The Exiled Queen (15 page)

Liam had claimed he was looking for a rich bride. Having seen a little of Tamron, Raisa was beginning to realize that the heir to this kingdom would bring a lot to the table himself. She had no interest in giving up her queendom, but how would it be, she thought, to marry the interests of the Fells and Tamron together? Prior to the Breaking, they had been united, as two of the Seven Realms ruled by the Gray Wolf queens.

Raisa was determined to seize control of her matrimonial future, to develop her own plan. There was a difference between marrying for the good of the Fells and becoming a tool of everybody else’s agendas.

As they drew closer to Oden’s Ford, the road became congested with traffic—wagons carrying produce, grain, even pigs and chickens to market. There were students, also, and here the variety was greatest. Some rode in great carriages, with escorts of armed men, servants, and baggage-wagons behind.

“First years,” Amon said, grinning. “Newlings. They’re in for a big surprise. They call Oden’s Ford ‘the great leveler’ for a reason. Everyone gets the same space—a bed with a drawer underneath. They’ll have to haul most of that lot back home, or find a place to store it outside the academy.”

Some students came on horseback, singly and in groups, on mounts ranging from blue-blooded pacers to farm stock, from healthy to spavined. Others came afoot, with road-worn shoes and packs on their backs. Hired wagons rattled by, students jouncing around inside them, eyes pinched shut against the dust.

Inns along the way were packed full. When the Wolves could find a table for supper, they were surrounded by scholars from all over the Seven Realms, even Bruinswallow, We’enhaven, and the islands. The clamor of languages had Raisa straining to test her skills. But they seemed to speak more rapidly than her tutors did.

The Gray Wolves encountered friends along the way—fellow cadets on the road back to Wien House. As a newling cadet, Raisa attracted considerable interest. Several boys struck up conversations with her. One Tamric soldier was particularly persistent, plying her with ale and flattery, until Amon’s relentless glare drove him away.

“He seemed nice,” Raisa said, watching him beat a hasty retreat.

“I know him,” Amon said bluntly. “And he’s not.”

Stores in the small towns, and peddlers along the road, displayed goods students might need—paper in many colors, quills and blotters; leather-bound encyclopedias many inches thick that the hawker claimed contained all knowledge.

A storekeeper hovered by a rack of reading glasses meant for eyes weakened from hours of study. Another offered jars of pigments, rolls of paper and canvas, brushes in all sizes, wooden blocks, and small sharp knives for carving images for block printing.

It was nearly dusk when they crested a small rise and the academy lay before them. From that distance, it might have been a fortress bisected by the Tamron River, protected by high stone walls. Temple spires, gold-leafed domes, and tiled roofs protruded above the walls, gleaming in the dying sun like lavish icing on a stone cake.

Traffic on the road ahead had dwindled. Savvy students had arrived before suppertime and were no doubt already at table. As if in honor of this thought, Raisa’s stomach growled loudly.

Amon reined in with difficulty. His horse, Vagabond, was eager to go forward, already anticipating dinner and a barn ahead.

Raisa was less sure of what her reception would be as an unexpected add-on. She hoped for a long hot bath. She and Switcher smelled a lot alike. If she’d ever hoped to impress Amon Byrne with her newly acquired glamour and beauty, that chance was gone forever. He’d seen her in every kind of ugly.

Amon, of course, seemed well suited to life on the trail. Living rough lent him a kind of rugged, stubbly patina that, if anything, made him more attractive.

“It’s getting late,” Raisa said, urging Switcher up next to Vagabond. “Maybe we should find an inn tonight and go over to Wien House in the morning.”

“We’ll have to stay in the dorms tonight,” Amon said. “The inns will be full, with classes beginning in just a few days. We’ve come after dark on purpose—there’s less chance we’ll bump into someone we know outside the gate or on the Mystwerk side of the river.”

“You know I’ll be recognized sooner or later,” Raisa said, keeping her voice down so the others wouldn’t overhear. “We’ll just have to deal with it.”

“Later is better,” he muttered. He gazed down at the town, stroking his horse’s neck. “This works really well as long as nobody knows you’re here. Once they do, it’s going to be impossible to protect you.”

“Most of my subjects have never seen me up close.” She smiled ruefully. “Those who have wouldn’t recognize me without a tiara on my head.”

He didn’t smile back.

Amon twisted in his saddle to face the others. “Stay here and rest the horses. I’ll go down and check things out.” Not waiting for a reply, he drove his heels into Vagabond’s sides, and they clattered off down the road, descending into the valley.

Amon was gone for two hours. When he returned, he wore a rather grim, resigned expression. “We’re good,” he said, the words not matching his demeanor. “I’ve spoken to Master Askell, and arranged lodging at the dormitories for tonight. Let’s go.”

As they descended the long hill to the river, Raisa leaned close to Amon. “What’s going on?” she asked. “What did Master Askell say?”

“He wants to meet with you,” Amon said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Depends.”

They did not enter the academy by the main gate, but circled around to the postern gate on the south side. Two cadets ushered them through, and locked up behind them.

Switcher followed after Vagabond without much guidance from Raisa, freeing her to look around as they crossed the academy commons.

The school was the size of a small city, but had more green space than any city Raisa had ever seen. Ancient stone buildings studded the lawns, connected by covered galleries paved with brick and twined with night-blooming flowers. The intoxicating fragrance cascaded over them, carried by the warm, moist air.

Lights blazed in the kitchens and dining halls. Most students were still at dinner, though a few had begun walking back to their dormitories, chatting and calling to friends across the commons in all the languages of the Seven Realms. Others trickled down the main road toward the river, unburdened by schoolwork, since classes hadn’t started.

“What are these buildings?” Raisa asked, pointing.

“This is the Mystwerk side of the river,” Amon said. He gestured to an elaborate stone building that sprawled over several acres. “That’s Mystwerk Hall, the oldest building in the academy. Supposedly the academy was founded when a wizard built a hut on the riverbank and began taking in apprentices.”

Raisa studied Mystwerk Hall, tilting her head back and taking in the massive bell tower. Was Micah Bayar somewhere inside?

How long had Micah waited for her at the West Wall? Had he given up his plans to come to Oden’s Ford in order to hunt for her?

They passed elaborate herb gardens quilted with flowers, some familiar, some not.

“Those are the healer’s gardens,” Amon said, noticing Raisa’s interest. “People come here from all over to train as healers and to be treated in the Healer’s Hall.”

Ahead, a stone bridge arched high over the water, lined with shops and vendor stalls, most shuttered for the night. The taverns were still open, and clusters of students spilled onto the street.

“The bridge and the shops along Bridge Street are kind of a borderland, where students from both sides mingle,” Amon said. He pointed at Raisa with his gloved hand. “So you need to stay off Bridge Street.”

Amon led the way onto the bridge. Raised voices poured out of an open tavern door to the right, followed by two students locked in a wrestling match. One wore a dun-colored uniform, the other red wizard robes. More students spilled out of the tavern and joined the rainbow of House colors.

“Must be a philosophical disagreement of some kind,” Amon said, carefully circling the mob.

“What about the Peace?” Raisa asked.

Amon laughed. “The provost guards handle fights between students.” He pointed toward three stern-looking men in drab gray uniforms striding across the street behind them, making for the struggling students.

“They’re thick out here, especially after dark, and you go before the rector if you get caught,” Amon said. “Serious or repeat offenders get booted from the academy, and there’s no appeal. Students usually try to work things out themselves.”

They reached the far end of the bridge and descended into the streets on the Wien House side. The buildings here were of newer construction, though still hundreds of years old, built of the same gray stone that must have come from a quarry nearby. The dormitories were less elaborate, more utilitarian, yet there was a stark, simple beauty about the architecture that appealed to Raisa.

The warrior academy was a complex of buildings, a citadel consisting of parade grounds, weapons foundries, dormitories, stables, classroom buildings, and pastures for livestock.

“All academy students stable their horses over here,” Amon said. “Whether in Wien House or not.”

They passed several long, low buildings that, from the smell, had to be stables. Reining in next to one of them, they dismounted. Raisa removed Switcher’s saddle and tack, and rubbed her down. A cadet directed them to a row of stalls. They made sure their mounts were watered and grained before they shouldered their saddlebags and walked over to a large stone building. Wien Hall was engraved over the doorway.

A clark sat at a table in the entrance hall with a great ledger in front of him. “Amon Byrne reporting with his company from the Fells,” Amon said. “I’ve already spoken to Master Askell.”

The clark nodded. “Welcome back, Commander. Master Askell says you’ll be staying in Grindell Hall. All of you.” The clark leaned forward, whispering to Amon.

Commander? Raisa’s overtired mind couldn’t grapple with that.

Instead, she idly studied the names and dates carved on either side of the entrance—a list of class commanders that dated back to the Breaking. Noticing a familiar name, she focused, looking closer. Byrne surfaced at regular intervals over the past thousand years. Most recently, Edon Byrne, Amon’s father. And Amon Byrne.

She sensed Amon’s presence behind her, a prickling between her shoulder blades. “There are a lot of Byrnes up there,” she said, pointing.

“It’s kind of a tradition.” He took her saddlebags from her and handed them to Mick. “The rest of you, go get settled at Grindell,” he said. “Pick up extra linens for Morley and me, and put Morley’s things on the third floor. Talbot and Abbott, you’re in with Morley. Once your beds are made up and your things stowed, go on over to the dining hall. Don’t wait for us.”

He turned to Raisa. “You come with me, Morley. Master Askell is ready for us.”

Do we have to go see him now? Raisa thought. Weariness had overtaken Raisa’s hunger, and she wished she could just fall into bed. Aloud, she said, “I was hoping to get a bath first. Could I at least wash my face?”

“Better to be on time,” Amon said. “He’ll care more about your appearance if he agrees to admit you.”

The other Wolves collected blankets and sheets from a small storeroom and left the building through a side door. Raisa and Amon clumped up a long stone staircase to the third floor. Amon rapped on a thick wooden door at the top of the stairs.

“Come,” a deep voice said.

Taim Askell was standing in front of his desk when they entered. He was tall, maybe a little taller than Amon, but probably outweighed him by half. His bulky, muscular frame overwhelmed the room, though the office was a good size. His face was creased and lined by long years of sun and weather, and there were crinkles at the corners of his eyes that said he had smiled at some time in the past.

He wasn’t smiling now.

A faculty robe lay folded across the back of his chair; otherwise, the room was neat and uncluttered, everything in its place, save a packet of papers spread over the desk surface.

Bookshelves lined the walls, packed with matching volumes in gold-stamped black leather—histories of military campaigns. A map of the Seven Realms covered the wall opposite the door, and a framed map of Carthis in sepia ink hung behind his desk.

“Master Askell,” Amon said in Common, pressing his fist over his heart in salute. “Commander Byrne reporting as ordered, with the applicant Rebecca Morley, sir.”

Raisa copied Amon’s salute, wondering just how much Master Askell knew.

“Be at ease, Commander, and — Candidate Morley,” Master Askell said in Ardenine-accented Common. “Sit down,” he said, gesturing at two straight-backed chairs. It was more order than invitation.

Raisa sat bolt-straight on the edge of her chair, resting her hands on her thighs, trying to look taller and more substantial. More deserving of admission.

Askell did not sit. Instead, he loomed over the two of them like the Breaker on the Day of Judgment. As if he didn’t mean to give them more than a few minutes of his time.

“This won’t take long, I assure you,” Master Askell said, reinforcing Raisa’s initial impression. “I have made it a practice to interview every applicant who seeks entrance to Wien House, particularly those who request special privileges.”

“Special privileges, sir?” Raisa glanced at Amon, who stared into space, a muscle working in his jaw. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.” Raisa meant to err on the side of too many sirs than too few.

“Exactly what is it you expect from us, Morley?” Askell folded his arms.

His hostile tone startled Raisa into speech. “I would imagine that my expectations are similar to those of any other cadet, sir,” she said. “I hope to benefit both from study under the Wien House faculty, and through interaction with a diversity of students.”

“Is that so?” Askell tilted his head. “And how, exactly, will your presence here benefit Wien House? And the world at large?”

Raisa blinked at him, her weary mind too sluggish to respond. “Um —”

Askell plowed on as if he hadn’t really expected an answer. “Commander Byrne tells me that you come from the nobility, that though you are female, you are your family’s lineal heir, as is the—ah—custom in the north,” Askell said.