The Demon King (37 page)

“I already tried,” Cat said, her voice breaking. She looked frantic, not like herself. “We all did. We even went over the roofs before the fire got too big. I’m so sorry, mate,” she whispered. “So sorry.”

“I know where they’ll be,” Han said. “I can get to them. I know I can.” Mari would be lying on her pallet next to the hearth. Mam would be with her. Mam was smart. She’d have wrapped wet blankets around them both. They’d be scared, but…

“I an’t going to let you kill yourself,” Cat said. “Been enough killing tonight.”

Cat jerked her head toward the back of the alley, and the Raggers hauled him, kicking and protesting, swearing and throwing punches, away from the fire. They dragged him most of the way to the warehouse they used as headquarters before he finally quit struggling. Once there, they stuck him in a corner with Flinn and Jonas watching over him, while Cat and Sarie whispered in the other corner.

Where’s Velvet? Han wondered distractedly.

Han shivered and shuddered through the rest of the night, alternately freezing and sweating. He thought it was shock, or rage, or maybe an aftermath of what Gavan Bayar had done to him with his magic; but by morning he realized he’d caught Mari’s fever.

Let me die, he thought gratefully, giving himself up to it. He was out of his head for a while, hours or days, he wasn’t sure. When he woke, he saw Willo’s face looking down at him with an expression of such sorrow that he found he wanted to make her feel better. She cradled him in her arms and rocked him and fed him willow bark and matriarch’s tea, which was apparently good for summer fever, because it broke soon after.

Somehow he’d ended up back at Southbridge Temple, in one of the little sleeping rooms that let out onto the courtyard. A week passed before he was able to get up, and by then Flinn reported that the bluejackets had lost interest in the remains of the stable and had moved on to whatever other murders they meant to commit.

Cat and the Raggers had guarded the site, keeping nearby residents from claiming any spoils. Afraid of what he might find, but no longer worried about who might be watching, Han poked through the rubble of his former home until he found them—two bodies huddled close together amid the ruins of the chimney, one big, one small, too charred to recognize or to tell what had been done to them before they died.

“The smoke would have put them to sleep, Hunts Alone,” Willo said. She’d scarcely left him alone for a minute these past seven days. “They probably didn’t feel much pain.”

Probably. Probably. It wasn’t good enough.

Han found Mam’s locket that was her mother’s, half melted from the heat, and Mari’s charred little book of stories, the one she’d wanted to read to him when he’d been in too big a hurry to listen. He tucked those into his carry bag. In midmorning, Willo walked to the market to buy food for the road. Han took that opportunity to pull the wrapped amulet from its hiding place in the blacksmith’s furnace and drop it into his bag as well. He’d sacrificed too much for the thing to leave it behind.

Without a second glance at Cobble Street, he walked to Cat’s crib in the warehouse, where he knew she’d be during the day. Sarie and Flinn were playing nicks-and-bones. Sweets and Jonas were teasing a couple of stripey cats with bits of string. Cat’s mandolin leaned against the wall, but no Cat and no Velvet.

Sarie scrambled to her feet when Han entered, an expectant, guarded look on her face. “Hey,” she said.

Han didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Where’s Cat?” he asked.

“Dunno.” she shrugged. “An’t seen her for days. Velvet neither. Thought she was with you maybe,” she said hopefully.

Han shook his head. “I’ve been sick. Anyway, when Cat comes back, tell her she can have the place in Pilfer Alley.”

Sarie blinked at him, then took his arm and led him away from the others. “Why? An’t you staying?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “I’m going away for a while.”

She searched his face. “But. You’ll need it later, right?”

He shook his head. “No. I won’t.”

Her grip on his arm tightened. “You not going to do nothin’ crazy, are you?”

“Nah.”

Sarie cleared her throat and stared at the brick wall. “We thought maybe you was going to come back, be streetlord again. With your family gone and all.” She looked at him, then away. “We’d all swear to you, Cuffs.”

“You have a streetlord. Cat’ll come back.” But Han had an uneasy feeling. Streetlords didn’t live long in Ragmarket. Could the Southies have found her on her own? If there were any Southies left.

Once again he felt the knife of guilt in his gut. It was like he was the sole survivor of a terrible plague. Why did he deserve to live when everyone around him died?

He looked up at Sarie, who was still waiting, as if hoping for a different answer. “Cat doesn’t come back, maybe you can be streetlord,” he said. “You want to stay away from me. There’s still wizards hunting for me. I don’t want anybody else to get hurt.”

Sarie chewed on her lower lip. Han knew she had something to say, but she’d never been very good with words. “Look, Cuffs, I’m real sorry about what happened to your mam and sister,” Sarie said. She untied the rag around her neck and tied it around Han’s. “Anyways. Once a Ragger…you know.”

There wasn’t much to add to that, so he left.

Later, Willo found him standing in the rain on South Bridge, looking past Fellsmarch Castle to where Gray Lady brooded, shrouded in mist.

Willo loaded him onto a horse, and they rode back to Marisa Pines. He climbed onto a sleeping bench in the Matriarch Lodge and slept for three more days.

SECRETS REVEALED

Dancer came and sat with him most days, not saying much, just being there. They were brothers in grief, each mourning multiple losses, each an exile of sorts. Dancer, at least, had some grip on the future, even if he wasn’t happy about it. He didn’t have to feel responsible for the death of his family, for ruining his own life.

Han wanted to blame Bird for discouraging him from following her to Demonai. Maybe if she’d allowed him to come, he wouldn’t have been desperate enough to try to sell the amulet. He wanted to be mad at her, but his heart wasn’t in it, and when she pulled him into her arms, it was a welcome distraction, at least.

The Demonai would stay until Dancer left, but that time was fast approaching. Then Bird would leave for Demonai. After that, Han saw nothing ahead, nothing to look forward to.

Willo, who was usually so serene, seemed edgy, almost distraught. Han attributed it to the way Dancer was acting and the prospect of his forced departure for the south. And maybe it was a little about Han’s situation, because she treated him differently than before, almost as if he were fragile—or as if he might explode if she looked at him the wrong way.

Some days it seemed just possible he might—that the alchemy of pain and rage and guilt and frustration would combust inside him. Mam and Mari had been no threat to Gavan Bayar, or Micah Bayar, or the bloody queen of the Fells.

Han might fancy himself a powerful streetlord, but in truth, the bit of swag he’d managed to take off the rich was mere crumbs from their table—so little as to be scarcely noticed. For that he’d been beaten in the streets, pitched into gaol, hunted all his life.

He’d thought Shiv was his enemy. Shiv was just another victim of the queen and the Wizard Council and all the rest. The streetlords spent their time battling each other when they should have been fighting those who had the real power.

It would serve them right if he gathered his quiver and bow and blades and climbed Gray Lady to the Bayar compound and showed them what it was like to be hunted.

He was likely to fail at that, as well. There was no chance he’d get anywhere near his real enemies, the ones that pulled the strings. At most, a few bodyguards and servants would die.

Willo held long meetings with the elders in the Visitors’ Lodge late at night, which was surprising, because such meetings were usually held in the Matriarch Lodge. Maybe, he thought, they didn’t want him and Dancer to be privy to their deliberations.

He could stay with Willo and study healing, make a little money as an apprentice, and see Bird now and then when she traveled to Marisa Pines. If, after a year, he wanted to leave, he’d put the money he’d saved toward the warrior school at Oden’s Ford. It was that or back to the streets. Either way he was unlikely to have to worry about growing old.

Finally, one sultry night when Dancer was within a week of leaving, Willo called a meeting at the Matriarch Lodge.

Han and Bird came from their hideout by the river, where they’d spent the afternoon before sluicing off the hot stickiness of the day. He’d pulled on clan leggings Willo had made for him and a summer shirt of cotton. Bird had left off her warrior garb for once. She wore an embroidered deerskin vest with no shirt underneath and full trader skirts. She’d laced a beaded anklet Han had given her around her right ankle, and Han couldn’t help staring at her tanned and muscled legs as they flashed beneath her brightly colored skirts. He looked down at himself, wondering if she noticed him the way he noticed her.

When Han and Bird entered the lodge, he was surprised to see it was packed full of people, many of them unfamiliar. The clans were great for holding councils. He and Bird found a seat on a bench by the door and sat, hands clasped, hips squeezed tightly together. Han was pleased she chose to sit with him rather than huddle next to the fire with the other Demonai warriors.

Willo opened the meeting. “Thank you for coming, to our Marisa Pines brethren as well as those who’ve journeyed from Demonai, Rissa, and Escarpment camps.”

Han and Bird had been whispering together, but Han looked up, startled, at Willo’s words. This must be an important meeting for the Rissa and Escarpment camps to have sent representatives.

“Please share our fire and all we have,” Willo said. There was a murmur of greeting from the visitors from other camps.

Han spotted Lord Averill and Elena Demonai standing behind Willo. Once again, Han wondered if Averill would remember him from the incident at Southbridge Temple. And, indeed, Averill’s eyes lingered on Han for a long moment of appraisal.

But this night Averill had other things on his mind.

“Lord Demonai has brought news from the Vale,” Willo said.

Lord Demonai looked around the circle, and the buzz of conversation died away. The patriarch looked older and wearier than when Han had last seen him. He also looked as if he’d been in a fight, which seemed so out of character, Han couldn’t help paying attention.

“I bring troubling news, as Willo has said,” Lord Demonai said. “The power of the High Wizard grows stronger by the day. Lord Bayar exerts tremendous influence over the queen. So much so, in fact, that Queen Marianna means to marry our daughter, Raisa, the princess heir, to Bayar’s son, the wizardling Micah Bayar.”

This was greeted by a clamor of protest and cries of alarm and disbelief.

Beside Han, Bird stiffened and leaned forward, the light from the torches gilding the hard planes of her face. “That cannot happen,” she whispered.

They deserve each other, Han thought.

“I accept the blame for this,” Lord Demonai went on. “I must confess, I did not see it coming. In fact, Captain Byrne and I were attacked and nearly murdered on our way back from Chalk Cliffs on Raisa ana’Marianna’s name day.”

This was met by another storm of disapproval. Han glanced over at the Demonai warriors. They did not shout and demonstrate with the others, but stood silent and alert and looked more dangerous because of it.

“I cannot believe Her Majesty approved our murders,” Lord Demonai said wryly. “Yet we must not underestimate Lord Bayar’s potential for treachery. They intended to marry the princess heir and young Bayar on her name day, while Captain Byrne and I were—ah—otherwise occupied.” He paused, then added, “Fortunately, Princess Raisa has escaped into exile.”

Han heard shouts of “Thank the Maker!” and “Where is she?” and “Our daughter Raisa should take refuge here, with her family, within the highland camps.”

At this point Elena Demonai stepped forward, her aged face etched with new lines of worry. “My granddaughter is safe for now. We believe it best if she does not stay here with us, but in some more neutral place outside the realm. To hold the princess here, against the queen’s wishes, would be too great a provocation. We hope that there is still a chance to save Marianna. I do not wish to go to war against her.”

The Demonai warriors, Bird included, looked to be more than willing to go to war with the queen. One thing they could agree on. Han despised them all—the queen, the wizards, and the Princess Heir. It was the Queen’s Guard that had burned the stable down, and Mam and Mari with it—likely on orders from the High Wizard. They could all go to the Breaker as far as he was concerned.

“We must, however, be realistic and prepare for what we would rather avoid,” Elena said. “If they’ve found a way to break the magical binding between the High Wizard and the queen, it’s likely that the Bayars hold some magical weapons that were made before the Breaking. We don’t know if they have held them all along or if they recently acquired them.”

Feeling a prickle of unease, Han leaned aside to Bird and asked, “Why is that important?”

“The clan still makes the amulets that are necessary to channel magic,” she said. “But these days they have a limited life span. They must be renewed or replaced by a clan master or matriarch. That gives us some control over the Wizard Council. The amulets made before the Breaking were extremely powerful. Once given, they cannot be taken back. It was a condition of the Naéming that all such pieces be returned to the clan.”

Han thought of the amulet hidden beneath his sleeping bench. Could that be one of those special amulets? Was that why the Bayars were so anxious to get it back?

He should have thrown it into the ravine, as Dancer had suggested the day they’d found it.

“For now,” Averill said, “we are asking all clan traders to observe a moratorium on trade in amulets, talismans, and other magical pieces. We cannot allow the Wizard Council to collect a greater armory than they have already.” He massaged his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I know that this will be a hardship on many of us who rely on that trade.”

“The Wizard Council will see this as a provocation,” Bird whispered to Han. “Especially with the war in the south going on. They’ll say that they need a steady supply of amulets to train their young and defend the Fells against the southerners. If wizards convince the queen this is true, what will happen to clansfolk working or trading in the city?”

There was more discussion of safeguards against possible violence in the Vale and alternatives to the markets for those who relied on trade for their income.

“I will continue to work from the inside, at court, to exert whatever influence I can to turn them from this path,” Averill said.

“I’m worried about you, Averill,” Willo said. “There’s already been one attempt on your life.”

The trader shrugged. “Life is as long or short as it is,” he said. “The Maker will call me when he is ready.”

“If we could just persuade Marianna to come to Marisa Pines, we might be able to cleanse her of whatever magical charm has been laid on her,” Willo said.

“She’s unlikely to be persuaded with Bayar whispering in her ear,” Elena said sourly.

Reid Demonai spoke for the first time. “We could seize the queen,” he said, “and bring her here ourselves.” His gang of warriors murmured approval.

Reid looked around the lodge as if assessing the backbone of his audience, then added, “Should anything happen to Marianna, we could crown the princess heir.”

“No, Reid,” Elena said. “We are not queenmakers. Marianna ana’Rissa is the blooded queen of the Fells and the descendant of Hanalea. Any attack on her will bring nothing but misfortune to us.”

Reid shrugged, but Han could tell he hadn’t let go of the idea.

The council came to an end, and the attendees drifted out, talking in twos and threes. Han knew all the guesthouses and fire circles would be crowded with people talking long into the night. Conscious of their dwindling hours together, Han leaned close to Bird and whispered, “Let’s go back down by the river.”

But Willo put a hand on his shoulder, startling him. He hadn’t heard her approach. “Stay a while, Hunts Alone. We need to speak with you.”

“All right,” he said, wondering, Who’s “we”?

Bird stood, and Han said, “Can Bird stay?” Willo shook her head.

Perplexed and a little annoyed, Han said to Bird, “Wait outside, will you? This shouldn’t take too long.”

“I won’t wait forever, Hunts Bird,” Bird said, grinning at him. She swept out in a swish of skirts.

After everyone exited, Averill, Elena, Dancer, and Willo remained, all sitting around the hearth. Dancer looked as bewildered as Han.

Han began to feel apprehensive. Willo’s expression had bad news all over it. He didn’t know Averill and Elena very well, and he’d always been a little afraid of them. Maybe Willo was going to withdraw her offer to train him in healing. Or the elders were going to banish him because he’d continued to see Bird in defiance of Willo’s warning. Maybe Averill wanted to ask questions about the girlie he’d kidnapped at Southbridge Temple a lifetime ago. Or they could have found out about the amulet hidden under his sleeping bench.

Too many possibilities, all of them bad.

Just then the door to the lodge opened and Lucius Frowsley came in, which was possibly the most surprising thing that could have happened. Lucius traded with the clan, but Han had never seen him in any of their camps before.

The old man looked less derelict than usual. Although his breeches and shirt were worn, they were clean and finely made, and he’d made some attempt to put his hair and beard into order. His filmy eyes were clearer than usual, and he leaned on an elaborately carved walking stick. Han could have sworn he was sober.

That was frightening in itself.

Han rose from his bench. “Lucius? What are you doing here?”

“You’ll see soon enough, boy,” Lucius said. The old man seemed almost smug. Han took his arm and led him to one of the benches. Lucius sat down with the others.

Willo rose and stood at the center of the half-circle. She was obviously in charge of this rough assembly.

“Hunts Alone, I want to begin by asking your forgiveness,” Willo said.

Han stared at her for a long moment, temporarily speechless. “Why? What for? If you’re talking about Mam and Mari, that wasn’t your fault.”

“In a way it was,” Willo said, looking away from him and lacing her fingers together nervously. That was unlike her, because usually she was very straightforward. She just seemed to be having trouble spitting this story out.

“No,” he said. “It was my fault. I was the one who brought the Guard down on them. I should’ve just stayed away.” He didn’t mention the amulet. Dancer knew about it, and Lucius did, but neither of them knew what had happened after, or that he still had it.

Han was ashamed he’d kept it, ashamed he’d tried to sell it. That was the story he had trouble telling.

“We’ve kept a secret from you all this time,” Willo said. “For many reasons. Partly to protect you. Mostly to protect everyone else. But now, for many reasons, we’ve decided to tell you the truth.”

Han said nothing, but sat and waited, his heart flapping in his chest like a trout stranded on the riverbank.

Willo rose and handed Han a jug of tea and a cup. He gazed at them stupidly, then looked up at Willo.

“Have some,” she said. “It will calm you.”

So he needed calming, did he, before he heard this news? He poured, then cautiously sipped the muddy brew. The fragrance was familiar, though he’d never tasted it before.