The Crimson Crown (36 page)

The Armory of the Gifted Kings.

There was other magical jewelry—jinxpieces of all kinds, from tiaras to belts, from torcs to rings and bracelets. Tables were loaded with smoky crystal scrying glasses. Shelves were piled with masks, cloaks, and clothing. Mirrors and painted panels and elaborate cages with nothing in them lined the walls. Bolts of cloth shot with silver and gold stood in bins next to shelves of books and scrolls, which Han assumed contained secrets of magical mayhem.

Crystal decanters held mysterious potions in lurid colors, alongside jars of powders and pastes. Would the potions be any good after a thousand years? Or would they be too dangerous to chance?

“Don’t touch anything without asking me,” Crow said, overhearing Han’s thoughts. “It’s mostly weaponry of one sort or another, or objects and devices useful in warfare. Much of it was collected before my time, so there are a few things I was never sure of.”

It looked to be enough to outfit a magical army. The old flash amulets alone would be worth a fortune these days. If Han sold this lot, he could build a palace for every resident of Ragmarket and Southbridge and have enough left over to retire to his castle on the Firehole.

He thought of the Bayars, of his colleagues on the Wizard Council, and how eager they would be to get their hands on this hoard.

“What did you plan to do with all this?” Han asked, thinking his ancestor had been a thief, just like him.

“I took it mainly to keep it away from my enemies,” Crow said. “I kept it in reserve, in case things went wrong. As it turned out, I never had a chance to use it, since I was taken by surprise.” His voice trailed off. “I had so many plans, and then—nothing.”

“I’m going to use this to make everybody back off and leave me alone.”

Crow laughed. “Good luck. It didn’t work all that well for me.”

Han scanned the room, overwhelmed by the taking. “I need something portable that I can take away and use to prove I’ve found it, without giving away its location. Are there well-known pieces here? Something so distinctive that there could be no mistake?” Han waved a hand at the movables around him.

“I wouldn’t tell anybody that you know where the armory is,” Crow said. “Not if you want to stay alive.”

“I’ll pick the time and place,” Han said. “I’ll do it on my turf, on my terms.”

“That was my plan, too.”

Han walked about, cautiously examining the weaponry collected over centuries of wizard rule.

“There’s one thing,” Crow said finally. “It’s not all that important magically, but from a historical perspective…Look to your left, on that shelf, a little above your head. That silver casket.”

Han gingerly lifted the casket down off the shelf and set it on the floor. “Why is this important?” he asked.

“Look inside,” Crow said.

Han raised the intricately carved lid to reveal an elaborate crown of red gold, studded with rubies and garnets and fire opals—like a crown of flames. He extended his forefinger to touch one of the largest stones. There was no sting of magic. “This has got to be worth a fortune,” he muttered.

“It is a gaudy thing,” Crow said dismissively. “But certainly recognizable.”

Gingerly, Han lifted the crown from its nest of disintegrating velvet. It was heavy—the gold alone would be a major taking. “Whose is it?” Han asked.

“They call it the Crimson Crown,” Crow said. “Worn by every gifted king since we arrived on the mainland. Too heavy to wear for every day, so they kept it with the armory. I took it so they couldn’t crown Kinley Bayar while I was holed up on Gray Lady. The elders on the Wizard Council raised an awful howl when it went missing. I would have to think it would be remembered even now. If you want proof that you’ve been here, that would be it.” He paused. “Try it on,” he urged.

“Nuh-uh.” Han slid it into his carry bag. It made a bulky, spiky package. “All right,” he said. “That’s all I’ll take for now. Now, how do I get back to Gray Lady?”

Crow was right—it was a shorter distance from the armory to Gray Lady than to the entrance on Hanalea. Han climbed up into the bowels of the mountain. Crow coached him through and around more barriers, traps, and tricks.

They came to a crossroads of sorts, and Crow directed him to the right, down a pathway that ended at a blank wall. “There should be a door here,” Crow said. “Uncover it.”

Han peeled away layers of magic to reveal a brass-bound wooden door, made to fit an arched doorway cut into the stone. It was secured with a massive lock.

“Hmm,” Crow said. “I didn’t expect it to be locked.”

“You didn’t put this lock here?”

“No.” After a brief pause, Crow said, “I don’t like this.”

“Well, we can’t go back the way we came,” Han said. Drawing his blade, he inserted the tip into the keyhole and probed, hearing the satisfying click of the mechanism’s surrender.

“Is there no end to your talents?” Crow said.

Han eased the door open. It moved silently, on well-oiled hinges, into yet another stone corridor.

As he crossed a side passageway, he caught a whiff of burning pitch, as if someone had come through with torches not long before. Who else would be down here?

Han’s neck prickled. He ghosted forward cautiously, alert for intruders, his hand on his amulet.

Crow directed him down a side corridor. They were on unfamiliar ground, walking through a tunnel barely the width of Han’s shoulders. He shifted his carry bag to his back, to narrow his profile. To his surprise, the tunnel was clear of magical barriers and traps, and the air was relatively fresh.

After another hundred feet, the corridor intersected with another. Han turned right and came up against another locked door. As he drew his dagger, a slight sound behind him caused him to half turn. Something smashed into the back of his head, and he went flying, face down on the cellar floor. His blade pinged against the wall.

Hands grabbed his arms, forcing his wrists together behind his back, binding them fast so he couldn’t reach his amulet. He heard a woman’s voice, low and breathless and excited, speaking a charm.

Han arched his body, slamming his head back into cartilage with a satisfying crunch. Somebody howled behind him, and one set of hands let go. He heard a familiar voice say, “Careful—I want him alive.”

They heaved him over, and he looked up into the faces of Fiona and Gavan Bayar. Fiona’s perfect nose was dripping blood on him.

Han swung his feet up, trying to land another blow, but she threw herself down across his middle, pinning him to the ground. And then Gavan Bayar finished him with an immobilization charm.

Fiona knelt next to him, gripping the chains around his neck. Molten metal dripped onto his skin, and he bit his lip to keep from screaming.

She lifted his amulets away from him, leaving him feeling gutted. Digging into his pockets, she found his talisman.

“So very powerful that you need two amulets, Alister?” she said, tucking the Lone Hunter amulet and the copper talisman away.

He lay there on his back like a roast dressed for dinner, with two Bayars looking down at him as if ready to dig in. Fiona clutched the serpent amulet chain in her fist, and she swung it back and forth over his face, tantalizingly close.

Han closed his eyes, but that sent his head spinning, so he opened them again, slitting his eyes to shut out as much of the view as possible.

Crow’s words came back to him.
I had so many plans, and then—nothing.

“Welcome to the deeps, Alister,” Gavan Bayar said, his lips twisting into a cold smile. “How…fortuitous that we happened to be here to greet you. We were just on our way back from a meeting at the Council House. You were the topic of discussion, and now here you are.”

Bayar paused, and then, as if Han had asked a question, said, “Oh, yes, we’ve known about these tunnels for a long time. There is an entrance directly into our quarters in the Council House, which allows us to travel from Aerie House to the council chambers without being seen. We realized there must be another way in when you began mysteriously appearing and disappearing from Gray Lady. It seems there are portions of these tunnels that we have not yet explored.”

Fiona held up Han’s dagger by its point. “Planning to murder somebody? Is that why you’re here?” Not waiting for an answer, she lifted Han’s carry bag and dumped the contents onto the floor.

“Father!” She knelt and lifted the Crimson Crown in both hands. “Blood of the Demon! Where did you get this? Who did you steal this from?” She looked from the crown to Han and back again, tracing the flame design with her fingers.

“Let me see that,” Gavan Bayar said, thrusting out his hand.

Fiona handed it over. Lord Bayar turned the crown, examining it from all sides, tilting it under the torchlight, scanning the inside for the maker’s mark. Then he looked down at Han, his blue eyes glittering like winter sunlight on ice. “Well, now,” he said. “We
are
ambitious, aren’t we?”

“Is that what it appears to be?” Fiona asked. “Is it authentic?”

Lord Bayar nodded. “It’s the crown of the gifted kings—something that by rights belongs to us. A treasure that’s been missing for a thousand years.” He handed it back to Fiona. “It was kept with the armory, and stolen by the Demon King just before the Breaking.”

“The Crimson Crown?” Fiona weighed it in her hands. “But how would he possibly—”

“It seems that Alister has ferreted out the secret of the Demon King’s amulet and found the armory,” Gavan Bayar said, with immense satisfaction. “And now all we have to do is ferret it out of him.”

Hope is a dangerous thing, Raisa thought. Once kindled, it’s hard to put out. It makes wise people into fools.

Raisa had never thought of herself as a giddy person. In fact, giddy people never failed to annoy her. But in the days following her meeting in the garden with Han Alister, she came close.

Some days, she found herself writing Han’s name over and over in her journal, in different kinds of scripts. She ordered her musicians to play love songs. She fondled Hanalea’s ring, polishing it with her fingers. She allowed Dog to sleep on the foot of her bed. After he’d had a thorough bath.

In meeting after interminable meeting, her attention wandered. It was a struggle to focus on the tasks at hand, with memories of kisses distracting her. She relived Han’s pledge of troth, studying over the words until they should have been worn out.

I promise you that if you love me, and you agree to marry me, I will
make it happen
, he’d said. Han Alister had a way of getting what he wanted. Isn’t that what everyone said?

This is unlike me, Raisa thought. I am the one who makes things happen. I’m not one to wait for somebody else to do it.

On the night they were to meet again, Raisa and Dog waited in the garden until dawn broke over Eastgate, jittering alert at every small sound, but Han never showed. She returned to the garden the next two nights, but he never came.

Worry gnawed at her middle, oppressive as the heat. Where could he go, with the Demonai and the Wizard Council after him? He’d said he was going to look for the Armory of the Gifted Kings. Where would that be?

There are lots of reasons he wouldn’t come, she thought. So many things could have delayed him. So she was by turns hopeful and despondent.

Mellony noticed.

“What’s wrong with you lately?” she asked, laying down her playing cards and cocking her head. “You’re not yourself. Are you sure you’re not ill?”

“I’m fine,” Raisa said quickly, ashamed that her mind had wandered. She had made it a priority to spend more time with her sister since the Ragmarket fire. Fifty people had died that night, and it had reminded her how fragile human life can be.

“It’s just so hot.” Raisa scraped sweaty hair off her forehead. She wished she could leave this half-empty court behind and go up into the mountains. The wizards were off to their summer homes in the southern mountains. The clans were in their strongholds in the Spirits. Everyone had a place to go but her.

This afternoon, she faced the long-dreaded meeting with General Klemath, to tell him that he was relieved of his duties as general of the Highlander Army. This would be followed immediately by a meeting with the major officers, to introduce Char Dunedain as the new commander.

“From the way you’re acting, I think you must be in love.”

Raisa looked up, startled, unable to organize her trader face in time.

“I knew it,” Mellony said miserably. “You’re in love. It’s Micah, isn’t it?”

“It’s not Micah,” Raisa blurted.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Mellony said, blotting at her eyes. “You miss him, and you’re worried about him, and that’s why you’re so moody and…and distracted.”

“You’re wrong,” Raisa said. “It’s just that there—”

“I know you don’t want anyone to know because Father is against it, and Grandmother, too. I kept thinking that he might notice me, if…if he weren’t so focused on you, but—”

“I am not in love with Micah Bayar!” Raisa practically shouted.

Mellony blinked at her. “If not Micah, then who?” she asked, mystified.

Raisa hesitated, groping for a way to unsay what had already been said. And then plunged recklessly on. “It’s Han Alister,” she said simply. “I’m in love with Han. Not Micah.”

Mellony’s eyes widened. “Really?” she whispered, her face a study in surprise and relief.

Raisa nodded. “So if you think Father and Grandmother disapprove of Micah, this is far worse in their eyes.”

“Oh, Raisa!” Mellony threw her arms around her, dampening Raisa’s cheek with tears. “I’m so happy for you! Don’t worry. I’m sure it will work out somehow.”

Raisa hugged her tightly. “Thank you, Mellony,” she said, when they finally broke apart. “I hope you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Mellony said. “They have to see reason. After all, it was a bit of a scandal when Mother married Father. They’ll just have to let go of their old way of thinking.”

They’ve held on to that old way of thinking for a long time, Raisa thought. Still, Mellony’s optimism was catching.