The Crimson Crown

by Cinda Williams Chima

“Who is it, Lady Tyburn?” Raisa called over her shoulder.

  Cat flinched, as Raisa’s voice gave the game away. “Nobody,” she said. “Nobody you want to see.”

  It didn’t sound like imminent danger, anyway. Raisa stood and looked toward the door. Beyond Cat, filling the doorframe, was Micah Bayar, one hand on his amulet, the other extended toward Cat.

  A different kind of danger.

  “Call off your attack dog, Raisa,” Micah said.

  Cat waved a knife at Micah. “Try me. We’ll see who’s faster,” she said, eyes glittering. “It better be a quick jinx.”

  “I thought Alister killed you,” Micah said to Cat. “He told me he did.”

  “When it comes to people Lord Alister wants to kill, I wouldn’t be first in line,” Cat said.

  “Stop it, Caterina,” Raisa said. “Let him in. I told him he could call on me.”

  “What?” Cat’s expression said that Raisa was likely impaired. “Why?”

  “That’s my business,” Raisa said.

  Micah cut his eyes toward the door, trying to nudge Cat out of the room. “Now, if you don’t mind…”

  That was not going to happen. Like always, Micah was pushing Raisa’s limits.

  “Caterina, could you play while we talk?” Raisa said, running her fingers along the neck of the basilka. “Or would you rather hear the harp?” she asked Micah.

  “I’m not in the mood for music,” Micah said, looking furious.

  “Trust me, Micah, Lady Tyburn will change your mind.” She handed the basilka to her glowering maid. “Why don’t you begin with ‘Hanalea’s Lament’? That’s my favorite.” She motioned to the chairs in front of the fire. “We can sit right here.” She plopped herself down on the cushions and gestured toward the other chair.

  Micah grudgingly lowered himself into the other chair. Cat settled onto a side chair behind them, near the door, her basilka on her lap.

  “What is she doing here?” Micah asked in a fierce whisper. “When I saw the old hag leave, I assumed you were alone.”

  “Were you lurking outside my room, Micah?” Raisa asked. “That’s disturbing.”

  The first few notes of the familiar song floated up. There followed a spate of tuning, with loud, angry discordant notes. Cat was skilled at speaking through her instrument.

  “Speaking of disturbing, do you know who your servant is?” Micah asked, thrusting viciously at the fire with an iron poker. “She used to be in a street gang with Alister. She’s a thief and likely a murderer. But lately those seem to be the qualifications you are looking for. I hope you have your jewelry locked up.”

  Finally, Cat began to play in earnest. First, “Hanalea’s Lament,” and then “High Country Air.”

  Micah sighed. “If we can’t be alone, then can we talk about the Wizard Council?”

  “What about it?”

  “What has Alister told you?”

  “What Alister told me is between the two of us,” Raisa snapped. “Why don’t you say what you have to say, Micah? I’m not going to spar with you.”

  Micah combed his fingers through his hair, then settled both hands in his lap. “Our next order of business on the council is the election of a High Wizard to serve with you. Unfortunately, that was tabled until our next meeting.”

  “I suppose there’s no rush,” Raisa said, “if your father continues to serve.”

  Micah reached out and touched her hand, as if uncertain what her reaction would be. “Listen,” he said in a low voice. “The sooner my father steps down, the better—and the safer for you and your line.” He paused, as if debating whether to continue. “I’m going to stand for High Wizard, and I have a good chance of winning. That will put me in a better position to protect you. Perhaps then you’ll agree to dismiss Alister as your bodyguard.”

  Raisa pulled her hand back. “Why would I want to do that?”

  Micah leaned closer. “I just don’t understand it. I can’t imagine why you allow Alister so much access. If he has threatened you, or blackmailed you, or is somehow forcing you to accommodate him, tell me. I will handle it.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” Raisa said. “Your lack of confidence in me is patronizing.”

  “You are not confident, you are foolhardy,” Micah said.

  “Oh? Who should I be wary of?” Raisa said. “Han Alister saved my life in Marisa Pines Pass. And you? Let’s see—you bewitched me at your name day party, tried to force me into a marriage, and then kidnapped me from school. Not a great record.”

  Micah looked down at his hands. “I’ve tried to explain, but it’s like you don’t hear me.” His voice tremored slightly.

  “I believe what I see.”

  “Do you?” Micah straightened. “Then take a hard look at Alister. I see a whole different side of him. I think he’s the one who’s bewitched you.” He stood. “I should go.”

  Raisa stood as well, frustrated with the turn the conversation had taken. “You have no reason to act as if I’ve been leading you on,” she said in a low, fierce whisper. “You told me I’d be safer if I allowed you to court me in public. I told you the rules when I agreed to play this game.”

  “It’s not a game,” Micah said. “Not for me.” He inclined his head. “Your Majesty.”

  C H A P T E R T H I R T E E N

  AT CROSS-

  PURPOSES

  When Han met with Crow after the Wizard Council meeting, Crow seemed moody and uncommunicative—more so than usual. He paced back and forth, distractedly pushing his fingers through his hair while Han described his journey through the tunnels.

  “The passages were intact, then,” Crow said, swinging around to face him. “There was no evidence they had been breached during my absence?”

  Han shrugged. “Hard to tell. There were some magical barriers you never mentioned. Still, I don’t see how anyone could have gone in that way without coaching from you. Even with your help, disabling the barriers burns a boatload of power.”

  “As it is intended to,” Crow said, looking momentarily pleased, as if his unbreachable tunnels were a kind of legacy for a wasted life.

  “It’s not looking good on the council,” Han said. “Right now, Bayar has the votes to win, since he casts the tiebreaker.”

  Crow had to point out one more time that had Han gone along with his plan in Aediion, the two Bayar offspring would be dead, and so no trouble at all.

  Han bit back a nasty retort. He wasn’t in such a good mood himself. He’d always had confidence that he could find a way to win in any fight, but just now he couldn’t see a path that would lead him there. He’d be nothing more than a temporary bump in the road for the Bayars’ ambitions.

  He’d been second-guessing himself ever since he’d said no to Raisa in her bedchamber two nights before. His body complained to him all night long. And a voice in his head whispered, Fool! Who do you think you are? A romp on the down-low is the best you can expect from a blueblood queen.

  To make matters worse, he’d said yes to attempting the impossible—winning the vote for High Wizard.

  “Alister,” Crow said softly, startling Han back to the present. He looked up to meet unexpected compassion in his ancestor’s eyes. “Think. There must be something you’ve overlooked—some way to win.”

  “There’s this,” Han said. “The Bayars have plenty of enemies, but for centuries, nobody’s dared take them on because they seemed invulnerable to attack. If I discredit Bayar, it puts a chink in that armor. It may be enough to persuade people to vote my way.”

  “And how do you propose to do that? Discredit him, I mean.”

  “I need to get Fire Dancer and his mother into the Council House on Gray Lady,” Han said. “You need to tell me how.”

  “You’re going to bring copperheads onto Gray Lady?” Crow lifted an eyebrow. “They’ll never make it out alive.”

  “We have to risk it,” Han said. “We’re going to confront Bayar in front of the council.”

  “To what purpose
?” Crow asked. “Aside from the entertainment value, I mean.”

  “This is about justice,” Han said. “It’s about righting a wrong.”

  Crow laughed. “Politics is not about justice. It’s about the settling of personal vendettas, under a thin veneer of civilization. All politics is personal.”

  “No problem,” Han said. “This is personal.”

  “Even if you discredit the Bayars, even if you win the post of High Wizard, the Bayars will find a way to win,” Crow said softly. “The only way they’ll give is if the alternative is too terrible to contemplate.” He put a hand on Han’s shoulder. “Trust me, I know. I was the last person to confront the Bayars, and look what happened to me. Now you have both the Spirit clans and the Wizard Council to contend with. If wizards support you, the copperheads will oppose you. And the other way ’round.”

  Right now, neither one supports me, Han thought. “What do you suggest?”

  “The only way to get what you want is to make them more afraid of you than they are of each other. Give them a demonstration. Destroy the Council House. Blow up one of the copperhead camps. Show them you mean business.”

  “My first priority is winning over the queen,” Han said. “She wants to bring the factions in the Fells together, not split them apart. Blowing holes in the queendom is unlikely to help my case.”

  “You must demonstrate that you are powerful enough to risk supporting. And too powerful to oppose,” Crow said. “Trust me—the assembly will fall into line, as will the queen.”

  Crow is used to wizards running things, Han thought. He’s not used to taking into account the clans and the queen. And he doesn’t know Raisa at all.

  “Even if I wanted to destroy them, I wouldn’t know how,” Han said. “The Council House is loaded with wards against magic. Else it would have been destroyed long ago.”

  “You underestimate yourself,” Crow said. “You just need better weapons.” He paused, as if weighing whether to continue. “And I know where they are.”

  Han’s mind stopped racing like a mouse in a maze, and focused on Crow. “What? What are you talking about?”

  “First, I need to know that you’re willing to do whatever is necessary to win,” Crow said.

  “Look,” Han exploded. “I’m not making a trade for a pig in a sack. Quit talking in riddles, or I’m gone.”

  Crow finally gave. “I happen to have a few weapons put away,” he said, folding his arms and broadening his stance, as if anticipating a challenge.

  “Weapons?” Han repeated. “What weapons?”

  “Have you ever heard of the Armory of the Gifted Kings?” Crow asked.

  Han stared at him. “Everybody’s looking for it—the Bayars, Dean Abelard, maybe even the clans.”

  “Really. They all know it exists?” Crow frowned. “The Bayars, I would have expected, but…”

  “Well, it’s more a legend than anything else,” Han said. “Some don’t believe it still exists. Are you saying you know where it is?”

  Crow shrugged. “Who was the last of the gifted kings?” he said, straightening the Waterlow stoles he’d taken to wearing since the big reveal.

  “Where is it?” Han asked, his heart accelerating. “Where’s the armory?” He’d learned on the streets that sometimes only a massive show of strength could force his enemies to give. And right now he couldn’t think of any other way out of the thicket he was in.

  “Hold on,” Crow said, raising both hands as if to ward Han off. “There’s a price.”

  “What do you mean, there’s a price?” Han said. “If I win, the Bayars lose, and that’s what you want, right?”

  “I want to talk to Lucas,” Crow said.

  “Lucas?” Han shook his head. He hadn’t seen Lucius since he and Dancer had confronted him weeks ago.

  “That’s my price,” Crow said. “As you would say, take or leave.”

  “But—how would that work?” Han said. “You only exist in Aediion.”

  “There is a way,” Crow said, his brilliant blue eyes fixed on Han. “You know as well as I do there’s a way.”

  And then it came to him—what Crow was suggesting.

  “No,” Han said, backing away. “I’m not going to let you possess me again. That’s off the table.”

  “Come, now,” Crow said. “Don’t be a coward. I used to possess you at least twice a week, and you’re none the worse for wear.”

  “No,” Han said. He cast about for an alternative. “You can give me questions, and I’ll ask them and bring you the answers.”

  Crow shook his head. “Not good enough. I want to see his face. I want to see his reactions. I don’t want it to pass through the filter of you. I’ve got to get to bottom of all this.”

  “Sorry,” Han said. “I’m done being used.”

  “I see. Well, being as you feel so strongly…” Crow shrugged, flicking imaginary dust from his coat. “Too bad. You’ll never find it on your own.”

  “I don’t believe this. You’re saying you won’t help me because I won’t let you—”

  “I need to speak with Lucas,” Crow said. “Those are the terms.”

  Han liked Crow, was trusting him more and more, but…if Han accepted his proposal, Crow would be set loose on Gray Lady with the armory at his disposal and his enemies at hand. Could Crow—could anyone—resist the temptation to take revenge? It could be the Breaking all over again. Only, this time, Han would get the blame.

  Still. There must be some way he could protect himself. “Let me think about it,” he said finally.

  “Don’t think too long,” Crow said. “I thought I had time to negotiate with my enemies, and I’ve been paying the price ever since.”

  “This isn’t the same situation,” Han said.

  “Isn’t it?” Crow laughed bitterly. “You’ve already earned a slow, unpleasant death, from the Bayars’ point of view. I speak from experience when I tell you that if you go up against them, you had better be willing to do whatever it takes to win. And even that may not be enough.”

  C H A P T E R F O U R T E E N

  QUEEN’S

  ORDERS

  Raisa shifted her shoulders, trying to relieve the tightness in her muscles. It was late—the middle of the night—and the script on the pages was blurring in the light of the one lamp she’d kept burning. Rain clattered against the shutters, and thunder reverberated from peak to peak.

  Hanalea speaks, Raisa thought.

  Despite all the noise, Cat had fallen into a twitchy sleep on the daybed, tossing and turning and muttering to herself.

  Han was still out—no doubt walking the streets of Ragmarket, trying to tempt a killer. As a consequence, Raisa’s ears were fixed on the corridors outside. Every small sound distracted her. She wouldn’t rest easy until he was back safe.

  Finally, she heard footsteps in the hallway, but it was Amon’s familiar voice outside her door, greeting the bluejackets posted there.

  Hoping to avoid waking Cat, Raisa slid out of her chair and was halfway across the room when Amon pounded on the door.

  “Wait! Let me,” Cat said, rolling off the bed.

  “It’s all right, it’s Captain Byrne,” Raisa said, pulling the door open.

  He stood framed in the doorway, Talia and Pearlie just behind him. He looked drenched, his hair plastered down with wet, and his cloak soaked through. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, Your Majesty. I needed to—”

  Amon looked over Raisa’s shoulder, his eyes fastening on Cat. He didn’t look happy to see her. “Lady Tyburn,” he said, inclining his head.

  Whatever he had to say, he didn’t want Cat to hear it.

  “You can go now, Cat,” Raisa said. “Captain Byrne is here, and I’ve kept you up late enough. No reason for you to be up all night.”

  “I can stay,” Cat said, looking from Amon to Raisa. “Maybe I can help with—”

  “That’s not necessary,” Amon cut in. “Good night.” He nodded toward the door.

  Cat slumped
out of the room with many backward looks.

  Murmuring something to Talia and Pearlie, Amon closed the door behind Cat. Turning back to Raisa, he took a deep breath. “I know it’s late, but I need to speak with you right now.”

  “I was still awake,” Raisa said, gripping her elbows on either side, suddenly chilled. Something in Amon’s expression said he brought bad news. Very bad news.

  Her first thought was Han, and her heart faltered. What if he’d finally drawn the killers he was hunting? What if they’d taken him by surprise?

  Amon thrust a bundle of cloth into Raisa’s hands. “Put this on. We’re going out.” He crossed to the connecting door to Han’s suite, tried it, then locked it. “You need to keep this locked, Rai,” he said.

  “What is it? What’s happened? Where are we going?”

  He shook his head. “Ragmarket. There’s something I need to show you.”

  Raisa unfolded the bundle. It was a hooded cloak—standard Queen’s Guard issue. She slid into it, hitching up the bottom and tucking it into her waist so it wouldn’t drag on the ground.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  “You—come with us,” Amon ordered the bluejackets outside the door. With Talia and Pearlie, that made six guards trailing them out the side door and into the rain. Raisa pulled the hood up, clutching it together against the storm. They crossed the drawbridge and passed through the gate into streets running with inky rainwater. The wizard lights seemed few and far between on this darkest of nights, brightened only when lightning intruded into the narrow streets.

  “Talk to me,” Raisa said, leaning close to Amon. “What’s going on?”

  “Two more wizards were found dead in Ragmarket,” Amon said, lowering his head so he spoke almost into her ear. “Same as the others. Throats cut, amulets gone.”

  “Who?” Raisa whispered, scarcely moving her lips.

  “Farrold and Alexa Gryphon,” Amon said.

  Not Han, then. Adam Gryphon’s parents. Raisa breathed out, relieved, but ashamed to be glad in the face of someone else’s loss.

  “What would they be doing in Ragmarket?” Raisa said, her dry throat sandpapering each word. “I can’t imagine those two walking that neighborhood.”