The Exiled Queen (37 page)

“Yes it is,” Raisa said, like a small child who won’t be comforted. “I’ve made a mess of things. I should have stayed.”

Shaking off his hand, she stood, staring down at him. “We should go home,” she said. “I should never have left my mother alone.”

“She is the queen, Rai,” Amon said softly. “Not you. And we all agreed that you couldn’t risk staying and being married off to Micah.”

“I could have handled Micah,” Raisa said. “Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad.”

“He may be young, but he’s powerful,” Amon said. “And even if you managed Micah, could you have handled Lord Bayar and the rest of the Wizard Council?”

“I’ll have to manage them sooner or later,” Raisa said. “I may as well start now.”

“When you’re sixteen?” Amon raised an eyebrow.

“Some of the Gray Wolf queens were even younger when they were crowned.”

“But you’re not queen,” Amon pointed out. “Your mother is queen, and she’s made some bad decisions.”

“She’s still the queen,” Raisa said sharply. And then, sighing, “I’m sorry. I just can’t help defending her. She hasn’t given in, don’t you see? It’s been five months since I left, and she’s held firm. I should go back and relieve her.”

“The letter is two months old,” Amon pointed out. “Who knows what the situation is now? Da said stay away, that it’s too dangerous to come home. I believe him.”

“The letter is two months old,” Raisa repeated. “Maybe things are different.” Hah, Raisa thought. Rightly or wrongly, we just can’t help defending our parents.

“What about the clans?” Amon persisted. “They’d never put up with your marrying a wizard. They’d go to war over it. The Demonai would kill Micah rather than let it stand.”

There he was probably right. Raisa massaged her aching neck. How could she return home and protect her rights to the succession yet avoid a forced marriage?

Hopefully Hallie would bring an answer back from Marianna.

She looked up at Amon, who watched her as if to divine what she might do next.

“If you insist on going,” Amon said, “we’re all coming with you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Raisa said, handing the letter back to Amon. He dropped it into the flames, where it shriveled and smoked into ash.

BLUEBLOOD

WAYS

“How do I look?” Han asked, turning around in his new clothes. The tailor had measured true—his jacket and breeches fit like a second skin. The hard part had been escaping the tailor.

Dancer looked up from his book. When they’d returned from supper he’d parked himself in a comfortable chair with one of Firesmith’s nasty old books. “Stunning,” he said. “What’s the occasion?”

“I’m going to see a girlie.”

“I’ve never seen you dress like that to walk out with a girl,” Dancer said. He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not getting married, are you?”

Han shook his head. “I’m taking blueblood lessons from that girlie I told you about. Rebecca Morley.”

“Hmmm. Well, you have the look down. Only, tilt back your head and look down your nose.” Han complied. “That’s it. Perfect. You’re a natural.”

“Must be my Waterlow bloodline.”

Dancer’s blue eyes glinted with amusement. “Now say, ‘Copperheads are little more than leeches on the body of society—a necessary evil.’”

Han laughed. “I don’t think I can manage. Guess I’m not cut out for this.”

Dancer shrugged. “How long will this class take? Cat’s in another recital tonight, over at the Temple School. I’m going over. Want to come?”

Han shook his head. “Can’t. I’ve been jammed with work.” He held up his copy of Faulk’s Heraldry—a doorstop of a book. How many masters did he have: Crow, Abelard, and now Rebecca? And the new term hadn’t even begun.

Dancer marked his place with a finger and sighed. He watched Han for a few minutes, then said, “I’m worried about Cat.”

“What? Why?” Han tried to recall the last time he’d seen her. It had been a while. It was almost like she was avoiding him. Or maybe it was just that he was never around.

“It seemed like she really liked it here, was getting on at the Temple School and all,” Dancer said. “But all of a sudden she seems unhappy again. I wondered if she’d said anything to you.”

“No,” Han said. “Do you think her marks came in low?”

He and Dancer had just received their marks for fall term. Even Gryphon had given them both passing grades, though the master had scrawled a note on Han’s report: Newling Alister should make an effort to arrive to class promptly and prepared, and thereafter should endeavor to stay awake.

Dancer shook his head. “I don’t think that’s it. I’ve only heard good things about Cat’s classes, and she’s a brilliant musician. That’s why I hoped you could come along. She might be more likely to talk to you about whatever’s bothering her.”

“I wish I could. But I promise, I’ll try to talk with her soon.”

The Mystwerk Tower bells bonged once for the quarter hour. “Blood and bones, I got to go,” Han said in a sudden panic. “I’m late. Tell Cat I’m sorry to miss her recital.” As he charged down the stairs, he heard Blevins shout, “You keep that up, you’re going to fall down them steps again!”

The taproom of The Turtle and Fish was lightly filled. The bartender was slumped over the bar, looking like he’d over-sampled his own wares. He raised his head when Han walked in, eyeing his finery with yellowed eyes. “The girlie’s up there waiting for you,” he said, trying to wink but blinking both eyes instead. “She din’t want to stay down here.”

Heads turned all over the room. Han loped up the stairs, his book under his arm.

Rebecca looked up when he entered, and her green eyes flicked over his attire without comment. She wore a long dark wool skirt and a long-sleeved white blouse, like one of Jemson’s strictest schoolteachers.

“You’re late, Alister,” she said without preamble. She looked cranky.

“Sorry,” he said. “I got caught up in a—”

“Some of the most important rules of etiquette relate to punctuality,” Rebecca said, bulling right over his excuses. “For business appointments, you are to be on time or a few minutes early. For social engagements, you should never arrive early. You should err on the side of being a few minutes late. The more important you are, the later you arrive.” She paused. “This is a business appointment.”

Han blinked at her. To be honest, being on time had never been a priority before. He’d set his own schedule in Ragmarket. Being streetlord meant people and events waited on him. Rough judgment based on the angle of sun and shadow was good enough. Even Jemson wasn’t strict about class times. He was just happy when you showed up.

“I understand,” he said, picking his way carefully. “I apologize. I’ll try to be on time in the future.”

“You will be on time in the future,” Rebecca said, sticking her nose in the air and flinging her mop of hair back, “or this will be our last tutoring session.”

Where’s the girlie from the roof? Han wanted to ask. The one that laid on her back beside me to watch fireworks. The one I almost kissed.

Seeking to change the subject, he looked around. A small table was set for two, with plates, bowls, cups, napkins, and a fistful of forks, spoons, and knives at each place.

“Did you order supper?” he asked. “I thought we said we’d eat before we came.”

“We are not actually eating,” Rebecca said. “I thought about the best way to teach you, and decided we’d try some playacting. Today we’re going to talk about arriving and departing, and table manners.”

Arriving and departing? Han thought. How complicated could that be?

Very complicated, it turned out. Bluebloods seemed to give more thought to coming and going than whatever came in between. There were all kinds of rules for who arrived in what order, and who bowed and curtsied to whom, and when; who said what to whom; who got to leave the room first, and how you left the room. For instance, if you left before someone more important than you, you backed away, bowing, until you hit the door.

The only time Han backed out of a room was when the person he left behind was likely to stick him in the back.

There were also rules for figuring out who was more important than you, which was just about everybody.

Rebecca slid from role to role, sometimes playing the downstairs maid, sometimes the hostess, sometimes a lord, sometimes a lady, first a person more important than him, then someone less important.

“You’re a good actor,” Han said. “You’re as good as any of the players I’ve seen at the Palisade.” That was an open-air theater in Southbridge, where you could get standing room for a fivepenny piece. Or sneak in for free.

“Well,” Rebecca said, “that’s one thing bluebloods are good at—acting.”

Finally they moved on to table manners. There was a lot on getting up and sitting down, how big a portion to take, how much to leave behind, what foods to eat in what order, what utensils to use, where to put your napkin, and about blotting—not wiping—your face. The whole time, you were supposed to make conversation. And every time Han slipped up and said “an’t” or “got to,” Rebecca stuck her hand out.

By the end of it, Han was considerably poorer and his head was spinning.

“Do you ever just freeze up because you can’t think of what you’re supposed to do?” he asked. “Do you ever get so hungry and frustrated you just grab with your hands? Or get in a spot where you can’t think of another blessed thing to say that you’re allowed to say?”

“Well,” Rebecca said gravely, “some ladies resort to fainting. Men are on their own.”

Han laughed. “I thought it was tough on the streets,” he said. “I had no idea.”

Outside, the bells bonged ten times. Two hours had flown by.

“We’ll meet Thursday, then, and I’ll expect you to be on time,” Rebecca said. “Read chapters four to six. On Thursday we’ll discuss rules of inheritance and classes of nobility, and I’ll quiz you on table manners.”

“Could I ask a question?” Han said, though he knew he should get on to Bayar Library and Crow.

“Well, we’re just about out of time— What is it?”

“What are the rules for walking out?” he asked, riffling the pages of his book. “Is there a chapter on that?”

“What do you mean?” Rebecca asked, even though Han suspected she understood.

“Walking out. You know, courtship. Marriage. Like that. There have to be rules on that. Who goes out with who. Who can marry who. Who you can kiss, and how often, and who starts.” He looked straight at her, and her cheeks pinked up.

“Of course there are rules,” she said. “There are always rules.” She rose abruptly and curtsied deep, meaning she wasn’t about to tell him what they were.

He rose too, and got off a fair bow. “Thank you, Rebecca, for taking the time to tutor me,” he said. “I’ve learned a lot already.”

She preceded him down the stairs, her head up, her back very straight. They were nearly at the bottom when someone called over, “Hey! Rebecca!”

Rebecca stopped so abruptly that Han ran into her. He grabbed hold of her arms to keep her from toppling.

Two Wien House cadets occupied a nearby table. Both girlies, with big grins on their faces. One wore faculty bars on her uniform.

“Hello, Talia,” Rebecca said, practically choking on it. “Hello, Pearlie.”

They raised their mugs. “Who’s your friend?” Talia asked, winking.

“My friend?” Rebecca said, pretending she didn’t know who they meant. “Oh.” She looked over her shoulder at Han, as if surprised to find him right behind her. “This is—ah—Han. Alister. I know him from home.”

“Good to meet you,” Han said, nodding at Pearlie and Talia.

“Didn’t you used to be called Cuffs?” Talia asked.

Han nodded. “Used to be.”

“Whoa, Rebecca,” Talia said, smiling even wider. “Walking on the wild side, are we?”

Rebecca seemed to think the situation needed more explaining. “He—uh—I’m tutoring him.”

“She is,” Han said solemnly. “She’s very good. I’m learning a lot.”

Pearlie snickered. “What’s she teaching you?”

“Well,” Han said, “we’re jumping around a lot.”

The two cadets howled with laughter, but Rebecca didn’t look amused. She walked straight to the door and out, ignoring her friends.

Crow displayed a certain arrogant interest in Han’s sessions with Rebecca. “Who is this young woman?” he asked. “Where did you find her?”

“Her name is Rebecca Morley,” Han said. “She worked as a tutor in a noble household. I met her back at home, before I came here.”

“A tutor,” Crow said, wrinkling his nose. “Do you know anything about her family?”

“She is not as well connected as I’d like,” Han said sarcastically. “But Queen Marianna was busy.”

“Queen Marianna?” Crow looked puzzled. Then his face cleared. “Oh, yes. Of course.”

Brilliant as he was, Crow sometimes seemed to be a step behind, particularly when it came to understanding Han’s jokes. Maybe blue-blood humor was different. Crow was funny, in a bitter-edged way.

Crow persisted. “Are you certain that this Rebecca really—”

“She was a tutor for the Bayars,” Han said. “Apparently she was good enough for them.”

“The Bayars?” Crow asked, stiffening. “She works for Aerie House?”

“She used to,” Han said. “Now she’s in school here.”

“How do you know she’s not a spy?” Crow asked. “Or an assassin?”

“I don’t know,” Han said. “But it’s not like I had a flock of applicants. I had to practically get down on my knees to get her to do it. We’ve been meeting for a month now, and I’m not dead.”

“Well,” Crow conceded, “we’ll see. I hope you are being careful, at least.” He eyed Han critically. “Your choice of clothing is improving. Your speech as well.”

Han just rolled his eyes. At first he hadn’t really cared about becoming a blueblood—it was Crow’s price for the ongoing lessons. Now he was realizing how much there was to learn. How it could open doors for him.

For whatever reason, he was getting on better with Crow. These days his teacher’s barbs had less sting to them. He’d also broadened their curriculum to include other, more intricate aspects of magic beyond hex charms. Han could tell that Crow loved this stuff, and loved having someone to share it with. When Han mastered a difficult bit of spellwork, Crow would lift his face to the heavens and say, “The boy is brilliant! Truly he is!” A touch sarcastic, but a compliment all the same.

Han compared Crow to Rebecca—his other private tutor. He admired her backbone, even when it got in his way. He tried not to dwell on her green eyes, brilliant against her coppery skin, the flashes of ankle beneath her long skirts. He noticed everything—the way she drew her dark brows together and bit her lower lip when she was thinking; the way she waved her hands around when she talked; her shape under that dirtback uniform.

He’d let her know he was interested. Usually that was all it took, but she’d ignored his signals for weeks. Maybe bluebloods went about it a different way.

Or maybe she had no interest in walking out with a street rat turned wizard.

“Let’s discuss power management,” Crow said, wrenching Han away from his thoughts and signaling it was time to get down to business. “There are ways to leverage the power you have so that you don’t squander it all doing relatively minor tasks.”

“Leverage,” Han repeated dutifully.

“For instance, it takes less power to persuade someone else to do a task for you than to use magic to do it yourself. You can explode a boulder, or you can magically influence someone to smash it with a pickax. The second option requires less power, especially if that person is weak-willed.”

“Less power for you,” Han pointed out. “But not for the person with the pickax.”

“Of course,” Crow said, brushing the point aside as if that were obvious. “Here’s another example. You could set young Bayar aflame, which would require considerable power, especially if he resists, as is likely. It would be less taxing although more hit-or-miss to burn down his dormitory while he sleeps.”

It was still there, that constant incitement to action against the Bayars before they came after him again. Han tried to take what he could get from his sessions with Crow without allowing himself to be goaded. He’d be getting in the way of the Bayars soon enough, and his primary target was back in the Fells. It was easier to ignore them now that they’d moved out of his dormitory.

Anyway, Han had his own questions to ask. “Sometimes, after I return from Aediion, I can’t seem to wake up,” he said. “When I finally do, I’m still exhausted. Is that normal, that it should take that much out of me?”