The Exiled Queen (40 page)

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After a tenuous, three-month visit to Oden’s Ford, winter went north again, leaving behind bursting bulbs, like farewell fireworks in her wake.

It was already warm enough that three hours’ strenuous riding left Raisa damp and flushed, and Switcher sweating and blowing. Raisa rubbed the mare down, murmuring silly endearments to her and singing snatches of “Flower of the Mountains.”

You’re not usually a giddy kind of person, Raisa said to herself. Is this what being in love does to you?

She would see Han Alister tonight. Her heart beat a little faster at the thought.

As she led Switcher into the stall, Raisa noticed that the stall next to her was now occupied by a shaggy gray mountain pony with a white blaze on his face.

Hallie’s gelding.

Raisa forced herself to finish up, shoveling grain with shaking hands and replenishing Switcher’s water. Hallie could be bringing any kind of news, she told herself. Good or bad. Or none at all.

Raisa ran across the stable yard, threading between the buildings to the grassy quad. She bolted up the steps to Grindell Hall. Mick sat by the open window in the common room, scowling over his mathematics. He looked up when Raisa burst into the room.

“She’s upstairs in your room, putting her things away.” He paused for a heartbeat, then said, “She brought honey cakes.”

Raisa ran up the stairs, around and around and around until she reached the third floor. Hallie was kneeling by her trunk, folding clothes into it. She stood when Raisa entered and opened her arms.

Embracing Hallie was rather like embracing a sturdy oak tree.

“I’m so glad you’re back!” Raisa said. “I’ve missed you so much, and I was beginning to worry. How’s Asha?”

“I’ve missed you too,” Hallie said, her cheeks pinking up. “Asha is good. She’s huge, bigger ’n all the other two-year-olds.” She let go of Raisa and dug into her carry bag on her bed. “Here. Lydia, Corporal Byrne’s sister, she made me another picture.” She extended a framed pencil sketch of a solemn-looking little girl with a stubborn chin and a ribbon in her hair.

“She’s beautiful,” Raisa said, passing back the drawing. “She looks like you.”

“Well, she wouldn’t be beautiful if she looked like me,” Hallie said, grinning. “But she is rum clever. She learned to say Mama while I was there.” Hallie paused. “I already spoke with Commander Byrne about being late coming back. I nearly missed the whole term. It shouldn’t have happened, but it was hard to leave her when it came down to it. I cut my time too close and run into bad weather on my way back.”

Master Askell had better listen to me about providing for children, Raisa thought.

“I brung you some honey cakes,” Hallie said, pointing to a cloth sack on Raisa’s bed. She looked up at the ceiling. “Let me see, there was something else—”

“Hallie! Don’t tease,” Raisa said.

“I brung a letter to you. From your mama.” Hallie groped in her duffel and brought out a military dispatch bag. She extended it toward Raisa. “Lord Averill, he said to give this into your hands directly.”

Raisa stood frozen, hugging the leather bag to her chest.

“I’m going down and talk to Mick,” Hallie said. “Read it over and come down when you’re ready.”

Raisa sat down on her bed, still cradling the bag. With trembling fingers she undid the buckles and lifted the flap.

Inside was another envelope, a large one, with Lightfoot, Lord Demonai scrawled on it. It was sealed. She pulled it open.

And inside was an envelope with Lady Rebecca Morley written on the front. Inside that was another envelope, sealed with the Gray Wolf.

Using her belt dagger, Raisa slit it open and shook out the page inside. The pages bore her mother’s elegant script.

Daughter,

It is not easy for those of royal blood to say we are sorry. The stars realign and the world remakes itself so that our mistakes seem prescient in hindsight.

I never meant to drive you away. I meant to save your life, and perhaps I succeeded, for now. There are many on the Wizard Council who do not want to see you on the Gray Wolf throne. Even at your young age, you are viewed as difficult, headstrong, and too close to the clans.

Governance of the Fells has always been a balancing act, with each strategic move precipitating unintended consequences. My marriage to Averill quieted the clans but prompted the Wizard Council to build an alliance with the army. General Klemath is in league with the council. He has filled the army with mercenaries loyal only to him.

Your father sent you to Demonai Camp so you could learn to be a warrior. He and the other Demonai see you as one of them, because of your Demonai blood. Elena Cennestre in particular believes that the Demonai blood is strong in you. A faction of warriors favors setting me aside and crowning you as a queen more to their liking.

When the Wizard Council learned of this, they hatched a plot to murder you. It was to happen when you returned from Demonai Camp.

I feared they would succeed. To forestall that, I proposed a marriage between you and Micah Bayar, knowing that Lord Bayar would see this as an opportunity to expand his power and perhaps eventually put his son on the throne. The conspirators conveniently disappeared.

This bought us time, at least until your name day. Captain Byrne has been working to grow the guard and to undo the damage Klemath has done to the army, but it is a slow process and difficult to undertake unnoticed. I had hoped to delay your nuptials until that happened, but as your name day approached, Lord Bayar pressed me to keep our bargain.

So I decided to allow the marriage to proceed. I mistakenly believed that you would accept Micah because you were already seeing him on the sly. I was wrong. We are so very different. It is difficult for me to predict what you will do.

Your absence has defanged the opposition for now. The Demonai have no candidate to rally around. Lord Bayar is unwilling to make a move without knowing where you are. As long as you live, I live, because a Marianna is preferable to a Raisa.

Do not write to me again—there is too much risk that our correspondence may be traced. As you will have seen by the contents of this letter, it is dangerous here. I will contact you when it is safe for you to return. In the meantime, trust no one. Know that we are surrounded by enemies.

—Love, Mother

The letter slid from Raisa’s nerveless fingers. She slumped back against the wall, her eyes burning with hot tears.

Couldn’t you have told me, Mother? Couldn’t you have trusted me a little? We could have worked together instead of at cross-purposes.

That was just it. It might have been Lord Bayar’s influence, but Marianna didn’t trust her daughter. She might have even suspected Raisa of plotting with the Demonai to take her throne. Imagine if she knew that Amon Byrne was already bound to her.

Maybe that was the real purpose of the marriage to Micah. It would have put a stop to Demonai schemes. A Queen Marianna was preferable to a Raisa married to Micah.

And the Demonai—had they really planned to set her mother aside and put Raisa on the throne? Did they think she would go along with that? Were her father and grandmother in on it?

A memory trickled back—Reid Nightwalker urging her to come with him to Demonai Camp instead of fleeing the country. No one will touch you at Demonai, he’d said. No one should force you from your birthright.

Was her life just a series of lies? Was this what she had to look forward to—a lifetime of manipulating others to serve her own purposes?

It’s not just the real, but the perception of real that counts, Mother, she thought. If people perceive you as weak, then you are weak, even if it’s a survival strategy.

Interesting that her mother hadn’t mentioned Mellony, or the pressure from the Wizard Council to name her princess heir. Did she not want to worry her? Did she not want her to rush back into danger?

Or did Marianna mean to keep Raisa in the south until a change in succession could be accomplished?

Trust no one. Never had her mother spoken truer words.

Raisa felt more trust in her friendship with Talia and Hallie than with anyone at court, save Amon.

Had Raisa done anything to encourage the intrigue swirling around her? Why was the council so convinced that she would be troublesome?

And now what? The term was nearly over. Should she wait here meekly until her mother called her home? If she returned home, would it knock down the fragile house of cards that was her queendom?

Could she possibly be more alone?

Raisa flopped onto her back, tears leaking from her eyes and running into her hair.

A BABE IN

THE WOODS

Han cut across the greening lawns, heading for Bridge Street. It was Tuesday—the day before his class with Dean Abelard. He’d stayed up half the night for the second night in a row. He and Dancer had spent the afternoon experimenting with a talisman Dancer had crafted from a flying rowan. It was challenging to create a talisman that wouldn’t interfere with Han’s own magic while protecting him from someone else’s.

And now he was late for his meeting with Rebecca.

The flower vendors lined the street leading to the bridge. That was one thing they had more of in Oden’s Ford than at home—flowers. They grew pansies all winter long, the deep red blooms called Blood of Hanalea, white solstice stars, flowering cactus of all kinds from We’enhaven, magnolias with big saucer flowers you could serve dinner on, orchids of all colors and sizes. And now tulips and daffodils and bulb irises.

Rebecca loved flowers. She said she missed her garden at home.

On impulse, Han stopped long enough to buy a fistful from a vendor.

When he entered The Turtle and Fish, the common room was half filled with cadets, but Talia and Pearlie weren’t there. Han nodded to Linc, the bartender, walked straight past the bar, and climbed the stairs to the second floor.

Just as he put his hand on the latch of their meeting room, the door flew open and Rebecca stood in front of him, her carry bag slung over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed with anger—obviously on her way out.

“Well!” she said, looking him up and down. “If it isn’t Hanson Alister.” She paused ominously. “The late Hanson Alister.”

There was a raw, ragged edge to her voice, an emotional vibration he’d never heard before. Blueblood or not, she could rough him up better than any girlie he’d ever known.

He groped for the right thing to say. “Rebecca, listen. I know I’m late. I’m sorry. I was — working on a project — and I lost track of time.”

“I warned you,” she snapped. “You think the rules changed because we kissed?”

“I’m meeting with the dean tomorrow,” he said. “I was getting ready for that.” He paused, and when she said nothing, added, “Please forgive me. It won’t happen again.”

“That’s what you said last time.” She glared up at him. “You’re the one who wanted tutoring. Do you think I have nothing better to do? You can squander your own time, but when it comes to my time —”

“It is valuable. I understand that.” Usually he could charm and cajole her out of any foul mood, but today she was all clouds and rain—tense, snappish, and downhearted.

Belatedly remembering the flowers, he produced them from under his coat and extended them toward her. Irises and Blood of Hanalea, tied with a ribbon.

“Here. You said you liked flowers.”

She stared at the flowers as if astonished, then looked up into his face as if he’d been swapped out for somebody else. “Another present?”

Well, admittedly, he wasn’t the present-giving, flower-buying kind. He’d never had need of that. Nor the money. “Making up for lost time,” he said. “And, to be honest, that last present was for me as much as you.”

She took the flowers grudgingly and sniffed them. “Thank you.”

“Is something wrong?” he asked, taking advantage of the lull in hostilities to shoulder open the door.

She allowed herself to be ushered back inside. “What’s wrong is that you’re late,” she said.

“I’ll buy you dinner after we’re done,” he suggested. “Anywhere you want.”

She dumped her carry bag on a chair, then sat down at their usual worktable. “We’ll see. First, I want to see evidence that you’ve read chapter twelve.”

Fortunately, he had read chapter twelve, which dealt with Fellsian court protocol, and was about as interesting as reading crop reports. But somehow, when Rebecca talked about it, it came alive. He was amazed at how much she knew about the history and inner workings of the court in Fellsmarch. She quizzed him on the role of the Council of Nobles, the Wizard Council, and the Office of the Royal Steward.

Some parts she had to fill in—parts that weren’t in Han’s books. Faulk tended to focus too much on the royal family.

“What’s the difference between the Wizard Assembly and the Wizard Council?” Han asked. “For instance, how do they choose the council members?”

Rebecca sat back, narrow-eyed, as if wondering what he meant to do with that information. “The assembly is made up of all gifted citizens in the registry on Gray Lady. The council really holds all the power. The major wizard houses have vested seats on the Wizard Council, dating back to before the Breaking,” she said. “The eldest gifted child of the council member replaces his or her parent, unless the child steps aside. Also, there’s one seat voted in by the assembly, and one member chosen by the queen. The council elects the High Wizard from among those on the council.”

“If the queen dies, does the High Wizard stay on?” Han asked.

“No,” Rebecca said. “Each High Wizard is bound to an individual queen, so when the princess heir is crowned queen, a new High Wizard is named.”

“But it isn’t an inherited post,” Han said. “Any wizard can serve, right?”

“Well, theoretically,” Rebecca said. “But most, if not all, of the High Wizards have come from the vested wizard houses.”

“Which are — ?” It seemed that every day Han became more aware of how little he knew, and how much he needed to know.

“The Bayars, the Mathises, the Abelards, the Gryphons,” Rebecca said vaguely. “Some others.”

“What keeps the High Wizard from overpowering the queen?” Han said. “Magically, I mean?”

Rebecca’s head jerked up and she stared at him. “Why do you ask that?”

Han shrugged. “Well, it stands to reason that it could be a problem. Wasn’t that what happened after the invasion?”

She licked her lips. “The Binding is supposed to prevent that.”

“What do you mean, is supposed to?” Han said, catching an odd inflection.

Rebecca shifted her gaze away. “The Binding does control the High Wizard,” she said, nodding as if to reassure herself. “The speakers conduct a ceremony that binds the High Wizard both to the queen’s will and to the good of the queendom.”

Han tapped the cover of his book. “It says in here the High Wizard serves as a counselor to the queen on magical matters, represents her to the Wizard Council, and uses magic to support and protect the army, the realm, and the throne.”

Rebecca nodded, her shoulders slumping a little, the curtain of her hair obscuring her face. “That’s right.”

“But he’s not in charge,” Han said. “The queen’s in charge, right?”

She nodded. “The queen rules alone. Queens of the Fells are forbidden to marry wizards, and even the man she marries takes the title of consort only.”

“But there used to be wizard kings,” Han persisted. “Right?”

“Right,” she said. “But not since the Breaking. After the kings nearly destroyed the world, they decided it was a bad idea.” She reached for Han’s book, seeming eager to change the subject. “I had no idea you were so interested in politics. Now, let’s review the rules surrounding royal succession and accomplishments of some specific queens.”

“How can you remember all those names?” Han said.

“My family’s been at court for generations, you know,” Rebecca said. “Some of it had to soak in. You’ve heard those songs, haven’t you, that name off the Gray Wolf queens in order?”

Actually, he knew some drinking songs that named off the queens, but they didn’t bear repeating to a blueblood. “I don’t have to memorize them, do I?” he asked. “I’d just as soon skip over that. To tell the truth, I don’t give a rat’s arse about the queens.”

She flinched, as if he’d slapped her. “All right, but I just thought—”

“The queens, the nobility, that whole lot—they’re just bloodsuckers feeding off the people. They don’t care at all what happens in the streets.”

“You don’t know that,” Rebecca said, color staining her pale cheeks. “You don’t know anything about Queen Marianna and what she—”

“You’re the one that doesn’t know anything,” Han said. “Forgive me for being a cynic, but I know how people are treated outside of the castle close.”

“What makes you think I don’t?” Rebecca said, her voice rising. “I was in Southbridge Guardhouse, remember? I saw how you’d been beaten. I saw what happened to your friends. But you can’t think the queen had any—”

Han plowed right over her words. “The queen has had everything to do with every bad thing that’s happened to me in the past year.”

Raisa sat frozen, her green eyes fixed on his face, speechless for once.

Why are you telling her this, Alister? Han thought. Just shut it. Not the way to follow up on flowers. But he opened his mouth and the story came pouring out.

“Me and my mam and little sister lived over a stable in Ragmarket,” he said. “My mam did washing for the queen until she was dismissed for ruining one of her dresses. I’d given up thieving, so we had no money at all. That was the start of it.”

Rebecca leaned forward, lacing her fingers together. “I never realized that your mother worked for the queen,” she said. “Perhaps — perhaps there’s a way to get her reinstated. I — know some people and —”

Han shook his head. “Don’t try and fix this. It’s not fixable. Just listen. The queen’s responsible for public works, right? For the water supply and like that. Well, the wells went bad in Ragmarket, and my sister, Mari, caught the fever. While I was out trying to get the money to buy some medicine for her, the bluejackets came looking for me, thinking I was the one hushed the Southies that died. When they didn’t find me, they set fire to the stable with Mam and Mari inside.”

“What?” Rebecca whispered, her face now gone ashen.

“They burnt to death, Rebecca,” Han said, his voice low and fierce. “And the bluejackets did it, on the queen’s orders. Mari was seven years old.”

She stared at him, shaking her head. “Oh, no,” she whispered. “No. That can’t be true.” Her mouth formed the word no even when no sound came out.

“You said the queen’s in charge.” Han knew he should stop, but he’d had this stuffed up in his heart so long that it was like the floodgates had opened. “After that, somebody came back and murdered the Raggers and the Southies. Some of them were lytlings, too. The ones you saved from Southbridge Guardhouse—they’re all dead.”

Tears pooled in Rebecca’s eyes. “So — Sarie and Velvet and Flinn are —”

“All dead, far as I know,” Han said. “Cat’s the only one that escaped.”

“It was all just a waste?” Rebecca’s voice wavered. “Why didn’t you tell me? About your family and — and everything?”

“You never asked,” Han said. “People die in Ragmarket and Southbridge every day. They don’t count in the blueblood world. It’s just one more sad story.”

“But — we’re not all like that,” she said, her lower lip trembling.

“’Course not.” He snorted. “Her bloody Highness the princess heir tosses her pin money our way and we’re supposed to get down on our knees and thank her.”

“That’s not what she wants,” Rebecca whispered, looking stricken. “She’s not looking for gratitude. She just—”

“Of course you’d stick up for her,” Han said. “Bluebloods always stick together.”

This time, Rebecca didn’t try to respond. She sat, twisting a gold ring on her forefinger, staring straight ahead, her face as pale as scribes’ paper.

As silence grew between them, guilt crept over Han. Of course she’d defend them. She’d grown up in the court, and her friends were bluebloods. She wasn’t the enemy.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Han said. “I didn’t mean to jump all over you. You may be a blueblood, but you’re not to blame for what happened.” He closed his hand over hers.

None of what he said seemed to make her feel any better.

It wasn’t her fault that his life was a disaster. He was trying to figure out a way to say that when she slammed her chair back, nearly toppling it, and stood.

“I have to go.” She snatched up her bag. “Please accept my — sincere — condolences at the loss of your family,” she said, voice hitching. “I am — so very sorry.”

She flung herself out the door as if she were being chased by demons, leaving her flowers behind. He heard her banging down the steps. Then nothing.

Han sat frozen with surprise for a moment. “Rebecca,” he shouted. “Wait!”

He scraped together his books and papers and stuffed them into his carry bag, then launched himself down the stairs.

By the time he reached the common room, Rebecca was gone.

The patrons stared at Han with greedy interest. He ran out onto Bridge Street, looking both directions, and saw her, head down, striding back toward Wien House and her dormitory.

He raced after her, dodging students and faculty who strolled the streets, enjoying the spring weather.

His long legs proved an advantage—that and the fact that Rebecca was crying flat out and probably couldn’t see where she was going. Han caught up with her and took hold of her arm.

“Rebecca, please, please, don’t run off,” he said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said the things I did.”

She just shook her head, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as if she could make him disappear. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “Leave me alone. I’m going back to my room.”

But she made no move to do so, just stood in the middle of the street, fists clenched, while the crowds parted on either side of her, staring and nudging each other.

“Come on,” he said, sliding an arm around her shoulder and guiding her back toward the bridge. He looked up at the sign that swung over the doorway. The Scholar and Hound. “Let’s go in here.”

She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no, either, so he herded her through the door and into the warmly lit interior. It was crowded, but he spotted two bleary-eyed students leaving a table in the corner. He shouldered his way through the standees and claimed it, staring down a hulking cadet in a beer-stained tunic lurching toward it.

“The girlie needs to sit down,” Han said. “Back off.”

The cadet backed off, peppering him with black looks. Han settled Rebecca into a chair facing the corner, to make her tear-stained face less apparent. He sat facing the room, his usual position, and motioned to the server. He held up two fingers and tapped his midsection, and she nodded, moving off toward the kitchen.