The Crimson Crown (54 page)

“Briar Rose,” Nightwalker said, taking hold of her arm. “Do not make a hasty decision. We are not beaten yet.”

“It was not a hasty decision, Nightwalker,” Raisa said. She tried to twist free, but he kept a tight grip on her, pulling her against him and circling her waist with his muscled arm.

Nightwalker looked around at the others. “Listen to me,” he said. “We should carry the queen out of the city, willingly or not. Once in the mountains, I know she will see reason.”

“Nightwalker,” Amon said, his voice steel-edged. “Take your hands off the queen. Now.”

Nightwalker looked around at the circle of faces, and apparently saw no support there. Releasing Raisa, he shook his head, his braids rattling together. “Would you really allow her to throw her life away like this, Captain Byrne?”

“She doesn’t see it that way,” Amon said. “You should address the queen directly if you aim to change her mind. I will do as she says.”

The two gazed at each other for a long moment, and Nightwalker nodded. “Very well,” he said, facing Raisa and bringing his fist to his chest. “I will shed my last drop of blood defending you from the southerners, in whatever way you choose.”

“Thank you, Nightwalker,” Raisa said. And then, turning to Amon, “Captain Byrne. A moment, please.”

Taking hold of his arm, she pulled him a few steps to one side. The others turned their backs, as if that would prevent their hearing. She reached up and pulled Amon’s head down close, speaking into his ear. “I have a favor to ask, as your friend and your queen.”

He knew what was coming; she could see it in his eyes. “Rai…”

“I do not intend to go alive into Arden’s hands. If all goes wrong, and I am captured, I will take my own life.” She rested her hand on her belt dagger. “If I am for any reason unable to do it, I am asking you to help me.”

Amon swallowed hard. “Raisa. Don’t ask me to do this.” His voice shook slightly. Tears pooled in his eyes. “You know I’d do anything for you. But not this.”

“I am asking you because I know you keep your promises,” Raisa said. “It’s a terrible, terrible responsibility to hand to you, but you are my very best friend, and I have always demanded too much of my friends.”

“But…I am bound to protect the line,” Amon said, his voice catching. “I don’t know if I—”

“If I fall into Arden’s hands, it does not serve the line or the Fells to keep me alive,” Raisa said, closing her hands over his. “All I can ask is that you do your best. And I will do my best to avoid putting you in that position.”

She stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “For luck,” she said, smiling through her tears.

His arms went around her, and tightened. Letting go, he took a step away, his eyes fixed desperately on Raisa’s face, as if saving up for a future without her.

“We’d better go,” Raisa said, loudly enough for the others to hear.

She stood in the darkness just inside the massive wooden door, wondering what lay on the other side. Her mind ran back over the series of events that had led her to this place. She wondered what she could have done differently.

No. She’d made the best decisions she could; she had taken the chances she needed to take. And now she was taking another one.

Sending up a prayer to the Maker, she lifted the bar from across the door, pushed it open, and stepped through, the others close on her heels.

They walked through the damp, deserted streets toward the temple.

Once in Ragmarket, the oppressive mist was so thick that Raisa could scarcely see the flag of truce fluttering overhead. The fog coalesced into lupine shapes—her ancestor queens traveling with her on this difficult journey. How will it all come out? she wanted to ask, but knew she’d receive no clear answer.

She recalled the first time she’d walked through Ragmarket, a grim and disapproving Amon at her side, on her way to Southbridge to meet with Speaker Jemson about the Briar Rose Ministry.

Though she hadn’t known it at the time, she’d been on her way to meet Han Alister.

Reflexively, she touched the moonstone-and-pearl ring he’d given her. Hanalea’s ring. The symbol of another doomed relationship.

The buildings disappeared on either side, and Raisa knew they’d reached the temple square. Lightning momentarily brightened the murk in front of them, followed by a crack of thunder. Her guard scattered, searching the perimeter while Raisa waited at the edge of the courtyard until they gave the go-ahead.

The first big raindrops splatted down on them as they crossed the cobblestones to the front door. No light shown through the leaded windows of the temple. It looked as deserted as the square.

Raisa stood to one side as Amon tried the door. It opened easily to his push. They paused in the entry, waiting for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. Amon murmured something to Cat and Nightwalker, and they disappeared into the shadows on either side of the building.

The cadence of the rain increased to a muffled roar. The light that leaked through the rain-smeared windows wasn’t enough to illuminate the sanctuary.

Raisa took a few tentative steps forward, flanked by the Wolves. Had Karn lured her here and not even shown up himself?

Then she heard a muffled cry from the front of the church, somewhere up by the altar. It sounded like her name, quickly smothered.

“Mellony?” Raisa called. “Is that you?”

Immediately in front of her, a torch flared up, nearly blinding her. She couldn’t make out who was holding it.

Shading her eyes with her arm, she called out, “Karn?”

“Come forward, Your Majesty. Away from the door.” Raisa had only heard Karn speak once, on the border between Tamron and Arden, but his husky flatland accent was unmistakable.

“Show me my sister first,” Raisa said, holding her ground.

“She’s here—as promised,” Karn said.

He stepped back and to the side. Torches flared at the center front of the main sanctuary, on either side of the altar, so that Raisa could see what she hadn’t seen before.

Tall pillars supported the altar, near the center of the church. Mellony stood tethered to one of them, surrounded by heaps of firewood, her blue eyes wide and terrified. Raisa caught the acrid scent of pitch.

Mellony’s lips formed the word
Raisa
, but she made not a sound.

Next to her stood a tall, spare man in the robes of a flatland priest, the rising sun of Malthus hanging from a chain around his neck, the keys to the kingdom dangling from his waist. The torch in his hand illuminated the fanatical planes of his face.

Raisa took a step forward, extending her hands toward her sister as if she could somehow reach across the distance between them. Closing her hands into fists, she called, “Explain yourself, Karn.”

“Do you think I’m stupid enough to believe you meant to trade a sitting queen for a younger sister?” Karn said derisively. “I smelled the double-cross from the beginning. Now, all of you! Lay down your arms and surrender, or I’ll burn the girl alive.”

Micah Bayar wasn’t making it easy for Han to do the right thing. He’d been raising doubts since they began their journey through the tunnels. No doubt his missing father and sister were on his mind. He’d be wondering if Han didn’t mean for him to disappear, too.

“Two days ago, you had no idea how to get into Fellsmarch Castle,” Micah said. “Today, you do. Where did you get this information?”

Han grunted. He didn’t want to get into that. He preferred to say as little as possible to Micah Bayar. It was hard enough spending time with him.

“Well?” Micah persisted. “How do we know you are not leading us into a trap?”

“I told you. I heard from a reliable source that the tunnel once existed,” Han said. “If you don’t want to do anything chancy, you shouldn’t be here.”

That shut Micah up for a blessed mile or two.

Nobody else said much. Weighed down by the dangers in front of them, wary of mixed company, Shilo and Bird soft-footed along as Demonai always did. Even Mordra seemed subdued.

The plan was that Han, Mordra, and Micah would launch a magical assault from within the keep—spectacular enough to distract the enemy forces in the city so the Demonai and highlanders could cross the Vale and surprise them. Bird and Shilo would provide cover.

First, Han would get Raisa and her sister out of harm’s way, so he could focus on the job they’d come to do. He’d winnowed his dreams to this one thing—that Raisa survive this disaster and remain on the throne of the Fells, married to whomever she chose.

Gryphon had wanted to come, too, but his wheeled chair couldn’t navigate the tunnels. So he’d remained with the main forces, ready to use his power in support of the assault. Dancer, too, was with the army gathering in the foothills. He would provide magical cover for the assault, and use his knowledge of weaponry and green magic to increase their chance of success.

Han and his party had first navigated the somewhat familiar network of tunnels from Gray Lady toward Hanalea. Until, following Crow’s directions, Han walked on past the turnoff to Hanalea. Where several tunnels came together, he made a sharp turn to the east.

When they came to another intersection of tunnels, Han pulled out the map he’d drawn from memory after returning from Aediion. The next thing he knew, Micah was leaning over his shoulder, doing his best to get a look at it.

Han swiveled away, stuffing it back under his jacket.

“Who gave you these directions?” Micah growled. “Who did you talk to? You’ve not left Gray Lady in the past few days. There are no libraries or speakers here, and the copp—” Micah looked over at Bird and Shiloh. “The clans don’t know this kind of history.”

“Will you let up, Micah?” Mordra said, exasperated. “Alister has made it plain he’s not going to tell you, and the rest of us are tired of hearing about it.”

Micah subsided, but he kept his hand on his amulet and his eyes on Han. By now Han guessed they were leaving the higher ground behind and were walking under the Vale. He’d estimated it would be several miles of walking, even if the tunnels ran in a straight line.

“This way,” he said, turning down a side corridor and nearly smacking into a rock face.

“Perhaps you should verify your directions with your source again,” Micah said dryly. “We will wait here.”

Disappointment ignited inside Han. Was this it? Was this where the tunnel had been closed off a thousand years ago? He extended his hands, lighting the wall with flash. It appeared to be a natural stone wall, not something constructed by humankind.

He thrust out his hand, meaning to give the wall a hard push, then staggered forward and nearly fell when his hand passed right through. The wall was an illusion, though there was no evidence of a magical overlay.

Han was reminded once again that Crow had forgotten more about magic than Han would ever know. He looked deliberately back at Micah, cocking up his chin, then walked forward, through the wall. The others followed.

There were no more magical barricades along the way. The tunnels on this side of the turnoff to Hanalea had an abandoned feel—as if no one had passed this way in a thousand years. The corridor arrowed before them, level and straight, the shortest distance between two points. What kind of love would drive a man for miles through solid rock?

Acutely conscious of the events hurtling forward above their heads, they maintained a killing pace, eating and drinking while they walked. Eventually, the stone floor sloped upward. Han hoped this meant they were nearing their destination.

The tunnel’s end was abrupt and anticlimactic. Suddenly, they were no longer walking on solid stone, but stone and masonry. Then their path dead-ended against another apparently solid castle wall.

Han extended his hand. As before, it slid through. Shutting his eyes, he walked forward into a narrow, dark tunnel with a ceiling so low he had to bend nearly double to continue.

Blessedly, it wasn’t long before it exited into a small circular room. A metal staircase extended up one side, a solid-looking wooden panel faced the other.

Han looked around. Crow had said that the tunnel led to the queen’s bedchamber, and this clearly wasn’t it.

Micah brushed past Han and swarmed up the metal staircase. Metal grated on metal, and he disappeared through a circular opening at the top.

Moments later, he looked down through the aperture. “We’re in,” he said, smiling for the first time. “It’s the conservatory above the queen’s chambers. There’s an opening in the floor of the temple.”

Han recalled his meetings with Raisa in the rooftop garden. That was how she had come and gone from there so easily. Turning toward the wooden panel, he pushed at it with his palm. It silently glided inward, and he stepped through.

He staggered, ambushed by Raisa’s familiar scent, a combination of her favorite perfume, mountain air, and fresh-scrubbed skin. He stood frozen, heart thrumming, breathing her in. Overwhelmed by the memory of kisses, it took a moment to recover himself and push forward.

He’d emerged into a forest of dresses on padded satin hangers. Pushing velvet and satin and nubbed silk away, he nearly stumbled over a pile of shoes and boots. He kicked them aside, and walked toward the light that seeped around the frame of a door.

He pushed at the door but found it blocked by something large and heavy. Using his shoulder, he forced it open, pushing away a large wardrobe filled with more dresses.

The sudden light told him that he was finally in Raisa’s bedroom. Here was where she had fought off assassins with her fighting staff. Here they had kissed and embraced and argued and planned.

Maybe she’d done the same with Micah Bayar. Maybe here is where he’d asked her to marry him, and she’d said yes.

Believe in her
, he said to himself.
Believe in her, if you believe in anything.
But how many times had he been betrayed by those he believed in?

A flicker of movement drew his eye, and then something barreled into him in a frenzy of dog joy.

“Dog!” Han barely kept his feet. “I’m so glad to see you!”