“Yes,” Bayar said impatiently. “We’ll send the southerners home with the news. That will stifle any talk of alliances.”
“Mother,” Raisa said, her heart pounding beneath the creamy silk. A wedding dress. Of course. “Don’t do this. I don’t want to marry anyone right now.”
“We upland queens marry for the good of the realm,” Queen Marianna said softly. “As Hanalea did. As I did.”
“But this isn’t good for us,” Raisa persisted, circling a serving table with Micah in pursuit.
“Don’t tell me what’s good for us!” Queen Marianna turned in a swish of satin and snatched up a wineglass. “I lie awake every night wondering what’s to become of us, with war in the south and conflict in the queendom and pirates on the ocean and southern spies and assassins in every back hallway.” She shuddered, and droplets of wine spattered on the stone floor, red as blood. “I worry about you, Raisa, with no one to protect you.”
“We have protection,” Raisa protested, bewildered. What had come over her mother? She seemed panicked, desperate. “Captain Byrne and the Queen’s Guard.”
“Captain Byrne cannot be everywhere,” the queen said.
“Right,” Raisa said. “For instance, where is he now? And where is my father? When I get married, he needs to be there.”
She was watching Gavan Bayar as she said this, and saw something flicker across his face. Maybe it was her imagination, but it was almost as if he knew something about her father’s absence.
Both he and Captain Byrne had been sent away just before her name day, when she would be formally named heir to the throne, when she would be eligible for marriage for the first time. Like a cold stone under her breastbone, the realization settled in: if both the queen and Lord Bayar wanted it to happen, she would be married before the night was over.
“Speaker Redfern!” she said, though she had little hope of rescue from that quarter. “You’re the representative of the temple, of the old ways. You know I cannot marry a wizard. Tell them.”
She strode toward the speaker, and he retreated, holding his wineglass out like a shield. “Not at all, not at all. This should not prove an impediment to your marriage, Your Highness,” the speaker said. “I have issued a dish . . . a dispensation.”
While Raisa was thus distracted, Micah struck, launching himself over a small settee and wrapping his arms around her. Holding her fast in the circle of one arm, he reached into his neckline and gripped an amulet at his neck while Raisa did her best to struggle free.
Where did you get that? Raisa wanted to ask. You’re too young. You’ve never been to Oden’s Ford. You’re not allowed to have an amulet.
That was her mistake, thinking wizards would play by the rules.
Micah muttered a few words in the northern speech, bending his head down close to her ear. She felt the sizzle of magic through his hands. It passed through her body and down her left arm, leaving nothing behind but tingling nerves and a vague desire to please.
And then she remembered: she wore Elena’s ring on her left hand. It is what we call a talisman, Elena had said. It offers some protection against high magic.
Here was a chance, if she could somehow take advantage of it. She couldn’t let them know about the ring, or they’d have it off her in a trice. She had to play along, make them think he’d charmed her.
What spell would Micah have used on her? Calm your bride, Lord Bayar had said.
She looked up at Micah. He was studying her face, obviously trying to determine if his jinx had taken.
She widened her eyes, conjuring an expression of vacancy. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I’m being silly. It’s just that it’s all so sudden.” She looked down at the floor, fearing Micah would spot the fury in her eyes. “I always dreamed we could be together, but I assumed it was impossible.”
She heard an audible release of breath around her, the sound of relief.
“Me too,” Micah said cautiously, as if he didn’t quite believe it. He released his death grip a fraction. “I can’t tell you ...how frustrating it’s been, to yearn for what I could never have.” He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers, and she felt the sting of magic again. She resisted the urge to flinch away.
What argument would speak to her mother? Assuming she was reachable at all?
“The thing is, I’ve always dreamed of a big wedding, Mama,” Raisa said, looking directly at the queen. “I wanted everyone to be there—my grandmother Elena, my father, the clan in their colors, heads of state from all over the Seven Realms. I’d have four bridesmaids to carry my train, and I’d walk up the aisle over a carpet of rose petals.”
“Of course, sweetheart,” the queen said, blinking at her in surprise. “It’s what every girl dreams of.” Except, until now, her daughter Raisa.
“You had that, Mama,” Raisa said reproachfully. “You had five hundred people in the temple, and it took the dressmakers a year to stitch the seed pearls onto your dress. Bonfires blazed on every hill to commemorate it. The feasting lasted for six days, and they filled three storehouses with the wedding gifts.”
The queen’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I know, dear. It’s something I’ll never forget, but . . .”
“But I’m to wed in a back room before a single priest, as if I’m a serving girl with a growing belly. People will talk about me, Mama. You know they will. They’ll question whether I’m married at all.”
“They won’t dare,” the queen said, smoothing down her skirts nervously. “I will forbid it.”
“It could affect the succession,” Raisa said, very conscious of Micah Bayar right next to her. “If we have children, their legitimacy may be questioned.” She turned and gripped Micah’s hands. “I couldn’t bear that.”
“Your Majesty,” Lord Bayar said. “Let’s proceed. She’s just overwhelmed is all.” He glared at his son as if to say, Try something stronger.
“I know I must serve the realm, Mama,” Raisa said. “But why should it be at the expense of my dreams?”
“I had no idea you felt this way,” the queen said, flustered, as always, by conflict.
Raisa pressed her advantage. “You are the queen. Proclaim that Micah and I will marry in the fall. That will give us time to plan.” She wrapped her arms around Micah’s waist and rested her head against his chest. “I want everything to be perfect.”
“Your Majesty, we can’t risk waiting,” Lord Bayar said. He crossed to the queen and took hold of her hands. “Anything could happen before then. We could be invaded. The princess heir could be kidnapped. The clans could rebel. She needs a gifted husband to watch over her.”
Raisa watched the two of them out of the corner of her eye. No doubt Bayar was pouring magic into her as Micah had done. She already knew that the wizard held an inappropriate influence over the queen. She just didn’t know if her mother could resist it.
She remembered the conversation with Elena in the garden, months ago. The warning her grandmother had given her.
Queen Marianna turned toward Raisa, swiping tears from her eyes. “Oh, sweetheart, we can’t risk waiting. I’ll make it up to you somehow. We’ll throw a reception like the world has never seen. We’ll invite everyone. You’ll see.”
Then Raisa was crying too, tears of fury and disappointment, knowing she was truly on her own.
What would Hanalea do?
“It’s all right, Raisa,” Micah whispered, patting her back awkwardly. It was all she could do not to swing around and punch him in his perfect nose.
“Where . . . where would we go after?” Raisa asked, thinking there still might be a way out, a way to prevent this thing from being consummated. “Might we go back to my apartments, and . . .”
“We’ll host you at Aerie House,” Lord Bayar said. “We have an apartment prepared for you. We’ll send someone after your things. That way the two of you can have some privacy.” He smiled his tiger smile.
“All right,” Raisa said, swallowing hard. “If you think i
t’s best. Only . . .” She sniffled and blotted her face on her sleeve, wiping away tears of rage. “If Father can’t be here, I would feel so much better if I could wear the rose necklace he gave me. It would . . . it would be more like he was here. I’ll fetch it. It will just take a moment.”
“Oh, come on!” Lord Bayar exploded, his impatience getting the best of him. “Speaker Redfern has been here for two hours waiting. Let’s do it, and if anyone asks, we’ll say you had it on. You have the rest of your life to wear the thing.”
“No,” Queen Marianna said, belatedly developing a backbone. “The princess heir shall wear her father’s necklace, if it helps to cheer her. It’s the least we can do. She’s sacrificed enough for duty in this.” And she said it in a way that brooked no argument.
Bayar mastered himself with difficulty. The wizard was definitely forgetting his place. Whatever that place was these days. “Of course, Your Majesty. We’ll send one of the guardsmen after it.”
“Thank you, Lord Bayar,” Raisa said. “But it will be quicker if I go. I’m not sure just where I’ve left it, and I don’t want soldiers pawing through my jewelry. I’ll be right back.” She tried to pull free from Micah’s grip.
“Micah, you go with the princess heir and bring her back safely to us,” Lord Bayar said. “I know you won’t let her get away.” He smiled as he said it, but his blue eyes were bright and hard as sapphires.
And then they were hurrying down the hallway, Micah holding tightly to her wrist. He trickled more magic into her, as if to reinforce his previous efforts.
This time she decided to acknowledge it. “I had no idea you could do magic, Micah,” she said. “Where did you learn how? And where did you get an amulet?”
He flinched, as if she’d broken the secret code. “Well, I don’t know much. My family has some . . . magical heirlooms.”
“No wonder Mama wants us to marry,” Raisa said. “That gives you an advantage over other wizard houses, right? Because you don’t have to beg your amulets from the clan?”
Micah nodded. “These days, the only amulets you can get are temporary. They lose their effectiveness over time. So you have to keep going back to the clan to restore them, or get new ones. The clan uses that to control the gifted.”
“And these don’t wear out?” Raisa asked.
“I didn’t say that,” Micah muttered, glancing around as if they might be overheard. Unfortunately, the corridors were deserted. It was too late even for the late-nighters and too early for the early risers.
“Do you really want to marry me, Micah?” She was genuinely curious. He’d told her they didn’t have a choice. Maybe if he saw a way out of it ...
He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “Who wouldn’t want to marry the princess heir of the Fells?” he said.
“Is that all I am to you? A title?”
He thought a moment, and when he spoke, she thought he told the truth. “You’ve always fascinated me, Raisa. I could always have any girl but you. And you’d never let me get away with anything. You always say what you think.” He almost smiled. “I’d rather kiss you than bed any other girl at court.”
Strange praise, she thought.
“I think we could be good together,” he went on, “once we get through this.”
We could be good together. Not exactly a protestation of love. Nor a promise to give up his wanton ways.
The irony was, she might have given the proposal serious thought, at least, if it were not being forced on her.
They climbed the wide stairs, startling a cat sleeping on the top step, and turned right, past the sleeping Mellony’s room, to Raisa’s suite.
The stocky guardsman Raisa had met earlier leaned against the wall next to the door. When he saw them coming, he straightened and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, looking from Micah to Raisa in confusion.
“You wait here,” Raisa said to Micah. “I’ll just be a few minutes.” She pushed open the door.
After a moment’s hesitation, Micah made as if to follow her in, and the guardsman stepped in front of him. “You heard Her Highness,” the soldier said. “Wait here.” And, blessedly, he pulled the door shut.
Micah must have groped for his amulet, because Raisa heard a sword slide free. “Let go of that thing,” she heard the guardsman say.
She could hear them arguing back and forth, their voices rising. She figured she had a little time. Micah wouldn’t be too alarmed. As far as he knew, there was only one way in and out of her room. She couldn’t very well leap from her window, which was high above the river below. Besides, she’d said nothing to make him think she’d rather leap to her death than marry him. So far.
“Your Highness?” Magret blinked sleepily at her from her chair by the fire. She’d fallen asleep waiting up for her. “What time is it getting to be? I know it’s your name day and all, but ...”
“Magret, do you love me?” Raisa asked breathlessly.
“What kind of question is that, my lady?” Magret sputtered. “’Course I—”
“Then pack me some riding clothes,” Raisa said. “Clan style, in saddle bags, for several days. Nothing dressy. Hurry!” As she spoke, she shed the creamy silk that was to have been her wedding dress—and wouldn’t be, if she could help it. Wadding it up, she tossed it into the corner, then stripped off her slippers and stockings and yanked on a pair of trousers laid out on a side chair.
“What is going on?” Magret asked, now wide awake, throwing open drawers and thrusting clothing into two saddlebags. She paused and straightened, midthrust. “You’re not eloping, are you?”
“The opposite. The Bayars mean to force me into a marriage with Micah Bayar,” she said, omitting the fact that the queen was in on the scheme.
“That’s crazy talk,” Magret said, continuing her frenetic preparations. “You can’t marry a wizard. They know that.”
“They may know that, but they’re doing it anyway. They’ve got a speaker and everything, and afterward they mean to carry me off to Aerie House.”
“What?” Magret’s voice rose, and Raisa shushed her frantically.
“Micah’s just outside the door. He’s waiting for me.”
Magret glared at the door. The argument was still going on in the corridor. “I don’t like wizards, I never have.” Magret carried clan blood and, with it, an inborn suspicion of wizards. “You don’t mean to go with him, do you?”
“No, I don’t. I’m leaving. I need you to keep him out as long as possible so I have a head start.”
“Your Highness, I don’t like the notion of you climbing down off the balcony, I really don’t. You’ll break your neck.”
“There’s another way. Through the closet. You’ll see.” Raisa went into the closet, dug out her boots, sat on the floor, and yanked them on.
“Through here?” Magret peered into the closet. “A tunnel, then?” Raisa nodded, and Magret said, “I’d always heard there was one, somewhere in this part of the castle.”
“It lets out in the glass house,” Raisa said.
Magret’s eyes kindled with pride. “You’re just like she was,” she breathed.
“Like who was?”
“Like Queen Hanalea herself.” Shyly, Magret drew back her sleeve, exposing her inner arm. On it was a tattoo of a howling wolf against a rising moon.
“You’re a Maiden?” Raisa spoke louder than she intended, and now Magret was the one shushing her. The howling wolf was the emblem of Hanalea’s Maidens, a mysterious organization of women dedicated to the warrior queen’s memory.
“I am,” Magret said. “They meant to force her into marriage with a wizard, and she wouldn’t stand for it. Said ’twas better to be a maid than married to a demon.”
Well, Raisa thought. There’s more to Magret than meets the eye.
“Where will you go, Your Highness? The queen must be informed,” Magret said.
“She will be, don’t worry,” Raisa said. She hesitated a moment. “Lord Bayar has my mother spelled, I�
��m afraid. She’s agreed to the marriage.”
“Blood and bones of the queens,” Magret swore. “The scoundrel. I haven’t liked this business going on, no I haven’t. I always said your da should spend more time at home.”
Tears came to Raisa’s eyes. She was touched that her nurse believed her, that she was on her side. She’d begun to think she was losing her mind.
“Will you be needin’any money?” Magret asked. “I have a little put by, you know.”
Raisa kissed her formidable nurse on the cheek. “I’ll be fine.” She lifted her mattress and pulled a small velvet pouch from underneath. “My emergency fund,” she said. It was the money she’d made working the markets during the summer. Princesses weren’t supposed to make money. She’d put it away to avoid any arguments. She tucked her dagger into her belt and slung the saddlebags over her shoulders.
Someone pounded on the door. “Hurry up, Rai—Your Highness,” Micah shouted. “Everyone’s waiting.”
“You be quiet, Young Bayar,” Magret shouted back. “Don’t be shouting in the hallways like a besotted sailor! The princess will be ready when she’s ready.”
Before long, everyone will be awake, Raisa thought.
“Thank you, Magret. I’m off. Tell Micah we’re still looking for my necklace if he knocks again. When he forces his way in, tell him I went off the balcony.”
Magret yanked down the curtains surrounding Raisa’s bed and began ripping them into strips. “I’ll make you a ladder, throw him off the scent,” she said grimly.
Grabbing a torch from the sconce on the wall, Raisa pushed her way into the closet, sliding between silks, satins, and velvets. She shoved aside the panel and entered the damp stone corridor, sliding the panel closed behind her. She prayed that Amon was waiting in the garden for her. With her luck, he’d given it up and gone home.
She ran as fast as she could, banging her elbows into the stone walls at the turnings, alert for the sounds of pursuit behind. How long could Magret hope to hold Micah off? Would he fall for the balcony ruse? She shuddered at the notion of being chased through the narrow twisting corridor.
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