The Demon King (13 page)

“I’m just saying that people are talking about you and Lord Bayar,” Raisa said. “They’re saying he has too much influence. People say…people say it’s time my father came home.” She swallowed hard, tears welling up in her eyes. “I wish he would too.” She got off a curtsy. “By your leave, Your Majesty.”

She didn’t wait for leave, but turned and fled from the room. But before she got out of earshot, the queen called after her, her voice high and shrill, “I’m going to speak to Captain Byrne about this.”

Like everything else in Raisa’s life, her time in temple was prescribed by the Naéming. Four days a month, the Naéming said, the queen and princess heir would go to temple. That could mean one day in a week, or four days in a row.

At Demonai Camp, time in temple was a privilege and not an obligation. Four days in the Matriarch Lodge, in the company of others, or four days in the temple of the forest, meditating on the Maker and all of the works in the natural world. Raisa always ended those days feeling more powerful, more hopeful, somehow more centered in herself and certain of what she needed to do.

But in Fellsmarch Court there were many distractions. Raisa’s mother came to temple as required, but she made it into a sort of party, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting, musicians, entertainers, and servants bearing food and drink. After all, Marianna said, music and food and drink and gossip were the works of the Maker, weren’t they, and worth celebrating. About the only difference from a typical day at court was the conspicuous absence of wizards and the presence of the speakers, who might look on disapprovingly, but had little to say. Marianna and her ladies made fun of them behind their backs.

Sometimes it seemed to Raisa that life at court was designed to keep a person from thinking too much about anything in particular.

But there were some things that needed thinking about.

After the argument with her mother, Raisa was in no mood to talk to anyone, so she took refuge in the small temple in the glass house maze on the roof. The sun poured down through the roof, and she slid open the glass panels, which allowed the spring air to pour into the garden.

For a time after she settled herself on the stone bench, her mind raced madly, chasing images of Micah Bayar and Amon Byrne, her mother and Gavan Bayar. Gradually her mind slowed and picked over thoughts more carefully.

Take charge of the horse you’re riding before you try to rein in someone else’s, Elena Demonai always said. And make sure you have a good seat before you do.

In the space of a day, she’d kissed two different boys—Amon and Micah. Both were intensely appealing, in different ways. Both were forbidden to her.

Was that why they drew her—because they were forbidden? Because she didn’t have to confront the ugly matrimonial issue? Because she was tired of doing as she was told?

In a way, she was being true to her heritage. The Gray Wolf queens were famous for their dalliances. The most famous of all, of course, was Hanalea. There was even a book about Hanalea’s conquests. She’d caught Magret reading it.

Raisa’s mind drifted from romance to policy. Eyes and ears, Amon had said. She needed eyes and ears of her own.

Future possibilities rolled toward her. Straight before her lay a wide road that extended into the distance—what might happen if she followed the plan laid out for her. She saw a marriage to someone of her mother’s choosing, and sooner rather than later. She could not see the end of it. It was lost in shadow.

To either side lay diverging passages, as narrow and overgrown as the ways in the maze, some difficult to find, each with its own risks and unknowns. So there were other possibilities, but never easy ones.

As she sat, eyes half closed, someone settled next to her on the bench. She knew without opening her eyes who it was, and she released her breath in a long sigh.

“Good afternoon, Raisa,” Elena Demonai said. “May I join you?”

“Good afternoon, Elena Cennestre. Welcome,” Raisa said, using the clan word for Mother. She opened her eyes. “How did you find me?”

“This is a very old place, lytling,” Elena said, her caramel face crinkling into a smile that framed the green eyes of the seer. “It is one of the few places in the Vale with power. You will have need of it.”

Raisa considered this. At Demonai she’d learned not to ask every question that came to mind, knowing some things would be understood in their own time.

“I’m worried, Grandmother,” Raisa said. “The way ahead seems clear enough, but I’m not sure it’s the right way.”

“In the Spirits, we find our way by sun and stars and other landmarks,” Elena said. “They tell us if we are on the right road, and keep us out of trouble. How do you avoid danger in the flatlands?”

Raisa thought a moment. “The same as in the markets. I look for a mismatch—when someone tells me one thing and their eyes and hands and bodies tell me something else.”

“And are you seeing mismatches now?”

“I hear Lord Bayar’s words coming out of my mother’s mouth,” Raisa said bluntly. “She used to speak for herself. And now…I don’t know.”

Elena nodded. “And what else?”

“I feel that a trap is closing around me, and I don’t yet know what it is.” Raisa hesitated. “I saw wolves on Hanalea the day of the fire, but Mama didn’t seem to notice.”

“Wolves,” Elena murmured. “The Gray Wolf line is in danger, and the queen does not see it.” She looked up at Raisa. “Under the Naéming, the High Wizard is magically bound to the queen. Lord Bayar does not act like a bound wizard. Something is amiss.”

“What can I do?” Raisa asked.

“Would the queen be willing to come to Demonai Camp?” Elena asked. “Could you persuade her?”

Raisa shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think so. She’s not very happy with me right now. Every time I try to talk about Lord Bayar, she gets angry.”

“You must continue to try, lytling,” Elena said. “Try to convince her to come to temple at Demonai. And you be wary of the Bayars. The young Bayar is charming and handsome, but keep your distance. Don’t be ensnared.”

“Yes, Grandmother,” Raisa said.

“I have a gift for you,” Elena said. She pulled a deerskin pouch from the pocket of her overtunic and handed it to Raisa.

Raisa untied the cord and spilled the contents into her hand. It was a heavy gold ring on a chain, dulled with age, engraved with images of running wolves, endlessly circling. She could tell it that it was too large for any of her fingers.

Raisa looked up at Elena. “It…it looks very old,” she said, which was all she could think of.

Elena took it from her, undid the clasp with amazing dexterity, and fastened the chain around Raisa’s neck. “This once belonged to Hanalea,” Elena said abruptly.

“Hanalea,” Raisa said. “But it looks too big for—”

“It is what we call a talisman. It offers some protection against wizard charms. Never take it off.

“Now,” Elena said, rising, “I will do what I can to bring your father home.”

Sometime later, Raisa yawned and opened her eyes. She was alone in the maze, slumped in a corner of the bench, a warm south wind stirring her hair. Had she fallen asleep? Had it all been a dream?

But the Running Wolves ring hung heavy from the chain around her neck.

BACK IN THE MAZE

Raisa sent a messenger to the barracks, asking Amon to meet her in the maze temple at evensong time that evening, but he sent a reply back saying he was on duty. She tried again the next night, with the same result. After the third rejection, she threatened to visit him in his quarters in the barracks, and he finally agreed to come.

Meanwhile, Micah sent her an extravagant bouquet of flowers and several notes suggesting a meeting. She ignored them. She’d teach him to run to his father, telling tales.

That night she traveled through the stone passageway with more confidence, carrying a lighted taper and making enough noise to scatter the rats ahead of her. Her attire was more practical as well—she wore one of her divided riding skirts, boots, and a close-fitting jacket. This made it much easier when she ascended the ladder, clenching the taper in her teeth like a pirate.

When she slammed open the metal door from the passageway, Amon leaped up from the bench, ripping his sword from its scabbard. He pivoted on his heel, scanning the room.

“Hanalea’s bones, Rai,” he said, shaking his head and sliding his sword home again. “I thought you were going to block that tunnel off.”

“I never said I would,” she replied, flopping down on the bench. “I like having a back door.” She raised her hand as he opened his mouth. “Don’t start. Please sit down. You’re looming over me like a flatland priest.”

He sat down on the bench, squeezing into the farthest corner as if she might be catching, his body stiff and formal, his hands carefully placed on his knees.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” Raisa asked bluntly.

“I haven’t been…” He stopped when she glared at him. “All right. It’s just…my Da had a talk with me.”

“And said what?”

“Well.” He flushed. “He said a lot. The main thing is, I’m in the Guard now, and that means I’m on duty all day, every day. If we’re to do our job protecting the royal family, we have to keep a certain…distance.” He cleared his throat. “And, well…I could see his point.”

“See what point? I’m not allowed to have friends?” Raisa knew she was being unfair, but she was in no mood for fair play, and he was the only available target. Plus, the only time he left off his military correctness and turned into the Amon she knew was when she got him angry.

“Of course we’re friends, but we—”

“We’re not allowed to talk to each other, is that it?” Raisa pulled her long plait of hair forward and rebraided it.

“We can talk to each other, but—”

“Only across a crowded room?” She scooted closer. “Is this too close?” And closer. “How about this?” Until her hip was pressing against his.

“Raisa, will you let me finish a sentence at least?” he growled, but didn’t move away. “I don’t know where it’s coming from, but Da said people are talking about us. He threatened to post me to Chalk Cliffs if he hears any more about it.”

Raisa put her hand on his arm. “He wouldn’t.” Chalk Cliffs was a port on the Indio Ocean, hundreds of miles away.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Aye. He would. So if that’s what you want…”

“Are you going to let Micah Bayar dictate who I see and talk to?”

He stared at her. “What?”

“Micah spoke to his father about seeing us outside my room the other night. Lord Bayar spoke to the queen, and the queen spoke to your father.”

“The queen’s involved in this?” He raked back his hair, looking bewildered. “I don’t get it.” He paused. “I was wondering if you and Micah were, you know…” He couldn’t seem to find the word he wanted and stopped, cleared his throat. “Last night, I didn’t know if…” He ran out of words again and stared down at his hands.

That wasn’t really a topic she wanted to discuss with Amon Byrne.

“Never mind Micah,” Raisa said. “He’s just used to getting his own way. But something’s going on. I just haven’t figured out what, yet. I need friends I can trust. I need somebody on my side.”

“I’m on your side, Rai,” Amon said quietly. “Always. You know that.”

Raisa took his hand in hers. “Then help me.”

He eyed her warily. “Help you how?”

“I need eyes and ears. I need to know what’s going on—in the queendom, in the Wizard Council house on Gray Lady Mountain, everywhere. I feel like a canary in a cage. I see only the four walls around me, and meanwhile the castle is surrounded and my enemies are closing in.”

“What?” He gazed into her face, no doubt looking for signs of madness or drink. “What are you talking about?”

“You know the blooded queens have visions sometimes that foretell the future.” Amon nodded. “Well, I feel the way I did the day of the fire on Hanalea. I’m trapped, with the flames rushing toward me and nowhere to go.”

“Well.” Amon cleared his throat. “How can you tell if it’s a true vision? I mean, I have nightmares sometimes, but that’s all they are.”

“It’s possible that I’m imagining things,” Raisa said. “But I can’t take that chance.”

“Have you told the queen? Seems like that’d be the place to start.”

“The thing is, I think she may be part of the problem,” Raisa said. “I’ve tried to talk with her, and we just end up arguing.”

Her voice trailed off at Amon’s conflicted expression. She and Amon had always shared grievances with each other. But now it felt as though she were asking him to side with her against the queen he’d sworn himself to.

“That’s not much to go on. A feeling,” he said finally.

“And the peculiar way people are acting,” Raisa argued. “My mother went on and on the other day about how I shouldn’t marry a southerner, that things are just too unsettled down there.”

“Maybe it’s just jitters about you getting older, making your debut, and the like.” Amon extended his hands, palms up. “All parents have trouble with that. I remember when my sister, Lydia, had her name day. Da interrogated and terrorized any boy who came near her.”

“I don’t know. At the same time, it seems like she’s in a hurry for me to get married. She says she’d like to see things settled, that she may not be around too much longer, like maybe she knows something I don’t. Even though I’ve not reached my name day and there’s no candidate in sight.”

“You said it wouldn’t be for years and years,” Amon said, almost accusingly.

Raisa shrugged. “If I have anything to say about it.” She shuddered. “I don’t want to get married. I’m only fifteen years old.”

“Well, I’m just seventeen,” Amon said. “And I’m going back to the academy in the fall. What do you want me to do? Who do you want me to spy on?”

“Not spy, exactly. For instance, I get information from Demonai Camp that I don’t get from anywhere else. They don’t flatter me. They don’t treat me like an empty-headed icon. In a way, they respect me more than anyone else does.”

“What kind of information do you want from me?”

Raisa sat up straighter. “Well, if there’s trouble coming, I’m thinking it must be coming from one of two places—from the wars in the south, or from the Wizard Council.”

“What about the people of Fellsmarch? What if they were planning some kind of rebellion?” Amon asked.

“Why would they do that?” Raisa said, frowning. “People love the queen. Whenever we go out in the city, they all cheer and throw flowers at our feet.”

Amon was shaking his head, wearing a look that was almost pitying.

“What?” Raisa snapped, instantly annoyed.

“Well, they’re miserable, for one thing, and starving, and from what I’ve seen, the Queen’s Guard spends most of their time pushing them around.”

“No,” Raisa said with conviction. “The Guard is there to protect the people.”

“Raisa, have you ever been to Southbridge?”

“Of course I have. I’ve been to the temple there, and I’ve ridden through dozens of times. It’s kind of run-down, but…”

“Let me guess. You rode in a carriage with an entourage down the Way, with your Guard lining the streets to either side.”

She nodded reluctantly. “Pretty much.”

“You can’t tell what’s really going on when you’re so…insulated. I’ve been on foot patrol in Southbridge and Ragmarket for the past two weeks. Let me tell you what happened this week. Yesterday, six people were murdered in Southbridge. Four boys, two girls, all about our age. They were tortured and strangled.”

“Sweet Hanalea,” whispered Raisa. “I didn’t hear about this. Who would do something like that?”

“Good question. They were all in a street gang called the Southies. Sergeant Gillen thinks a rival gang called the Raggers did them for revenge.”

“Revenge for what?” Raisa asked, leaning forward, fascinated in spite of herself.

“The Southies beat up the leader of the Raggers a few days ago, a boy by the name of Cuffs. He wears these silver bracelets, kind of his trademark. Gillen knew where he might be so we grabbed him coming out of a tavern earlier today.”

Amon raked back his hair with both hands. “He’s our age, and Gillen thinks he murdered six people.”

“So you questioned him?” Raisa prompted. “What did he have to say for himself?”

“Well, the first thing Gillen does is steal his purse and beat him senseless with a club,” Amon said.

“What?” Raisa shook her head as if she could deny it was so. “Why would he do that?”

Amon shrugged. “Gillen’s a bully and a thief. I finally put a stop to it, so now I’m on Gillen’s dirt list for sure. If my da wasn’t captain, I think Gillen would’ve beat the boy to death. He told me how I was new and didn’t know the streets, and I’d learn.”

“So they do this kind of thing all the time?”

Amon nodded. “Several times, just since I’ve been with them.”

“So what happened? With Cuffs, I mean?”

“I insisted they take him back to the guardhouse and question him properly. But he broke away and escaped while we were crossing South Bridge. Jumped into the river, so he may be drowned.” Amon smiled sourly. “This Cuffs isn’t stupid, whatever he’s done. If I was being dragged back to the guardhouse for interrogation by Mac Gillen, I’d do whatever it took to escape too. ’Course, now Gillen and them think it’s my fault he escaped. And it probably is.” He sighed.

Raisa leaned forward, trying to read Amon’s face. “Do you think he was guilty?”

Amon stared out at the water. “Seems likely. But you don’t find out the truth by torturing somebody.” He looked up at Raisa. “The point is, people in Southbridge and Ragmarket are scared to death of the Queen’s Guard, and for good reason.” His gray eyes went flinty hard. “Me, I’d like to tie up Mac Gillen and leave him in a Ragmarket alley overnight. See what’s left of him in the morning.”

Amon’s changing, Raisa thought. I hardly know him anymore. He’s seeing things, and doing things, and learning things while I’m penned up here like a hothouse flower, learning what fork to use.

She put her hand on his arm. “I’ll see that Gillen’s dismissed,” she promised.

Amon grinned, his first real smile of the evening. “So you’ll tell the queen you were chatting with me and I suggested Gillen be let go? I don’t think so.” He shook his head. “No need. I already spoke with my da. If there’s anything can be done, he’ll handle it. But the Guard is full of Gillens. It’s a haven for thugs. There’s only so much a captain can do. It didn’t used to be this way.”

Raisa stood and paced back and forth. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. How can I be princess heir of the queendom and not know what’s going on?” She stopped midturn. “You say people are starving?”

He nodded. “You know we don’t grow much here. The Vale is fertile, but there’s not much other suitable land and our winters are too long. We can’t eat gold and silver and copper. We’ve always depended on trade with Arden and Tamron and the other kingdoms to the south for our grain. With the wars dragging on, what little food comes north costs too much for most people to afford.” He paused, then forged ahead, blunt to the bone. “You can’t assume that because you have plenty to eat that everyone does.”

Raisa was mortified. “I don’t want to be that kind of queen,” she said. “Thoughtless and selfish and shallow and…”

“You won’t be,” Amon said quickly. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Yes it is. And I deserve it. I need to find a way to help people.” But what could she do about it? She might live in a palace, she sat down to a feast every single night, and she had a wardrobe full of clothes—but no money of her own.

She could try speaking with the queen, but she’d had little luck pressing her suit earlier in the week. Based on that conversation, her mother probably planned to spend any extra money she had on a wedding.

Besides, Raisa wanted to do something on her own. Something important. Something emblematic of the queen she meant to be.

She’d felt totally useless since returning to Fellsmarch from Demonai.

Maybe she could empty her closet and sell some of her frilly dresses in Ragmarket and use the proceeds to buy food for people who had none. Though that wouldn’t bring in much money.

And then she had an idea. The more she thought about it, the better she liked it.

She looked up at Amon. “Thank you for telling me the truth. Now that you’ve done that, will you help me?”

He squinted at her suspiciously. “Help you how?”

“Could you carry a message to Demonai and tell them to give it to my grandmother, Elena?”

He hesitated. “I’d need to know what it was about,” he said.

“I’m going to ask her to send one of her best traders down to meet with me at Southbridge Temple day after tomorrow.”

“Why Southbridge?” Amon asked. “Couldn’t they come here?”

“I’m unlikely to be recognized there. And there’s someone at Southbridge Temple I want to talk to. Have you heard of Speaker Jemson?”

“Well, yeah,” Amon said, as if surprised Raisa had heard of the outspoken speaker. “Anyone who’s been to Southbridge knows about Jemson. Only…how are you planning on getting there?”

She shrugged. “I’ll go in disguise. You said I should get out more and see what’s really going on in the city.”

“What?” Amon raised his hands, looking alarmed. “I didn’t exactly…You can’t walk into Southbridge by yourself. I don’t care what kind of disguise you’ve got on.”

“Then come with me,” she said, grinning at him. It could be an adventure, just like the old days.