The Exiled Queen (48 page)

“Well...” Bird cast about for a solution. “We can make up a story. We can tell Dancer we’re back together and you’re returning with me to Demonai Camp.”

“Dancer knows how I feel about the Demonai,” Han said, not bothering to soften his speech. “And how the Demonai would react to that. He’ll never believe that story.”

His mind churned furiously. He really didn’t want Dancer—or Cat—coming with him, maybe throwing their lives away in a lost cause. Secondly, he didn’t intend to be dragged back to the Fells like a runaway child. He’d go on his own, on his own terms.

“I’ll go alone,” Han said. “I’ll make up a story, say I have to go somewhere for one of the faculty. You’ll stay here for at least a week to throw Dancer off the scent. By the time he realizes that I’m not coming back, it will be too late for him to track me.”

Too late for you to track me, either, he thought.

Bird shook her head. “I’m supposed to escort you to Marisa Pines Camp,” she said. “Nightwalker said—”

“Why is that?” Han said softly, looking her in the eyes. “Do you think I don’t know the way? Or do you think I’ll bolt? What did Nightwalker tell you to do if I refuse to come? If I try to cut and run, are you expected to hunt me down?”

Bird licked her lips, speechless for once.

“I’ll keep my word,” Han said. “I’m asking you to believe me.”

They sat looking at each other for a long moment. Then Bird nodded. “All right. We’ll do it your way, Hunts Alone. Just know that the Demonai are... unforgiving. And I... I’m risking a lot.”

“So am I,” Han said.

Bird chewed her lower lip. “Does anyone know you’re working for us?”

Han shrugged. “I didn’t tell anyone.” He paused, and when she said nothing else, he stood up. “All right. I’m going out. I have some things to take care of. Tell Dancer I went to see Dean Abelard about a project. I’m going to spend the next couple of days in the library. Day after tomorrow, we’ll have a nice evening together, just like old times. Then I’ll go.”

Bird shifted in her seat, clasping her hands together. “There’s not much time. It will take a while to travel to—”

Han struggled to control his temper. “I get that. Look, I’d like to have a fighting chance. I want to research the Wizard Council and speak with some of the masters here before I go. Surely you can spare me that much. Assuming I’m not just a throwaway.”

Bird stood also. “Hunts Alone,” she said, her face troubled, her eyes focused on his face. “I’m sorry about... the way things turned out. For us.”

It wasn’t much of an apology, but it was more than he’d expected.

“I’m sorry, too.” Han put a hand on her shoulder, and she flinched away. “I’ll be back,” he said, swiveling away from her. Snatching his cloak from the peg next to the door, he walked out.

He strode down the street, headed for the river. He’d cross to the Wien House side and speak with the stableman about his horse. Then go back to his place in Mystwerk Tower and gather up some books and other items he wanted to take with him.

He was distracted, making mental lists, thinking about all he needed to accomplish, and so his guard was down as he crossed Bridge Street into Wien House territory. As he passed a side street, someone grabbed his arm and yanked him into the space between two buildings. He struggled and kicked, trying to reach his amulet, but his attackers knew what they were doing. Two of them pinned his arms to his sides, holding him immobile.

There was no sting of wizardry through the grip on his arms, though, and when he looked up, he found himself facing Corporal Byrne. The corporal’s face was hard, intent, focused. Turning his head to either side, Han saw that he was being held fast by Hallie and Talia, their faces set and grim.

Blood of the Demon, he thought. Just what I need, along with everything else—being beaten up by Rebecca’s jealous ... um ... commander?

Han remembered what he’d said to Rebecca at solstice about Byrne. There is a thing between you. I just don’t know what kind of thing it is.

Why would Hallie and Talia be in on it? If anything, they’d encouraged him to walk out with Rebecca.

“Hey, now,” he said, trying to pull free. “What’s this all about?”

“Have you seen her?” Byrne demanded. “Have you seen Rebecca?” He looked scruffy and haggard, as if he’d neither shaved nor slept in days.

“Rebecca?” Han shook his head. “I’ve not seen her since we—ah—since the last time I saw you,” he said. “Up in. .. up in her room.”

Byrne stuck his hand under Han’s chin, shoving his head back against the wall and practically cutting off his air supply. “Are you sure? Are you sure you haven’t seen her?” His eyes narrowed. “What happened to your face? Have you been in a fight?”

This wasn’t like Byrne, to manhandle a prisoner.

“Let go of me,” Han said evenly, “and we’ll talk. I’m not guilty of anything, all right?”

Byrne stared into Han’s eyes for a long moment, then let go, nodding to Talia and Hallie. They let go also, but stood close in case he tried to make a break for it.

“We were supposed to meet for tutoring last night,” Han said. “She didn’t show. I thought maybe you had restricted her to quarters, or whatever you sword danglers call it.”

“But you didn’t come looking for her,” Byrne pointed out.

Han shook his head. “After last time, I wasn’t sure what kind of welcome I’d get at Grindell.” He rubbed his arms where Talia and Hallie had gripped them. “And I got this face during a—ah—magical practicum. Why? Rebecca’s missing? Since when?”

“Nobody’s seen her since yesterday afternoon,” Byrne said. “Her things are still at the dormitory, but her horse is gone.”

“Since yesterday?” Han rubbed his chin, wondering if Byrne kept such a tight leash on all of his cadets. “When she missed our meeting, I assumed she wasn’t allowed to come, she didn’t want to come, or she’s mad at me.”

Byrne shook his head as if Han were a hopeless idiot. “She’s in danger,” he said, his gray eyes glittering like agates. “I need to find her.” He fingered the hilt of his sword. “Where have you been last night and today?”

Han thought back. Well, he’d fought in a pitched battle in Aediion, had it out with the Bayars, found out his ex-girlie and his best friend were walking out together, and been given a suicide assignment by another former girlfriend.

“I was at my dormitory,” Han said. “I’ve been there pretty much the whole time except for that practicum with Dean Abelard. I have people who can vouch for me.”

Byrne glared into his face a moment more, then shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing his forehead wearily. “Any idea where she might have gone? Is there anyone else you’ve seen her with? Could she have gone riding with someone?”

Han shook his head. “We met for tutoring twice a week, but the other night was the first time I—ah—saw where she stayed.”

“Do you know Micah Bayar?” Byrne asked abruptly.

The hair stood up on the back of Han’s neck. “I know him,” Han said. “Why?”

“He’s gone too,” Byrne said. “He and his sister and cousins have cleared out and left Oden’s Ford, even though exams aren’t over yet. Any idea where they’ve gone?”

Han shook his head. “We aren’t close,” he said, his stomach knotting up. “But why is that important? I mean, Rebecca used to work for him, but not anymore.”

Byrne just looked at him as if he didn’t have an answer for that. Not an answer he wanted to give, anyway.

Han seized hold of Byrne’s lapels with both hands and jerked him closer. “I said, why is that important? What about Bayar? What do you know?”

“Hey,” Hallie said, putting her hand on Han’s arm. “You don’t touch the commander.” She didn’t raise her voice, but she meant business.

Han reluctantly let go. “Why would Micah Bayar have something to do with Rebecca’s disappearance?” he persisted, looking from Byrne to Talia to Hallie.

Memories trickled back, how Rebecca had begged him not to tell the Bayars she was in Oden’s Ford. How she didn’t want to cross to the Mystwerk side for fear of running into them. How Han asked her if she ever went out, and she’d said no.

A terrible possibility occurred to him.

“Did Bayar hurt her when she worked for him?” Han said, his heart thudding against his rib cage. “Was that why she was so afraid of him?”

Byrne’s face might have been a stone slab. “Ask all you want, I’m not going to tell you any more than this—if she’s disappeared, he might have something to do with it.”

Rivulets of flame ran along Han’s hands and arms, and he gripped his amulet to discharge it. He recalled his words to Bayar when they’d parted.

You Bayars need to learn that you can’t have everything you want. I’m going
to teach you.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe the Bayars would always get everything they wanted. Everything Han cared about. Including Rebecca. Had Micah found out they were walking out together? Would he go that far to get revenge on Han?

It seemed like destiny, a bad dream repeated relentlessly.

“Where would he take her?” Han demanded. “Bayar, I mean.”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Byrne said. He squinted at Han. “There’s something different about you,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Something that reminds me of...” He caught himself. “If you see Rebecca, if you hear anything that might be useful, find me. No matter what time it is.” He motioned to Hallie and Talia.

Han watched the trio of cadets walk away.

All the way to the stables, Han chewed over Rebecca’s disappearance like a tough piece of meat. She’d seemed stressed and unhappy the last time he’d seen her, worried about her mother, talking about going home. Maybe she’d up and left.

But would she leave her belongings behind? No.

Was it possible that Byrne himself was responsible for Rebecca’s disappearance, and was trying to deflect blame? After all, he was the one who’d driven Han off at swordpoint.

No. Han hadn’t lived as long as he had by misjudging people. Byrne was a hopeless liar, and he’d seemed genuinely distraught.

How could Han leave Oden’s Ford with Rebecca missing?

Han paid his bill at the stable and made arrangements to have Ragger and Simon, his spare horse, reshod and ready to travel later in the week. “Don’t give up the stalls. I’ll be back,” he said, to cover his tracks in case anybody asked. “I’m going to Tamron Court to do some research.”

The stableman grunted, making it obvious he didn’t care, and probably wouldn’t remember if anyone did ask.

As he walked back toward the bridge, Han saw a crowd of cadets in their dirtback uniforms outside the Wien Hall library, studded here and there with the colors of faculty robes—Wien House and Mystwerk. He saw Dean Abelard with a group of Mystwerk masters and proficients, apparently directing an investigation of the grounds.

The crowd hummed with excitement, like a mob on Chatt’s Hill on execution day.

As Han looked on, two healers carried a body wrapped in a blanket down the steps of the library, followed by a clutch of provost guards.

No, he thought, his heart stalling in his chest. Oh, no.

Han pushed and shoved his way through the onlookers, drawing scowls and curses along the way, until he stood next to the walkway as the healers passed by. He grabbed the sleeve of one of the provosts.

“Ma’am? Who is it? Who’s dead?”

The provost ripped her arm free. “Leave go, boy. We’ll issue a statement.”

“But my friend—she’s missing,” Han said. “Since yesterday.”

The provost stopped so suddenly, the person behind her practically ran into her. She turned off the path, pulling Han by the arm. “What’s your friend’s name?” she asked.

“Rebecca Morley.”

“Come with me.” The guard pushed Han back toward the library. As he passed Abelard, she looked up and fixed him with a piercing gaze.

They walked through the heavy double doors and up the steps. Around and around they climbed, while Han’s heart sank lower and lower.

Finally they reached the top of the staircase and threaded their way through a warren of small reading rooms. The door to one room stood ajar.

“In there,” the guard said.

Han halted just inside the door, half sick with dread. The room was small, with a desk under a window on one wall, a fireplace on the other, a worktable facing the door. Books and papers lay scattered over the surface of the table. A lamp lay smashed on the floor, and bits of glass glittered in the sunlight from the window. Blood splattered the wooden floor between the door and the table.

A stocky man in Wien House master’s robes stood looking out the window.

“Master Askell,” the provost said. “This boy says he’s friends with Rebecca Morley.”

Master Askell turned toward Han, his broad face etched by years of sun, and completely impassive. He took in Han’s attire, the amulet at his neck. “Who are you?” he asked, without preamble.

“Han Alister. Newling at Mystwerk House,” Han said.

“How do you know Rebecca?” Askell asked.

“She was tutoring me,” Han said. “We met back home.”

Askell pointed at the worktable. “See if you recognize the materials on the table as Rebecca’s.”

Sand and glass gritted under Han’s boots. Blotting sand was also scattered across the tabletop, the jar overturned. Here were pages of notes in Rebecca’s familiar, angular handwriting. Here was her ornate pen and enameled ink bottle.

Han shut his eyes and swallowed hard. Blood and bones, he thought. Bloody, bloody bones. Would the carnage in his life never stop?

“These are hers,” Han said, looking at Askell, his voice thick with despair.

The master held up a dagger by its tip. “We found this lying next to the wall,” he said.

“That’s hers too,” Han said. He crossed the room to take a closer look. There was no blood on the blade. So Rebecca hadn’t gotten any back.

I should’ve hushed Bayar when I’d had the chance, he thought. I should’ve stuck with what I know—street rules.

“You better send someone for Commander Byrne,” Han said hollowly.

“He’s on his way.” Askell set Rebecca’s blade on the table.

“How did she die?” Han asked, leaning his hands on the stone sill and staring out the window. “What killed her?” Would Bayar have been so arrogant as to use wizardry?