The Crimson Crown (22 page)

It was true: the air was thick and irritated Raisa’s eyes. “They burn wood for cooking,” she said. “When it’s hot like this, I guess the smoke has nowhere to go.” That seemed wrong, though. There
was
a stiff breeze blowing across the river from Ragmarket.

A line of carriages awaited them. Raisa, Mellony, and both Klemath brothers squeezed into one, bracketed by mounted guards. Cat and Night Bird rode up top.

They passed Southbridge Guardhouse, the scene of Raisa’s first confrontation with Mac Gillen, and crossed the bridge into Ragmarket.

Cat Tyburn leaned down over the side of the carriage, clinging like a burr to the side as they rattled over the cobblestones of the Way. “There’s a fire up ahead somewhere,” she said. “Maybe close to the market. Looks like a big one. We’ll need to take a detour around.”

Mellony seized Raisa’s arm. “A fire!” she said, her eyes wide, her face as pale as double-burned ash. “That’s what we’ve been smelling. It must be close.”

“Don’t worry, Your Highness,” Keith Klemath said, patting Mellony’s knee. “I’m sure we’re in no danger.”

Typical Klemath, Raisa thought. You have no idea whether we are in danger or not.

Raisa shared Mellony’s fear of fires. She and Mellony had come close to burning to death on Hanalea a little over a year ago. Was there something about her that attracted flame—like one of those lightning trees that are struck over and over? She shivered in spite of the stifling heat.

They were thrown to one side as the carriage made a sharp left turn onto a side street. They jounced down the narrow way, then made a right turn, back toward the palace. Raisa could hear Cat rattling off directions overhead, joking with the driver. Cat knows these streets better than anyone, Raisa thought. She’ll find a way around.

They rode a block or two, and then Cat swore. They turned again.

Raisa stuck her head out the window, drawing in a lungful of smoke, which set her to coughing. The smoky haze eddied in the light of the wizard lamps that lined the streets, twisting into lupine bodies. The Gray Wolves—her totem that prophesied danger and change.

“What’s going on?” Raisa demanded, her voice sharper than she intended.

Cat leaned down, looking like a bandit with her Ragger scarf tied over her mouth and nose. It was an odd pairing with the dress she’d worn to the reception.

“This way’s blocked, too. It’s either one really big fire or several small ones.”

Several small ones? How would there be several small fires?

A few blocks farther, and they were turned back again. Now wolves milled in front of the carriage, as if to turn it aside.

Turn back
, gray-eyed Hanalea said, drawing her lips away from her teeth, her fur standing out on her shoulders.

Raisa rapped on the roof of the carriage. “Stop!” she shouted.

The driver reined in the horses with some difficulty. Cat leaned down again.

“We need to get a better look at this thing,” Raisa said. “See where the fire is, and how big it is. We need to get up high.”

“Highest thing around here is Southbridge Temple,” Cat said, shrugging.

“Let’s go back to the river, then,” Raisa said. “Otherwise, we may end up driving right into it, since it’s obviously between us and the castle. Send word to the other carriages. Anybody you see along the way, send them toward the river.”

They raced back toward the Dyrnnewater. They’d all fallen silent, even the Klemaths.

They pulled up in front of the temple. By now, everyone knew there was a fire. Dancers and families milled around, corralled by the dedicates. It seemed like all of Ragmarket and Southbridge was jammed into the temple close.

“I have to get back to Ragmarket,” one woman was wailing. “Everything I own is ’cross the river. Maybe I can save something.”

“My wife is back to home,” an old man pleaded. “She an’t well. I got to go see to her.”

“Don’t let anyone go until we see what’s what,” Raisa snapped. “Come on, Cat, Hallie, you know the city as well as anyone. Jemson, how do we get up to the bell tower?”

They plunged into the cool dark of the temple. Jemson directed them to a staircase. They raced up the steps, Raisa hitching her dress up to her thighs to free her legs, Jemson’s robes flapping two flights above her.

The stairs grew narrower and steeper as they climbed, around and around. Until finally they stepped out of the stairwell into the belfry, and the hot wind teased at their clothes. Raisa leaned through the window and looked out over the city to the southwest. Cat and Hallie came up on either side of her.

Here, the air was clearer than below, but the sight that greeted them was frightening. A gash of angry purple-and-orange fire bordered Ragmarket to the south and west, between the castle close and the market. It roared downhill, toward the river, driven by a strong east wind.

“The market’s already gone,” Cat said, knotting and reknotting the scarf around her neck.

Hallie drew in a breath. “My girl’s down there,” she whispered. “She stays in Ragmarket with my mam.” Hallie’s daughter, Asha, was only three.

“How would a fire like that start?” Jemson whispered, looking over their heads. “It circles the whole neighborhood. People are going to be trapped between the fire and the river.”

Memory shivered over Raisa. The flames reminded her of the strange fire on Hanalea—garish and relentless.

“Come on,” she said, turning back toward the stairs. “Let’s get down to ground level. We have to stop the fire at the river, if not before. And it won’t be easy, not with this wind.”

They clattered down the stairs, throwing themselves around corners in a mad dash to the bottom. When they reached the temple close, Raisa saw a familiar tall figure centering a cluster of bluejackets, shouting out commands, rendering order out of chaos.

It was Amon Byrne—and Talia and Pearlie and Mick, among others.

“Amon!” Raisa shouted. He turned, and she saw that one sleeve of his uniform was charred. He had soot smudged on his face. “Thank the Maker! Where did you come from? How did you get here?”

“I was up at the castle close. I knew you were down here, at the recital, and so I—”

“You came through the fire?” Cat interrupted.

Amon nodded. “It runs all the way from the battlements to the bottoms. We’ve lost half of Ragmarket already, and the rest will go within the hour.”

“Request permission to go into Ragmarket, sir,” Hallie said. “And lead people to the bridge.”

Amon looked at her standing stick-straight, lips pressed tight together, eyes focused straight ahead. “Talbot, I know you have family in Ragmarket, but that fire is stampeding right at us. It’s too unpredictable to risk—”

“Me and Pearlie’ll go with you,” Talia said.

“Count me in,” Mick said.

“And me,” Raisa said.

“No, Your Majesty, you are
not
going into Ragmarket, so forget it.” Amon looked at the other four for a long moment. “Promise me you’ll cross back when it’s time?”

“Yes, sir,” they chorused.

“If you die over there, I’ll see you brought you up on charges,” Amon said.

“Yes, sir.”

And they were gone, disappearing into the haze of smoke.

Raisa watched them go, her heart a clenched fist inside her chest. “Jemson,” she said, turning to the speaker, “we need buckets, barrels, anything we can use to wet down the buildings. And blankets to beat out sparks. We’ll start out on the Ragmarket side, and retreat across the river if we need to. Ask the dedicates to take the children inside the temple close, so none of them slip across the bridge. They can be watchers, and signal if any burning embers catch.”

“We have pumps that we use to bring river water up to the gardens in the close,” Jemson said. “I’ll see what we can rig up.” And then he was gone.

Raisa turned on the Klemaths, who stood gaping across the river. “Where’s your father?” she demanded. “We could use help from the army on this.”

“Our father?” One of them—Kip, maybe—shook his head. “I think he’s in the borderlands right now. At least, our farrier said his warhorse had to be reshod since—”

Keith flapped his hand to hush his brother. “We don’t know where he is, Your Majesty. But we’ll go see who’s on duty at the south barracks.” The two Klemaths raced away.

Raisa frowned after them. Well, she didn’t have time to worry about Klemaths right then. She turned back to Amon.

“We need help from the gifted,” she said, recalling how Gavan and Micah Bayar and their cousins had put out the fire on Hanalea. “Most are either on Gray Lady or escaping the heat in the mountains. Were there any wizards at the castle close when you left?”

Amon shook his head. “No, but some may be back from the meeting by now. I left word they should come here as soon as they arrived.” He eyed Raisa with little hope. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to help with the children in the temple courtyard,” he said. “It would ease my mind.”

Raisa shook her head. “Sometimes a queen needs to be with her people,” she said. “It would be wrong of me to hide out while Ragmarket burns.”

“I’ll go,” Mellony said, suddenly at Raisa’s shoulder. “I’ll keep them busy.” Gripping her skirts to either side, she strode toward the temple entrance.

“Would you please stay close to me, then?” Amon said. “So I won’t have to hunt you down if things go wrong?”

Raisa nodded. Amon didn’t need the distraction of worrying about her. “We’ll work together,” she said. She heard the scream of metal sliding over metal. “There’s Jemson’s pumps. Let’s cross the river and see what we can save.”

With any luck, the Bayars wouldn’t expect Han’s party to descend Gray Lady via the road, since they hadn’t arrived that way, and had left no horses in the stables. Still, Han and Dancer raised shields against magical attacks. They wore talismans, of course, which would blunt all but an extremely strong or unusual killing charm.

Han breathed a little easier halfway down the mountain, where the single road became a network of tracks leading to wizard homes on the lower slopes. It would be difficult to cover all of those.

The Bayars would be on their way down the mountain, too. They’d be eager to get to Raisa, to tell their story first, to give it a chance to fester and grow.

Han felt danger coming at him from all directions; he just didn’t know which blow would fall first. The uneasy prickling between his shoulder blades said he was overlooking something—some danger that he hadn’t anticipated.

As they rode, he told Willo and Dancer what had happened at the council meeting before they’d arrived. They didn’t ask why they were racing down the mountain instead of going back the way they came. What was Han supposed to say if they did—
I saw a wolf in the fireplace
? All he knew was, he didn’t intend to allow the Bayars any time on their own for mischief.

At the turnoff for Marisa Pines, Dancer edged his horse up next to Han’s and awkwardly embraced him. “You did well, Hunts Alone. You are well suited to lead the council.”

“You may be the only one who thinks so,” Han said.

“Give them time,” Dancer said. “I’ll come to the city as soon as I see my mother safely to Marisa Pines.”

“Be careful,” Han said. “Lord Bayar would celebrate if you disappeared.”

Dancer’s teeth flashed in the dwindling light. “I feel the same way about him,” he said.

As soon as Han rounded the shoulder of the mountain to begin his descent toward the city, he saw it. A raw line of flame ripping across Fellsmarch like an infected wound, gnawing away at the city below.

He reined in, staring. Fires in Ragmarket were common, and they were always bad news. All the buildings were made of wood, some thatched with straw, and they were crowded as close together as pigs on market day.

But this was worse. Even at a distance, Han recognized the otherworldly purple-and-green hues of wizard flame. It would be next to impossible to put out, especially with the hot east wind driving it forward, through Ragmarket toward Southbridge.

Bloody bones, he thought, recalling the look of smug contempt on Lord Bayar’s face when Han won the vote for High Wizard. Gavan Bayar hadn’t waited for the vote of the council, since he knew how it would come out. He’d done it while the guilty parties were far away on Gray Lady. He’d struck before Han had time to intervene.

Han found his landmarks in the temple spires and placed the leading edge between the castle close and the river. A pall of greasy smoke swallowed the rising moon. From the looks of things, the blaze had already consumed half of Ragmarket. If unchecked, it would jump the river and roar over Southbridge, too.

Han rode hard for Ragmarket, risking his life on the steep and rocky trail. Once in the city, he fought his way through crowds fleeing toward the castle close. He had to fight his borrowed horse, too. Eventually, he abandoned it and took to the roofs, making better progress until a series of open squares forced him back to ground level.

As he ran, twisting and turning through streets made unfamiliar by swirling smoke, his mind churned. Bayar had chosen this revenge on purpose. First he’d burned up Mam and Mari. Now he’d burn up the rest of Han’s past, and his future dreams as well. Han’s insides knotted up until he could scarcely draw breath.

He found a break in the fire line at the long-abandoned Market Temple, whose blackened stone walls resisted the hungry flames. Now people were fleeing the other way, toward the river, with bundles and bags in their arms, dragging screaming children by the hand, carrying
lytlings
to keep them from being trampled.

But here, the way was blocked again. The flames had jumped the broad way and were roaring through Sheeps Meadows—which had never held sheep or meadows in Han’s lifetime. Rats poured from crevices in the flaming dwellings, running madly under the feet of the crowd and adding to the panicked confusion.

“Alister!” someone shouted. He swung around, and there was Hallie Talbot and Mick Bricker, herding hundreds into the square in front of the old temple. Talia and Pearlie were nipping at the edges of the crowd like sheepdogs, keeping them from leaking away into the side streets.