The Crimson Crown (12 page)

Abelard stiffened. “What’s the rush, Gavan? Better to make a good decision than a hasty one.”

“The matter
is
urgent, Mina,” Mander said. “The queendom is in dire danger. As Alister pointed out, Montaigne is a threat from the south. He’s made it clear that he means to annex the Fells sooner or later. Not only that, but there have been several attempts on our young queen’s life, even though she has a—a bodyguard.” Mander licked his lips, shooting a glance at Han. “Wizards are being murdered right in Fellsmarch, and the copperheads seem intent on picking a fight with us. Our young queen needs a High Wizard to advise her.”

“Five is a quorum, isn’t it?” Micah said blandly.

They were like players on the stage, each speaking lines. Han knew immediately where this was going. But before he could say anything, Gryphon spoke up. “Yes, five
is
a quorum. But I would prefer to wait for Mordra. It seems only fair to allow her to be heard.”

Han stared at Gryphon in surprise, theories swirling through his mind. Maybe Gryphon doesn’t know the Bayar position on this, he thought. Or maybe Han had misjudged Gryphon’s feelings about Fiona. Or maybe Gryphon knew he didn’t have a rat’s chance in Ragmarket with Fiona, anyway.

“I agree with Gryphon,” Abelard said. “It’s not as though the post of High Wizard is vacant—if you’re willing to stay on until a new one is named.” She raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

Bayar sighed, fingering his double-falcon amulet—the one that matched the ring Willo had kept all these years. “Now that Queen Raisa has been crowned, frankly, I had hoped the matter of the High Wizard appointment could be handled expeditiously so that I could devote more time to my business interests, which have been neglected as of late.”

Han leaned forward. “But wouldn’t it be better to keep someone like yourself—someone experienced in dealing with killers?” He paused for a heartbeat, then added, “With all the killing going on, I mean.”

Bayar slowly turned his head and gazed at Han, his blue eyes scrimmed with ice.

“Of course, if you aren’t able to stay on, we could appoint someone else to fill in until Mordra arrives, and we can take a vote,” Han suggested innocently. “Maybe Dean Abelard would be willing.”

Abelard smiled, cheered that her protégé was back on the party line.

“Such an arrangement would present a risk,” Bayar said, steepling his fingers. “I am willing to serve until we can settle this matter satisfactorily.”

“Very well, then, I think we can conclude that there is no need to hurry things along,” Abelard said with a tight smile. “We can wait for Mordra.”

“I don’t think we can ask Lord Bayar to serve indefinitely,” Mander said. “We meet again in two weeks. I suggest that if Proficient deVilliers has not arrived by our next meeting, we proceed with the selection of a High Wizard.”

Gryphon nodded. “That is reasonable, I suppose,” he conceded.

I hope Mordra is careful along the way, Han thought, counting noses. Abelard figured she had Han in her pocket. She could likely rely on support from Mordra. Abelard would need one more vote to avoid Bayar’s tiebreaker for High Wizard. She might be counting on Gryphon, but Han wouldn’t put his money on him—not now, anyway.

Even worse, if Han stood for High Wizard, he couldn’t name a single person in the room—other than himself—who would vote his way. He just couldn’t see any way to win. He pressed his hands to his head as if that could stop his thoughts from swirling.

After a few more minor pieces of business, the meeting ended. Han meant to leave right away, so there wouldn’t be time to set up a new ambush, and so nobody would trail him to his secret entrance. But Micah got between him and the door before he could exit.

“Hold on, Alister,” Micah said. “I’d like a word with you.”

The others filed by and out the door, leaving them alone.

“How did you get here?” Micah asked, tilting his head in inquiry. “Did you fly?”

“What do you mean?” Han said, broadening his stance and taking hold of his amulet.

“I didn’t see your horse in the stables. I didn’t see you anywhere along the road. Very mysterious.”

“Why?” Han asked. “Did you want to ride up here together? I wish I’d known.”

“You may be king of the thieves, but this isn’t Ragmarket,” Micah said. “Whatever your game, you’re on our playing field now.”

“I never thought this was a game,” Han said.

“I don’t know what kind of threats you’ve made against Queen Raisa, or why she tolerates you, but if you betray her, or hurt her in any way,
I will come after you
.” Micah emphasized the last few words in case Han didn’t get it.

“Don’t worry, I have no intention of hurting or betraying the queen.” Han paused, holding Micah’s gaze. “Feel better now?”

“I expect to feel better very soon,” Micah said, smiling. “Take care.” He turned and walked out the door.

Han took every precaution against being followed on his way back to the tunnels, even though he assumed his enemies would wait until he got clear of the Council House before making a move. He glamoured up and traveled through the kitchens again, putting up magical webs to entangle anyone in pursuit. Once convinced that no one had tailed him, he descended to the lowest cellar. Brushing away evidence of his passage as best he could, he dropped open the hatch to the tunnel and lowered himself through, fastening the door behind him. His saddlebags still lay where he’d left them.

Looping them over his shoulder, he opened the door to the rock chamber where the boiling spring had been. He didn’t look forward to enduring that again. But he found himself in a dry rock chamber. Steps led up to the chamber above.

As he mounted the steps, he caught a whiff of sulfur. Keeping his eyes forward, he climbed to the top and out of the rock chamber. When he looked back, there was the blue spring again, steaming and stinking and seemingly deadly.

He descended through the gently sloping tunnel at a trot. He’d accumulated a little more flash while he sat in the council meeting. One by one, he disabled magical barriers, the same as he’d encountered on his way in. As he ran, he mapped the path in his mind.

Finally, the tunnel flattened into the straight, broad pathway back to the entrance cave. Here there were fewer barriers, and Han made rapid progress.

When he reached the opening into the cave where he’d left Dancer, it was still covered with a mist of magic. A raven was etched into the stone on this side as well. Once again, he scraped away layers of charms until only one fine layer stood between him and the outside.

Pressing his palm against the raven, speaking the final charm, he walked through it.

Gratefully, he sucked cold fresh air into his lungs. There, and back, and still alive. That was something to be grateful for.

By now it was dark outside, and pitch black inside the cave where his wizard light didn’t penetrate. Only a faint glow told him where the exit was.

“Dancer?” he called softly.

No answer.

Han circled the cave, illuminating the dark corners. No Dancer. He walked to the opening and peered out.

Dancer lay flat on his back on the ground just outside the cave, his body in glowing outline, eyes closed. Tendrils of vine were looped around his legs and arms. Had it not been for the flash emanating from him, Han might have overlooked him.

“Dancer?”

Dancer didn’t seem to hear.

Worry knotted Han’s stomach. He knelt next to Dancer and shook him hard. “Dancer! Hey, now, wake up!”

Dancer opened his eyes and looked at Han. He blinked several times, as if he’d been in a trance. Then his eyes focused on Han and he smiled dreamily.

“What are you doing?” Han said, sitting back on his heels. “I thought…I didn’t know what to think.”

“I was tracking you, inside the mountain,” Dancer whispered. He sat up, bits of damp leaves clinging to his back. “I’m experimenting,” he said, shaking off leaf mold and twigs. “The Spirit clans draw power from the land. That’s what fuels flash-crafting, healing, and the rest. It happens naturally when we’re in the Spirits. I wondered if I could accelerate the process, using high magic.”

“And?” Han tilted his head.

Dancer shrugged, still looking as though he were deep in his cups. “I think it worked, though I’m not sure where the magic is, whether in my amulet or…elsewhere. It was…like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I could feel energy flowing through the earth, like a blood supply, augmenting the magic I produce myself. I felt…embraced.” He smiled beatifically.

“Hmmm,” Han said. “Well, I hope that means you have flash on board, because I’m nearly out.”

“Don’t worry,” Dancer said vaguely, patting Han on the arm. “All will be well.”

I hope you’re right, Han thought. Right now, I just don’t see it.

Raisa rattled the dice in the cup and slammed them against the wall. Coming up on her knees, she leaned forward to examine the result.

“You’re dead, Your Majesty!” Cat crowed. “All bones. Again.” Scooping up the dice, she plopped them back in the cup.

“I think there’s something wrong with those dice,” Raisa grumbled.

“It’s all in the wrist,” Cat said smugly. “Bred into us in Ragmarket and Southbridge.”

“That’s why it’s unseemly for the queen of the realm to be playing nicks and bones.” Magret spoke from the hearth corner, startling them. Raisa had thought she was asleep in her chair. She’d been drinking sherry for her aching bones again. “Caterina, you should ask Queen Raisa to teach you hunters and hares. That’s more suitable to a lady.
And
a lady’s maid.”

Cat shrugged. “She asked
me
to teach
her
,” she said. “I can’t help it if she’s unlucky. My mam used to say, you’re either lucky in the boneyard or lucky in love.”

And I’m not lucky at either, Raisa thought.

“You want to play on, or are you ready to pay up?” Cat asked, shaking the cup under Raisa’s nose enticingly. “Your luck may be ready to turn.”

“I’ll pay up,” Raisa said, yawning. “It’s late, and I’ve died too many times tonight already.”

It
was
late—after midnight—but Raisa was stalling, waiting for Han Alister to return from wherever he was hiding out this evening. She’d scarcely seen him since their peculiar, desperate dance at Marisa Pines. She’d left for Chalk Cliffs before Han had returned from meeting with the Wizard Council. After three days of inspecting the fortifications along the Indio with Amon Byrne and Char Dunedain, she’d come back to a relentless series of meetings. Though she would feel the heat of Han’s gaze from across the room, there was no chance to talk privately. And in the evenings, when she was free, Han was always missing.

Is he seeing someone? Raisa did her best to squelch that thought.

She couldn’t allow him to avoid her tonight. She needed to speak with him before the next meeting of the Wizard Council.

As she glumly counted out crowns and coppers, she heard a soft footstep in the corridor, a muted greeting from the bluejackets on guard outside, the click of the latch next door.

Both Magret and Cat looked at the door that connected Raisa’s and Han’s rooms, then at Raisa. Magret scowled, and Cat smirked like a fox with a mouthful of feathers.

Tired of smirking, scowling servants, Raisa said, “You both can go on to bed. Lord Alister seems to be back, and I won’t need anything else tonight.”

“I can stay, Your Majesty,” Magret and Cat said, almost in unison, but likely for different reasons.

“No,” Raisa said. “I’ll be fine. Cat, I know Hayden Fire Dancer is back in town. Maybe you’d like to go find him?”

“If you’re sure, Your Majesty,” Cat said, unable to hide her eagerness. “He’s likely already in bed, anyway. That one rises and sets with the sun.”

“And you’re asleep on your feet, Magret,” Raisa continued. “There are four guards in the hallway. I’m tired of having people underfoot,” she added, when Magret opened her mouth to object.

When she was sure Magret and Cat were gone, she pounded on the connecting door. “Han!”

Han dragged it open immediately, as if he’d been standing just on the other side with his ear to the door. “What’s the matter?” he demanded, stepping past her into the room, his hand on his amulet.

Raisa blinked at him, taken by surprise. His appearance was something of a shock, after weeks of seeing him in court garb. He was barefoot, his shirt undone, so she must have caught him in the midst of disrobing.

His clothes were fine enough, but they were torn and soiled—ruined, really, as though he’d used them to sweep up the street. He wore a velvet cap pulled down over his brilliant hair, fingerless gloves on his hands. Three pendants rested on his bare chest—the serpent amulet, the Lone Hunter amulet, and a clan talisman, the figure of a dancing piper carved in rowan.

He stank strongly of drink, and the cuffs of his sleeves were stained dark with a substance that almost looked like—

“Where’s Cat?” he said, scanning the room as if looking for intruders. “What’s happened?” He looked and sounded totally sober.

“Nothing’s happened,” she said. “I just needed to…Where have
you
been?”

“I’ve been down in Ragmarket,” he said, almost defensively. He yanked off the cap and stuffed it into his pocket.

“But, you look—”

“Shabby,” he said, a preemptive confession. “Dirty. I know. I didn’t plan on anyone seeing me. I didn’t expect you’d still be up.”

He looked weary and worn down—vulnerable. It was more than his clothes. Purple shadows smudged his eyes, and his face was streaked with dirt. It almost seemed like the spark of optimism that always burned within him was failing.

Impulsively, Raisa reached up and laid her palm against his cheek. “What’s wrong?”

He pressed his hand over hers, took a deep breath. “They found another dead wizard down in Pinbury Alley. Older woman name of Hadria Lancaster. Do you know her?”

Raisa nodded. “Slightly. She didn’t spend much time at court. Last I knew, she was in residence at her country home. I wonder how she ended up in Ragmarket.”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? I wish I knew.” Han met her gaze directly, as if awaiting whatever judgment she meant to impose. She closed her eyes, but his image was imprinted on her eyelids—his golden hair, burnished by lamplight, the faint zigzag scar over his cheekbone, his predator’s grace under the mucky clothes.