Her name day. The day she was officially proclaimed eligible to marry. The day she was officially named heir to the throne and began training for her role as queen.
Tonight, finally, the formal dance of suitors would begin.
Her dress hung on its form, a silhouette against the window, the shape of the person she was supposed to be. She’d issued no proclamations about dress for her party. She hoped for a riotous garden of color, but expected that most would wear virginal white.
Raisa looked awful in white—this was another bone of contention between her and her mother. She would have chosen black, but she’d have settled for crimson or even emerald green, to set off her eyes. She’d ended with a champagne-color satin and lace that exposed her shoulders. There was nothing girlish about it, at least.
Yawning, she climbed out of bed in her nightgown and padded into her sitting room. Magret had breakfast under way.
>
“I thought you’d sleep later, so as to be fresh for tonight,” Magret said. “I could have brought you breakfast in bed.”
Raisa stared at Magret. Her nurse was encouraging her to sleep in so she could stay out late. It was an entire season of firsts. “Well, I just couldn’t sleep anymore,” she said, sorting through the piles of cards, notes, and letters in the basket by the door. “Any word from my father?”
“No, Your Highness,” Magret said. “But don’t worry. If he’s not here already, he’s on his way. He wouldn’t miss it.”
“I know.” Raisa couldn’t shake a feeling of unease. “Could you…could you send to Kendall House and tell them to let me know as soon as he’s arrived?” Her father had remained at Kendall House, since he was still out of favor with the queen.
Magret enfolded Raisa in her arms, patting her back. “Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s just name day jitters. Tonight will be a night you’ll always remember.”
There are different reasons for remembering things, Raisa thought. Some good, some bad.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of bathing, buffing, combing, and coloring. “It probably takes less time to fit out a ship to go to sea,” Raisa complained when the nail-painters left and the hairdressers filed in.
Still, no word came from Kendall House.
At six p.m., Raisa was laced into her dress. It fell in long silken folds from a high waist, and had wide romantic sleeves with insets of lace. In truth, she liked it very much.
There was the problem of Elena’s ring again. Raisa was determined to wear it, yet her mother had given her a smoky quartz, citrine, and topaz necklace for her name day, a perfect match for her dress. Raisa slid the ring off its chain and tried it on every finger. It had seemed large before, but now she was surprised to find that it fit her middle finger perfectly. Her long trailing sleeves hid it from view.
At six thirty her mother swept in for a final inspection prior to the name day party. Queen Marianna’s dress was a deep hunter green that perfectly set off her golden hair and luminous skin. Her necklace and tiara were set with emeralds.
Even in her name day finery, Raisa felt unimpressive in comparison. What would it be like to reign after such a queen? Would she be known as the short, dark, snappish queen that followed the golden one?
Queen Marianna gripped Raisa’s elbows and held her out at arm’s length.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, eyes brimming with tears. “You are beautiful.” It would have meant more if she hadn’t sounded so surprised. “I cannot believe that this day has finally come. Please know that I only want what’s best for you, always. Do you believe that, Raisa?”
Raisa nodded, that prickle of unease returning. “Have you seen Father since his return?” she asked. “He’s to escort me into the hall, but I’ve not heard from him.”
Queen Marianna frowned. “Really? You’ve not heard from him? I was sure he would be here.”
“Of course he’ll be here,” Raisa said. “It’s my name day.”
Marianna hesitated. “That’s true, yes, but remember, you’ve already celebrated the occasion at Demonai Camp. Perhaps he thought he’d already met his obligation.”
Raisa blinked at her, confused a moment before she remembered. Supposedly her father had taken her to Demonai when she went missing in Southbridge.
“It’s not an obligation,” Raisa said. “He said he’d be here. He’d want to be.” She paused, then rushed on. “Why did you have to send him to Chalk Cliffs now?”
Her mother sighed, sounding exasperated. “It’s not that far, sweetheart. It should be no trouble to ride there and back over four days. Your crowning is important, but affairs of the realm cannot come to a halt for a week because of it.” The queen smiled, her tawny eyes searching Raisa’s face. “Don’t worry. I’ll send for him at Kendall House and tell him to come to you immediately, just to ease your mind.” She kissed Raisa on the forehead. “All will be well, Raisa, you’ll see.”
She turned and left the room in a rustle of silk.
But time passed, and soon they would have to leave for the temple, and still her father did not come. Raisa peeked out into the corridor, and a stocky young guardsman snapped to attention outside the door.
“Your Highness?” the soldier said. “How may I assist?”
“Oh. I was just looking.”
They stood there awkwardly for a moment. Then Raisa said, “Well, carry on,” and pulled the door closed.
Unable to sit still, Raisa threw open the doors to the terrace and walked out into the sultry evening.
Thunder grumbled over Hanalea, Rissa, and Althea. Great pillars of clouds tumbled over the peaks, underlit with green-and-yellow lightning. The air was thick with the scent of rain, almost too thick to breathe, and the hair on Raisa’s arms and the back of her neck prickled.
The wind picked up, setting the clouds in motion like gray wolves prowling over the distant hills. Raisa hunched her shoulders. Jitters, she said to herself. Just jitters.
Magret was as jumpy as Raisa. She picked through the messages on the front table as if she might find an undiscovered note from Averill. She fussed with Raisa’s hair, her hemline, her makeup, and tugged at her laces until Raisa had to struggle not to scream at her.
Every time Magret opened her mouth, words spilled out in a nervous cascade. “Did you hear? Prince Gerard Montaigne of Arden is here. Right in the middle of the war, he’s come up here, probably meaning to go home with a marriage contract in hand. He’s the youngest of five brothers, so I don’t know why he thinks the princess heir of the Fells would give him the time of day. That Prince Liam, now, he’s a handsome boy, and such good manners. He’s the heir to the throne of Tamron, you know.”
Finally there was a knock at the door. Raisa jumped to answer it, but Magret, of course, beat her to it.
It was not her father. It was Gavan Bayar, High Wizard of the Fells, resplendent in silver and black to match his mane of silver hair and thick black brows.
“My Lord Bayar,” Magret stammered. “I thought…We were expecting…”
Lord Bayar stepped past Magret and bowed low to Raisa. “Your Highness, you are a vision. I wish I were a younger man.” He paused, his eyes traveling over her from head to toe. “Unfortunately, your father still has not returned from Chalk Cliffs. The queen has asked me to escort you to the temple.” He offered his arm. “It would be my honor.”
Raisa backed away, shaking her head. “Perhaps…he’ll still come.”
“Everyone is assembled,” Lord Bayar said. “It is time. The queen requires your attendance.”
Raisa bumped into her dressing table and leaned back against it, suddenly dizzy. There was something wrong about all of this. Every instinct screamed at her. The lamp on the table guttered in the breeze from the open door, and wolf shadows loped along the walls.
The stocky guardsman stood in the doorway, gripping the hilt of his sword. “Your Highness?” he said.
Magret stepped between Raisa and Lord Bayar, her face crinkled with dismay. “Her Highness doesn’t feel well,” she said. “Perhaps, if you gave her a few minutes…”
Anger kindled in Lord Bayar’s blue eyes. “Step aside,” he said. “We don’t have a few minutes. The princess must come with me by order of the queen.”
“It’s all right, Magret,” Raisa said, even though it most certainly wasn’t all right. She straightened, shook her head to clear it, and nodded to the guardsman. “Be at ease. I’ll go with Lord Bayar. It’s kind of him to come and fetch me. I’m sure Papa will be here in time for the dance.”
Still ignoring Lord Bayar’s arm, Raisa gripped her skirts on either side, lifted her chin, and walked ahead of him into the corridor. The guardsman followed along behind.
It was difficult to stay ahead of Lord Bayar’s long legs, with her more limited stride and fancy shoes. Eventually she allowed him to take her elbow, feeling the sting of power through the wizard’s fingers.
Use your trader face, she
said to herself.
They followed the covered walkway from castle to church, crossing the courtyard that represented the separation between church and state, between holy and profane. The weather was growing worse, and the wind lashed strands of her carefully coiffed hair around her face. At any moment, it appeared the skies would open. She wondered if her father was out in the storm somewhere, trying to get home. She said a prayer to the Maker, and to Maia, the weather-maker, for his safe return.
The nave of the temple cathedral was candlelit and solemn, her path a long red-carpeted corridor between crowds of the glittering nobility, all craning their necks to catch their first glimpse of the princess heir. Raisa felt like a bride walking into temple on her father’s arm. Except this wasn’t her father, and this wasn’t her wedding.
She could tell that the last-minute substitution of Lord Bayar for her father had not been announced. She heard a whisper roll through the crowd, saw a ripple of heads turning, driven by the usual gossips. Where was Averill Demonai, and why wasn’t he here, and what did it all mean?
She wanted to stamp her foot and say, “This wasn’t my idea.”
Ahead of her, she saw her mother sitting in the queen’s chair, her skirts spread around her, the heavier ceremonial crown on her head. And standing next to her, Raisa was surprised to see Speaker Jemson from Southbridge Temple, resplendent in gold and white. Even at that distance she could see the surprise on the speaker’s face as Raisa entered with the High Wizard.
Then Raisa understood. Her father would have been in charge of the elements of faith. He would have been the one who invited Speaker Jemson to officiate.
Raisa walked the length of the temple, doing her best to ignore the wizard beside her, doing her best to keep her face a mask of solemnity while her heart pounded within her chest. Despite this distraction, a few images crystallized in her peripheral vision—for instance, the smile frozen on her cousin Missy Hakkam’s face. Missy stood next to her brother, the handsome and equally vapid Jon. Kip and Keith Klemath were nudging each other, probably laying bets on who would win the game of courtship at the dance.