The Demon King (7 page)

Now and again she saw flashes of the boy she remembered. He stood a bit self-consciously, back straight, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Once she caught him staring at her, but he looked away quickly when their eyes met, spots of color showing on his cheeks.

She felt flustered, disconcerted, almost angry. How could Amon have turned into this other person while he was away? If they did meet, what could she possibly say to him? Sweet Leeza’s teeth, you’re tall?

“Your Highness?” The words were spoken rather loudly almost in her ear, and Raisa jumped and turned toward Micah Bayar. “You’ve scarcely touched your food, and I feel like I’m talking to myself,” he said as dessert was set before them. There was an edge to his voice that said he was irritated.

“I’m sorry,” Raisa said. “I’m afraid I’m a little distracted. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired.” She poked at her pastry, wishing she were young again and could be dismissed from the table early.

“It’s no wonder you’re weary, Your Highness, after the scare this morning,” Lord Bayar said, smiling. “Perhaps a walk in the garden after dinner would restore you. Micah would be happy to accompany you.”

“Oh!” Raisa said. “Well. That’s very kind of you to think of me, Lord Bayar, but I really…”

Micah leaned in closer, speaking into Raisa’s ear so only she could hear. “Some of us are meeting later in the card room in the east wing,” he murmured. “Should be entertaining. Please come.” His hot hand closed over hers, pressing it to the table. A promise.

“What?” Raisa said distractedly.

Micah’s breath hissed through his teeth. “You keep staring at the door. Are you that eager to leave? Or is it someone in particular you’re looking at?”

Now Raisa was irritated. “I’ll thank you to mind your own business, sul’Bayar. I’ll look wherever I like.”

“Of course.” Micah released her hand and jammed his fork into his dessert. “It’s rude is all I’m saying.”

“Micah!” Lord Bayar glared at his son. “Apologize to the princess heir.”

“Sorry,” Micah said, staring straight ahead, a muscle in his jaw working. “Please forgive me, Your Highness.”

Raisa felt hemmed in by wizards, oppressed by the tension between Micah and his father. It was quite wearing.

When dinner ended, the band reassembled. There would be dancing into the small hours, relentless drinking and flirting, underscored by a series of lame entertainments. In the card room awaited the dance of the would-be suitors. It was time to escape.

She pressed the back of her hand against her forehead. “I’m off to bed,” she said. “I’ve a nasty headache.” She pushed back her chair. When Micah and Lord Bayar made as if to rise, she said, “Please, sit. I’d like to slip out quietly.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Micah asked, glancing at his father, then back at Raisa. “Why don’t I escort you back to your rooms?”

As if she needed help to find her way, but they’d often used that excuse to find time alone.

She stood. “No. You’re the guests of honor. Her Majesty will be disappointed if you leave. Thank you again for everything.”

Queen Marianna was looking at her, one eyebrow raised in inquiry. Raisa shrugged and again touched her forehead, the universal sign for headache. The queen nodded, blew her a kiss, and turned back to Miphis, who still looked thrilled and amazed to be sitting next to the queen.

Raisa walked the length of the dining room to the door. Hesitating, she looked back and saw the Demonais watching, a faint smile on Elena’s face.

As she passed between Amon and his fellow soldier, she did not look to the left or right, but muttered, “The usual place, soon as you’re able.”

OLD STORIES

Han put off leaving Marisa Pines as long as possible. It was late morning the next day when he said his good-byes and descended Hanalea, following the Dyrnnewater toward the Vale.

He’d sold or traded everything but the worthless snagwort, which would have to wait for the Flatlander Market. Coins jingled in his purse, and his bag bulged with trade goods—fabric and leatherwork he could sell at a profit, pouches of clan remedies, plus enough smoked venison to make a meal. And the amulet, hidden at the bottom.

He still mourned the deer he might have taken, but all in all, he’d done well for this early in the season.

He hoped Mam would agree.

On the way down the mountain, he stopped off at several solitary cabins to see if there was mail to go or goods to be carried down to market or orders for supplies that he would carry up the next time. Many of the cabin dwellers were clan who preferred life away from the bustle of the camps. There were also former flatlanders who liked solitude or had reason to avoid the notice of the queen’s heavy-handed guard. Han earned a little money by carrying news and mail up and down the mountains and acting as agent for those highlanders who didn’t care to visit the Vale.

Lucius Frowsley was one of those. His cabin stood where Old Woman Creek poured into the Dyrnnewater. He’d lived on the mountain so long, he looked like a piece broken off of it, with his craggy face and the clothes that draped his skinny body like juniper on a hillside. His eyes were opaque and cloudy as a winter sky—he’d been blinded as a young man.

Despite his blindness, the old man owned the most productive still in the Spirit Mountains.

Though Lucius could navigate the trails and ledges of the high country like a goat, he never went to Fellsmarch if he had a choice. So Han carried orders and containers and money up from the Vale, and product down. The containers were full when he carried them downhill and light and empty when he carried them up.

The best part: Lucius had books—not as many as in the temple library, but more books than any one man had a right to. He kept them locked in a trunk to protect them from the weather. What a blind man needed with a library, Han couldn’t say, but the old man encouraged him to take full advantage, and he did. Some days he staggered down the mountain with half his weight in books.

That was another mystery—Han should have read them all twice over by now. But Lucius always seemed to have new ones.

Lucius was cranky and profane and maybe siphoned off a little too much of his own product. But he was fair to Han, and told the truth, and always paid on time, which was rare. No one had dared steal from Cuffs Alister, streetlord of Ragmarket. But since he’d left the life, Han had been cheated more times than he cared to remember.

Lucius was also a nonjudgmental source of information. He knew everything, and, unlike Mam, he’d answer any question without a lecture.

The hillside cabin was empty, as was the distillery shack behind, but Han knew where to look. He found Lucius fishing in Old Woman Creek, which he did daily three seasons of the year. It was an excuse to sit and doze on the creek bank and sip from the bottle he always kept at hand. His dog, a rough-coated shepherd named Dog, sprawled by his feet.

As Han walked up the creek bed toward him, Lucius dropped his fishing pole and jerked around as if startled. The old man raised his hands as if for protection, his face pale and frightened, his blighted eyes wide under his wiry brows.

“Who’s there?” he demanded, sleeves flapping around skinny arms. Like usual, he was dressed in mismatched clan castoffs and Ragmarket finds. Being blind, he wasn’t fussy about color.

“Hey, Lucius,” Han called. “It’s just me. Han.”

Dog raised his head and woofed approvingly, then rested his head on his paws, twitching his ears to drive off flies.

Lucius’s hands came down, though he still looked wary. “Boy!” he said. Lucius always called him boy. “You oughtn’t to sneak up on folks that way.”

Han rolled his eyes. He’d come along the water, same as always. Everybody was acting strange today.

Han squatted next to Lucius, touching his shoulder so he’d know where he was, and the old man started violently.

“Catching anything?” Han asked, beginning to feel aggravated.

Lucius squinted his rheumy blue eyes like it was a hard question, then reached down and hauled a clan-woven fish basket out of the creek. “Catched all of four, so far.”

“Those fish for sale?” Han asked. “I can get you a good price at the market.”

Lucius considered this a moment. “Nope. Going to eat these fish m’self.”

Han settled himself back against a tree and extended his long legs in their flatland breeches. “Need anything to go with?” he asked, patting his backpack. “I have dried peppers and Tamron spice.”

Lucius snorted. “Fish will do me fine, boy.”

“Anything for Fellsmarch?” Han asked.

Lucius nodded. “It’s set aside in the dog run.”

Their business concluded, Han stared out at the rocks pricking the surface of the creek. Lucius still seemed jittery and unsettled. He kept tilting his head this way and that, as if to pick up a scent or a faint sound on the breeze. “You got your cuffs on, boy?” he asked abruptly.

“What do you think?” Han muttered. Like he could get them off.

Lucius seized Han’s arm and dragged back his sleeve, fingering the silver band as if to read the runes by touch. The old man grunted and released Han’s arm, still muttering to himself.

“What’s with you?” Han demanded, yanking at his sleeves.

“I smell hex magic,” Lucius said, in typically incompre-hensible Frowsley fashion.

Han thought of the amulet in his carry bag, but decided there was no way Lucius could know it was in there. “What do you know about magic?”

“A little.” Lucius rubbed his nose with his forefinger. “Not enough and too much.”

Han tried again. “What do you know about wizards, then?”

Lucius sat motionless for a long moment. “Why do you ask?”

Han stared at him. Most adults answered questions with questions, but not Lucius.

When Han didn’t answer immediately, the old man clamped his hand down on Han’s shoulder. “Why do you ask?” Lucius repeated fiercely.

“Ow. Hey, take it easy,” Han said, and Lucius let go. “Dancer and I had a run-in with some wizards up on Hanalea,” Han said, rubbing his shoulder. He told Lucius what had happened.

“Bayar, you say?” Lucius scowled and found his fishing pole again. “Thea’s bloody, bloody bones.”

Lucius had been born on the mountain known as Thea, spiritual home of that legendary queen of the Fells. So he favored Thea when it came to swearing, even though most swore by Hanalea.

Han asked him about it once, and Lucius told him that Hanalea was too powerful a word to be flinging around.

“Do you know him?” Han asked.

Lucius nodded. “Know of him. His father more so. Gavan Bayar. He’s the High Wizard, you know. Heart as cold as the Dyrnnewater. Ambitious too. You don’t want to get in his way.”

Micah Bayar had mentioned his father’s high office, like bluebloods always did. “What else could he want?” Han asked. “Besides being High Wizard?”

“Well.” Lucius lifted the tip of his pole, trying the line. “Fellow like Bayar, he’s never satisfied. I’m guessing he wants to be High Wizard without all the tethers and restrictions put in place by the Naéming. Some say he wants the queen as well.”

Han was confused. “He wants the queen? She already has a consort, doesn’t she? Somebody from Demonai?”

Lucius wheezed with laughter. “For a street rat, you got no idea what’s going on, do you?” He shook his gray head in amazement. “You got to keep your ear to the ground and your nose in the wind if you want to survive in these times.”

Han couldn’t picture how that physical feat could be accomplished. He could never figure out how Lucius knew everything that was going on, when he stayed up on the mountain all the time. It was a mystery.

Lucius’s laughter finally wore out, and he wiped tears from his eyes. “Averill Demonai is Queen Marianna’s consort. But he’s a trader, and traders travel a lot. Spends too much time away for his own good, if you ask me. But nobody does.”

Han struggled to control his impatience. All this talk of politics was boring, and had nothing to do with him. “About wizards,” he prodded Lucius. “How do they get magic?”

“It’s in their blood,” Lucius said, stroking Dog’s head. “It’s like they get the raw talent, but they ain’t really powerful until they study up and learn to store and control it with an amulet. In fact, they’re dangersome until then, like a colt that ain’t well broke and don’t know its own strength.”

Han thought of Micah Bayar, face black with anger, gripping his fancy jinxpiece and muttering charms. “Why? Do they have to say spells or something to make it work?”

“That’s part of the learning up,” Lucius said, nodding. “That Bayar, he’s from Aerie House. Maybe the most powerful wizard family there is, since the fall of the Waterlows.”

“Who are the Waterlows?” Han asked. “I never heard of them.”

“Never mind. That house died out years ago.” Lucius yanked up the tip of his fishing pole, felt his way down the line to the lure, then shook his head. “Guess they’ve stopped biting,” he said. “Maybe it’s time to pack it in.”

“Lucius,” Han persisted. He knew from experience that things people didn’t want to tell you were likely to be the most interesting. “Who were the Waterlows? Why did they fall?”

“Boy, you can pester a body near to death.” Lucius grabbed up his bottle and took a swig, then wiped his mouth with a grimy sleeve. “It all happened a thousant years ago and it don’t matter anymore,” he said. When Han said nothing, Lucius snorted. “Y’know, most boys your age ain’t interested in digging up old bones and old stories.”

Han still said nothing.

Lucius released a gusty sigh and nodded, as if coming to a decision. “So a thousant years ago there was this powerful wizard house. Named Waterlow House. Signia was a raven and wizard crest was a twined serpent.”

Han blinked at him, then dug in his bag, unearthing the parcel containing the serpent amulet he’d taken from the jinxflinger on Hanalea. He weighed it in his hand, recalling what Bayar had said. If you even touch it, you’ll be incinerated.

Lucius turned his sightless eyes on Han. “What you got there, boy?” he demanded, extending his hand as if he could feel the heat of it too. “Give it over.”

Han hesitated. “I don’t know if I…”

“Give it here, boy.” The old man’s voice rang out, startlingly loud and compelling. It was like Lucius had been possessed by some other, irresistible being.

Han pressed the leather bundle into Lucius’s hand. “Be careful, Lucius. It might…”

Lucius ripped open the leather wrapping and pulled free the jinxpiece.

Han leaned away, tensing against any possible explosion. None came.

Lucius ran his weather-beaten hands over the amulet, and his lined face went slack with shock. “Where did you get this?” he whispered.

“Bayar had it.” Han hesitated, unsure how much to share. “He tried to use it to jinx Dancer. I took it from him. I don’t think he was supposed to have it.”

Lucius laughed, a harsh barking sound. “Sweet Thea’s kiss. I would guess not.”

“Why? What is it?”

Lucius kept stroking the carving with his thick fingers as if he couldn’t believe what his senses were telling him. “It’s from the Waterlows, all right. Their treasury of magical artifacts was legendary. An armory, more like. No one ever knew what happened to it after the Breaking.” The purple vein over his right eye pulsed dangerously. “I’ll wager that snake Micah had no idea what he had.” He nodded once. “And now you have it.” Lucius extended the amulet toward Han. When Han hesitated, Lucius said impatiently, “Take it, boy. It won’t bite.”

Han took it warily, weighing it in his palm. It felt pleasantly heavy and warm, vibrating with a power Han could feel in his breastbone and in the cuffs at his wrists.

Warring emotions tracked across the old man’s face, finally fading to an expression of alarm. Once again he gripped Han’s arm, his long nails biting into Han’s flesh. “Does Bayar know who you are, boy? Does he know you have this?”

Han shrugged uneasily. “I didn’t tell him my name, if that’s what you mean.” When Lucius didn’t look reassured, he added, “Look. I’ll give it back, if it’s that important. All right?”

Lucius let go of his arm and drummed his fingers on his thighs, furiously thinking. “No,” he said finally. “Don’t give it back. It’s too late for that. Keep it hid. Keep it safe. Better Aerie House don’t have it.” He chuckled bitterly. “Stay out of their way, the Bayars.”

Han had never seen a Bayar before now, and doubted he would again unless Micah returned to Hanalea. Hopefully he wouldn’t. “Fine,” he said, rewrapping the necklace and stowing it back in his bag. What good was asking questions if you didn’t understand a word of the answers? “You were saying? About the Waterlows?”

“If you want to hear a story, don’t interrupt.” Lucius rubbed his bristled jaw and returned to his story voice. “The wizards came from the Northern Isles. They landed on the east coast and conquered the rest of the Seven Realms with their high magic. Clan magic couldn’t hold against it. It’s green magic, subtle stuff, not good in a fight. Strongest magic they is, but made for healing, not destroying. Clan has it because they in harmony with nature. The matriarchs and the amulet-makers, they’ve learned how to draw on it.

“These wizards chose to live in the Vale. They married theirselfs to the blooded queens and reined as kings, but they wasn’t bound to the queens the way they are today. The succession still came through the true female line. The trouble started during the reign of Hanalea, the most beautiful woman who ever lived.”

Han nodded. Lucius had finally strayed onto familiar ground.

“Hanalea was handfasted to a wizard name of Kinley Bayar, of Aerie House, which was powerful then as now. Bayar was set to be king. But there was this young wizard, name of Alger, heir to Waterlow House. He fell hard for Hanalea—that wasn’t unusual. Only problem was, Alger was terrible powerful and used to getting what he wanted. He saw no reason why he shouldn’t have Hanalea all to hisself.