The Crimson Crown

by Cinda Williams Chima

  One other wizard completed the circle, a plump, nervous-looking man in blueblood finery.

  “Alister,” Lord Bayar said. “It is customary for council members to arrive a few minutes early, so that we can begin on time. When you didn’t come, I assumed that you’d had second thoughts about your ability to represent the queen in this forum.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” Han said, making his way around the table to the sideboard. He piled a small plate with cheese and fruit and poured himself some cider, though there was wine on offer. Since he wasn’t expected to be there, he guessed it was safe to eat.

  Han carried his plate to a seat opposite Adam Gryphon while the rest of the council stared at him with a mixture of perplexity and affront. “I’m looking forward to learning more about wizard politics,” Han said, popping a grape into his mouth.

  Gryphon and Abelard fought back smiles.

  “There are four issues on the agenda, Alister,” the High Wizard said. “The recent killings of wizards in the uplands, the murders of the gifted in the city, the replacement of Lord deVilliers on the council, and the election of a new High Wizard to serve alongside our newly crowned queen.” He paused as if waiting for Han to catch up.

  Lord deVilliers? Han thought. Why would Lord deVilliers need replacing?

  “Item one,” Lord Bayar said. “This is what we know now. Four wizards were killed by copperhead savages in a skirmish near Marisa Pines Camp. Along with Lord deVilliers, they murdered three students from the academy. One was Dolph’s nephew.”

  Bloody bones, Han thought. So the older wizard killed on Hanalea was deVilliers—the council member Abelard had named as an ally. No wonder she looks so woesome. Her face was as hard and chalky as the cliffs along the Indio.

  “Lord deVilliers will be sorely missed.” Bayar gestured toward the vacant black-draped chair. “The Demonai have admitted responsibility. They claim the wizards were killed on clan lands, in the act of abducting copperhead children. Though the children were retrieved, supposedly one was injured during the incident.”

  “One was injured,” Han said. “She is recovering. A six-year-old girl.”

  “Who told you that?” Bayar rolled his eyes.

  “Nobody told me. I was there.”

  “You were there?” Abelard glared at him as if he should have cleared it with her. “What for?”

  “I had business at Marisa Pines Camp,” Han said, deciding to keep his role in the chase to himself. “I saw the girl. Her name is Skips Stones.”

  If Han thought the use of her name would engender any compassion in this crowd, he was wrong.

  “Well, I don’t believe it,” the plump, worried-looking wizard said. He was dressed in velvet and lace, wearing an amulet big as a temple incense burner. “Wizards targeting children? Surely Randolph would not have been involved in any such enterprise.”

  “Ordinarily, I would agree with you, Lord Mander,” Abelard said, “but tempers are high among our young wizards, especially those who don’t have legacy flash to draw upon. Several enrolled Mystwerk House students have not been able to secure amulets. Dolph’s nephew Jeremy was one. He would have come to the academy this fall.”

  She paused, tilting her head back and looking down her nose at the High Wizard. “But perhaps the scarcity of amulets is not an issue for the Bayars. Which might explain why this council has not pushed the copperheads harder on this.”

  Lord Bayar shrugged, ignoring the dig. “I have sent a strong message to Lord Averill that these regrettable incidents will continue as long as the Demonai interdict the sale of amulets to the gifted.”

  “A strong message?” Abelard said. “I’m sure that’s keeping them up at night.” She snorted. “Let’s move on to item two. The murders in the capital are a more pressing issue. Some in the assembly believe drastic action is needed. That’s one reason I came home.” She sat back, resting the heels of her hands on the table. “Nearly a dozen wizards dead, Gavan. The council should act. It’s obvious who is responsible. Who would have more reason to kill wizards and steal their amulets than the Demonai?”

  “Isn’t it possible that somebody else is doing it and trying to throw the blame on them?” Han said, into Abelard’s scowl.

  “Isn’t it possible you are trying to deflect blame from your friends, the Demonai?” Micah said, his black eyes fixed on Han. “Everyone knows that you are an apologist for the copperheads. One would think you were representing them, and not Her Majesty.”

  “An interesting point,” Lord Bayar said, nodding. “Taking it a step further, Alister is an expert of sorts on street murders. And most of the dead were found in Ragmarket.”

  “What are you suggesting, Gavan?” Abelard said, her eyes glittering.

  “Perhaps young Alister knows more than he lets on,” Bayar said. “It seems likely that he still has contacts in the festering slums he came from. And, after all, the murders commenced when he returned to the Fells.” He paused. “A coincidence, perhaps.”

  A murmur ran around the table.

  I’m not here ten minutes, and I’m already accused of murder, Han thought. By the biggest murderer of all.

  “If you have some kind of evidence, then I suggest you put it on the black and white,” Han said. “Or hire a knight of the post to swear to it. You must have a dozen professional liars on retainer.”

  Bayar blinked at him, as if bewildered by the tangle of slang and court speech. “Rest assured, we will identify those responsible and see them punished. In the meantime, it’s inappropriate for a member of this council to maintain ties to the copperheads, given the history between us and them. It’s a conflict of interest.”

  “I am here as the queen’s representative,” Han said. “Queen Raisa has to rule over everyone—clans, Valefolk, and wizards. She wants to bring people together—not tear them apart.”

  “Is that so?” Micah said, his posture stiff and hostile. “We don’t really know what your agenda is. Even though you’ve managed to strong-arm the queen into appointing you to this council, that’s no guarantee that you represent her interests.”

  “Look,” Han said. “You’ve been to the down-realms recently. You’ve seen what’s going on. We’ve both met Gerard Montaigne.” He locked gazes with Micah. “I don’t know about you, but he made an impression on me. We need to present a united front.”

  Micah just stared at Han, expressionless. “Then the clans should lift their interdiction. We need amulets if we are to protect ourselves against potential invaders.”

  That’s always your solution, Han thought. More weapons.

  “I’ve been to the camps in the Spirits,” Han went on. “The clans are strong, and they are determined. Get into a war with them, and it’ll last forever. Trade will shut down completely, and you won’t be able to get out of the Vale without catching a backful of arrows. But if the Spirit clans and wizards would collaborate, there’s nobody could stop us.” Han looked around the table, and the message returned from every face was, As if that would ever happen. “Or we can go on squabbling with each other until we’re weak enough that somebody like Montaigne can pick us off. And you know what they do to wizards in the south.”

  Abelard frowned at Han, as if thinking that her pretty-boy puppet had gone rogue.

  Triumph glinted in Gavan Bayar’s blue eyes. “I think we’ve heard enough of this kind of talk. At best, the copperheads are jumped-up tradesmen who are skilled with their hands. At worst, they are barely civilized savages who present a grave danger to the society we have built.”

  He sighed, straightening his sleeves. “In a perfect world, they would supply the flash we need without question—grateful for the trade and the protection we offer to the realm. In the world we have, the best thing that could happen is we would find another source of amulets and the copperheads would be exterminated.” He paused, driving his point home. “In my opinion, any wizard who fraternizes with copperheads is suspect.”

  A murmur of agreement ran around the table.
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  “Really?” Han said. “Is that why the council forbids congress between wizards and the Spirit clans?”

  “That’s one reason,” Gavan Bayar said, his mouth twisting as if the very idea were disgusting. “The other is the possibility of producing a mixed-blood child who is gifted. That would be a disaster. I know you spend a lot of time in the camps, Alister. While bedding a savage might suit someone of your proclivities, I encourage you to satisfy your appetites elsewhere.”

  Han met the High Wizard’s eyes, held his gaze for a long moment, and smiled his hard street smile. “Sounds like good advice,” he said, “for all of us.”

  Bayar’s eyes narrowed, fixing on Han for a long moment before he changed the subject. “Item three. We have contacted Randolph’s daughter, Mordra deVilliers, who remained in Oden’s Ford this summer. She will assume her father’s place on the council. She is on her way back, but is not expected for a few weeks, depending on conditions in the flatlands.”

  Han brightened. He guessed Mordra wouldn’t have much use for the Bayars, since Micah and Fiona had treated her like gutter scummer at Oden’s Ford.

  Still, Mordra could be hard to take. Whatever she thought tended to come right out of her mouth, like when she’d lectured Han on manners at the Dean’s Dinner. Han had kept his thoughts to himself, so they’d got on well, from her perspective, maybe.

  “Unfortunately,” Lord Bayar said, “we have pressing business—business that cannot wait until Proficient deVilliers arrives. The selection of a High Wizard.”

  Abelard stiffened. “What’s the rush, Gavan? Better to make a good decision than a hasty one.”

  “The matter is urgent, Mina,” Mander said. “The queendom is in dire danger. As Alister pointed out, Montaigne is a threat from the south. He’s made it clear that he means to annex the Fells sooner or later. Not only that, but there have been several attempts on our young queen’s life, even though she has a—a bodyguard.” Mander licked his lips, shooting a glance at Han. “Wizards are being murdered right in Fellsmarch, and the copperheads seem intent on picking a fight with us. Our young queen needs a High Wizard to advise her.”

  “Five is a quorum, isn’t it?” Micah said blandly.

  They were like players on the stage, each speaking lines. Han knew immediately where this was going. But before he could say anything, Gryphon spoke up. “Yes, five is a quorum. But I would prefer to wait for Mordra. It seems only fair to allow her to be heard.”

  Han stared at Gryphon in surprise, theories swirling through his mind. Maybe Gryphon doesn’t know the Bayar position on this, he thought. Or maybe Han had misjudged Gryphon’s feelings about Fiona. Or maybe Gryphon knew he didn’t have a rat’s chance in Ragmarket with Fiona, anyway.

  “I agree with Gryphon,” Abelard said. “It’s not as though the post of High Wizard is vacant—if you’re willing to stay on until a new one is named.” She raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

  Bayar sighed, fingering his double-falcon amulet—the one that matched the ring Willo had kept all these years. “Now that Queen Raisa has been crowned, frankly, I had hoped the matter of the High Wizard appointment could be handled expeditiously so that I could devote more time to my business interests, which have been neglected as of late.”

  Han leaned forward. “But wouldn’t it be better to keep someone like yourself—someone experienced in dealing with killers?” He paused for a heartbeat, then added, “With all the killing going on, I mean.”

  Bayar slowly turned his head and gazed at Han, his blue eyes scrimmed with ice.

  “Of course, if you aren’t able to stay on, we could appoint someone else to fill in until Mordra arrives, and we can take a vote,” Han suggested innocently. “Maybe Dean Abelard would be willing.”

  Abelard smiled, cheered that her protégé was back on the party line.

  “Such an arrangement would present a risk,” Bayar said, steepling his fingers. “I am willing to serve until we can settle this matter satisfactorily.”

  “Very well, then, I think we can conclude that there is no need to hurry things along,” Abelard said with a tight smile. “We can wait for Mordra.”

  “I don’t think we can ask Lord Bayar to serve indefinitely,” Mander said. “We meet again in two weeks. I suggest that if Proficient deVilliers has not arrived by our next meeting, we proceed with the selection of a High Wizard.”

  Gryphon nodded. “That is reasonable, I suppose,” he conceded.

  I hope Mordra is careful along the way, Han thought, counting noses. Abelard figured she had Han in her pocket. She could likely rely on support from Mordra. Abelard would need one more vote to avoid Bayar’s tiebreaker for High Wizard. She might be counting on Gryphon, but Han wouldn’t put his money on him—not now, anyway.

  Even worse, if Han stood for High Wizard, he couldn’t name a single person in the room—other than himself—who would vote his way. He just couldn’t see any way to win. He pressed his hands to his head as if that could stop his thoughts from swirling.

  After a few more minor pieces of business, the meeting ended. Han meant to leave right away, so there wouldn’t be time to set up a new ambush, and so nobody would trail him to his secret entrance. But Micah got between him and the door before he could exit.

  “Hold on, Alister,” Micah said. “I’d like a word with you.”

  The others filed by and out the door, leaving them alone.

  “How did you get here?” Micah asked, tilting his head in inquiry. “Did you fly?”

  “What do you mean?” Han said, broadening his stance and taking hold of his amulet.

  “I didn’t see your horse in the stables. I didn’t see you anywhere along the road. Very mysterious.”

  “Why?” Han asked. “Did you want to ride up here together? I wish I’d known.”

  “You may be king of the thieves, but this isn’t Ragmarket,” Micah said. “Whatever your game, you’re on our playing field now.”

  “I never thought this was a game,” Han said.

  “I don’t know what kind of threats you’ve made against Queen Raisa, or why she tolerates you, but if you betray her, or hurt her in any way, I will come after you.” Micah emphasized the last few words in case Han didn’t get it.

  “Don’t worry, I have no intention of hurting or betraying the queen.” Han paused, holding Micah’s gaze. “Feel better now?”

  “I expect to feel better very soon,” Micah said, smiling. “Take care.” He turned and walked out the door.

  Han took every precaution against being followed on his way back to the tunnels, even though he assumed his enemies would wait until he got clear of the Council House before making a move. He glamoured up and traveled through the kitchens again, putting up magical webs to entangle anyone in pursuit. Once convinced that no one had tailed him, he descended to the lowest cellar. Brushing away evidence of his passage as best he could, he dropped open the hatch to the tunnel and lowered himself through, fastening the door behind him. His saddlebags still lay where he’d left them.

  Looping them over his shoulder, he opened the door to the rock chamber where the boiling spring had been. He didn’t look forward to enduring that again. But he found himself in a dry rock chamber. Steps led up to the chamber above.

  As he mounted the steps, he caught a whiff of sulfur. Keeping his eyes forward, he climbed to the top and out of the rock chamber. When he looked back, there was the blue spring again, steaming and stinking and seemingly deadly.

  He descended through the gently sloping tunnel at a trot. He’d accumulated a little more flash while he sat in the council meeting. One by one, he disabled magical barriers, the same as he’d encountered on his way in. As he ran, he mapped the path in his mind.

  Finally, the tunnel flattened into the straight, broad pathway back to the entrance cave. Here there were fewer barriers, and Han made rapid progress.

  When he reached the opening into the cave where he’d left Dancer, it was still covered with a mist of magic. A raven was etched
into the stone on this side as well. Once again, he scraped away layers of charms until only one fine layer stood between him and the outside.

  Pressing his palm against the raven, speaking the final charm, he walked through it.

  Gratefully, he sucked cold fresh air into his lungs. There, and back, and still alive. That was something to be grateful for.

  By now it was dark outside, and pitch black inside the cave where his wizard light didn’t penetrate. Only a faint glow told him where the exit was.

  “Dancer?” he called softly.

  No answer.

  Han circled the cave, illuminating the dark corners. No Dancer. He walked to the opening and peered out.

  Dancer lay flat on his back on the ground just outside the cave, his body in glowing outline, eyes closed. Tendrils of vine were looped around his legs and arms. Had it not been for the flash emanating from him, Han might have overlooked him.

  “Dancer?”

  Dancer didn’t seem to hear.

  Worry knotted Han’s stomach. He knelt next to Dancer and shook him hard. “Dancer! Hey, now, wake up!”

  Dancer opened his eyes and looked at Han. He blinked several times, as if he’d been in a trance. Then his eyes focused on Han and he smiled dreamily.

  “What are you doing?” Han said, sitting back on his heels. “I thought…I didn’t know what to think.”

  “I was tracking you, inside the mountain,” Dancer whispered. He sat up, bits of damp leaves clinging to his back. “I’m experimenting,” he said, shaking off leaf mold and twigs. “The Spirit clans draw power from the land. That’s what fuels flash-crafting, healing, and the rest. It happens naturally when we’re in the Spirits. I wondered if I could accelerate the process, using high magic.”

  “And?” Han tilted his head.

  Dancer shrugged, still looking as though he were deep in his cups. “I think it worked, though I’m not sure where the magic is, whether in my amulet or…elsewhere. It was…like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I could feel energy flowing through the earth, like a blood supply, augmenting the magic I produce myself. I felt…embraced.” He smiled beatifically.