The Crimson Crown

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “It’s your pick, right?” Han said. “You said you wanted to—what was the word—integrate the council into your government. Dancer would be a reliable ally.”

  “They’ll kill him,” Raisa whispered. “I don’t want that on my conscience.”

  Han flinched, and Raisa knew she’d gotten to him. For a long moment, he looked desperately lonely. But he collected himself. “Well,” he said, “they’ll likely kill me too, but it hasn’t happened yet.” He smiled crookedly. “I’ll make as much trouble as I can before they do.”

  “All right,” Raisa said. “If you are named High Wizard, I’ll appoint Fire Dancer.”

  “Can I get that in writing?” Han said, nudging a blank page across the table toward her.

  Raisa stiffened. “My word is not good enough?”

  “Good enough for me,” Han said. “But I’ll need proof for the Bayars, because they won’t take my word for it. I want to have it with me when I go to the council. I won’t use it unless I win the vote.”

  Shaking her head, Raisa picked up a pen and scrawled a writ across the page.

  In the event that Han Alister is elected High Wizard of the Fells, or otherwise cannot carry out his duties as my representative on the Wizard Council, I name Hayden Fire Dancer as his replacement. HRM Raisa ana’Marianna.

  Han leaned forward, reading upside down, his head nearly touching hers. When Raisa had finished, she slid it toward him. “Will this suffice?”

  Han tapped his fingers on the page. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’ll let you know what happens.”

  I hope I’m doing the right thing, Raisa thought. Please, please, please don’t let anything happen to him.

  They sat in awkward silence. Finally, Han stood. “So. If there’s nothing else…”

  Raisa stood also, suddenly desperate to make him stay a little longer.

  “I hope you’ll be careful,” she said, her husky voice betraying her. “Because you’re really…very important to me and—”

  And before she knew what she was doing, she’d slid her arms around his waist and pressed herself against him.

  At first he stiffened, resisting, then surrendered, and his arms enfolded her, pulling her in. She tilted her head up, and his lips came down on hers. Her mouth opened against his, and she breathed him in, a complicated mixture of sweat, wood smoke, blue ruin, and fresh air. A thousand unspoken words flowed between them.

  Complicated. Complicated. And yet—simple. They were like two pieces of a failed star, drawn together by a shared history and a memory of illicit kisses.

  He slid his hands under her shirt, and his fingers hissed against her skin, tracing her backbone down, cupping her backside. She kissed the hollow in his throat where the pulse beat strongest, and then his collarbone, feeling his heart thrumming under the coarsely woven fabric.

  He lifted her, hands supporting her, and she wrapped her legs around him, pressing her breasts against his chest. Her hands explored, found openings in his clothing, caressed bare skin. He shivered, and she felt his body shaping itself to hers, as desire drove everything else from her mind.

  Finally, with a shuddering sigh, he closed his hands around her waist and straightened his arms, breaking the embrace. They stood staring at each other, both of them breathing hard.

  Raisa took Han’s hand, tugging him gently toward the bedchamber. For a moment, she thought he would come, but he set his heels, resisting, shaking his head no.

  “Please,” she said, pulling with both hands now, beyond having any pride at all.

  His expression was a mingle of frustration, desire, and that familiar obstinacy. “I told you before the coronation,” he said. “I won’t be your backdoor lover. I’m not a thief anymore. I’m not going to steal scraps from somebody else’s table.”

  “I know you told me that,” Raisa said, wanting to add, But I didn’t think you really meant it. “But if this—if this is all we can have, and—and if you want it, and I want it, then—”

  “You don’t get it,” Han said softly. “If I give in, then it’s too easy to settle for living on the down-low. I need this—” He extended his empty hands toward her, then closed them into fists. “I need this if I’m going to do the hard thing.”

  “This is the hard thing!” Raisa shouted, then pressed her hands over her mouth.

  Cradling her chin with his battered hands, he turned her face up and kissed her again, gently this time, and sweetly, as if storing up for later. Resting his forehead against hers, he breathed deep. Then took a step back, pulling free.

  “Tell me what you want from me,” Raisa whispered.

  “Good night, Your Majesty.” Han’s voice shook. Scooping up Raisa’s writ, he padded catlike to the connecting door, slipped through, and closed it behind him.

  C H A P T E R T W E L V E

  MEETINGS AT

  MIDDAY

  Averill and Raisa walked through the ground-level gardens inside the castle close—one of their rare opportunities to be together these days. Though she’d given him a suite of rooms in the palace, he was rarely there. But today he’d come down from Demonai Camp because he had trader business with the steward.

  “I wonder if the day will ever come that I can walk around the castle close, at least, without an entourage,” Raisa grumbled, glancing over her shoulder at her guard. “Nobody told me that being queen would be so…crowded.” It was just one symptom of the troubles that beset her.

  “I had hoped tensions would ease after the coronation,” Averill said. “But the threat of war with Arden and Tamron keeps the pot boiling. And these street murders of wizards don’t help. I can’t seem to convince Lord Bayar that the Demonai have nothing to do with it.”

  “Are you sure that they don’t?” Raisa asked. “There are hotheads on both sides.”

  Averill winced, as if taking a blow. “Do you really think Elena Cennestre and I would sanction something that puts you in danger, Briar Rose?”

  Raisa slid her arm through his. “No. I don’t.”

  “Could it be Hunts Alone?” Averill asked. “Have you thought of that?”

  Raisa resisted the temptation to withdraw her arm. “He’s a wizard himself,” she pointed out. “Why would he go out killing wizards, apparently at random?”

  “He may see it as a way to get back at the clans, knowing we’ll be blamed,” Averill said. “The killings have taken place in areas he has frequented in the past.”

  “You’re being unfair,” Raisa said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “First you ask for his help against the Wizard Council. Then you accuse him of conspiring with wizards. Now you accuse him of murdering them.” She searched his eyes. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

  “This is hard for me.” Averill shifted his eyes away, his jaw tightening. “Wizards are not like us, Briar Rose. They prey on each other as well as their more traditional enemies. You cannot assume that because we would not do a thing, that—”

  “He says it’s not him,” Raisa broke in. “And I believe him. Why is it that when anything bad happens, Han Alister gets the blame?” She struggled to hide the feelings that threatened to bubble to the surface.

  “He’s a killer,” Averill said. “And a thief. And a wizard.” He ticked off each fault on his fingers.

  “And yet you made a deal with him,” Raisa said.

  “Maybe that was a mistake.”

  “Why? What has he done?” Raisa’s face heated, and she turned away so her father wouldn’t see.

  “That’s just it—we never know what he’ll do next,” Averill growled. “Somehow, he persuaded you to appoint him your bodyguard, then moved in next door to you. Now you’ve appointed him to the Wizard Council.” Averill paused for a heartbeat, then added, “He’s ambitious.” The word was loaded with meaning.

  My father is no fool, Raisa thought. On some level, he knows there’s something between me and Han. That’s what’s driving this enmity. When he looks at Han, is he recalling Gavan Bayar’s seduction of Marianna?
If so, I might as well paint a target on Han’s back.

  “He’s a man,” Raisa said. “He’s not just a weapon you can aim and fire. You’ve given him a job to do; you should trust him to do it.”

  Averill shook his head. “That’s just it—we don’t trust him. Temporarily, our interests coincide. But we’re not naive. We’ve made sure he won’t betray us.”

  Raisa wheeled around to face her father. “What do you mean?” she demanded. “What have you done? What are you planning to do?”

  “It’s Demonai business, daughter,” Averill said.

  “What. Have. You. Done?” Raisa glared up at her father, fists clenched, knowing she was giving too much away, but unable to help herself.

  “Briar Rose,” Averill said, taking her hands, trying to soothe her. “Please. I’m just saying that we are keeping a close eye on him. As long as he does as he’s told, he has nothing to worry about.”

  He’s lying to me, Raisa thought. My father is lying to me, and he thinks it’s for my own good. They’d always been so close, and it broke her heart that he wouldn’t confide in her anymore.

  And she couldn’t confide in him.

  “I’m glad to hear that, Father,” she said. “I just want to remind you that Hunts Alone saved my life. That has to count for something. And, just like everyone else, I expect the Demonai to adhere to the rule of law.”

  They began walking again, Raisa’s guard still trailing them. Averill glanced back at them, seeming eager to leave the subject of Han Alister. “As long as you remain single, the Wizard Council has hopes of marrying you to one of their own,” he said. “A wedding would take that option off the table. It might actually make you safer.”

  Raisa knew where this was going. In a way, this was still about Han Alister.

  “It might. Or, depending on whom I marry, it might make me less safe,” she said. “For instance, if I were to marry someone from the Spirit clans, the gifted might decide to assassinate me and try their luck with Mellony.” She paused. “Speaking of Mellony, I wish you would spend more time with her. She’s been lost since our mother died. She and Marianna were so close.”

  “I know,” Averill said. “I think some time in the mountains would be healing for her. But Daylily resists my overtures. It’s almost like she blames me for Marianna’s death.”

  “Keep trying,” Raisa said. “I’m worried about her.”

  “I will,” Averill promised, then quickly returned to his favorite topic. “Now, back to the question of a marriage. I am hoping that you will seriously consider Reid Nightwalker. He’s a strong leader and a skilled warrior, well regarded in all of the camps. He’s of royal lineage through the clans, and my successor.”

  “He’s headstrong, don’t you think?” Raisa said.

  Averill laughed. “As I was, at that age. I think it’s that passion he has that attracts so many followers. And you like him, don’t you? There was a time, when you were at Demonai Camp, that—”

  “I like him—most of the time,” Raisa admitted. There was a time I thought I loved him, she thought. What happened? Is it the comparison with Han? Or is it because Elena and Averill are pushing him on me? And, yet—they’ve known him all his life, and they would want the best for me, right?

  “You think I should make a match like my mother’s, then?” Raisa said. That worked out well, she wanted to say. But didn’t. Instead, she squeezed her father’s arm to take some of the sting away.

  Averill walked on a few more paces before he replied. “I know my marriage to Marianna wasn’t…everything it could have been,” he said at last. “But I genuinely loved your mother—you must know that. And I like to think that, in the absence of Lord Bayar, I could have won her love in spite of our age difference. And you and Daylily were worth any amount of pain.”

  “So I’m to settle for pain and progeny?” Raisa said, trying for light, but her voice trembled. “In Nightwalker’s case, it would be me wondering whose bed he was sleeping in.”

  “He will change his ways,” Averill said. “He really wants this, you know.”

  “I know,” Raisa said. “I will seriously consider Nightwalker, but I can’t help wondering if he wants me, personally, or if he just wants to be married to the queen.”

  “Does it matter?” Averill looked into her eyes. “One cannot be divided from the other.”

  Raisa laughed. “Sometimes I don’t know if you are a cynic or a romantic.”

  “Both,” Averill said. “That’s how you survive love and politics.” He embraced her, then turned away, toward Factor House.

  Pausing in the corridor outside the door to her suite, Raisa could hear sweet basilka music from inside. Cat, she thought, smiling. When she eased the door open, she saw Cat sitting on the edge of the hearth, her basilka crosswise on her lap, her dark head bent over the strings. And next to her, Magret was sprawled in a chair drawn up to the fire, her head thrown back, eyes closed, a cloth across her forehead.

  Cat looked up and saw Raisa, and the music broke off abruptly. She jackknifed to her feet and curtsied, holding the basilka by its neck.

  When the music stopped, Magret opened her eyes and sat up, blinking. When she saw Raisa, she, likewise, leapt up as if they’d been caught in guilty pursuits.

  “Your Majesty!” she sputtered, sinking into a curtsy. “I did not hear you come in.”

  “Be at ease, Magret,” Raisa said. “It looks like you have one of your headaches.”

  “I do, ma’am,” Magret said. She cleared her throat. “But the music, it seems to help,” she said. “The girl suggested it.” She tilted her head toward Cat.

  “The girl has a name,” Raisa said, raising her eyebrows.

  “Caterina suggested it,” Magret said dutifully.

  “Continue, if you like,” Raisa said to the both of them. “I have some reading to do.”

  “Ma’am, if it’s all right with you, I would like to go lie down for a while,” Magret said. “I’ll be feeling better by suppertime, I’m sure of it.”

  “Of course,” Raisa said, waving her away. “Take all the time you need.”

  After Magret left, Raisa sat down in the chair she had vacated and pulled some paperwork out of a portfolio. It was a survey of border fortifications she’d asked Klemath to put together. According to the report, the fortifications were in good shape.

  Hmmm, she thought. Last I knew, the wall near Marisa Pines Pass was badly in need of repair.

  It was difficult to focus, though, with the accusations against Han occupying her mind.

  Meanwhile, Cat bustled about as if trying to find something to do, walking around the heaps of clothing that needed to be taken to the laundry or put away.

  “Sit,” Raisa ordered, pointing at the hearth. Cat obeyed. “Tell me what’s going on in Ragmarket and Southbridge. What are you hearing about the wizard murders?”

  Cat’s face went opaque, like a window misting over. “Nothing,” she said, picking at a scab on her arm. “I’d have brought it to Cuffs—Lord Alister—or Captain Byrne if I did.”

  It was a quick answer—too quick to be the truth. Raisa tried to catch Cat’s eye, but her maid/spymaster refused to look at her.

  “Surely you’ve heard something,” Raisa persisted. “Rumors, gossip…”

  Cat shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Nobody’s seen anything—or if they did, they an’t saying. There’s no bagged flash come to market. The killers an’t even spoiled the bodies.”

  “Well? Do you have any theories?” Raisa was growing impatient.

  “I wondered if it might be somebody taking revenge for all the killings that was done last summer—the Southies and the Raggers.” Cat cleared her throat. “I mean, since they was done by wizardry, and it’s wizards being killed. But there’s no Southies left—and no Raggers, either, except the ones working for you and Lord Alister.”

  A tiny suspicion crept in before Raisa could squelch it. Could Cat and her crew be involved somehow? Without Han’s knowledge? Could that be why
Cat was so skittish?

  “Would anyone speak up to the Guard if they knew anything about the killings, do you think?” Raisa asked. “If they saw anything?”

  “Likely not,” Cat said. “Jinxflingers an’t welcome in Southbridge or Ragmarket. Most are happy to see them go down. Folks aren’t going to take risks on their account. The only one they fancy is Cuffs, because he’s one of their own. They respected him before. Now they think he can chew rocks and spit diamonds.”

  “Do you think it’s someone acting alone?”

  “Maybe. If it was the gangs, somebody would know something, and somebody would tell me. Whoever it is, they’re good at slipping around unseen.” Cat seemed to be choosing her words carefully, like she was stepping around some big secret.

  Raisa’s thoughts strayed to her father’s accusations against Han. “Could it be a wizard?”

  Cat finally met Raisa’s eyes, a miserable expression on her face. “I guess it could be, since they can hide themselves.” She paused. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” Raisa said, unsure of how to interpret Cat’s signals. “I mean, none of the dead were killed with wizardry.”

  “Well, that’d give it away, wouldn’t it?” Cat said, almost to herself. “Anyway, blades are quicker than jinxes. I guess it wouldn’t be hard for one wizard to stick another, since they likely trust each other.”

  I don’t know about the trust part, Raisa thought. Could the shortage of amulets be playing out in this way—wizards killing and stealing them from each other? After all, some were willing to kidnap clan children to the same purpose. Could disputes on the council be spilling over into the streets? That didn’t make sense, though. None of the victims were particularly important. All they had in common was that they were wizards.

  “Why don’t you play?” Raisa asked finally, nodding toward the basilka leaning against the hearth. But just then came a sharp rap on the door. Cat went to answer, and soon after, Raisa heard voices rising in an argument.

  “She’s not here,” Cat was saying. “Come back later. Or never.”