The Exiled Queen (32 page)

“A match between us is a danger to the line,” Amon said. “That’s how it relates.”

“That—that—that’s not true,” Raisa stammered. “It can’t be.” And then, when he said nothing, added, “What makes you think so?”

“Ever since the ceremony, if we — if we kiss, or if I’m tempted to —” He threw up his hands. “I’m warned away. Prevented.”

“Warned away? You mean — you mean by magic?”

“Yes.”

“What happens?” Raisa asked sarcastically. “Does lightning strike, or—”

“I feel sick and dizzy. Then excruciating pain. I feel faint. And — I have to stop.” He shrugged.

“When has this happened?” Raisa asked.

“Well, that time on the road, when we were sharing a tent, and you — ah — rolled onto me. And then when we kissed, right before Sloat and his bunch showed up.”

Thinking back, she remembered Amon’s response both times. He’d actually looked ill—pale and perspiring, gasping for breath.

“How do you know it’s not your own scruples at work?” Raisa said. “Maybe it’s not the line at risk, but the vaunted Byrne honor. You know that love between us is forbidden, so —”

“You think I’m lying?” Amon drew his dark brows together. “You think this is some kind of scheme to put you off?”

“If you are, there’s an easier way,” Raisa said. “Just tell me you don’t love me, and I’ll let the matter drop.”

“What?”

“What I said. Just say, ‘Rai, I don’t love you and I never will.’ It’s that simple.”

“Raisa, this is getting us nowhere.”

“Say it!”

Amon raked his hand over his head, and his hair flopped back down on his forehead. Pushing up from his seat, he began pacing back and forth.

“Well?”

Amon kept pacing, like a fox in a box trap.

“Will you sit down? You’re making me edgy.”

Amon came back and sat down next to her. Staring down at the floor, he mumbled, “I can’t say it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not true.” He looked up at her, tears pooling in his eyes, his voice ragged and barely audible. “I do love you, Rai. I wish I didn’t, but I do. Are you satisfied? Does that make it better or worse?”

Raisa was momentarily speechless.

“Oh,” she finally said, in a small voice. They sat side by side but not touching, lost in their own thoughts. Across the river, the temple tower clock bonged once.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Raisa said through numb lips.

Amon rubbed away tears with his thumb and forefinger. “About the magical barrier or about loving you?”

“Well. Both.”

“No one ever tells the queens about the magical part,” Amon said. “Only Hanalea knew, because she started it. Though we link to an individual, we’re really linking to the line.” Amon shifted his gaze to Raisa. “There may be times that we act against the interest of an individual queen to preserve the line.”

Which would make him a traitor of sorts to an individual queen, Raisa thought.

“Why did you tell me, then?” Raisa asked. “After all these generations?”

“Well, as you said, a new day,” Amon said. “We’re both breaking the rules. But mostly because you’re so bloody persistent. I thought if I ignored you and avoided you, you’d give up and find someone else.”

“I won’t accept this,” Raisa said. “There has to be a way around it. You are not allowed to marry someone you don’t love. I forbid it.”

“I have to marry, Your Highness. And so do you.”

To continue the bloody line, Raisa thought. “What about Lydia? She’s married.”

“She doesn’t have children yet,” Amon said. “There’s no one in the next generation to take over, when I —”

Raisa’s breath caught in her throat as the realization struck her. She turned to glare at Amon. “Your father did this on purpose, to keep us apart. He knew we’d be traveling together to Oden’s Ford, and he knew the temptation would be too great.”

Amon’s eyes said yes, even though he didn’t say it aloud. “Whatever he did, he did it for the line,” Amon said. “That’s what he’s committed to, more than family, more than anything else.”

“I hate your father,” Raisa said through stiff lips. “I’ll never, never, ever forgive him. He had no right to make that decision for us.”

They sat glumly staring at the floor for a while.

“Listen,” Raisa said. “Let’s try it. Kissing, I mean. Like an experiment.”

“This is hard enough already,” Amon said. “What do you think this has been like for me? I’m flesh and blood, you know.”

“Just this time. Please. I am not going to give you up without a fight. Maybe what happened before was a coincidence. Or maybe it had to do with that particular situation. The danger to the line was probably Sloat, and not anything to do with us.”

Amon sighed. After a long pause, he nodded. “You’re right. I guess we’ll never know if we don’t try it. Maybe something’s changed.”

Raisa turned to face him. Amon’s expression mingled wariness and hope. She extended her hand and cupped it under his chin, now rough with early morning stubble. She felt him swallow.

Leaning forward, she pressed her lips against his, gently at first, then more firmly. She reached her other hand around his neck and pulled him closer, fingering the cropped hair on the back of his neck, tracing the bone and muscle there. She pressed against him, feeling his heart accelerate against her chest.

He slid his arms around her, pulled her tight against him in a desperate embrace.

Something rippled between them, and Amon began to tremble. A violent shudder went through him, then another. He broke away and doubled over, clutching at his middle. Sliding sideways to the floor, he lay there writhing and gasping for breath.

“What’s the matter?” Raisa said, though she already knew.

“Blood of the demon,” he whispered. He raised his arms, covering his throat as if to ward off unseen attackers.

“Amon!” Raisa knelt beside him, pressing her hand to his forehead. It was clammy and cold, pebbled with sweat. “N—no,” Amon said, turning his head from side to side, dislodging her hand. “I’m sorry. Don’t — touch me. Please.”

Raisa snatched her hand away, and Amon doubled up in misery, moaning, “Sweet Hanalea, forgive me,” he cried, his face contorted in agony, tears seeping from the corners of his eyes. Convulsions rolled through him like waves breaking on a steep shoreline. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Raisa ran and pulled her pillow from the bed and tucked it behind him so he wouldn’t smash against the brick hearth. She covered him with her cloak, because now he seemed to be shivering.

Gradually, the seizure eased. Amon’s body relaxed, his eyes fluttered shut, and he slept.

Raisa put another log on the grate and sat with her back to the fire, close to Amon but not touching him, watching him sleep. She felt cold and numb except for a dull ache under her breastbone, and her eyes were finally dry.

The new dawn found the princess heir awake, exhausted, and completely empty of dreams.

A VERMIN

PROBLEM

A few weeks after Han’s first meeting with Abelard’s group, Han and Dancer walked back to the dormitory after supper.

Dancer sat down at his worktable and opened up one of Firesmith’s books. Spools of gold wire, bars of silver, and semiprecious stones surrounded him. He’d spent a trunkload of money on flash materials. It was good they’d managed to sell off their trade goods at the markets.

Han pulled out his journal and looked over the notes he’d scribbled down from his sessions with Crow. He didn’t want to be caught unprepared. He wished he could take notes in the dreamworld and carry them back with him. Maybe he’d ask Crow about it.

“You meeting with Crow again?” Dancer asked, reeling wire off spools and braiding it together. He made no attempt to hide his disapproval.

“I don’t have a choice,” Han said. “I’m learning a lot. You know that.” Han always shared what he learned with Dancer.

“If any of it works,” Dancer said. “Those charms you used on the Bayars—has anything come of that?”

Han shrugged. “I haven’t heard anything. But at least I got in and out of their rooms without a hitch.” He’d waited till darkman’s hour, then ghosted down to the second floor. Disabling their protective charms using Crow’s instructions, he slipped into their rooms and took hair clippings in order to anchor his charms to them.

“I’d think between your regular classes and what you’re getting from Abelard, you’d have more than enough to do,” Dancer said.

“You must be stuffed full of knowledge by now.”

“You should talk,” Han said, gesturing at Dancer’s project. “You spend all your spare time on flash, and holed up with Firesmith.”

“At least I know who Firesmith is,” Dancer said. “And I don’t have to go to Aediion to meet with him.” He shook his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Just then they heard someone clumping up the stairs.

“Blevins,” Han said.

Dancer tossed a blanket over his metalsmithing equipment.

The dorm master’s head and shoulders appeared in the open stairwell. He glared around, struggling to catch his breath. One good thing about being on the fourth floor was that Blevins never came up there unless he absolutely had to.

“What’s all this furniture doing on the landing?” he demanded, waving at the little common area they’d created.

“We’re airing it out,” Dancer said.

“Hmpfh,” Blevins grunted. “They an’t filled with vermin, are they?”

“Vermin?” Dancer raised his eyebrows. “Why do you ask?”

“Seems we have a vermin problem on the second floor,” Blevins said. “Three of the rooms is infested with rats and mice. Every time I think we got them cleared out, a whole flood shows up again. They must be coming from somewhere.”

“It can’t be just three rooms,” Han said, careful not to look at Dancer. “You see one mouse, you know you got a problem everywhere.”

“Them boys must be doing something to attract them is all I can say,” Blevins muttered. “I moved them into different rooms while I was trying to smoke ’em out of theirs, and the critters followed ’em like a swarm of bees.”

“Who?” Dancer asked Blevins, with a puzzled frown. “What boys?”

“Newling Bayar and the Mander brothers. They been trouble from the day they moved in. Always demanding this and that, never satisfied. Now this.”

“Before you know it, we’ll be infested,” Han said, making a face. “If they’re the cause, couldn’t you move them out of this dormitory?”

Blevins rubbed his chin. “Well, there’s some rooms opened up elsewhere, now some newlings have washed out. I’d love to be rid of them. But who’d take ’em?”

“Maybe you don’t have to mention their—ah—problem,” Han said.

Dancer still wore his trader face, though the corners of his mouth twitched. “I’d sleep better if I knew they were gone,” he said. “I can’t abide mice and rats.”

The next day Han returned to Hampton to find Micah and his cousins in the process of moving out of the dormitory. Han paused at the edge of the quad and watched. Even at that distance he could see that Arkeda and Miphis were covered in large red pustules, as if they’d caught some virulent disease. Micah’s complexion was clean and clear, however.

Han smiled at their predictability.

When Micah spotted Han, he set down his belongings and strode toward him, his cloak kiting behind him. Han broadened his stance and waited, arms folded.

“I’m moving out,” Micah said. “We’ve arranged better quarters elsewhere.”

“I see that,” Han said. He nodded toward the Mander brothers. “Please. Take the vermin with you.”

Micah flushed angrily. “Leontus managed to disable whatever hedge-witch hex you used. He said he’d never seen anything like it. I went to the dean and told her you had to be behind it, and she demanded proof.”

“She wouldn’t take your word for it?” Han shook his head. “I’m amazed.”

“Instead of expelling you, Abelard warned me not to touch you,” Micah said. “She said that if you came to any harm, I would be expelled. What did you tell her? Why would she side with you?”

Han shrugged. “Maybe she doesn’t think I’m capable of hexing you, being gutter-whelped and all.”

“At least I fight my own battles, Alister,” Micah said.

“Really? And exactly why did you go cackling to the dean?” Han gestured toward the poxy Manders, who stood well out of reach, staring at them. “You didn’t send your cousins on an errand last night while Dancer and I were out? They look—I don’t know—guilty to me. Maybe they won’t be so eager to follow orders next time.”

“Do you think this is some kind of joke?” Micah said. “Whatever you’re trying to accomplish, you can’t win.”

“I’m not joking,” Han said. “I am absolutely serious. And I am going to win.”

It seemed like Bayar was going to say more, but he looked up and saw Cat walking across the quad toward them.

Turning on his heel, Micah strode back to the dormitory, retrieved his belongings, and followed his cousins.

Cat grabbed Han’s arm. “What happened?” she demanded, her fingers biting into Han’s flesh. “What did Bayar want? What did he say?”

“He’s moving out,” Han said, seeing no reason to get into it. “That’s all.” He smiled at her. “How was your recital?” he asked. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cat said, gazing after Micah. “None of it does.” And she walked away, shoulders slumped as if she carried the weight of the world.

THE WAKING

DREAM

Han fingered his amulet, his mind picking over the words of the charm.

“Well?” Crow stood, arms folded, tapping his foot impatiently. “Are you going to try it again or not?”

“I’m getting low,” Han said. “Maybe I better try it after I cross back.”

“If I don’t see you do it, then how will I know you’ve done it right?” Crow said. “It’s not safe for you to experiment unsupervised. Now, if you don’t have the stamina for it, then —” He shrugged.

“Is that all you know? Attack charms? Shoulder taps and nasties? I feel like I’m stuffed full of them.” Some days it made Han want to scrub out his insides.

Crow rolled his eyes. “What other kinds of charms do you want to learn?”

Han cast about for an alternative. “I don’t know—love charms?”

Crow appraised him, head tilted. “Surely you have no trouble meeting your physical needs, Alister,” he said. “Anything beyond that is illusion—a fable sold to fools and romantics.”

Han raised his eyebrows. “You are a cynical cove, you know that?”

“Look,” Crow said, his chilly blue eyes fixed on Han. “You must prioritize. Aerie House will come after you again. They will keep coming until you resolve this issue permanently.”

“The vermin charm worked,” Han said. “Micah Bayar and his cousins moved into a different dormitory.”

“Of course it worked, Alister,” Crow said. “I just quarrel with your choice of tactics. You do not respond to an attempt on your life with a slap on the hand. Or a joke.” He closed his eyes, collecting himself. “I don’t think you truly apprehend the danger you’re in. I’ve invested too much time in you already. I don’t want to start over with someone else.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Han said. “I just need them to stay out of my way.”

Crow folded his arms. “You can’t afford to be fastidious.”

It’s not that, Han wanted to say. I’ve killed before. And it was up close and personal and messy and necessary. I didn’t leave a magical trap for my enemies that hushed them clean and neat when I was far away.

When Han didn’t respond, Crow went on. “They an’t going to ever leave you alone, you know, as long as you hold the amulet. And when the Bayars murder you, it an’t going to be my fault.”

“I’m looking for a teacher, all right?” Han said, irritated by Crow’s needling. “But it an’t—isn’t that easy to find one.” He didn’t want anyone at Mystwerk to know he was taking blueblood lessons. It wasn’t like he had any real friends beyond Dancer and Cat.

To change the subject, Han said, “What do you know about the Armory of the Gifted Kings?”

Crow gazed at Han, expressionless. “Why do you ask?” he said finally.

“We talked about it in class. Do you think it actually existed?”

Crow shrugged, fussing with his double-buttoned cuffs. “I am convinced that it once existed. Whether it still does is open to question.”

“Some people say the Bayars have it,” Han said.

“Some people are fools,” Crow said. “If the Bayars held the armory, there would be no opposing them.”

“I think they’re looking for it,” Han said, watching for Crow’s reaction.

Crow’s gaze flicked to Han’s amulet, then back to his face. “If so, we’d better hope they don’t find it,” he said.

“You’re Abelard,” Han said suddenly, hoping to take Crow by surprise. “Aren’t you?”

That was his latest theory, and it made sense. Abelard was faculty, she was full of learning, and she opposed the Bayars. Plus, she wouldn’t want to be seen paying extra attention to Han Alister. It was suspicious enough that she’d included him in her tutoring sessions. This way she could cut him loose at any time without risking his telling on her.

Crow could be short-tempered, unreasonable, intimidating, pompous, and impatient. Like Abelard.

Or Gryphon, Han thought, once again undecided. Crow was bitter and sarcastic—just like Gryphon.

Crow’s flat expression didn’t change. “I don’t know why it’s so important that you know who I am.” He rolled his eyes. “The charms are real, aren’t they? They work, don’t they?”

“Yes.” Han nodded. “They work.” It was true. Crow’s charms worked very well, in Aediion and out. So well that Han’s masters were amazed by his rapid progress.

“If I guess who you are, will you tell me?” Han said.

Crow smiled—he could be a charmer when he tried. “You are relentless, Alister. I like that about you.”

Abelard, Han thought again. “What kind of name is Crow for a blueblood, anyway?” he said.

“You know how crows are,” Crow said, his smile fading. “They pick over the bones of the dead.” He stood, head down, as if lost in memory, the light through the window extinguishing itself in his hair.

What’d they do to you, Crow? Han wondered. Could it possibly be worse than what they did to me?

Crow might be bitter, but he was also focused, determined, persistent, brilliant, hardworking, thorough, and incredibly knowledgeable.

Crow still sometimes crowded into Han’s head without permission, to demonstrate some difficult bit of spellwork. It may have been convenient for Crow, but it left Han feeling invaded. Crow often did it when Han was nearly drained of power.

Sometimes after their sessions, Han felt like he’d been drinking turtle’d cider. There were huge holes in his memory—time passing that he couldn’t account for. He felt as though his mind had been trampled and reshaped.

I’ve got to find out how to keep him out of my head, Han decided. But it was unlikely that Crow would show him that trick.

They always met in the same place—the Mystwerk Hall bell tower. Dancer had kept watch for Han the first few times, but Han had shooed him off after that. Dancer had his own work to do. He couldn’t be sitting up every night, holding Han’s hand.

Han found a new crib among the dusty stacks high in Bayar Library, where they kept texts and records so old and strange that no one ever used them. He set up a back room with a pallet and dragged a table up from three floors below. It was easier to get to than Mystwerk Tower, and he didn’t have to worry about the bell-ringers stumbling across his empty body. It amused him to lay claim to a bit of Bayar Library.

Three or four nights a week Han slipped away to his hideaway, crossed into Aediion, and worked like a slave until his amulet was totally drained.

It posed a problem since his daytime classes required power. It was all he could do to replenish his flash between late-night sessions. Gryphon never missed an opportunity to take a poke at him when his depleted amulet failed to produce.

Crow seemed to have unlimited energy. Of course he did. Han did all the work.

In the mornings he’d often wake bone-weary; half-remembered dreams still circulating in his head, feeling like he’d worked all night. Sometimes he failed to wake on time. He’d go straight to class from the library in the same clothes he’d worn the day before. Several times he’d been late to Gryphon’s class, which, unfortunately, was the first of the day.

When Han stayed away all night, Dancer assumed he was seeing a girlie and didn’t want company. Wrong, Han thought. I’m living like a dedicate.

He and Crow would agree on a four-hour session and Crow would keep him for six. He’d keep at it until Han’s amulet was wrung dry and Han was limp and dizzy, then complain that Han needed to pack in more power the next time.

Crow’s barbs always rankled because Han was hungry for knowledge. He’d never worked so hard in his life. We could get a lot more done, Han thought, if we could trust each other. If we didn’t spend so much time carping at each other. It’s like we both want to be gang lord.

“Alister!” Crow’s voice broke into his thoughts. “You’re in a stupor.”

“Sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow night, then,” Han said. “Thank you for the lesson.” Taking hold of his amulet, he spoke the closing charm.

And opened his eyes to find light streaming in through the library windows.

He sat bolt upright, swearing. What time was it, anyway? The last thing he needed was to be late to Gryphon’s class. Again.

As if to answer his question, the bells in Mystwerk Tower began to sound. Bong-bong-bong, he counted to eight.

Bones. He was in trouble.

He didn’t have time to pick his way across the roofs. He barreled down the narrow staircases, circling around and around to the ground floor. Fortunately, there was no proficient on duty yet. He plowed through the front doors and smashed right into Fiona Bayar, nearly knocking her to the ground.

He grabbed hold of her arm to keep her upright. “Sorry, I — ah — didn’t see you.”

Mam was right, he thought. You are demon-cursed.

Fiona was nearly as tall as Han, so she looked him straight in the eyes. “Just because you’re late to class, Alister, doesn’t mean you can run people over,” she said. She looked down at his hand on her arm, and he let go quickly.

Han jerked his head toward Mystwerk Hall. “Come on. We’re late as is.”

“What were you doing in the library?” she asked.

“Getting an early start on my reading.”

“The library isn’t even open yet.”

“That way it’s nice and quiet.” Han began walking, not looking back to see if she was following.

“Your face is improved,” Fiona said, trotting to catch up. When he said nothing, she persisted. “The sling is gone, so I assume your broken arm is healed?”

“Collarbone, actually,” Han said. It gave him twinges now and then.

“What exactly happened?” she asked as they entered Mystwerk Hall.

“I tripped on the stairs.”

Fiona snorted.

“No, really,” he said. “Ask your brother.” They mounted the steps to the lecture hall.

“That should never have happened,” Fiona said. “My brother doesn’t always think things through.”

Han grabbed the rail to keep from stumbling. Was she saying she was sorry?

“Our father won’t be happy when he hears,” Fiona went on, as if listening in on his thoughts. “He wants you brought back alive for questioning before you’re hanged for murder.”

“Hey now, fair’s fair,” he said as he opened the door to the lecture hall. “If I do the dangle stretch for murder, then so should Lord Bayar.”

His voice seemed to echo through the quiet lecture hall. Heads turned. Micah Bayar left off slouching and sat forward, hands braced against his knees, staring at them.

Gryphon had been speaking, but his voice drained away into a charged silence as Han and Fiona made their way to separate seats. “Newling Alister, Lady Bayar. You are late.”

And some demon spirit made Han say, “Sorry, sir. Lady Bayar needed help with her homework.”

Fiona shot an incredulous look at him from across the room.

Gryphon gazed at him for a long moment, his surreal turquoise eyes standing out against his pale face. “You, Alister, have been late four times in the past two weeks. It seems you would rather sleep in than come to class. Perhaps you think this is a waste of time. Perhaps you believe you’ve gone far beyond our flimsy efforts.”

“No, sir, that’s not true,” Han said. “It’s just I’ve been up late, working and—”

“Then summarize chapter nine for us.” Gryphon thrust his head forward like a predatory bird.

“Chapter nine.” Han wet his lips. He hadn’t opened Kinley, in fact. He’d been up all night with Crow. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “I haven’t read it.”

“No?” Gryphon raised an eyebrow. He scribbled something on a piece of paper, folded it, and pushed it to the front of the lectern. “You are excused from this class for the balance of the term. Please take this note to Dean Abelard’s office. Fifth floor.”

Dean Abelard’s office was three floors up from the lecture hall. Han dragged his feet all the way like a small child sent for a whipping. He’d seen the dean in their study group, week after week, but he’d avoided any more one-on-ones with her.

Of all his classes, Gryphon’s was the one he wanted to stay in. Charms, spellwork, use of amulets—aside from Abelard’s study group, it seemed in line with his purposes. He was learning from Crow, but he didn’t want to have to rely on him for his magical education. He wanted to go beyond defense and killing charms.

When the proficient ushered him into Abelard’s office, the dean was finishing up a bit of correspondence. “Sit, Alister,” she said, waving him to a chair.

He sat.

Abelard sat back in her chair, resting her hands on the edge of the desk. “Well? What is it this time? Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

He handed her the note. “Master Gryphon booted me from class for being late.”

Abelard scanned the note. “I see. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“I was late. I overslept.”

“Hmm.” She dropped the note on the desk. “I understand that your attendance in class has become erratic. You are constantly late. And yet your performance on examinations and practica is far superior to that of your peers. How do you explain that?”

Han shrugged. “I work hard. That’s why I overslept. I was up late.”

“Then you arrive in class exhausted, your amulet nearly depleted,” Abelard said.

“I try to load it up. Maybe I’m just not all that powerful.” Han looked down at the desk.

“Perhaps you are not being challenged in your classes?” Abelard tapped her fingers against Gryphon’s note.

“No, that an’t it. I get a lot out of Gryphon’s class. I meant to be on time. I just miscalculated.”

“Who else are you working with, Alister?” Abelard said softly. “Is someone mentoring you?”

Han conjured a puzzled look. “My teachers are the same as everyone else’s. Gryphon, Leontus, Firesmith —”

“Don’t lie to me,” the dean said, eyes glittering. “I have the power to make your life very, very difficult.”

“I read a lot,” Han said. “Ask anyone. I’m always in the library.” He looked up at her. “If I’m going to play bravo for you, I need to study up if I want to stay alive.”

They gazed at each other for a long moment, and Abelard looked away first. “Would you like me to rescind Master Gryphon’s order?” she asked, pulling a pot of ink toward her and picking up a pen.

Han shook his head. “No, thanks.”

Abelard tilted her head. “Why not?”

“Gryphon’s right,” he said. “I can’t be late to class all the time. It was fair, what Gryphon did, even if I don’t like it.”