The Gray Wolf Throne

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Nightwalker came upright, looking ready to spring. “What is it, Briar Rose? What did he do?”

  “Your Highness, have you ever noticed how hard it is to concentrate and do things right when somebody’s yammering in your ear?” Han said. “If this goes wrong, I’m just saying, I’m not the one to blame.”

  Despite his sardonic tone, sweat pebbled his forehead and dewed his upper lip, like he was expending considerable energy. Or was nervous about the outcome.

  The wolves finished their dirge. Hanalea turned toward Raisa and dipped her head. The royal pack melted into shadow and dissipated.

  Han withdrew his hand and stood, head down, taking quick shallow breaths like he’d run a great race. The Lone Hunter amulet underlit his face, creating shadows and highlighting planes. Sweat dripped off him, spotting the rug.

  Raisa wrapped her arms around herself, gripping her elbows to either side. She still tingled all over, but that seemed to be the only lasting effect. “Was it…did it work?” she asked.

  Han raised his head and blotted perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve. “We’ll see soon enough.”

  Raisa saw the question on Nightwalker’s face and decided to ask it herself, thinking she might actually get an answer. “What were you trying to do?”

  “I was creating a sending.”

  “A sending? What’s that?”

  “A glamour. An image to use once we’re on Marianna Peak. Something that will impress and confuse the Wizard Council and the rest of the bluebloods. Something that will make you a difficult target.” Han glanced at Nightwalker. “Remember? I said I would create a magical distraction,” he said, as if Nightwalker needed simple speech.

  “Can I put my ring back on?” Raisa asked, pressing her fingers against her pouch.

  Han frowned, biting his lower lip, then shook his head. “Better not. I think we have to keep the magical connection alive until after.”

  Elena poked her head through the doorway. “Are you ready? We must go, granddaughter.”

  Raisa would ride hidden amid the Demonai contingent escorting her grandmother to the queen’s memorial.

  Fire Dancer waited with the ponies. Han pulled him aside, leaned in, and murmured something in his ear. Dancer nodded, looking at Raisa.

  Nightwalker came and draped a Demonai shadow cloak over Raisa’s funeral garb, fastening it at the neck, and letting his hands linger on her shoulders.

  The memorial for the queen was scheduled for late afternoon. Their journey would take them the better part of the day since they intended to keep to the mountains, circling around the Vale from Marisa Pines, crossing the Dyrnnewater to the west of Fellsmarch, and coming at Marianna Peak from the northwest.

  Elena and Willo rode alongside Raisa, while the Demonai warriors rode ahead and behind. Han and Dancer rode side-by-side, hands on their amulets, stoking them up for what lay ahead. Raisa wondered how much Han’s had been drained by the creation of the “sending.” She hoped it would be worth the cost.

  Whenever Raisa looked at them, the two wizards had their heads together, talking quietly as they rode along. Dancer carried two large panniers on his pony, in addition to his bedroll.

  It would be a cold, clear day in the mountains, perhaps a bit warmer downslope where the service would be. The stars blinked out to the east as the sun broke over the Spirits, spilling into the Vale below.

  “Mother would love this day,” Raisa said to Elena, squinting against the slanting light. “She loved the sun, even if she didn’t love the cold.”

  “Mmm.” Elena seemed preoccupied, no doubt worrying about her son, Averill.

  Love makes you vulnerable, Raisa thought. And yet she’d always hoped for it.

  They crossed the Dyrnnewater in early afternoon, on a high bridge over the river’s foaming roar. Though they were too high to smell it, the water below carried with it all the filth and jetsam of the overcrowded capital to the east.

  When I am queen…Raisa thought, as she had so many times before. And stopped.

  I am queen.

  They climbed high into the northern Spirits again, catching glimpses of the greening Vale below. Raisa eagerly drank in views of the spires, domes, and turrets of faraway Fellsmarch. It glittered in the sunlight like a child’s fairy city, the kind of place that disappeared when you came too close.

  I’m coming home, she swore. Tonight, if I have my way.

  Northwest of the Vale, they would leave the trail that overlooked it and strike north and east again, to come in behind Marianna and descend between her twin peaks. They paused at the joining of the trails to eat and rest the horses before the long climb ahead.

  Leaving Switcher in the hands of Night Bird, Raisa walked a short distance through the trees to where she could take a last look into the Vale before they rounded the shoulder of the mountain and it disappeared from view.

  The valley had come alive with people. Travelers clogged the roads, using conveyances appropriate to their stations. Some rode on fine horses, leaving the roads and cutting cross-country when they became impatient with their slow progress. Fine carriages competed for space with wagons packed with those who could spare a girlie for a ride. And some came afoot, even entire families, mothers and fathers carrying small children, scarves wrapped around their faces to turn the dust of the road.

  They jammed the roads that descended from Fellsmarch, crossed the Vale, and climbed Marianna to the north. The citizens of Fellsmarch were turning out to say good-bye to their queen.

  Raisa was touched and surprised. Marianna had not been popular, at least among the folk in the poorer neighborhoods of the capital. They had exploded in riots when it was rumored that the queen meant to set Raisa aside and name Mellony heir in her place.

  “Sweet Martyred Lady,” she whispered. “It looks like the entire city is on the move.”

  “Ragmarket and Southbridge, anyway. Plus all the bluebloods, of course.”

  Raisa flinched and turned. Han Alister stood next to her, looking down on the Vale. He could ghost about like any clan warrior.

  He shaded his eyes, the wind ruffling his hair. “Maybe Westmarket, Roast Meat Hill, and the Bottoms, too.”

  “What do you mean?” she said. “How do you know?”

  “I sent Cat Tyburn down to the city,” Han said. “Told her to spread the word that the Princess Raisa would be here and might need an assist. That there were them that might try and take her throne away from her. Or hush her on the spot or slap her in darbies.” He slid easily back into the thieves’ cant she’d spent months tutoring him out of.

  “What?” She tilted her head, looking up at him. “After we went to all this effort to keep my presence a secret, you spread it all over town?”

  Han rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you think Lord Bayar listens to rumors from Ragmarket? Do you think the Council of Nobles meets in the Keg and Crown?” He laughed. “The Raggers and Southies are no danger to you unless you’re carrying a fat purse through the streets. It’s the bluebloods you got to watch out for. I hear they’re rum liars and connivers.” He looked straight at her, his blue eyes hard and brilliant as sapphires.

  The pressure of his gaze was like a physical blow, but Raisa forced herself to stand her ground. “Han. I’m sorry I lied to you,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “If I had it to do over, I’d—”

  “There are no do-overs, are there, Your Highness?” Han said.

  “No,” Raisa said, “but—”

  “Anyway, don’t worry about Ragmarket,” Han said, stepping back, pulling free of her grasp. “It’s the shoulder tap in the back hall of the palace you should worry about.” He seemed determined not to get into the unfinished business between them.

  “I know that,” Raisa said, giving up. “Despite that, I plan to return to Fellsmarch Castle tonight, as queen-to-be.”

  Han glanced over his shoulder to where the Demonai were busy with the horses. “They’re not going to be happy about that idea,” he said. “’Specia
lly Nightwalker. He can’t control you down in the city.”

  “He doesn’t control me now,” Raisa snapped.

  “He means to marry you,” Han said, staring out over the valley. “Just so you know.”

  Raisa resisted the impulse to look back at Nightwalker. “What makes you think that?”

  “He’s not that hard to figure out.” He lifted his chin, the angled light revealing a faint reddish stubble in profile.

  Raisa wrenched her mind back to the conversation. “Well, if he wants to marry me, he’ll have to stand in line,” she said. “I’m sick and tired of being a means to an end.”

  Han turned to look at her, puzzlement flickering over his face. “A means to an end. You? What do you mean?”

  “Everybody wants to marry the bloody throne. Nobody would be interested if I lived in Ragmarket. I think I’ll stay a maid.”

  “You have to marry, right? So you can assure a peaceful succession?” He’d resumed his carefully blank expression, but she noticed his hands were fisted at his sides.

  “Like the one we’re having right now?” She waited, and when he said nothing, went on. “I know you agree with me,” Raisa said. “I need to get back to the palace immediately or chance losing the throne.”

  “And you’re telling me this because… ?”

  “I need your help. To return to Fellsmarch, I mean. I’ll need protection.”

  Han shrugged. “Wasn’t that the agreement? That I’d fight the Wizard Council on behalf of the clans and the true line of queens?” That detached, mocking tone was becoming annoyingly familiar.

  I’ve hurt him, Raisa thought. I’ve hurt him badly, and violated his trust. Somehow I have to find a way to win it back. To win him back. To prove myself to him.

  “I wasn’t there when the agreement was made,” Raisa said, looking into his eyes. “Anyway, that was between you and the clans. I know you’re still resentful of the bargain you made—understandably. I don’t need some grudging, halfhearted letter-of-the-law effort. That will get me killed.”

  “That’d be a shame,” Han murmured. He paused, thinking, his fair brows drawn together. “Isn’t that Corporal Byrne’s job? Protecting you, I mean? You planning to make him Captain of the Queen’s Guard?”

  Raisa nodded. “He already is, in a way. I’ll make it public at the coronation. But I’ll need both of you,” she said. “Even that might not be enough.”

  “What’s in it for me?” Han asked, squinting into the distance. “I’m a sell-sword, after all. What are you offering in trade, since you seem intent on buying me all over again.” His tone was light, but Raisa heard the trader underneath the words.

  “What do you want?” Raisa asked.

  Han pretended to study on it, but she suspected he had the answers ready. “Well, first off, I’ll need a crib in the palace so I can keep an eye on you and everyone else. A nice place, mind you,” he said, narrowing his eyes as if she might try to cheat him out of his due. “Big enough so guests can stay over. Adjoining your rooms.”

  “Adjoining my…” Raisa frowned. “No. That’s not possible.” Having a wizard next door was not a good idea. It had never been done. Even Gavan Bayar and Queen Marianna had kept a gallery between them.

  Han raised his hands, palms up. “Do you want protection or not? Do you want me clear across the palace when you need me?” When she still hesitated, he added, “You asked what I wanted, remember? I won’t take a job if I can’t do it right. You know who’ll get the blame if it goes wrong.”

  “All right,” she said, wondering how Amon Byrne would react to this idea. “But no guests. Not right next door to my chambers.” For security reasons, she told herself.

  He smiled crookedly. “Your Highness, I have lots of friends who’ve never even been in a palace and—”

  She held up her hand. “Never mind, Alister. I can tell this isn’t going to work. I’ll take my chances with—”

  “You win,” he interrupted, as if knowing he’d pushed too far. “No guests—overnight, anyway.”

  She gazed into his face for a long moment, and he looked back steadily. “All right, then, so we are agreed. We—”

  “Second, I’ll need a monthly stipend,” he said. “The clans are paying my living expenses, but I don’t want to have to rely on that, in case they get aggravated with me. I got people to keep in the city, so—” He looked sideways at her, as if to assess the size of her purse. “Fifty girlies to start.”

  “Fifty girlies!” Raisa rolled her eyes. “Who are you keeping? A harem of fancy girls?” It wouldn’t surprise her, given the stories she’d heard about the streetlord Cuffs Alister.

  “It isn’t your business what I do with the money,” Han said. “You just have to decide whether it’s worth it to you.”

  Raisa sighed. “All right. Fifty girlies. I’ll speak with the steward when we—”

  “Third, you need to keep teaching me manners,” he broke in. “Protocol, dress, dancing, everything I need to know to be at court. Twice a week, an hour, minimum.”

  “Really?” Raisa raised an eyebrow. “Seems to me you’re doing all right on your own—when you make the effort, that is. But if that’s what you want, I will arrange for a tutor to—”

  “No.” He shook his head. “You. I want you to do it, just the two of us. It will give us a good excuse to meet in private on a regular basis.” There was something in his gaze, something that suggested this was some kind of test that she needed to pass.

  Raisa pressed her lips together to keep any words from spilling. And nodded her assent. Access was one of a monarch’s favors to give away, and Han wanted guaranteed access on an ongoing basis. It was clever on his part.

  “All right,” she said. “There can’t possibly be anything else.”

  “One last thing. I want you to name me to the Wizard Council,” Han said.

  Raisa stared at him. “What?”

  “Back at Oden’s Ford, when I asked about the council, you said that the queen appoints one member. That’s what I want.”

  “I thought you hated the Wizard Council,” Raisa said. “Why would you want to be a member?”

  “Maybe I want to be a member of a club that would never let me in otherwise,” Han said. “Just to give them the itches.”

  “Isn’t that whom you’re supposed to be fighting?” Raisa’s voice rose.

  Han put his finger to his lips. “Shhh. I’ll be hacking at the council from the inside. But the Demonai won’t understand. That’s one reason I need a stipend from you.”

  “If they think you’ve turned, you’ll be risking more than your income,” Raisa said.

  “I’ll take that chance,” Han said. “I’ll be working for you, and you’re the queen, right?”

  Raisa rubbed her forehead. “Are you sure you’re not a trader under the skin?” she asked.

  “We’re all traders in Ragmarket,” Han said.

  Raisa thought it over. Truth be told, she preferred Han Alister to most anyone else she could think of appointing to the council. He was likely less dangerous, since he had no preexisting alliances or family connections. And she couldn’t imagine that he’d ever ally himself with the Bayars. “All right,” Raisa said. “I’ll appoint you to the Wizard Council.”

  Han spit in his palm and held out his hand.

  Rolling her eyes, Raisa spit in her own palm and clasped his.

  “Briar Rose?”

  Raisa looked up, startled. Reid Nightwalker had approached without her noticing. His dark eyes flicked from Raisa to Han. “The horses are grained and rested and we’re ready to go,” he said. “It’s another two hours to Marianna Peak.”

  Han smiled. “We’re done,” he said, and walked toward the horses with something of a swagger.

  Reid stared after him.

  Raisa wondered how much he had overheard.

  She wondered if Han had intended that he overhear.

  Who was the real player—her or Han Alister? And what was his game?

  Sh
e was in over her head in so many ways. Vulnerable to him in so many ways.

  I’ve got to get better at this, she thought, if I’m going to survive.

  C H A P T E R T W E N T Y-T H R E E

  MAKING SHOW

  It was midafternoon when they arrived on the north slope of Marianna, just below the joining of her twin peaks. The Demonai had sent several warriors ahead to scout the area and make sure the way was clear of unfriendly eyes.

  Night Bird was one of them. She returned to say that the regular army had established a light perimeter to the north of the memorial site.

  “They’ve posted soldiers upslope from the memorial site, but not many,” she said. “Most have been sent downslope, since they seem more worried about threats from below. There is a huge crowd already gathered, and more coming all the time. The Queen’s Guard has erected barricades around the memorial site itself, but the entire slope of Marianna is already packed with people.”

  “Really?” Elena said, her brow crinkling. “What kind of people? Soldiers, or…”

  “Within the perimeter, it’s jinxflingers and the Vale nobility and soldiers,” Night Bird said. “Downslope, they’re regular citizens. Not bluebloods, but tradespeople and laborers, line soldiers and scholars. Probably thieves and pickpockets, too. Thousands of people.”

  Raisa glanced at Han, who seemed totally focused on Night Bird. He wore his politely interested street face.

  Night Bird continued her report. “I spoke with the corporal in charge of the Guard and told them that Elena Cennestre and a small party of clan royalty and Demonai warriors would be arriving soon from the north. I said that after the ceremony we’d be camping overnight on the north slope, then returning home tomorrow or the next day.”

  Strategically, that was a good place to be. The Demonai could place archers on the heights, and that would leave a back door open for a hasty retreat, if need be.

  “Who was the corporal?” Raisa asked. “The one in charge?”

  “Corporal Fallon,” Bird replied. “Mason Fallon.”

  A cold rivulet of apprehension trickled between Raisa’s shoulder blades. Someone else she didn’t know, handpicked by her enemies. She was glad Amon would be there.