The Exiled Queen (38 page)

Crow studied him, eyes narrowed. “How often does that happen?”

Han shrugged. “Nearly every time.”

Crow rubbed his chin. “It’s possible that the Bayars loaded some kind of hex magic into your amulet before it came to you.”

“But it only happens after Aediion,” Han persisted.

“The other possibility is that it’s happening because the magic we’re practicing is much more demanding than anything you are doing in class,” Crow said. “Either way, the answer is to build up as much magic as you can before you come. That will not only counteract anything the Bayars have done, it will enable you to do the work without draining yourself completely.”

That was always Crow’s answer—build up more power. Easy for him to say.

“There are ways to drain magic from others,” Crow went on, “without their being aware of it. I can show you how.” He looked Han in the eyes, as if to divine his reaction.

“I don’t need to be stealing power from others,” Han said. “I’m not a thief anymore.”

Crow shrugged. “We are all thieves of one kind or another.”

Han’s upcoming lesson with Abelard’s army had been weighing on his mind, too. “Remember I mentioned before that Dean Abelard is mentoring a small group of students?” he said.

Crow nodded. “I do remember that, yes,” he said. “The Bayar twins are in it, you said.”

Han nodded. “Now Abelard wants me to teach them how to travel to Aediion. She thinks it would be useful if they go to war against the Spirit clans.”

“She is right, of course,” Crow said. “But it’s unlikely any of them will be successful, with the amulets they have. Which is a good thing. We don’t want them stumbling in on us in session.”

“I don’t really want to get into it,” Han said. “Especially with the Bayars. Their flash may be more powerful than we think. But I have to. Abelard has threatened to expel me if I don’t.”

“Hmmm,” Crow said, frowning, “there is a way for you to bring them with you, rather than letting them come on their own. We’ll go over that next time.”

Han opened his eyes to a dusty gray light. He blinked, confused and disoriented. Had he slept overnight in the library again? He sat up, swaying, propping his hands against the floor to stay upright. He knew without checking that his amulet was completely drained, though power was trickling back into him.

Scrubbing his hands across his eyes, he looked around, puzzled. He was in the library—surrounded by floor-to-ceiling shelves of books—but the room was unfamiliar. The air was stale, as if it hadn’t been breathed in a long, long time.

Scrambling to his feet, he went to the window and swiped the dust from the grimy pane. It was light out, and he was high in Bayar Library, higher than he had ever been before, looking across the Mystwerk quad to the north. How had he gotten here?

Wiping the dust on his breeches, he took a closer look at the books on the shelves. Old books. Very old books. They made Firesmith’s books look fresh and new. Han pulled one down from the shelf and turned the fragile pages carefully.

They were handwritten, in flowing ink, in an archaic language Han could not decipher. The illustrations fizzed on the page. It was a magical text—pages of spellwork and gestures.

The last he remembered, he’d been in Aeidiion with Crow. He’d entered the dreamworld from the usual place, several floors below where he was now.

He scanned the other shelves. Most of the books were charms and spells. One shelf held a collection of journals: each entry carried a date from the Breaking time. Many of those books were clean of dust, and the dust on the floor in front of the shelves had been scuffed up. Someone had been poking through them recently. They all carried the same emblem—Han traced it with his forefinger. A twined serpent and staff poked through an elaborate crown. Must be one of the wizard houses, Han thought. Maybe they donated the books to the library.

Whoever had been there seemed to be gone now.

Han touched his amulet, allowing what power he had on board to trickle in as he debated the possibilities. Was he sleepwalking? Crazy? Several times before, he’d slept over in Bayar Library—but he’d always awakened in the same place.

A battered wooden hatch stood open in the floor. Peering down, he saw a metal ladder extending to the level below. Carefully, he descended the ladder, his hand on his amulet. The next floor was more of the same, rows of shelves loaded with ancient books. Another hatch, another metal ladder, and he’d reached familiar ground—the sixth floor of Bayar, where his hiding place was.

But how had he ended up on the eighth floor—when he hadn’t even known how to get up there until now?

Just then, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs from the fifth floor.

Han dodged back into the stacks, positioning himself so he could see the stairwell between the shelves. Moments later, someone emerged from the lower floor.

It was Fiona Bayar, a carry bag slung over her shoulder. She looked around, her gaze sliding over Han’s hidey-hole, then crossed to the pull-down ladder to the seventh level.

Han swore silently. He hadn’t slid it back into place yet.

Fiona paused at the foot of the ladder, looking around again, her head cocked, listening.

Han kept shut and still.

Fiona shrugged, took hold of the ladder, and began to climb.

Han knew that what he should do was take this opportunity to pike off before he was noticed. But his curiosity was piqued. What was Fiona Bayar doing so high in the library, skulking around like she didn’t want to be seen? Han waited a few moments, then ghosted up the ladder after her.

When he cautiously poked his head through the opening on the seventh floor, Fiona was nowhere to be seen. Easing himself through the hatch, he slipped between two rows of shelves, heading for the rear of the library.

“What are you doing here?”

Han whirled around, his hand on his useless amulet.

Fiona stood between Han and the open hatchway. Her usually pristine clothes were streaked with dust, and she wore a black smudge, like a gang sign, on her right cheek.

“Studying,” he said. “Reading. What else would I do in a library?”

“Without notes? Without papers?”

Han looked at his empty hands as if he’d never seen them before. “I left all that downstairs. Too heavy to carry.” It was not his finest hour as a liar.

She put her hands on her hips. “Were you following me?”

“Not on purpose,” Han said. “I heard a noise, so I came to see what it was.” That was better. “What are you doing here?” He waved his hand at the shelves of moldering books.

“Studying,” she mocked. “Reading. What else?”

Han wasn’t going back to his crib, not with her there. So he turned to the shelf behind him and pretended to scan the titles. He watched her from the corner of his eye in case she made a move on him.

Not that he’d be able to defend himself, depleted as he was. He hoped she couldn’t tell.

She stepped in close. “Tithe Records for the Cathedral Church?” Fiona was reading over his shoulder. He could feel her breath on the back of his neck.

“Do you mind?” Han said. “You’re bothering me.”

“Alister,” Fiona said softly. “Why is Dean Abelard protecting you?”

Han turned around and ended up nearly nose to nose with her, his back against the shelf. “What makes you think she’s protecting me?”

“Micah said she told him to leave you alone,” Fiona said.

“Maybe she’s just doing her job,” Han said. “You know. Keeping students from killing each other.”

“Micah and I don’t agree on everything,” Fiona said, fingering her amulet. “Our interests don’t always coincide.” She paused as if considering whether to go on. “Have you ever thought that it might make sense for us to work together?”

“Us?” Han repeated. “You mean, you and me?”

Fiona nodded.

“No,” Han said, too astonished to lie. “I’ve never thought that would make sense.”

“You’re different than when we first met,” Fiona said, bringing her pale brows together. “Your speech, your clothing—it’s like your rough edges have been polished away.” She reached toward Han and brushed her fingertips along his jawline. Her touch stung his cold skin. “Though we come from very different backgrounds, we may be more alike than you think. You don’t play by the rules. Neither do I.”

Han stood his ground, refusing to flinch away. “By that logic, the Raggers and Southies ought to get on because they don’t abide by the queen’s law,” he said.

“Hear me out,” Fiona persisted. “Some in the Wizard Council claim they want to make changes. Maybe they don’t go far enough.”

Han was lost, but he knew better than to let on. “What do you suggest?”

“My father wants to marry Micah into the Gray Wolf line,” Fiona said.

“I’ve heard that,” Han said, shrugging like he didn’t care either way. “So?”

“He wants to establish a new line of wizard kings married to Gray Wolf queens,” Fiona went on.

“The clans will never stand by and watch that happen,” Han said.

“Exactly,” Fiona said, nodding. “If we’re going to do this, why not go all the way? Why should we cling to the Gray Wolf line at all? What does it gain us? The clans will go to war regardless.”

“What’s your plan?” Han said, curious in spite of himself.

“Why not a wizard queen?” Fiona said.

Han finally got it. Lord Bayar’s current scheme left poor Fiona out in the cold. Being a rich blueblood wizard wasn’t enough. Apparently.

“I’m guessing you have somebody in mind.” Han raised his eyebrows.

Fiona gripped Han’s forearms, looking intently into his face. “Why shouldn’t it be me instead of Micah? I’ve always been the better student. I’ve always been more focused. Micah’s always distracted by his latest conquest. I think with my head, not with my—”

“Why are you telling me this?” Han interrupted. “I’d think you’d keep shut about it. We’re not exactly friends.”

“We could be,” Fiona whispered. “We could be very good friends.” She pulled him toward her and kissed him, her lips sizzling against his, her hands tangling themselves in his hair. “We could help each other, you and I,” she murmured, pressing into him.

Han gripped her shoulders and pushed back from her. “You still didn’t answer my question,” he said. “Why me? Why not lovelorn — Why not Wil?”

“I don’t know.” Fiona cleared her throat, her eyes still fixed south of his nose. “There’s just something about you. Something so — irresistibly dangerous —” She tried to move in again, but Han planted both hands on her shoulders, keeping her at arm’s length.

“Something about me?” Han said. “Something irresistibly dangerous?” Letting go of Fiona’s shoulder, he closed his hand on his amulet and dangled it in front of her eyes. “This, maybe?”

She stared at it for a long moment. “Well,” she admitted grudgingly, “that’s part of it. But not all of it.”

“Who do you think I am?” Han said, sliding the serpent pendant under his shirt. “Some country-bred nick-ninny on a city weekend? You’ll have to do better than that.”

“I have information about the amulet,” Fiona said in a rush.

“Information you need. The amulet is the key. It’s more important than you know—but it’s also dangerous. That’s why my father wants it back so badly. I can help you take full advantage of it.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Really?” Fiona said skeptically. “You’re saying that amulet has never given you a moment’s trouble? You’ve not had any — unusual experiences?” She tilted her head.

“My life is full of unusual experiences,” Han said. “But I’m getting along on my own.”

“The amulet’s not the only risk,” Fiona said. “If you ever come back to the Fells, my father will crush you like a cockroach.”

“And you think you can stop him?”

“You would be surprised what I can do,” Fiona whispered, looking into his eyes.

“And where am I at the end of it?” Han said. “Buried with the Gray Wolf queens?”

“Of course not,” Fiona said, drawing back a little, looking huffy. “There would be a role for you, of course. A position in my court. You would be well compensated.”

“As errand boy? Magical enforcer? A petticoat pensioner at best?” Han shook his head. “I got—I have my own plans. I won’t play servant or bravo to you.” He pushed past her, leaving her standing amid the ancient stacks.

Han left Bayar Library by his usual route, avoiding the proficient reshelving books on the second floor.

All the way back, he chewed over what had happened. Fiona’s offer was just part of it. Did she really know something useful about the amulet? Was it possible the Bayars had put a curse on it? Did she have anything to do with his ending up on the eighth floor? Or was he losing his mind?

DANGEROUS

DANCING

The spring term was well under way, and Hallie still hadn’t returned from the Fells. It’s a long way to Fellsmarch, Raisa told herself. Even longer in these unsettled times.

Maybe Hallie had decided not to come back to school. Maybe, after seeing her daughter, she couldn’t bring herself to leave again.

“Why isn’t there any place for children here?” she asked Amon one day as they worked out with their staffs.

“What?” He parried her quick jab to his middle and swung his staff at her head. She ducked, and it whistled past her ear. While he was off balance, she penetrated his defenses and gave him a good smack on the rump.

Raisa was glad they still had this time together. It was a relatively safe way to work off the tension between them. She just had to be careful not to hit too hard.

“You mean classes?” he panted, spinning around and bringing up his staff to block her next blow. She slammed her staff across his and felt the vibration clear up her arms.

“Well, yes, and a place for students to live with their children.”

“Don’t you think that would be a distraction?” Amon asked. He swept his staff low, nearly knocking her off her feet.

“Don’t you think it’s even more distracting to be missing your child?”

“Cadets are supposed to bond with each other,” Amon said. “Would that happen if they were caring for a family?”

“I don’t think we can ignore the fact that some students have families,” Raisa said. “If Hallie’s daughter were here, she wouldn’t have traveled home on her own.” Mopping sweat from her face, she held up her hand to signal the end of the bout. “The Temple School could offer classes for them, like Southbridge does. But there’s no housing for them in the city.”

“Hmmm,” Amon said. “Well, if you want to pursue it, start with Master Askell. He’s on the governance council for the academy.”

The spring term was easier academically than the one before. Raisa didn’t have Proficient Tourant to deal with, for one thing. Tourant had left the academy entirely, and nobody seemed sorry to see him go.

Infantry drilling had been replaced with horsemanship, in which Raisa excelled. She enjoyed riding Switcher, who’d grown fat and lazy last term. She liked getting out into the countryside again, even if it was flat.

Askell was a rare visitor to her classes these days. And so she had to make an appointment to speak with him about her idea regarding family housing.

“Sit down, Newling Morley,” Askell said, when his orderly ushered her into his office. “Be at ease. Would you like tea?” He gestured at the teapot on its little burner.

“No, sir,” she said. “Thank you. It won’t take long.”

She felt different, more confident than she’d been the last time. Both times she’d come as a supplicant. But now she felt like she had some footing, like she didn’t need to apologize for her presence. She’d achieved high marks in all her classes, save Tourant’s. That class she’d failed.

As if he’d read her mind, Askell said, “If you are here about your marks in History of Warfare, that record has been amended.”

“Oh!” Raisa said, surprised. “I’m not here for that reason, but thank you, sir.”

“Why are you here, then?”

Raisa explained her idea and the reasons for it.

Askell frowned. “It has never been done before, and yet we’ve managed to scrape along for more than a thousand years.”

“Applications to Wien House are dramatically down,” Raisa said.

Askell raised an eyebrow. “Who told you that?”

“Arden has always sent more cadets to Oden’s Ford than the rest of the Seven Realms,” Raisa said. “But they’ve been at war for a decade, so the young people who would have come here are already fighting. To get enough quality students, you’ve been accepting older, less traditional ones. And many of those have families.”

Askell sat back. “I can’t imagine this affects many of our students,” he said.

“One in five,” Raisa said. “One in three proficients and masters students.”

“How do you know this?” Askell asked. “That sounds like more than a guess.”

“I surveyed all six classes of cadets,” Raisa said. “Of course, I couldn’t survey those who never came here because they couldn’t risk leaving their families behind.” She leaned forward. “The Wien House dormitories are half empty. There would be room for some families, at least. We could start with Wien House and expand to the other schools if it’s successful.”

“You have been busy, Morley,” Askell said. “Clearly your workload is too light this term.” Dipping his pen into a bottle of ink, he scratched a few notes. “I cannot promise anything,” he said. “The military is the most conservative of organizations, particularly my countrymen within it. But you make a solid case for investigating this.”

“That is all I can ask,” Raisa said, but couldn’t resist adding, “I would hope that this investigation does not take too long.”

“I have a question,” Askell said, looking at her over the rim of his teacup. “Proficient Tourant’s behavior was abysmal all term, and yet you never complained,” he said. “Why not?”

Raisa shrugged. “If I can’t manage the Tourants of the world, I’m unlikely to succeed as queen of the Fells. Some days it seems like I’m surrounded by Tourants.”

“I thought you might return to the Fells at solstice,” Askell said.

“I’m waiting for word from home,” Raisa said. “I’ll likely leave as soon as I receive assurances that it’s safe to do so.” If that ever happens, she thought.

“Is there any chance you’ll return next year?” Askell asked, tapping his pen on his blotter.

Raisa shook her head. “I can’t imagine that I would. I’ve learned so much, but I’ve been away too long as it is.”

“I see,” Askell said. He cleared his throat. “I wanted you to know that if you returned next year, I planned to offer you command over a triple of newlings. Your performance this year has been impressive.” A smile ghosted across his face. “And not just because my expectations were so low.”

“Thank you, sir,” Raisa said, a little flustered. “I am honored. And it would be an honor to serve, if I were returning.”

“I realize that the role of corporal is a step down from princess,” Askell said, “but I wanted you to know my mind.”

“Thank you,” Raisa said. “I want you to know that I will never forget my time here at Oden’s Ford. It’s been an incredible gift to step out of the role of princess and into the role of student.”

Askell stood, signaling that it was time for her to go. “If you are still here, I hope that I will see you at the Cadets’ Ball.”

“Oh. Yes. Well. I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.” Raisa had heard of little else for weeks—the Wien House end-of-term party. It was kind of a target to aim at, an excuse to leap over the work remaining to be done.

“It’s not that far off,” Askell said, smiling. “I hope that if you do leave before then, you will come and say good-bye.”

“Thank you, sir, I will.” She saluted Askell, her fist over her heart, and left.

The bloody Cadets’ Ball, Raisa thought as she descended the steps. I’m not going.

Amon had continued his proper courtship of Annamaya. Every weekend that he was off duty he put on his dress uniform and crossed the river to visit her at the Temple School. Raisa could picture them sitting all straight-backed in the garden. At least she didn’t have to see it for real. But she wouldn’t be able to avoid it at the dance.

Talia and Pearlie were going together. Since Hallie hadn’t returned, Raisa would be a loose thread dangling. A princess without a dance card at the ball. That would never happen at home.

She didn’t have friends at home, either—not real friends to pester her to death.

“I don’t know why you don’t ask Han,” Talia said, as if she and Han were old friends. These days, she and Pearlie often showed up at The Turtle and Fish on Tuesday and Thursday nights. Sometimes Mick and Garret came, too. When Han’s tutoring session was finished, he would buy a round, and Raisa would end up staying late.

“He’s so good-looking and charming, and the way he looks at you—it sends shivers right through me,” Talia sighed. “Girlies used to knife fight over Cuffs Alister back in Ragmarket, you know. He’s not my type, but if he was...”

“He’s not my type either,” Raisa said, then rushed to add, “I mean, I like him, and all that, but — I know it won’t work out in the long run.”

Talia raised her eyebrow in an “Oh, really?” kind of way. “I know you’re a blueblood, but it’s not like you have to marry him.”

Speaking of. It was nearly six. Time to meet the amazing Han Alister for tutoring.

“I have to go,” Raisa said.

“Say hello for me!” Talia winked at Raisa.

He was waiting for her in the upstairs room at The Turtle and Fish. He was always early, ever since that first class when he’d been late and she’d laid into him. (He was definitely teachable.) He’d taken to ordering dinner (he said as payment), so they’d gotten into the habit of eating together before or after their sessions. He claimed he needed to practice his table manners with actual food.

“What if I used the right fork, but used it to stuff sausage in my mouth, or guzzled down my ale like a soaker in his cups?” he said. “All your hard work would have gone to waste.”

Han worked hard himself. He did the assigned reading and participated without complaint in Raisa’s role-playing. His speech had improved dramatically over the past two months, though he still used thieves’ slang now and then because that didn’t result in fivepenny payments. His table manners were nearly flawless, when he paid attention.

There were times, though, that he seemed desperate for sleep, yawning after dinner and twice actually dozing off.

“Should you be spending time on this right now?” Raisa asked one evening when she could tell he was exhausted. “Like I said, you can learn manners on your own.”

“I apologize,” he said. “It’s not the company. If there’s anybody I want to be awake for, it’s you. I was up late last night is all.”

It seemed he was up late every night. Is he seeing someone? she wondered.

It’s not my business if he is.

It was clear he was used to having his way with girls, and in a dozen ways he let her know that he was interested in her. She’d feel the pressure of his eyes, and turn around to find him gazing at her as one might a complicated, layered painting. The intensity of his attention was seductive.

Sometimes he’d pull his chair around so they could share his book. He’d sit about an inch away, always maintaining that tiny distance, as if he knew exactly where she was at all times.

As he bent his head over Faulk, she’d find herself staring at the curve of his jaw with its pale bristle of beard, the jagged scar that narrowly missed his right eye, his muscular forearms corded with veins.

She noticed everything—the way he yawned and stretched, arching his back like a cat, belatedly covering his mouth with his hand. The many colors in his hair—pale butter and cream, reddish gold and platinum. How he often repeated a question, as if to buy time to conjure up the answer. The way he always sat facing the door, perhaps a leftover from Ragmarket, and groped for his knife when startled. How he constantly slid his hand into his shirt, releasing power into his amulet.

He wasn’t proud or arrogant, but there was a self-confidence about him that said he knew what he wanted and he was going to get it, and you’d better not get in his way. It had probably served him well as streetlord of the Raggers.

How could she be noticing Han Alister when she was still brokenhearted over Amon Byrne? Did the destruction of one dream leave a vacuum that required filling with another?

Is a broken heart more vulnerable? she wondered. Am I fickle or self-destructive?

I am not going through this again.

But she’d come to look forward to their twice-weekly meetings more than she cared to admit.

Often they continued beyond the agreed-upon two hours. Raisa had tried to enforce the deadline at first, but gave up. Han Alister could always charm her into staying longer.

This evening, when she arrived, sandwiches and cider were set out on the table. Along with a beautifully enameled and jeweled music box.

“This is lovely,” she said, opening the lid and examining the intricate mechanism with her trader eye. It was clanwork, probably an antique. She looked up at him, puzzled. “What’s it for?”

“It’s for you,” he said, gesturing awkwardly. “A gift.”

“I can’t accept this,” she said, feeling the blood rush to her face. She tried to give it back to him, but he put his hands behind him, so she set it down on the table.

“I brought it for selfish reasons,” he said. “I want you to teach me to dance.”

Raisa looked up at him, startled. “What? Why?”

“There’s always the chance I’ll be invited to a party,” he said. “I want to be ready just in case.” The blue eyes were wide and innocent.

“There are so many other topics we haven’t covered yet,” Raisa protested. “Officers of the court, appropriate dress for social situations, protocols of the hunt, correspondence guidelines —”

“I hear lots of business is done at parties,” Han said, sticking out his chin. “I know some clan dances, but I need to know how to dance city-style.”

“What kind of dances do you want to learn?” Raisa asked, rolling her eyes.

“The kind where you hold your partner,” he said, winding up the music box. “What’s that one called?”

We call that trouble, Raisa thought as the music began.

It was a northern song, “Flower of the Mountains.” A rush of homesickness overwhelmed her. “Oh!” she said. “I love that song. Where did you get this?”

“There’s a music store on the Mystwerk side, close to the Temple School,” Han said. He stood in front of her, holding out his hands, waist high.

Raisa pulled her hands back. “First, let me show you the footwork. This one’s called High Country Step.” She demonstrated. “Now you try.” She watched as he attempted it. “That’s almost it, but it’s step-step-back-step-slide.” He tried again. “And then forward.”

After a few more practice steps, Raisa held out her own hands. “Let’s try it together now. Follow me.” She placed his right hand on her left hip, keeping hold of his left hand with her right. The magic in his hands was well controlled, subtle, and potent. It went to her head like Bruinswallow wine.